Trace opened his eyes to the familiar sky. Tonight he tried to linger in his dream world. He and Anaisa had heavy conversations that day, and she deserved the opportunity to process it without observation… despite the gnawing curiosity eating away at him.
The herds of wild horses that roamed his dream fields rushed by, and he sprinted alongside them, trying to exert himself to the point that he forgot about his wife, and how close she was. A brilliant mare with a startling auburn mane, one he'd never seen before, suddenly stopped and pierced him with a cornflower blue gaze.
He ran a hand down his face, banishing the imaginary creature. His mind was at it again, disobeying his explicit wishes. The herd turned, sprinting toward the far-off edge of the world. Trace hated how eager he was to follow, but ran with all his might until the gaping, jagged edge of his dream looked out into the void.
Unlike other nights, tonight there were many orbs of dreams in sight. Here, at an inn in the town of Mune, there were many dreamers. The sky beyond his land looked more like a starry sky than an empty void, but he still picked out Anaisa's dream easily.
It was the closest, and the brightest, and held a distinct lure for him.
He leapt towards it, pausing to lay his hand on the shining border of the bubble. Within was… peace.
Trace's main goal in visiting her dreams, at least that he admitted to himself, was to give her good rest and a happier life with him. Since, tonight, she already had peace…
He frowned. He should leave, and let her have whatever good dream she'd found for herself. Hesitating on the borders, he walked in a circle around the translucent orb. The other dreams nearby were strongly mixed, some bright, some dark and swirling,
One in particular caught his attention, and he studied it for a moment. Grey, yet still, it harbored a flavor that was utterly distasteful. Normally, he wouldn't go near such a dream, but in his eagerness to leave Anaisa alone with her pleasant thoughts, he shook his head and dove forward. There was a familiarity to it, somehow.
As soon as he entered the shrouded dream, he knew.
Conlan must be staying at the same inn, or at least nearby.
A distorted version of the man stood looking down with interest as a woman was slapped and fell to the ground, hard.
"YOU WORTHLESS CUR!" Trace was shocked when the woman glanced up. Conlan was dreaming about beating Anaisa?
His blood boiled. Trace knew people didn't control their dreams, but to imagine such a vile thing about his wife! He wanted to break the dream. No, not the dream. He wanted to shatter Conlan's mind!
Before he could act on the rage, the dream shifted. Trace tried his hardest to keep himself calm. Taking rash action against his blackmailer's messenger could end poorly, despite how desperately he wanted to throttle the fiend.
Thankfully, the next images were perplexing enough to help Trace distract himself.
The back of a chair, ornate with a red cushion and silver filigree, and a hand with a silver signet ring holding out a letter.
A memory? Or a work of Conlan's imagination? The handwriting couldn't be made out, and of course it might be any letter, and any sender, but Trace concentrated anyway, trying to make out the pattern of the ring.
A wolf, inlaid deep with a snake around its feet.
The image dissipated into the mist of the changing dream, leaving only the screams of some other unfortunate victim of Conlan's focus to fill Trace's senses. It was only a dream, he reminded himself as he fled the grey orb.
Although he'd already hated Conlan, this cemented his loathing.
Trace shook off the image, but it clung to him, as dreams of others sometimes did. He needed to wash it away with something wholesome, refreshing.
Anaisa's dream, bright and cheerful, beckoned. He shouldn't, yet the image of her bruised on the ground with Conlan smiling over her made him desperate to make sure that she was all right. He hesitated before stepping into her dream.
Blinking in the brightness of the sunlight, he glanced around. A garden. A lovely garden that must be inspired by something in the city. Four rocking chairs in a semicircle looked out over the plants, and four women sat in them, each holding needlework or darning or crocheting as they chatted and teased, smiling and laughing.
The first two were no surprise to him: Anaisa and Katia sat side by side, their mischievous grins inviting. The other two were rough copies of his mother and his brother's wife, Sarah. The four conspired and talked as if they were the best of friends, and a sense of peace and family radiated from them.
Trace noted with interest that no men, nor children, were included in the dream, and wondered at it. He also had to admit that he was mildly upset that his mother and Sarah had featured in one of Anaisa's dreams before he did.
Versions and hints of her had invaded his carefully cultivated dream world, and yet, he made no appearance in the land she had little to no control over. Did she care nothing for him at all? Think not of him outside of her waking hours?
Admittedly, this was the first purely pleasant dream of her imagination, so being in any of the others would have been disheartening for him, but even so.
He reminded himself that he should simply be happy that she was feeling more peaceful, and that she seemed to be melding herself mentally into his family. Even if marriage to him was a means to that end, it meant she would stay with him, didn't it? That was something.
Trace lingered at the edges of the dream, soaking in the pleasant atmosphere of camaraderie and easy cadence of life from the ladies. He looked closely to see what Anaisa was sewing; though the picture was blurred and indistinct, it looked like a design of some kind of bird in flight.
Freedom.
He pondered the image for a time as the chatter faded and a new person entered the dream, walking through the field. Trace looked up and watched as a man approached. Anaisa stood now, alone, also gazing at the stranger.
Trace's heart stirred with unease as he tried to read her expression. Was she excited? Afraid? The man wore dark pants and a plain shirt: working clothes. A hat shaded his face from view, and Trace struggled to remain in place rather than go see who this man was that his wife dreamed about.
Just as the man was nearly close enough for the sun to shine on his face, the dream blurred at the edges and Trace felt the irresistible pull of consciousness.
He woke with a frustrated sigh. He'd been so close to seeing the face!
Anaisa soon stirred on the bed, and Trace rose and began getting ready as if he'd been awake for some time. His wife stretched lazily and then jolted as she noticed him in the room.
There had been no place to hang the blanket the night before, so he was in plain view. She flipped onto her side to face the wall, and he hurriedly changed and excused himself from the room so she could do the same.
Their married life was full of little awkward moments interspersed between unspoken understandings. Her presence was becoming something he expected, rather than being surprised by, but then, he was never away from her, even while asleep.
He took his bag down to the main floor of the inn to order some breakfast while he waited for Anaisa to dress. The food had just arrived when footsteps behind Trace made him turn.
The smile he had for his wife fell from his face as Conlan dropped a letter on the table and kept walking without a word. A smarmy half grin was all he spared for the farmer.
The writing matched, and if Trace had thought about it, he wouldn't have been surprised one bit. He'd known Conlan was at the inn, or at least nearby; it was only due to Trace's utter distraction concerning the man in Anaisa's dream that he'd temporarily forgotten the more important part of last night.
The silver filigree chair with red cushion, and the hand with the ring and the letter.
Trace sneered at the paper in front of him, but when Conlan had left the inn, he reluctantly picked it up and tore it open. Maybe he could have this out of the way before–
"Good Morning," Anaisa said from behind him, causing him to jump.
"Good Morning," He replied. "Breakfast is here, so you're just in time."
She smiled slightly, though she seemed a bit distracted, and set her bag beneath the table. Sampling one or two of the small dishes in front of them, she began to chat idly as she sometimes did in the mornings.
"Did you sleep well?"
Trace didn't have an honest answer to that right away, and he paused. "I slept through the night, which is not always the case away from home."
Anaisa nodded easily, and he relaxed a little, slipping the envelope from the table and into his jacket. He wouldn't necessarily keep the contents secret, but until he knew what the letter contained, he didn't want her to know that he–
"I slept well, the bed was very soft here, thank you for asking," She spoke as he grimaced. He should have remembered to ask how she slept, as if he didn't already know. "Are you going to tell me about the letter or keep it to yourself for now?"