Dreamstrider (26 page)

Emperor Atrophus Weideger IV looks every bit the golden-haired, sun-smooched, boisterous man I expected from his portraits, even if he’s somewhat softer around the edges. Professor Hesse told me that as a prince, he used to wrestle on the Imperial Square for sport, and I believe it. His skin, like baked clay, attests to a man accustomed to soaking up every last ray of sunshine our cloudy nation gets. He’s eschewed the facial gemstones for one solitary ruby stud in his nose. His belly is primed for a laugh, and even in the face of devastating war, he smiles when he stands up to greet us. He looks so inviting that I almost reach out to shake his hand, like we’re old pals meeting at the ale house, but thankfully Brandt drops to one knee beside me, so I fall into a curtsey.

“These are the two little pups that infiltrated the Land of the Iron Bloody Winds?” the Emperor asks, turning to Minister Durst. He unleashes just the sort of merry laugh I would expect him to have. “Aren’t you a ballsy pair! I need players like you on my polo squadron.”

“We only did what was necessary to preserve the Empire,” Brandt says to his boots.

“Oh, sure, kiss my arse if you must. You know, I had a dream last night of a great stag and a doe emerging from the northeastern hills. They wore wreaths of gold, glowing as if with the Dreamer’s light itself. Are you two such creatures?”

“I … I wouldn’t presume to imagine myself as being a worthy subject of your dreams, your Majesty,” Brandt stammers. I wrinkle my brow, confused by the Dreamer again. The northeastern hills are where Nightmare’s bones reside, along the mountain ridge that borders Farthing. What was he trying to tell the Emperor?

The Emperor laughs and claps us both on our shoulders. “Good answer, my boy! Now, stand up already—let’s hear all about your little trip.”

The Emperor strokes his curled mustache while Brandt explains the plans we overheard. Only while he’s speaking do I notice the Emperor’s war cabinet—the assorted priests, admirals, and ministers and their clerks crammed around the war table. They follow Brandt’s every word, scribbling notes on ledgers and maps as they contemplate how to repel the Commandant’s attack.

Once Brandt reaches the bit about the Commandant and his magical “gem,” the admiral nearest to us rolls his eyes, but the Emperor leans torward me, smile gone, thick brows a straight line across his forehead. “You’re our dreamstrider I hear so much about, are you not?” he asks me.

“Yes, your Majesty.” I straighten as if pulled up by a string, but embarrassment sprouts on my cheeks. I doubt I want to know what kinds of reports the Emperor has heard about me.

“I thought Hesse was mad to attempt what he did—I still do.” The Emperor’s eyes gleam in the gaslight. “Teaching a girl from the tunnels to use the most sacred dreamworld for espionage. But any advantage we can get in these trying times…” He shakes his head. “What do you make of the Commandant’s claims?”

I take a deep breath. The Emperor of Barstadt, of all people, is asking
me
for advice. “If we understand him correctly, your Majesty, then some party with the ability to shape the dreamworld is colluding with the Land of the Iron Winds. I found evidence in Oneiros of Lady Twyne’s involvement, as well. It’s terrifying enough to think that someone other than the Dreamer’s priests have such a skill manipulating Oneiros. Unless—unless it
is
one of our priests.” I swallow. “But the worst is that the criminal appears to possess at least one shard of Nightmare’s heart. According to Hesse’s research, if they mean to reunite the shards, they’ll travel to Nightmare’s Spine and restore the heart within his ribs.”

“And the only way there is through the city,” an admiral interrupts, gesturing to the map spread on the table before them all. Nightmare’s Spine snakes between Barstadt and Farthing like a puckered scar, and the massive rib bones that signify Nightmare’s Spine lie at the northeastern-most corner of Barstadt City, inaccessible by the Itinerant Sea. “So how in the bloody nightmares do you expect them to break through our naval blockade? I know our army is lacking, and the constabulary’s tied up with all the tunneler protests of late, but the Barstadt navy is the best.”

I open my mouth, but hesitate, looking to Brandt. Why should the Emperor believe me? As he said himself, I’m just some girl from the tunnels. But Brandt nods, certain, as reassuring as his hand upon my shoulder, holding me firm.
Oh, Professor Hesse. If only you’d known what your research could really do.
“Whoever this … criminal is, or whatever they are, they may possess some ability that will allow them to transport physical objects, like the shard, through Oneiros,” I say. “They could even use Oneiros as an intermediary place to allow them to travel great distances in the real world quickly, by slipping into Oneiros from one location and coming out into another.”

