| THE LORELEI SIGNAL |
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| Written by B.T. Sønderby / Artwork by Holly Eddy |
| Dream |
“But the queen cares little for your kind. Why
would she command your presence?”
I peered over my shoulder at Laeri, wry
amusement twisting my lips. She stretched
out on the bed, watching me with those lovely
green cat eyes of hers. Late afternoon sun
reached fingers through the window, gilding
her skin, stroking the soft curves of her body
as I had done an hour ago. She flushed
beneath my gaze, lowering her eyes, looking
appropriately sheepish. Chuckling, I slid my
dress up onto my shoulders and crossed the
room to her.
“I know not, love,” I murmured, perching on
the edge of the bed and stroking her cheek.
“I suppose I shall find out.”
Laeri sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest.
“What if the nightmares haven’t gone?”
I caught one of her golden curls, winding it
around my finger. Oh, but I had endless
patience for Laeri, for her full mouth and wide
hips, her small breasts and long legs. What I
didn’t have was endless _time_. No one kept
the Queen of Traia waiting, not even—not
especially—a Dream Courtesan. That I was
the best of my age mattered not one whit to
her. Yet still I took the time to kiss Laeri’s
forehead, hoping to soothe her.
“I promise you, you’re well rid of them. Have I
ever failed you?”
She shook her head.
“All will be well, love. Now, help me lace my dress. I musn’t keep Her Majesty waiting.”
Laeri sighed, her lush lower lip sticking out in a pout. I leaned over, nipping that lip in gentle punishment. She
squealed, shying away from me, the sheets tangling around her bare legs.
“Come now, chit,” I teased. “Do as I say.”
Still pouting—though duly chastised—Laeri settled down to help me. I smoothed the fine, sapphire silk down
over my legs, inspecting the skirt for wrinkles with a critical eye. Satisfied at last, I stood up, lacy petticoats
swirling around my legs, and slid my feet into a pair of slippers. I doubted I could get more prepared than I
already was, so I headed towards the door.
“Aeala.”
I turned. Laeri tossed a small leather pouch to me. It soared through the air, jingling like chimes, to land
neatly in my palm. A tiny sum for one such as I, but Laeri had been my client for several years now. I loved
her too dearly to charge her more.
I stopped downstairs long enough to deposit the coins in my payment chest, then caught a hansom to the
palace. A strange hour for the queen to summon me, I had to admit. With the sun sinking below the hills
beyond the city walls, the nightlife of Endara was coming out in full force. Buskers began to trickle out onto
street corners: Musicians, dancers, jugglers, acrobats. The scent of frying meat and hot cooking oil tickled my
nose. I leaned out of the hansom, heedless of the wind in my hair, and drank deeply of the sights and sounds
of the city.
Truly I was a city girl through and through. I loved the sweeping sprawl of Endara, the market lanes crowded
with shops, the homes and villas huddled together around cobbled streets. And of course the palace, a
confection of white marble sculpted with as much care as the marzipan flowers made by the queen’s favorite
baker.
To call Endara perfect would be a lie. It had its smirches, crime and poverty, a ramshackle slum that ringed the
outer wall. As a child I’d thought to become a sister at the Cathedral of Patreiu, working to feed and clothe
the poor. But that was not my destiny. The Nameless One, goddess of dreams, called me to her service
instead, as the Queen called on me now.
It surprised me not at all to find someone waiting for me when I stepped out of the hansom. A lady’s maid,
prim and proper in her high-collared dress, stood just inside the gates, fidgeting like a child. Music drifted
faintly from the palace, as its occupants too began their nightly revels. Ah, I see. Her Majesty is a clever
woman. Less chance I would be seen now, with city and palace both astir with activity, and only a lowly maid
sent to greet me.
“Mistress Aeala?” the lady’s maid asked, her hands fluttering at her sides like nervous birds.
I inclined my head, managing a smile more tart than sweet.
“Please follow me. Her Majesty is expecting you.”
“Of course.”
I followed dutifully, letting her lead me through the outer courtyard, to a small side gate. I saw only guards,
though they ignored me in return, their gazes passing over me as though I was not there. And beyond the
gate, on the torch-lit path leading into the palace gardens, I saw no one. Gall tasted bitter on my tongue.
“How courteous. Being smuggled in through the garden,” I remarked, my tone deliberately musing. “That’s a
new one, I admit. Should I charge extra?”
The lady’s maid stiffened. She glanced over her shoulder at me. “Please, Mistress. Please, just come with me,
don’t make trouble.”
A strand of dark brown hair slipped from beneath her veil, softening her visage to delightful roundness. Her
pretty blue eyes regarded me pleadingly. I sighed and continued to follow her without further fuss. I never
could deny a comely young woman.
She led me deep into the garden, past beds of roses and lilies, hyacinths and poppies. Poplar and apple trees
lined the walkways, the latter heavy with unripe fruit. The path twisted around and around, spiraling inward
to a lovely grotto, rich with vine-laden trellises and burbling fountains. A figure waited for us there, an
empress among roses in plush royal red. She wore her frizzy auburn curls free, unrestrained by veil or plait. I
had to bite my lip as we approached her. For all she infuriated me, summoning me like this, treating me like a
dirty secret, the Queen of Traia made my heart race.
She turned when she heard our footsteps. I came to a halt, grasping my skirts for a curtsy. She looked me
over, from the toes of my beaded slippers to the tips of my curling red hair; my cheeks went red too, under
her gaze. The Queen could find nothing wrong with my appearance and yet she reared her head back, as
though she feared I might smell. I understood why people had such disdain for my kind—worse, at times,
than for other courtesans or prostitutes—but it still stung.
