The Nothing: A Book of the Between (30 page)

You’ll pay. Soon or late, you will pay for this.

Quick and light, the young dragon slithered out from beneath Teheren’s belly. Before Aidan registered what it was doing, the afterbirth was in the creature’s mouth, and then gone. With a cry of outrage, she swung her head, teeth bared, but the little one used her wings to get airborne and went over Teheren’s back and into shelter behind him again.

“Together,” Teheren said. “You and I walk out abreast. The child will follow.”

Raging, Aidan subjected herself to this plan as the best she could hope for in the moment. She would not tolerate a rival. Neither this red-gold dragon with his delusions of grandeur or the small black that was born to be royalty. She, Aidan, would be the only leader. Until her plan was complete and there was no need for any leader anymore.

“I
T
’
S
TOO
dangerous,” Landon said. His face was haggard with worry and lack of sleep. A smudge of dust ran across one cheek. His clothes were torn. He’d been working nonstop for two days and nights, side by side with the guards, making room for the flood of immigrants and doing the best he could to prevent war over scarce provisions.

Isobel handed him a glass of wine and a buttered roll. He smiled in thanks, his blue eyes warming to hers. She filled his plate, watching with a cold despair as he put half of what she’d served him back onto the platter.

“Not enough to go around,” he said.

“You won’t be able to continue if you don’t take care of yourself.” Already his clothes hung loose on a body that had always been lean. His hair was silvering rapidly and she didn’t like the way his hand kept straying to his temple, as though his head ached.

“I won’t be able to continue if something happens to you,” he replied, touching her hair. “Tell me again why you think it necessary to undertake such a risk.”

“All Dreamshifters must go to the Cave of Dreams as an initiation.”

“And you think the child is a Dreamshifter.”

They both watched the little girl, who sat cross-legged on the floor, tearing apart a piece of bread and feeding crumbs to the big black raven who stood solemnly in front of her, gently taking them from her hand, one at a time.

“How can I know for certain? But she wears the pendant and the raven has bonded to her. We are going to need a Dreamshifter if we are to have any hope of survival.”

The words were as close as she could come to acknowledging her fear that something had already happened to Vivian. No way of knowing, other than a growing unease that had kept her awake at night to lie exhausted in her empty bed, staring up at the ceiling. She kept a light burning around the clock, fearful of the darkness. And now here was this self-possessed child, clearly transported from Wakeworld at the cost of a Dreamshifter’s life.

“How can she possibly help? How old is she? Five?”

“My name is Lyssa, and I can hear you,” the child said, looking up with eyes that were neither quite blue nor green and far too old for her face.

“I’m sorry,” Isobel said. “It’s just that we’re frightened.”

“What’s a Dreamshifter?”

“Somebody who can open doors from one world into another.”

“Like Weston. And Vivian.” The child stood up and crossed the room, standing with one hand resting on Isobel’s knee. It was so tiny, the fingernails perfect pink half moons. A scratch ran across the base of the index finger. Just a small thing, but Isobel was possessed of a desire to lift it to her lips and kiss it. She did no such thing, holding herself perfectly still and returning Lyssa’s direct gaze.

“Yes, like that.”

“I helped Weston with the door. He didn’t like it, though. Because of Ella.”

“And who is Ella?”

“An elephant. She was on the other side of the door when Weston opened it.” The little girl’s eyes brimmed suddenly with tears. “She’s dead.”

Isobel gazed helplessly at the tears spilling silently down the child’s cheeks, knowing any gesture of comfort would be hopelessly inadequate.

“And Weston didn’t like elephants?”

The curly head shook a vigorous no. “He was quite surprised to see her when he opened the door.”

This served only to confirm what Isobel already believed. She ventured to put her hand on the child’s hair and stroke it, as her gaze sought out Landon’s.

“And the raven?” Isobel asked.

“Bob.”

“Yes. Bob.”

“He was Weston’s.”

“Dreamshifter or no,” Landon said, in the voice that was more than just Landon, but also his I’m-in-charge-and-I’ve-made-a-decision voice, “you can’t risk her by taking her out of Surmise now. You don’t know that this cave even still exists.”

“If it didn’t, we wouldn’t still be here,” Isobel said. She was surprised to hear her own voice speaking in opposition to his. She had never disagreed with him before.

“I won’t have it!” It was a sharp retort. Never had he spoken to her like that, and the tone cut her a little even as it made her realize how fragile he’d always thought her, how much he treated her with kid gloves. Probably afraid that any harshness at all would drive her back into madness.

Well, she wasn’t mad now, nowhere near. She was right and he was wrong and he wasn’t accustomed to listening to her. Still, she had to try. She opened her mouth but he cut across her words with his own.

“Look, Isobel, I’m sorry. I don’t like to speak to you so. But I’ve got more than I can manage, dealing with the mess we’re in here. I can’t afford the distraction of worry if you venture out on some wild scheme to turn a child into a Dreamshifter. If we haven’t got one, if something has happened to Vivian, all the gods forbid, then why risk the child now? Keep her safe. Comfort her. Take her to her initiation when it is safe to do so, for her and for you.”

He pushed back his chair, wiping the back of his mouth with his hand. “We just had a pack of wolves come in. What am I to do with them? Nowhere to put them where they’re not going to eat somebody or something. We’re talking about building a separate structure.” He bent and kissed her forehead and was gone.

In the echoing silence, Isobel felt small and deflated. He was right, of course. Trying to find the Cave of Dreams was a fool’s errand. She was no Dreamshifter, had never been called to choose her dreamsphere, had no idea where or how to begin looking for the place.

“What’s the Cave of Dreams?” Lyssa demanded.

“It’s just a place. Go play with Bob for a bit, all right?”

“What kind of place?”