“Albrecht Hesse’s theory of transference,” Brandt supplies. “We have his research notes on the process.”

I nod. “I don’t know if they wish to transfer the shard alone, or if they mean to attempt to transfer war machines, troops…”

Emperor Weideger balks. “Madness. How could anyone with such power slip from our notice—”

“I’m only telling you what I know is possible, based on Professor Hesse’s research.” And that his research never quite translates into reality in the way he’d hoped—but I’m in no mood to bare my shortcomings to the Emperor. I draw a steadying breath. “There is something else Professor Hesse was working on, too. He called it the binding ritual. I don’t know exactly what it does, but I think someone killed him trying to get it.”

“Binding?” one of the priests asks.

“We’ve only found references to it in Professor Hesse’s other notes, so we’re not sure what it’s meant to do. It’s clear, however, that the Commandant and the late Sindra Twyne were trying to unite the shards of Nightmare’s heart. If they’ve been successful in that task, that might explain the recent disturbances in Oneiros.”

“What recent disturbances?” the Emperor asks, cutting his gaze toward his High Priest. The High Priest blanches and glances away.

“The—the recent increase in strength of the Nightmare Wastes, and Nightmare’s minions returning to life.” I force myself to stand firm. “If Lady Twyne and the Commandant really mean to awaken Nightmare, and the criminal can do just that…”

“Madness. Absolute madness.” The Emperor harrumphs. “But if Hesse hypothesized it, it may very well be possible. Minister, do we have any word on who this betrayer might be?”

Durst steps forward. “A recent report obtained in conjunction with our Farthing colleagues indicates Lady Twyne employed the services of a mystic—possibly an apostate of the Dreamer’s priesthood. The dreamstrider believes he or she may have aided Lady Twyne in preserving her soul inside Oneiros through the transference process.”

The High Priest, in his loose white tunic and thick golden yoke, shakes his head furiously. “This is the first I’ve learned of it myself, your Imperial Majesty, I assure you.”

“Assurances? You want to issue me an assurance?” The Emperor waves his hand. “Assure me that you’ll scour our records for any apostates who might be capable of such a thing.”

The High Priest drops into a series of bows. “Yes, your Majesty—”

“And what about these disturbances in Oneiros?” The Emperor rounds on the High Priest in a flash. “When were you planning to bring those to my attention?”

“Your Majesty, it’s nothing my dreamshapers can’t handle. And—” the High Priest jabs a finger in my direction—“we’d have it all under control without the dreamstrider’s meddling!”

“Without the dreamstrider’s warning, you’d let Nightmare crumble the world around us. See that it is handled.” The Emperor’s voice is stretched tighter than a drumhead; gooseflesh lifts on my arms.

“Y—Yes, your Majesty.” The High Priest bows again, and scampers to the back of the group to confer with his acolytes.

The Emperor turns back to me, drumming his fingers against his belly, just below a golden pendant set with a glimmering ruby the size of his fist. “Dreamstrider? Lord Strassbourg?” Brandt and I straighten up. “Since my priests are so bloody incompetent at sniffing out traitors in their ranks, I want you two to find this rogue priest for me.”

Minister Durst’s eyes bulge. “Your most divine Majesty, if I may, I think you’ll find the dreamstrider’s talents lie outside of the realm of conventional fieldwork—”

“Nonsense. I want these two.” Like he’s picking out pastries at Kruger’s. The Emperor leans down toward us, all his bluster channeled into a deadly tone. “Find me this traitor. Now!”

And so we are dimissed. After we’re all but shoved out of the war room, a maid with a perpetual case of the shakes treats Brandt and me to tea and cakes in a side parlor. I nibble at the cake, but it is so overpoweringly sugary and laden with rum that my already nervous stomach roils in protest.

“Well,” Brandt says, staring at his steaming teacup as if it might hold the solution. “How do you propose we do this?”

I shrug and attempt to sip the tea, but it scalds my lips. I only succeed in dribbling it onto my pale dress. “Minister Durst doesn’t believe I
can
do it. Nor should he!”

Brandt shakes his head. “Come now, I know you and I can figure this out together. We always manage, don’t we?” He smiles and pops a tartlet into his mouth.

