Sun rays come as nature's easel, giving brilliant colour to what was hidden even under the passing starlit night as I walked out of my room. I'd been set on finding Phoebus, Kallistê or Oberon and demand them to explain what was going on. If I was supposed to kill the Imperial Lord, then I could at least attempt to do so before a battle conquers this land.
The maze in the garden, attacks nearing, fallen sentries ... I shook my head as I glanced to the large window behind me, the view so sweeping that I could see all the way to the reflecting pool beyond the garden.
The water was still enough that the vibrant sky and fat, puffy clouds above were flawlessly reflected. Asking about them seemed vulgar after yesterday, but maybe—maybe once those paint and brushes did arrive, I could venture to the pool to capture it.
I might have remained staring out toward that smear of colour and light and texture had Phoebus and Kallistê not emerged from another wing of the manor, discussing some border patrol or another. They fell silent as I came down the stairs, and Kallistê strode right out the front door without so much as a good morning—just a casual wave. Not a vicious gesture, but she clearly had no intention of joining the conversation that Phoebus and I were about to have.
I glanced around, hoping for any sign of those paints, something to take my mind off everything that was currently going on, but Phoe pointed to the open front doors through which Kallistê had exited. Beyond them, I could already see both of our horses, already saddled and waiting. Kallistê was already climbing into the saddle of a third horse. I turned to Phoebus.
Stay with him; he will keep me safe, and things would get better. Fine, I could do that for a little while longer.
"Where are we going?" My words were half-mumbled.
"Your supplies won't arrive until tomorrow, and the gallery's being cleaned, and my ... meeting was postponed." Was he rambling? "I thought we'd go for a ride—no killing involved. Or Sephtis about. Just somewhere ... new for a change." Even as he finished with a half-smile, sorrow flickered in his eyes. Indeed, I'd had enough death, in the past week. Enough of killing faeries. Killing anything ... for now. No weapons were sheathed at his side or on his baldric—but a knife hilt glinted at his boot.
I'd overheard Phoebus and Oberon helped bury the fallen soldiers of the eastern border but where had they buried them? An Imperial Lord digging graves for his sentries. I might not have believed it if I'd been told, might not have believed it if he hadn't offered me sanctuary rather than death.
"Where to?" I asked. He only smiled.
.____________________.
When Phoebus had said visiting somewhere new, I hadn't expected it to be so close to Elanor's town, the beating heart of Elanor itself. For a moment, the weight in me vanished as I gobbled down the details of the emerging city:
The golden sunlight which only enhanced the mild spring day brightened the pale colours of the clay bricks of passing buildings, plants and ivy sprouting on their walls. Seelie Faeries in fine forms of dress meandered by: some behind stalls selling their goods, some unhurried as they walked up the clean cobblestone streets—but all giving little nods of respect towards our direction as our horses trotted down the narrow roads. Not one of them had not looked at me, their eyes glimmering with one, and only one emotion—intrigue. As if I was something to look closer at, to examine in their ordinary lives.
I didn't meet any of their gazes.
I shuffled uneasily in my saddle, tightening the grip on my reins as my horse bucked to keep up with Kallistê's and Phoebus's. I halted my shuffling at the sight of the other end.
The street sloped down, revealing more pretty houses and small stalls, more well-fed unconcerned people. And at the very bottom of the hill laid a round city square, bustling with more fae than before.
With life.
The city had been built like a budding flower, expanding outwards from his centre flanked with two towering pavilions of sandstone which I can only imagine were the city's markets. And beyond that, to where I can barely see the city's edge parallel to the horizon, and endless sea of wildflowers, sparkling like gems in a treasure chest beneath the rays of the midday sun.
In the distance, children shrieked with laughter.
No monsters. No darkness. Not a hint of fear, or despair.
Nothing like what the legends had ever told me.
"That's the Pavilion of Spices," Kallistê said from my left, and I whirled, remembering she was there. She just pointed toward the pavilion on my right. Pillars of sandstone supported a roof of yellow tiles and indeed, aromas of many spices I know wafted through the square. "Food, farm produce, spices, and others related in that category belong there."