“Mistress Aeala,” the Queen greeted me. “Thank you for coming at such short notice.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” I forced myself to be polite. “Might I ask…why? There is little love lost between
yourself and my kind.”
Her sad smile cooled my temper some. “I should have expected you to be shrewd. Very well. I will not waste
your time.”
The Queen’s skirts rustled as she moved. She swept them aside and lowered herself elegantly onto a garden
bench. I remained standing, the lady’s maid trembling at my side. The Queen dismissed her with a graceful
cant of the head, leaving the two of us alone amid the singing fountains. We listened to the retreating
footsteps of the lady’s maid until we could hear them no more. Then the Queen regarded me again.
“I need you to heal my son.”
I kept my features carefully neutral. “I hadn’t heard the prince needed the kind of aid I can offer.”
“Of course not. It’s hardly something I would announce to the town at large.”
“I think you should find someone else, Your Majesty. I charge far too high for the privilege of
disrespect. Even a queen would be hard pressed to pay.”
I turned to leave.
“W-wait!”
Only the tremor in her voice halted my steps. I turned back to her, one eyebrow quirked upward, waiting. She
had risen from the bench in an undignified tangle of skirts. Now this is unexpected.
“I—I know we do not g-get along,” the Queen began again, stammering. She took a deep breath, smoothed
down her dress, and made a third try, voice careful and stately. “I know we do not get along, myself and your
people. Yet even so, were it simply that my son had troubles only you could heal, I’d parade you gladly
through the halls of the palace if that were what it took.”
Her soft, ruby red mouth hardened with determination; her eyes glimmered with the fierce love of a mother.
She looked so beautiful, I melted inside. Goddess curse me for a bleeding heart.
“His sleep is full of nightmares and every day it eats at his health more and more. My top physician believes it
the work of a curse, a foul thing indeed. Whoever cast this thing on my son, I believe he dwells here still. If
I’d made it known I called you here…”
“The culprit might well flee,” I finished for her, comprehension dawning. “And if I can’t chase away the curse,
the one who cast it may be the only one who can.”
The queen nodded. “So you see, I meant you no insult. I need your help too dearly.”
“Your Majesty, I cannot promise you anything. My specialty is nightmares and ill memories, not curses.”
“But you will try?”
“I will try,” I said with a sigh. “And the prince? I’d like to see him, to get some notion how this curse infects
him.”
Here the Queen hesitated at last. Her eyes dropped, her confidence faltered. A suspicion settled in the pit of
my stomach. No doubt she would have raised her son to feel about Dream Courtesans the same way she
herself did. Of course, even if the Prince did not find whores loathsome, my kind were a different story. Even
those who cared little whether a woman—or man—chose to sell her—or his—body were often disturbed by
our _other_ abilities.
“Your Majesty…”
“Yiviren has refused. But he is still my son and he shall do as I—”
“I cannot,” I said, cutting her off. “Forgive me, but I simply can’t.”
“You must!” The queen took several long, urgent strides towards me. “It’s simply that the nightmares have
left him tired, unable to see straight.” When I continued shaking my head, she became angry. “He is your
Prince and future king, and _I_ am your Queen. You dare refuse me?”
“Yes. We do not practice without consent, you know that.”
“Practice?” the queen sputtered. “You’re a whore, not a priestess. You will do as I say!”
Desperation cracked her voice. For a moment I stood there, wavering between right and wrong. I pretended
not to see the tears shimmering unshed in her eyes, for her sake and my own; if I acknowledged them, I
wouldn’t be able to resist helping her. And I must resist. We swore an oath, all of us, before the Nameless
One: We did not rape the mind, no more than we would rape the body. That was why I had to turn away,
had to set my feet on the spiraling garden path and leave her behind.
I heard her skirts swish as she followed me the first few steps. She did not follow me all the way, but for a
moment I thought she would call the guards down on me—then I remembered she wanted no one to know of
my presence here. No wonder the guards had paid as much attention to me as they would to air. As far as
they were concerned, I had never been there.
The lady’s maid met me partway through the garden. She took one look at my face and her own crumpled,
her lower lip scrunching as tears streamed down her cheeks. I didn’t know what to say, so I gave her
wayward curl of hair a tug, hoping to make her smile. But it’s a hard thing, to make another smile when you
cannot yourself.
~ * ~
I returned late to the bordello, a cloth bag swinging from my hand. In an attempt to console myself—and wipe
the image of the Queen’s pleading eyes from my mind—I had hied myself off for some shopping. In most of
Endara the shops closed for the night, but all along the street called The Dreamer’s Way they opened only
after dark. Many of our clients were unnerved by—or downright terrified of—the dark, and so more often than
not we found ourselves busiest during the daylight hours.
I passed through the darkened lobby and headed up the stairs, clutching the bag and the two novels within
to my chest. The faint sounds of a Courtesan at work reached my ears; not all clients preferred to come by
day. I crept past Ereny’s door, tiptoed a short way down the corridor, and slipped inside my own room.
To my shock I found it fully lit, my delicate Shemian glass lamps ablaze, my room itself invaded by a stranger.
Oh, what a stranger. Rarely had I seen a creature more beautiful and tragic. He sat on my bed, though he
leapt immediately to his feet when I entered. The light illumined a handsome face drawn with exhaustion and
eyes like deep green emeralds flecked with prisms of darkest blue. Amid the locks of his russet hair, the glow
suffused strands with a coppery sheen. Though lack of sleep had left bruises beneath his eyes, I still felt a
thrill to look upon him.