My nervousness starts to thaw at the sight of that grin. “Very well. What are you thinking?”

“What do we know about our would-be traitor?” Brandt holds out one palm to tick things off on his fingers.

“He accompanied Lady Twyne on at least one visit to the Land of the Iron Winds,” I say.

“Or she.” Brandt leans back in the chair, chewing on the mouthful of cake. “She’s trained to access Oneiros, which means she must be a former priestess.”

“Or priest. But not necessarily. I’m not a priestess, either.”

Brandt groans. “All right, so if whoever it is isn’t a priest, he—or she—had to learn to enter Oneiros through some other means. Possibilities?”

“Bribed a priest to teach them? Figured it out on their own?” I swallow hard as I summon a possibility so frightful I can’t ignore it. “Learned from Professor Hesse?”

Brandt looks dangerously close to choking on a chunk of frosting. “You said yourself that you’re the only one to survive his experiments.”

“Yes, his dreamstriding experiments. We don’t know which other theosophical professors had access to his research, or who the other subjects might have told about his experiments, despite their sworn oath.” The very thought rankles and exhausts me, but I can’t ignore the possibility. “And his theories about transference of matter between the dreamworld and the waking one—they weren’t just theories. Sly Fox witnessed it, unless it was all a trick. We have Hesse’s original research notes on transference, but we need to keep hunting for more details about the binding ritual…”

Minister Durst clips down the hallway toward us, his face puckered up, like he really has spent the past five hours kissing the Emperor’s arse and is none too thrilled about it. “I don’t know what you two are gabbing about, but we have other issues.”

“We’re talking about how to catch this mystic priest. You wouldn’t be about to ask us to defy the Emperor’s orders, now, would you, Minister?” Brandt asks coolly.

Durst dabs the sweat from his forehead with a kerchief. His gaunt cheeks look positively skeletal after so few hours of sleep; deep shadows well under his tightened eyes. “The Farthingers,” he says, ignoring Brandt. “The Farthing Confederate Council sent official word to His Imperial Majesty that they were prepared to commit as many forces as necessary to defend Barstadt from the Land of the Iron Winds.”

“That’s awfully generous,” I say. “What do they stand to gain from it?”

“Well, if Barstadt falls to the Iron Winds, then Farthing is sure to be next,” Brandt says. “And their naval force is considerably smaller than ours. They command all the confederate privateering ships, but I don’t think the Council would have any luck bossing them around. Helping us fend off the Commandant makes sense, even for a people well known for putting themselves first.”

Durst nods. “Our good friends from the east, Marez and Kriza, are to oversee an influx of Farthing land troops arriving soon to fortify Barstadt City. Brandt, you can keep hunting for the identity of the rogue priest, but I want you on the Farthingers, Livia. Mind that they don’t get too nosy—they’re here to help us and not themselves. Understood?”

“The Emperor said…” I start, but the glare from Durst shuts my mouth.

“The Emperor doesn’t know your limitations as well as I do,” Durst says. “The Farthingers, however, have for some reason taken a shine to you. You’re of better use to me keeping an eye on them—through any means necessary.”

“Understood,” I say, voice wavering.

“Glad to hear it. Now, get some rest. I want you meeting the Farthingers tomorrow morning,” Durst says. “Dreamer bless.”

As the Minister’s heels report down the vast hall, I stare at Brandt. “We’re letting the Farthing army into the city?”

He shrugs. “It’s happened before. In fact, I’m pretty sure they helped defend against Nightmare way back when. Why? What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking when this is all over, I won’t be offended if you spike the celebratory cider.”

Chapter Twenty-one

I toss and turn for hours, fighting my immense exhaustion after Birnau and our audience with the Emperor. I dread what might await me in my dreams—or worse, inside Oneiros. But I can’t escape slumber’s yoke forever. I blink—and then I am gone. I’m flying over Oneiros, and I glimpse the Dreamer’s Spire rising out of the city’s heart, but then I land inside a shallow dream, one I’m sure to forget on awakening.

In it, I stride through the halls of the Ministry, a sheathed sword banging against my thigh. The Ministry’s layout feels foreign, distant to me, in that annoying way of dreams. Some of the day’s anger with Minister Durst bubbles up and forms shadows that dart along my path. I find myself at his office, and the night guard—is it nighttime in this dream? There are no windows to guide me—nods at me, permitting me entrance.