Isobel sighed. “I’ve never been there. But my father told me it is a cave, filled with light and color and sound. All of it comes from little round spheres that—”

“What’s a sphere?”

“They look like marbles. You have marbles?”

Lyssa nodded. “I like the swirly blue and green ones best.”

“Like that, but instead of the swirly color, they have tiny little pictures inside. Only, each picture is a real place, and the marble can take you there.”

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. So many spheres dead already, so many of those worlds lost.

“Like the dream doors,” Lyssa said. “Can’t a door take you to the cave?”

“I can’t make a door,” Isobel said. “It was just an idea, Lyssa. Like an imagining game. We can’t really go there.”

“I can make a door.”

Isobel stroked the tumbled hair and then used a napkin to clean the tearstained cheeks. She needed to give this child a bath, find her a hairbrush, search out some clean clothes. “Doors are dangerous now. They could lead to the Nothing, understand? You and I will have to be resigned to waiting for Vivian to fix it. Okay?”

A knock at the door broke the moment.

The messenger was unfamiliar to her and looked edgy and ill at ease. He bowed briefly but then stood without speaking. Some of the immigrants had been brought into service without time for proper training, and Isobel guessed the boy was one of those.

“What is the message?” she asked, nudging him.

“It’s for Prince Landon.” The boy’s eyes searched the room as if he expected to find Landon hiding behind one of the chairs or crawling out from beneath the table.

“He’s not here. I can give him the message.”

“She said it was for him alone.”

“And I have the authority to act on his behalf.” She stood and crossed to him, using her robes and her long dark hair and sparkling jewels to advantage. “Speak now.”

The boy glanced wildly around the room. His eyes lit on the raven, and the bird croaked a warning. That did it.

“An old woman. Among those who came in yesterday. She’s taken to bed and the Healer says she is dying. She showed me a magic ball and said it was very important and asked me to fetch—”

“Where is she?”

“In the South Tower, but—”

Isobel was already moving. “Thank you. Sit down, eat. You look half starved.” She looked back at the child, hesitating, but she couldn’t leave her here alone. She held out her hand. “Lyssa, come with me.”

The little girl asked no questions, just took Isobel’s hand with her small one.

“Bob, too?”

“Need you ask?”

The raven certainly wasn’t waiting for an invitation, already perched on the child’s thin shoulder. Most of the passageways in Castle Surmise were winding, slanted things, more like freeway on- and off-ramps than anything else Isobel could think of. People and creatures sat or lay in the halls, some wrapped in blankets, some covered in fur, some shivering in rags. The air was thick with the comingled scents of fur and unwashed bodies and food. Every face looked worried or angry. An undercurrent of energy vibrated through the castle, and she understood why Landon was working himself to death. Emotions could erupt into a full-scale blow-up of epic proportions. A small thing would do it. A slight. A slur. A perceived injustice. And if something bigger were to happen, like an interspecies altercation…

Even as she understood her husband’s situation, her anger at being silenced like a child continued to burn. He hadn’t really even listened to her. There was a truth about their relationship here that she did not want to consider, an imbalance. Was she really just a kept and pampered princess, beloved like a pet and of no more use, while he carried all the affairs of state? They had both been frightened that her mind would break again under pressure, but was the result worth it?

When they reached the South Tower, she focused her attention on her feet. This was no place for distraction; the only way up was a steep circular staircase, carved of stone and without handrails. Even a slight misstep could mean a ruinous tumble and almost certain death.

What had they been thinking to drag an old woman up here in the first place? No wonder she’d taken ill. Probably her heart had given out. Isobel had some concerns about her own. As for the little one, she scampered ahead, her short legs navigating the steps with ease, the raven flying above, the sound of his unseen wings unsettling in the near dark. All of Isobel’s requests to go slowly and with care fell on deaf ears.

When they finally reached the top, Isobel had to stop to catch her breath. There were six chambers here, shaped like slices of a pie. All were full of frail or ailing humans in need of a bed. They found the old woman behind the third door. She was so thin and withered that she barely made a mound beneath the blanket. Long gray hair fanned out around her head. Her eyes were closed. A network of fine wrinkles covered her face and the hands on the coverlet were little more than blue-veined claws, both curled into fists.

Isobel had to look hard to see that the sheet over the concave breast rose and fell, so shallow was the woman’s breath.

“I fear I have come too late,” she whispered, touching the back of one of the hands. Icy cold it was, but the eyes snapped open, blue as a summer sky and unfaded by the years.

“Who are you?” The voice was stronger than it ought to have been, given the old woman’s pallor, the faint blue tinge to her lips.

“Isobel. Consort of Prince Landon.”

The blue eyes bored into her. “You are Wakeworld born, or I miss my guess.”

“What has that to do with anything?”

“I have knowledge of a thing, a trifle to be coveted, a plaything. Now, so late, I realize the importance of it. Especially now. It is important that I am careful who I speak to.”

“You have a dreamsphere,” Isobel said bluntly. “You showed it to the boy. Was that wise, do you think?”

“It was an act of desperation. The healers discounted me as a rambling old woman. The child was willing to listen.”

The sound of wings made the old woman look up to where the raven had alighted on the edge of the single window casement. Her eyes widened, her lips parted, a faint flush came into her cheeks, and she tried to sit up.

“Easy,” Isobel said, pressing her back.

The old woman coughed and subsided, but her eyes were still eager. “Who does the raven belong to?”

Bob fluttered down to Lyssa’s shoulder. The child approached the bed, face grave. The old woman reached up to touch the raven’s head and then curled her fingers around the leather thong that held the pendant.

“Let me see it,” she said. Lyssa put the pendant in her hand. A long moment she held it, then let it fall and lay back on the pillow. Tears filled her eyes and flowed down her wrinkled cheeks.