I tried to settle my racing heart. Law forbade me from carrying weapons on the palace grounds, so I had
nothing on my person with which to defend myself. A knife sat hidden behind a vase on the table just inside
my door, though; I reached for that, moving slowly so as not to give my intentions away.
“Please, mistress.” He held out his hands, displaying empty palms. His fingers, so long and slender, trembled
with exhaustion. “I mean you no harm, truly. I—I do not wish to impose upon you, but I’m out of choices.”
“How did you get in here?”
“A few well-wrought lies,” he admitted, shamefaced.
I eyed him suspiciously. Under guise of setting my bag down on the table, I made a quicker reach for the
knife. In all my years at the bordello, never had I known Kestin to be swayed by lies, no matter how sweet
the honey they were dipped in. But how, whispered a voice at the back of my mind, would he have gotten past
Kestin’s security to sneak inside, bone weary as he is? I hesitated, the knife’s cool brass hilt beneath my
fingertips, perilously uncertain for a second time that night.
“Your name is Aeala, isn’t it?” my uninvited guest asked. He dropped back onto my bed, as if his legs simply
could not support his weight any longer. “There’s no need for the knife, Mistress Aeala. I’ll leave if you wish.
You may even call for security. I won’t fight. I just…” He reached into the shabby pouch at his hip and pulled
out a small handful of copper coins that jangled as his hand shook. “I don’t know what to do.”
I approached him cautiously, knife in hand. Now that I took the time to look, I noted the shabby state of his
clothing. His once-white linen shirt hung loose on his diminished frame, the hems unraveled and threadbare.
The worn leather of his boots wrinkled and cracked like the skin of an aged farmer. I reached out and took
the coins from his callused palm, setting them and the knife down on my nightstand. My guest made no move,
except for the steady trembling of his limbs.
I cupped his face in my hands. Rough stubble brushed my skin, tickling as I lifted his head. His eyes swirled
with questions, all of them lost in a sea of fatigue. He warmed beneath my touch, heat and color rising back
to his cheeks. I felt many things from that touch, and with the special instinct only Dream Courtesans had, I
knew him to be no threat. Smiling, I let my hands fall and sat on the bed next to him.
“You’re afraid of me.”
He managed a wobbly smile. “I’m afraid of what you’re capable of. You yourself are, I confess, less
intimidating than I had anticipated.”
I let out a laugh, a low, throaty purr more for his benefit than mine. His eyes brightened with interest. “I’m
quite human, I assure you,” I told him, placing my wrist against his fingertips so he could feel my pulse. “Have
you a name, stranger?”
“I—I’m called Vire. Mistress, how—how does this…”
“Aeala,” I corrected gently. I did not tell him his paltry sum couldn’t cover my fee; had he no coin at all, I still
could not turn him away.
“Is it truly necessary for us to—that is—why…?”
“We don’t know,” I answered quietly, trying to soothe his nerves. “We know only that intimate contact is
required; the more intimate, the better the results.”
Some few scholars studied Dream Courtesans, trying to understand why our abilities worked as they did. I
could explain it to him further if he wished, but it seemed he’d become more intrigued by me than by my
words. He swayed, almost too tired to sit up, and leaned closer, his tawny eyelashes fluttering as he inhaled
the scent of lavender from my skin. I stroked my fingers through that lovely hair. Not adverse to courtesans,
then—very much not—but merely frightened of what a Dream Courtesan could do. He was not the first to
enjoy a good whore but still be afraid of us.
Vire murmured something incoherent. Heavy with sympathy and worry for my new client, I helped him lay
down on the bed. His gaze followed me, heavy-lidded, as I stood and tugged at the laces of my dress. I could
reach them enough to unlace them on my own, fortunately. I let the dress slide down my skin, a rustling
waterfall of blue silk with lace petticoat foam, and as it pooled around my feet, I stood unflinching in the light.
He stared at me, his body stirring at the sight of mine. Oh, I’d been a scrawny little stick of a girl-child, true
enough, but womanhood had blessed me with a figure Kestin referred to as ‘lush’. As I settled on the bed,
Vire used what strength he had left to explore my curves for himself, running his hands appreciatively over
hips, breasts, and belly. I did much the same as I helped him remove his clothes, finding him not so
diminished as I first thought. I couldn’t help but sigh in pleasure, running my fingers over the fine planes of his
body.
I waited until we were both ready, until I felt his tension ease and ebb away beneath my touch. Then I
lowered my hips and let him sink into me. At the same time, I pressed my mouth to his and sank into him.
~ * ~
The dark and winding path into his soul led me deeper than I’d imagined it would.
It is not uncommon to go quite deep the first time with a new client, but even then, the depth is dependent
upon the injury. Most did not pull me so far down that I left my body completely behind. Only a few—like my
dear, sweet Laeri—ever needed me this entwined with their souls. I followed the path quickly, my nerves
singing with the power of the Nameless One, as they always did when someone needed me so.
The landscape I stepped out into filled me with shock, a sensation like freezing water in the belly on a too hot
day. Rolling hillocks stretched out all around me, every inch of land covered with long blades of dried grass.
What few trees that still stood were twisted, blackened things, hunched up over themselves like arthritic old
men, branches stripped bare. Not far from me a tower rose into the air, a bizarrely contorted mass of step-like
stones leading up, up, up…to a sky unlike anything I had seen before.