Sure enough, I heard the shouts of vendors, persuading those passing by to buy their goods.
"The other is its twin, the Pavilion of Silk and Jewels. It's always busy around here no matter the weather or day," she added, and I couldn't tell if she sounded irritated or resigned about it.
I nodded, my mind not quite focusing on Kallistê's explanations. I turned toward the city again and said, "How?"
She understood what I meant. "Luck."
"Luck?" I said quietly, but not weakly, "Are they even aware of what's coming for them? For their city?"
The wind ruffled Kallistê's bright hair, her face unreadable.
"This city," she said calmly, "is very much well protected. And it has been for millennia. Wars came and went as time passed and this city has remained intact. Untouched. It will continue to be with this new threat we are facing."
"How?"
"Spells and wards and the Imperial Lord's ruthless ancestors who were willing to do anything to preserve their city from the rest of the wretched world."
"And when future battles arise, this city will remain in its safe, little bubble?" I said, pushing the bubbling anger and frustration I have kept tame ever since arriving in Asteria deep down inside me. "You and the rest of Phoebus's court wouldn't even think to open this place as a refuge?"
"When future battles arise," she said, her temper slipping the leash a bit as her eyes flashed, "we will have to make some very hard choices, very quickly."
I rolled my eyes, twisting away to scan Phoebus ahead of us, smiling brighter than I'd usually seen him cooped up inside that manor, to civilians who returned matching grins. "I'm assuming you won't tell me about it? About anything on the attacks?" But I had to know—how much time I had left to fulfil my side of the bargain.
"Now's not the time for that conversation."
Fine. I heard that sort of thing a thousand time before in Elanor's Estate, anyway. It wasn't worth dredging up the effort to push about it yet.
But I wouldn't just sit in my room or around the manor, couldn't allow myself to mourn and mope and think and sleep. So I would venture out, even if it might be an agony, even if Phoebus or anyone else refused to provide me with the answers I needed. I jerked my chin to the endless field of wildflowers ahead. "So what is there that was worth Phoebus bringing us through the city?"
When I faced her, her blue eyes only twinkled like the jewels I'd spotted were being sold in the Pavilion of Silk and Jewels. "You'll see," she said.
.____________________.
I was confused when Phoebus stopped his horse in the middle of a grassy plain. Climbing out of his saddle, Kallistê and I followed his suite, my legs cramp and numb from sitting. I walked up to Phoebus, leaving my horse to feed on the grass.
"Where are we?" I inquired, stopping next to Phoebus to where he looked straight ahead, as if seeing something I couldn't.
His eyes flicked to me before he said, "Revelare."
At first, I didn't notice it, the slight rippling of the air before me, but then it grew bigger, spreading wider and wider until soon it consumed half of the field. But as quickly as it came, it faded, leaving a building made of glass in its wake. I could feel myself gaping at it but quickly regained my composure when Kallistê chuckled behind me. Phoebus grinned broadly and said, "Welcome to the House of Dreams."
Structured out of glass and built like a greenhouse, the House of Dreams was far more than just beautiful. The glass seemed to be enchanted too. Whenever I tried to peer at what was inside, it became a mirror reflecting the grassy field. I shrugged off the ancient power that slithered with the illusion, like a cat brushing against my leg to gain attention. Phoebus began walking towards the golden double doors and I scurried after him, keeping up with his long strides.
Inside, I decided, was only more beautiful. Enchanted painting coated the ceiling with rich colours and I watched as a group of clouds rolled across the mighty blue expanse. White painted walls lined each side of the wide hallway like an unbreakable barrier each with four golden doors.
Phoebus and Kallistê had all but silently watched my reaction to this ... place, their eyes alight with amusement. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Kallistê open the first golden door to the left before slipping inside.
"So what do you think?" Phoebus said from behind me as I still watched the moving painting in awe.
"It's beautiful. This whole place is." I forced myself to face Phoebus, a smile playing on the corners of his lips. "What exactly is this place?"
