Dreams Lie Beneath

by Rebecca Ross

Once, the mountains held a prosperous duchy. Magic itself had been first born in the summits, where the clouds touched the earth. But when the Duke of Seren was assassinated by his closest friends, the mountain province had sundered. Well versed in magic, the duke had cast a curse as he lay dying. No death and no dreams for those in his court who had been touched by the betrayal.

One does not realize how powerful a dream is, in the sleeping world as well as the waking one, until it has been stolen from them.

Those doors have not been open since, nor will they until the remaining wraiths—the heiress, the lady-in-waiting, the advisor, the guard, the master of coin, and the spymistress—all who once planned the duke’s demise, return as one to break the curse.”

Dreams often revealed one’s greatest vulnerability; dreams were doors that led into hearts and minds and souls and secrets.

He was silent, but he continued to hold my hand, pressed against his heart. I could feel the frantic beat, pounding against my palm. A rhythm that made me realize things had started to shift between us. I didn’t hate him as I had before. How could I after this harrowing night had bound us together, in fear and courage and wounds?

“That may be, but I know my son very well. And when he does allow himself to look at you, there is an ocean in his eyes,” the countess said. “I will not see you usher his downfall.”

“We have never dreamt, you and me. All our lives, we have been void of dreams until now. And at last, we dream, and your first is tainted by a treacherous girl who you must despise.”

“I wanted it to be you,” he said, his voice deep, rough-hewn. “When I returned to the museum for that final interview . . . gods, how I wanted it to be you.”

“That night when you caught my reflection in the mirror,” I said. “When you said my name . . . the stone within me suffered a crack. And I don’t regret that it did, because I had forgotten how vital it is to be known for who you are, and not for who you pretend to be. I had forgotten how good it is to be seen, even with flaws and scars.

“You have crept into my stone of a heart and softened me, to my immense dismay and utter astonishment. I would support your claim without fail, but if you forgo it yourself, I would support your choice of sovereign.”

But sometimes things must break before they can be made whole again, so that they can be forged into something stronger.

A flicker of surprise passed over Imonie’s face. But then she smiled and smoothed the wrinkles from my blankets. And my grandmother told me the stories of the mountains.