Purple-gray clouds stained the sky like a wife’s telltale bruises. Beyond them the clouds grew even darker,
painting the heavens black. All remained eerily still, hushed beneath that ashen veil, but in the distance
lightning danced, leaping from one ebony thunderhead to the next. I heard nothing, no crash of thunder, yet
the hair on my arms raised as if the lightning flashed directly above my head. Lightning of another sort lit
within me, the blaze of sudden realization: No ordinary nightmares could cause this.
A sound behind me made me whirl. I faced my newest client, glaring at him with all the force of my redhead’s
temper. “Your Highness, what is the meaning of this?”
He flinched. “Aeala, please.” He held his hands out in supplication, but did not try to deny his identity. “Don’t
look at me like that.”
Goddess, but I felt a fool. The prince himself! Though I had never seen him in person, I’d seen enough
portraits that I should have recognized him. Especially with his eyes and mouth, so very like his mother’s. But
to show up in my room looking like a down on his luck farmer, and with hands like that…those were not the
hands of a pampered nobleman. They were the hands of a man who did his own work, groomed and saddled
his own horse, gutted his own hunting trophies.
“My mother told me you refused to help without my consent,” the Prince went on determinedly. “I thought—I
thought perhaps I should reconsider my decision.”
“And you couldn’t come to me in honesty, as your own true self?”
“No. Certainly my mother already explained that to you.”
I rocked back on my heels, feeling twice the fool. Of course he had to come disguised, for the same reasons
the Queen had summoned me for so clandestine a meeting. I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose to chase
away an oncoming headache. No time for headaches now. Though I’d have to have a little tête-à-tête with
Kestin later. He would have recognized the Prince, surely. While His Highness’ royal secret could be in no safer
hands, it irked me that Kestin hadn’t seen fit to give me some kind of warning.
I raised my head to find the Prince watching me, his eyes full of concern and uncertainty, and perhaps a little
hope. A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth, though I tried to will it away. I couldn’t bring myself to
remain angry; always a sucker for a pretty face, as I said.
“Very well, Your Highness,” I said at last. “Let’s continue, shall we?”
“Vire, please,” he corrected me, relief evident in his features, easing the lines of tension from his lovely face.
“I…what is this place?’
“Your soul.”
“I thought—that is, aren’t we, um…?”
I gave him a wicked, sidelong smile. “Oh, we are.”
“But…”
“If you should come to me again,” I said, winding my arm through his and urging him forward, “it will not be
like this. This is, well, I suppose you might call it a trance. The curse is strong enough that it is necessary.
However,” and here I turned to face him, walking backwards, my wicked smile turning into a broad grin, “if
you’d like to stay afterwards, get the full experience, you’re more than welcome.”
He smiled back, but my attention was already elsewhere. All humor faded as I took in movement far beyond
us. Something raced through the hills, something large moving beneath the surface. It tore a long furrow
through the battered, dead grass, churning up night-dark soil. The Prince noticed the look on my face and
glanced back.
“We have to get off the ground,” I said, fear choking my voice to a whisper. “Now.”
Vire didn’t argue. What color was left in his face drained away at the sight of the thing coming towards us. I
grabbed his hand and we ran, aiming for the twisted tower I had seen earlier.
Above us the sky cracked open like a nut, split apart by a brilliant flash of lightning. Something spilled from
between the clouds, oozing out in a thick, greasy coil. This time I heard the thunder, thunder that rattled me
right down to the bone. I struggled to breathe, with my heart in my throat and the miasma clotting the air.
Yet still I ran, pouring my strength into my legs and keeping pace with the Prince. Here, I was as much a
warrior as he.
I pushed him on ahead of me, shoving him towards the first step of the tower. The thing beneath the earth
was close on our heels now, so close I felt the clods of dirt it sent up stinging the backs of my legs. Vire
hesitated at the foot of the step until I shouted at him to go. He scrambled up easily but I, smaller than him
by a head and more, had to make a desperate leap. As my fingers curled around the edge of the black stone,
something grabbed me. I shrieked as cold, clammy hands grasped my legs and pulled.
Only Vire’s hold on my arms kept me from falling to the horror behind me. I twisted around to face it,
determined not to lose my nerve. Long and fat like a worm, it was, but not a worm; rather a writhing mass of
human limbs and heads, jumbled and contorted as though sewn together by a mad man. Its blue-gray flesh—
the color of a body too long in the water—erupted with mucous pustules. Alarmed though I was, I refused to
be cowed. I kicked fiercely, catching the chin of the head nearest me. The vile thing shuddered, a ripple
running along its form, but it did not let go.
“Aeala!”
“Hold tight, Vire,” I warned him, wriggling one arm free of his grasp. “Don’t let go.”
He nodded, face grim and pale. I dropped my free hand towards the grotesquerie, palm down, fingers
splayed. It reached for me, scrabbling at my arm with slimy fingers. I called the power of the Nameless One to
my fingertips. Bright light, as white as sun on snow, poured forth from my palm, washing over the creature.
Shrieking, it released me and retreated into the ground, leaving behind only its grating screams.
Vire pulled me the rest of the way up. I didn’t give him time to ask questions, just pushed him on to the next
step. We clambered up side by side, breath harsh in throat and lungs. From time to time I glanced up, aware
of the vaporous corruption pouring down from the crack in the sky.