"It's where the Dreamweavers live," he said, walking towards the golden door located at the very end of the hallway.
"Dreamweavers?" I asked and made to follow him. Perhaps it was a species of Unseelie Faeries of sorts.
"It's a trait some faeries are born with. Their dreams produce a thread that can predict the future, to say the least. One could say a Dreamweaver is like an oracle. But instead of sprouting words, it's the thread they produce that shows us possible images of the future. Dreamweavers are what we call those born with the trait," Phoebus explained, his hand resting on the door's metallic doorknob.
He craned his head to look at me, amber eyes searching deep into my own. "Come, let me show you."
With a gentle click and a push, Phoebus and I stepped inside the dark room furnished with five occupied beds.
.____________________.
The golden door swung shut silently, sealing Phoebus and I inside with five sleeping Seelie Faeries.
I squeezed my eyes shut, my hands clenched into fists as I shook my head. Memories of being locked in a wooden coffin and thrown into ice-cold water invaded my thoughts. I struggled to get air into my lungs as my head snapped towards the door behind me. No—this was not a coffin. I've broken out before. I would break out this time, too.
No—no, no, no, no—
Hands gripped my shoulders and I struggled to push them away. Get out. I need to get out.
"Breathe," Phoebus said in my ear. "One breath."
"Light," I managed to get out past the tightness in my lungs.
He snapped his fingers and I peeled my eyes open. Horror still clenched my gut like a tight fist but eased as soon as I saw the three balls of sunlight bobbing before us.
"Breathe," Phoebus repeated and I unclenched my fists. "Bad memories?"
I only nodded my head as I examined the faeries lying in bed, both male and female, undisturbed as they journey in the realm of dreams. Beside each bed lay a small wooden nightstand and there on the surface were spools of golden thread, one end connected to the back of the faerie's head while the other winded around the spool. I watched as more thread was created from a female's dreams and how it magically tightened itself around the reel, trying to keep and even breathing.
So peaceful. All these faeries looked so peaceful, unaware of the threat that their city and Imperial Lord might face. I shook the thought away.
"You'd said the thread the Dreamweavers produce can read the future, correct?" I said suddenly, facing Phoebus.
Phoe went still.
"Yes," he said at last.
"Then can you see the future of whether you would defeat the attackers? Or at least who might be behind the attacks?"
Silence. Expectant, waiting silence.
Phoebus's voice was hoarse as he said, "No. I've tried but the thread produced by the Dreamweavers can only predict the futures of immortals like us faeries. It seems like whoever is behind the attacks are not immortals ... or are older than the very creation of the fae."
"So there's really no way of stopping this," I breathed.
"Yes," he said, and then added, "but we can't give up on hope yet."
I didn't bother replying. Not when I didn't have the right answer to give him. Not when my father had once said something so similar and I'd brushed it off. I felt Phoebus's gaze linger on me before he turned away to survey the faeries.
"They're so peaceful aren't they?" he whispered, almost with a hint of sombre. "So oblivious to the world around them, to the dangers lurking right around the corner. They only wake once every month. It almost makes me envy them to not have to feel the pain of watching your loved ones die in battle, to have a painless, unknowing death."
I dared a glance at Phoebus and there was something like devastation on his beautiful face. It was gone in a blink.
"But you wouldn't be able to protect the ones you love in an endless sleep." The words passed my lips before I could think about them.
Phoebus smile grimly. "That's true," he started and took a seat on a wooden bench next to the door. "But sometimes I wish there was a way to just escape all my responsibilities to just sort out everything that is going on. Even if it's just for a minute or two."
"I understand how you feel, bearing the weight of other's lives I mean." I smiled to myself as I watched the rise and fall of a faerie's chest—like the steady rhythm of a drum.
"My parents used to bring me here as a boy every lunar cycle. It was then this became one of the many places I used as a hideout when I wanted to escape my duties just for a little while, even if it meant getting an earful from my tutor when I returned. My mother caught me once, just when I was pass the gates, scolded me, but then saddled her horse and joined me. We spent hours in this very room sitting together, and watching the Dreamweavers in peaceful silence."