The stairs, though they corkscrewed perilously, grew smaller and smaller. I scrambled up ahead of the Prince,
racing against time, against the thing coming down from the sky. This is my domain, I thought, teeth bared in
a snarl, as I slid on my knees across the tower’s top platform. I lurched to my feet, already calling on the
power of my goddess. Curse, nightmare, I didn’t care what. Nothing would beat me on the turf I knew best.
A globe of luminescence flared to life between my palms. I stood to face the roiling miasma crawling down
from the sky. It rolled and shifted, forming shapes I couldn’t identify, though I heard Vire suck in a startled
breath behind me. Good. If something gave him a hint of who had done this, all the better.
The thing above us curled itself up, rearing back to strike. I let the goddess’ power grow stronger, larger, the
globe continuing to expand. As the nightmare bore down on us, I reached out for it, using my light not to
ward it away but to draw it in. It fought, jerking and bucking like a wild thing. Pain—physical and yet not—
clawed into me, sinking hooks into my belly, into my limbs. I gritted my teeth, pulling as hard as I could,
ignoring the pain and drawing my foe slowly, but inevitably, to me.
A high and hollow shriek went up as the dark blot came in contact with my globe. The ululation rang in my
ears like the clarions of the underworld, sending a chill straight to the marrow of my bones. I ignored it all and
pulled, pulled, pouring all my energy into the fight. It sapped me, sucking me dry as no foe had before, yet it
could not escape. And as I drew it into the power of the goddess, so too came the damage it had wrought.
Slowly the shadow lifted from the vista of the prince’s soul. As it peeled away, it left behind verdant hills and
strong oak trees rich with foliage. The blackness drained from the stone beneath our feet, dripping away like
ink to leave rock as pristine and white as dove feathers. As the last of the darkness and rot disappeared
within my globe, the howl went with it, fading to a whisper and then to silence. All around us the air filled with
the roar of rushing water, as a waterfall burst from the rock and flowed down from the tower, quickly
becoming a silver ribbon of stream across the landscape.
The globe shrank back to a manageable size, black smoke swirling beneath its pearly light. Heady with relief,
with exhaustion, I wobbled and would have fallen if Vire hadn’t caught me. As he lowered me to the ground, I
finally thought about what I’d just done. Goddess save me, had I been a second slower, a mite less stubborn,
the nightmare could have devoured both our souls. The thought set me to trembling; I didn’t wish to know
who could create such a thing.
“Aeala!”
“I am fine, my prince,” I assured Vire, though I did not _feel_ fine. “I struck before it could do us real harm.”
“That was…” He cradled me in his lap, gazing at me in amazement. Already the haunted look began to fade
from his eyes. “How did you—no, forget I brought it up. But Aeala, I saw something, faces in that—that
darkness, and I think I know who—”
I used what strength I had to reach up and smother the words before they passed his lips. “I am a Dream
Courtesan. We do not involve ourselves in politics.” Another might be insatiably curious to know, but not I. I
was satisfied to wait until the gossip reached my ears, as it no doubt would by sometime next evening.
“Very well,” Vire said, smiling at me. “You know, you’re not at all what I expected.”
And here I managed a smile of my own, though weak. “There is no need for lines, my Prince. You’re already in
my bed.”
I closed my eyes, enjoying the richness of his laughter. We were rarely what anyone expected us to be, we
Dream Courtesans. Perhaps the royal family of Traia might have a kinder opinion of us now. Of a certainty,
their prince did. Kestin will be pleased, I thought, releasing my grip on Vire’s soul. He loves a successful venture.
Which, to venture a guess, was only because Kestin had never experienced the nauseating wrench of being
pulled from the dream world and back into reality.
~ * ~
Murmurs woke me from my sleep. I rolled over, sorely tempted to pull the covers over my head. Yet I resisted,
wishing to hear the conversation. I already recognized the voices: Vire and Kestin. Would they agree to
another time? Would the Prince want to return?
Most did. The things we fought against—nightmares, bad memories, stress—rarely disappeared easily.
Though even if vanquishing his curse cured his nightmares, I hoped the Prince would want to return. All my
focus, all my energy, had gone into destroying the curse and there had been none left afterward with which
to enjoy the Prince’s company. Beauty like that was meant to be savored. Oh, let the goddess be kind…
“I will be sending my personal physician down later to check on her,” the Prince said, keeping his voice low.
“Until then, I want you to keep an eye on her. She’s exhausted.”
“I always keep an eye on my own, Your Highness,” Kestin responded, though he did not sound offended. “All
is well with you, then?”
“As well as can be expected. She is—a miracle. I feel lighter. I can feel that it’s gone…”
Kestin chuckled. “Careful, Your Highness. If she hears you, it might go to her head.”
From the warmth and comfort of my blankets, I made a rather unladylike sound in Kestin’s direction, revealing
my waking state. No one ever said a Dream Courtesan must always act her age.
The soft whisper of footsteps crossing my floor. All the Shemian lamps had gone out, so I could see little, but I
heard Vire, knew it to be him who approached my bed. Fingertips callused but gentle stroked my cheek,
brushing away a stray curling strand of red hair. I smelled the faint, spicy soap I kept in my washroom as the
prince bent down and kissed me tenderly. I sighed, going boneless beneath that mouth.
His breath tickled my ear as he whispered a heartfelt, “Thank you.”
No other words, no names, nothing that might try to draw me into the intrigues of the court. Relieved, I
bundled up tighter in my soft fur blankets, cocooning myself. Dream Courtesans did not intrigue; we had not
the time to waste.
As Kestin and Vire left the room, I heard the Prince say, “Has she time later this week?”
I huddled down beneath the furs, waiting until the door closed. And then, in the privacy of my own room—I
freely admit this—I buried my face against the pillow and squealed like a girl-child, kicking my feet in
triumphant joy. Exhaustion, perhaps? Hysteria? Perhaps not. Though the years wore on, I had yet to meet an
age in which my own impish nature has diminished. A streak of playfulness is not uncommon in a Dream
Courtesan. We are, after all, many things.
In the main, we are lovers and healers. We chase the nightmares from the minds of those worn and weary
from them. We blunt the sharpest edges of our clients’ bad memories, drowning the thorns in velvet-soft rose
petals. We ease the tension from necks and shoulders, sometimes with our bodies, sometimes with our
mouths, sometimes with only our hands. At times, we even subdue a curse or two.
We are the Dream Courtesans of Traia.
would she command your presence?”
I peered over my shoulder at Laeri, wry
amusement twisting my lips. She stretched
out on the bed, watching me with those lovely
green cat eyes of hers. Late afternoon sun
reached fingers through the window, gilding
her skin, stroking the soft curves of her body
as I had done an hour ago. She flushed
beneath my gaze, lowering her eyes, looking
appropriately sheepish. Chuckling, I slid my
dress up onto my shoulders and crossed the
room to her.
“I know not, love,” I murmured, perching on
the edge of the bed and stroking her cheek.
“I suppose I shall find out.”
Laeri sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest.
“What if the nightmares haven’t gone?”
I caught one of her golden curls, winding it
around my finger. Oh, but I had endless
patience for Laeri, for her full mouth and wide
hips, her small breasts and long legs. What I
didn’t have was endless _time_. No one kept
the Queen of Traia waiting, not even—not
especially—a Dream Courtesan. That I was
the best of my age mattered not one whit to
her. Yet still I took the time to kiss Laeri’s
forehead, hoping to soothe her.
“I promise you, you’re well rid of them. Have I
ever failed you?”
She shook her head.
“All will be well, love. Now, help me lace my dress. I musn’t keep Her Majesty waiting.”
Laeri sighed, her lush lower lip sticking out in a pout. I leaned over, nipping that lip in gentle punishment. She
squealed, shying away from me, the sheets tangling around her bare legs.
“Come now, chit,” I teased. “Do as I say.”
Still pouting—though duly chastised—Laeri settled down to help me. I smoothed the fine, sapphire silk down
over my legs, inspecting the skirt for wrinkles with a critical eye. Satisfied at last, I stood up, lacy petticoats
swirling around my legs, and slid my feet into a pair of slippers. I doubted I could get more prepared than I
already was, so I headed towards the door.
“Aeala.”
I turned. Laeri tossed a small leather pouch to me. It soared through the air, jingling like chimes, to land
neatly in my palm. A tiny sum for one such as I, but Laeri had been my client for several years now. I loved
her too dearly to charge her more.
I stopped downstairs long enough to deposit the coins in my payment chest, then caught a hansom to the
palace. A strange hour for the queen to summon me, I had to admit. With the sun sinking below the hills
beyond the city walls, the nightlife of Endara was coming out in full force. Buskers began to trickle out onto
street corners: Musicians, dancers, jugglers, acrobats. The scent of frying meat and hot cooking oil tickled my
nose. I leaned out of the hansom, heedless of the wind in my hair, and drank deeply of the sights and sounds
of the city.
Truly I was a city girl through and through. I loved the sweeping sprawl of Endara, the market lanes crowded
with shops, the homes and villas huddled together around cobbled streets. And of course the palace, a
confection of white marble sculpted with as much care as the marzipan flowers made by the queen’s favorite
baker.
To call Endara perfect would be a lie. It had its smirches, crime and poverty, a ramshackle slum that ringed the
outer wall. As a child I’d thought to become a sister at the Cathedral of Patreiu, working to feed and clothe
the poor. But that was not my destiny. The Nameless One, goddess of dreams, called me to her service
instead, as the Queen called on me now.
It surprised me not at all to find someone waiting for me when I stepped out of the hansom. A lady’s maid,
prim and proper in her high-collared dress, stood just inside the gates, fidgeting like a child. Music drifted
faintly from the palace, as its occupants too began their nightly revels. Ah, I see. Her Majesty is a clever
woman. Less chance I would be seen now, with city and palace both astir with activity, and only a lowly maid
sent to greet me.
“Mistress Aeala?” the lady’s maid asked, her hands fluttering at her sides like nervous birds.
I inclined my head, managing a smile more tart than sweet.
“Please follow me. Her Majesty is expecting you.”
“Of course.”
I followed dutifully, letting her lead me through the outer courtyard, to a small side gate. I saw only guards,
though they ignored me in return, their gazes passing over me as though I was not there. And beyond the
gate, on the torch-lit path leading into the palace gardens, I saw no one. Gall tasted bitter on my tongue.
“How courteous. Being smuggled in through the garden,” I remarked, my tone deliberately musing. “That’s a
new one, I admit. Should I charge extra?”
The lady’s maid stiffened. She glanced over her shoulder at me. “Please, Mistress. Please, just come with me,
don’t make trouble.”
A strand of dark brown hair slipped from beneath her veil, softening her visage to delightful roundness. Her
pretty blue eyes regarded me pleadingly. I sighed and continued to follow her without further fuss. I never
could deny a comely young woman.