There was nothing—no one around as he said those words. Just Phoebus and I.
"She seems like a very lovely mother," I whispered.
"She was."
Was. As if his mother was no more than a legend carried by the wind.
"What happened to her?"
"Two decades ago, my parents were slain in their sleep by Morana's Imperial Lord. For what reason ... I don't know. But when I woke up, I remembered the horrible stench of blood and I ran, knowing something was wrong. The scent led me to my parents' room and I remembered bursting through the doors only to find them still sleeping," he said, eyes misting over. "But they weren't. Blood had been leaking from their noses and mouths, and that's when I knew Morana's Imperial Lord had killed them from the inside. Their brains. I was crowned Lord that morning."
I strained against myself to reach out a hand to comfort him, remembering that there was little to no time left before I had to execute his assassination. I shivered.
"I'm sorry for your loss," I said, but the words were hollow.
There was a part of me that strained against the invisible shackles I had leashed around my emotions and she thrashed against them, screaming, screaming—
My throat tightened to the point of pain.
I glanced at Phoebus. He seemed lost in ancient memory—then shook his head. "We should probably head back. Kallistê will be waiting for us."
I followed him, my hand brushing against the Dreamweavers's thread on a nightstand near the door.
The touch was light—gentle. And I suddenly couldn't move as my mind was thrown into a whirlwind of images, a quick flashing of colours before my eyes.
It was a maze first, towering and ominous as it stood tall under the moon-lit sky. I blinked and the image was gone, replaced by a cloudy vision of a woman with dark waves cascading down her back and silvery eyes like the stars of the night sky. Fae—she was fae too with those pointed tips that ended her ears.
I gripped the edge of the nightstand to stabilise myself.
And like the first, it disappeared in a ripple of light only for a pair of violet-flecked silver eyes that held so much pain—too much pain and grief and darkness—to bore into my vision. I gasped as I stumbled back. The visions faded soon enough but those haunted eyes lingered on the edges of my memory, branding themselves into the back of my head.
"ELEENA."
The voice was like the warmth of the sun and the earth, and every inch of my body awoke at the primal dominance in it. I didn't realise I had slipped into twilight until a fairly warm hand touched my forehead.
"Wake," the voice ordered.
I did.
My head throbbed, my face soaked and sticky and Phoebus—Phoebus was hovering above me, his eyes wide.
"It was a vision," he said, his breathing as hard as mine.
The three balls of light trickling through the strands of his hair illuminated the already glowing irises of his eyes. Like a living flame. He scanned my face. "A vision," he said again.
I pushed myself up, my head spinning as his warm fingers wrapped around my wrists, steadying me. When I dared to look at Phoebus once again, his eyes had eased its glow. Even the power I had felt emanating from him in my veins, along my bones, slumbered once more.
"I don't know how that was possible," Phoe said, gesturing to me as he started pacing in a tight circle. "You are mortal. Visions can only be received by immortals unless ...," wide-eyed, he turned to me once more. "No, that's impossible."
"What is it—"
"We should head back. It's not going to be sa—"
"No. No, I'm fine," I rasped.
"But ... are you sure?" Those amber eyes still near-glowed in the dim light.
"I'm fine Phoebus," I said and shot him a sideways smile, "If there's somewhere you would like to show me, then be my guest. I need some inspiration for my paintings when the paint arrives anyway." Lies. It was all lies. It was selfish of me to need to spend time away from the estate, away from all the trouble, away from the answer to the Alger's riddle, away from death. An escape.
Phoebus frowned as I brushed past him, slipping through the door. The light sound of his footsteps was all I needed to know that he was behind me.
Approaching Kallistê's silhouette, I schooled my face into a light smile. Hearing our footsteps, Kallistê swivelled to face us, the smirk she wore turning to a feral grin as she scanned us.
"Well, you two look like shit," she said. "I'm taking that our little visit to the House of Dreams didn't end too well. Shall we move on?"