She led me deep into the garden, past beds of roses and lilies, hyacinths and poppies. Poplar and apple trees
lined the walkways, the latter heavy with unripe fruit. The path twisted around and around, spiraling inward
to a lovely grotto, rich with vine-laden trellises and burbling fountains. A figure waited for us there, an
empress among roses in plush royal red. She wore her frizzy auburn curls free, unrestrained by veil or plait. I
had to bite my lip as we approached her. For all she infuriated me, summoning me like this, treating me like a
dirty secret, the Queen of Traia made my heart race.
She turned when she heard our footsteps. I came to a halt, grasping my skirts for a curtsy. She looked me
over, from the toes of my beaded slippers to the tips of my curling red hair; my cheeks went red too, under
her gaze. The Queen could find nothing wrong with my appearance and yet she reared her head back, as
though she feared I might smell. I understood why people had such disdain for my kind—worse, at times,
than for other courtesans or prostitutes—but it still stung.
“Mistress Aeala,” the Queen greeted me. “Thank you for coming at such short notice.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” I forced myself to be polite. “Might I ask…why? There is little love lost between
yourself and my kind.”
Her sad smile cooled my temper some. “I should have expected you to be shrewd. Very well. I will not waste
your time.”
The Queen’s skirts rustled as she moved. She swept them aside and lowered herself elegantly onto a garden
bench. I remained standing, the lady’s maid trembling at my side. The Queen dismissed her with a graceful
cant of the head, leaving the two of us alone amid the singing fountains. We listened to the retreating
footsteps of the lady’s maid until we could hear them no more. Then the Queen regarded me again.
“I need you to heal my son.”
I kept my features carefully neutral. “I hadn’t heard the prince needed the kind of aid I can offer.”
“Of course not. It’s hardly something I would announce to the town at large.”
“I think you should find someone else, Your Majesty. I charge far too high for the privilege of
disrespect. Even a queen would be hard pressed to pay.”
I turned to leave.
“W-wait!”
Only the tremor in her voice halted my steps. I turned back to her, one eyebrow quirked upward, waiting. She
had risen from the bench in an undignified tangle of skirts. Now this is unexpected.
“I—I know we do not g-get along,” the Queen began again, stammering. She took a deep breath, smoothed
down her dress, and made a third try, voice careful and stately. “I know we do not get along, myself and your
people. Yet even so, were it simply that my son had troubles only you could heal, I’d parade you gladly
through the halls of the palace if that were what it took.”
Her soft, ruby red mouth hardened with determination; her eyes glimmered with the fierce love of a mother.
She looked so beautiful, I melted inside. Goddess curse me for a bleeding heart.
“His sleep is full of nightmares and every day it eats at his health more and more. My top physician believes it
the work of a curse, a foul thing indeed. Whoever cast this thing on my son, I believe he dwells here still. If
I’d made it known I called you here…”
“The culprit might well flee,” I finished for her, comprehension dawning. “And if I can’t chase away the curse,
the one who cast it may be the only one who can.”
The queen nodded. “So you see, I meant you no insult. I need your help too dearly.”
“Your Majesty, I cannot promise you anything. My specialty is nightmares and ill memories, not curses.”
“But you will try?”
“I will try,” I said with a sigh. “And the prince? I’d like to see him, to get some notion how this curse infects
him.”
Here the Queen hesitated at last. Her eyes dropped, her confidence faltered. A suspicion settled in the pit of
my stomach. No doubt she would have raised her son to feel about Dream Courtesans the same way she
herself did. Of course, even if the Prince did not find whores loathsome, my kind were a different story. Even
those who cared little whether a woman—or man—chose to sell her—or his—body were often disturbed by
our _other_ abilities.
“Your Majesty…”
“Yiviren has refused. But he is still my son and he shall do as I—”
“I cannot,” I said, cutting her off. “Forgive me, but I simply can’t.”
“You must!” The queen took several long, urgent strides towards me. “It’s simply that the nightmares have
left him tired, unable to see straight.” When I continued shaking my head, she became angry. “He is your
Prince and future king, and _I_ am your Queen. You dare refuse me?”
“Yes. We do not practice without consent, you know that.”
“Practice?” the queen sputtered. “You’re a whore, not a priestess. You will do as I say!”
Desperation cracked her voice. For a moment I stood there, wavering between right and wrong. I pretended
not to see the tears shimmering unshed in her eyes, for her sake and my own; if I acknowledged them, I
wouldn’t be able to resist helping her. And I must resist. We swore an oath, all of us, before the Nameless
One: We did not rape the mind, no more than we would rape the body. That was why I had to turn away,
had to set my feet on the spiraling garden path and leave her behind.
I heard her skirts swish as she followed me the first few steps. She did not follow me all the way, but for a
moment I thought she would call the guards down on me—then I remembered she wanted no one to know of
my presence here. No wonder the guards had paid as much attention to me as they would to air. As far as
they were concerned, I had never been there.
The lady’s maid met me partway through the garden. She took one look at my face and her own crumpled,
her lower lip scrunching as tears streamed down her cheeks. I didn’t know what to say, so I gave her
wayward curl of hair a tug, hoping to make her smile. But it’s a hard thing, to make another smile when you
cannot yourself.
~ * ~
I returned late to the bordello, a cloth bag swinging from my hand. In an attempt to console myself—and wipe
the image of the Queen’s pleading eyes from my mind—I had hied myself off for some shopping. In most of
Endara the shops closed for the night, but all along the street called The Dreamer’s Way they opened only
after dark. Many of our clients were unnerved by—or downright terrified of—the dark, and so more often than
not we found ourselves busiest during the daylight hours.
I passed through the darkened lobby and headed up the stairs, clutching the bag and the two novels within
to my chest. The faint sounds of a Courtesan at work reached my ears; not all clients preferred to come by
day. I crept past Ereny’s door, tiptoed a short way down the corridor, and slipped inside my own room.
To my shock I found it fully lit, my delicate Shemian glass lamps ablaze, my room itself invaded by a stranger.
Oh, what a stranger. Rarely had I seen a creature more beautiful and tragic. He sat on my bed, though he
leapt immediately to his feet when I entered. The light illumined a handsome face drawn with exhaustion and
eyes like deep green emeralds flecked with prisms of darkest blue. Amid the locks of his russet hair, the glow
suffused strands with a coppery sheen. Though lack of sleep had left bruises beneath his eyes, I still felt a
thrill to look upon him.
I tried to settle my racing heart. Law forbade me from carrying weapons on the palace grounds, so I had
nothing on my person with which to defend myself. A knife sat hidden behind a vase on the table just inside
my door, though; I reached for that, moving slowly so as not to give my intentions away.
“Please, mistress.” He held out his hands, displaying empty palms. His fingers, so long and slender, trembled
with exhaustion. “I mean you no harm, truly. I—I do not wish to impose upon you, but I’m out of choices.”
“How did you get in here?”
“A few well-wrought lies,” he admitted, shamefaced.
I eyed him suspiciously. Under guise of setting my bag down on the table, I made a quicker reach for the
knife. In all my years at the bordello, never had I known Kestin to be swayed by lies, no matter how sweet
the honey they were dipped in. But how, whispered a voice at the back of my mind, would he have gotten past
Kestin’s security to sneak inside, bone weary as he is? I hesitated, the knife’s cool brass hilt beneath my
fingertips, perilously uncertain for a second time that night.
“Your name is Aeala, isn’t it?” my uninvited guest asked. He dropped back onto my bed, as if his legs simply
could not support his weight any longer. “There’s no need for the knife, Mistress Aeala. I’ll leave if you wish.
You may even call for security. I won’t fight. I just…” He reached into the shabby pouch at his hip and pulled
out a small handful of copper coins that jangled as his hand shook. “I don’t know what to do.”
I approached him cautiously, knife in hand. Now that I took the time to look, I noted the shabby state of his
clothing. His once-white linen shirt hung loose on his diminished frame, the hems unraveled and threadbare.
The worn leather of his boots wrinkled and cracked like the skin of an aged farmer. I reached out and took
the coins from his callused palm, setting them and the knife down on my nightstand. My guest made no move,
except for the steady trembling of his limbs.
I cupped his face in my hands. Rough stubble brushed my skin, tickling as I lifted his head. His eyes swirled
with questions, all of them lost in a sea of fatigue. He warmed beneath my touch, heat and color rising back
to his cheeks. I felt many things from that touch, and with the special instinct only Dream Courtesans had, I
knew him to be no threat. Smiling, I let my hands fall and sat on the bed next to him.
“You’re afraid of me.”
He managed a wobbly smile. “I’m afraid of what you’re capable of. You yourself are, I confess, less
intimidating than I had anticipated.”
I let out a laugh, a low, throaty purr more for his benefit than mine. His eyes brightened with interest. “I’m
quite human, I assure you,” I told him, placing my wrist against his fingertips so he could feel my pulse. “Have
you a name, stranger?”
“I—I’m called Vire. Mistress, how—how does this…”
“Aeala,” I corrected gently. I did not tell him his paltry sum couldn’t cover my fee; had he no coin at all, I still
could not turn him away.
“Is it truly necessary for us to—that is—why…?”
“We don’t know,” I answered quietly, trying to soothe his nerves. “We know only that intimate contact is
required; the more intimate, the better the results.”
Some few scholars studied Dream Courtesans, trying to understand why our abilities worked as they did. I
could explain it to him further if he wished, but it seemed he’d become more intrigued by me than by my
words. He swayed, almost too tired to sit up, and leaned closer, his tawny eyelashes fluttering as he inhaled
the scent of lavender from my skin. I stroked my fingers through that lovely hair. Not adverse to courtesans,
then—very much not—but merely frightened of what a Dream Courtesan could do. He was not the first to
enjoy a good whore but still be afraid of us.
Vire murmured something incoherent. Heavy with sympathy and worry for my new client, I helped him lay
down on the bed. His gaze followed me, heavy-lidded, as I stood and tugged at the laces of my dress. I could
reach them enough to unlace them on my own, fortunately. I let the dress slide down my skin, a rustling
waterfall of blue silk with lace petticoat foam, and as it pooled around my feet, I stood unflinching in the light.
He stared at me, his body stirring at the sight of mine. Oh, I’d been a scrawny little stick of a girl-child, true
enough, but womanhood had blessed me with a figure Kestin referred to as ‘lush’. As I settled on the bed,
Vire used what strength he had left to explore my curves for himself, running his hands appreciatively over
hips, breasts, and belly. I did much the same as I helped him remove his clothes, finding him not so
diminished as I first thought. I couldn’t help but sigh in pleasure, running my fingers over the fine planes of his
body.
I waited until we were both ready, until I felt his tension ease and ebb away beneath my touch. Then I
lowered my hips and let him sink into me. At the same time, I pressed my mouth to his and sank into him.
~ * ~
The dark and winding path into his soul led me deeper than I’d imagined it would.
It is not uncommon to go quite deep the first time with a new client, but even then, the depth is dependent
upon the injury. Most did not pull me so far down that I left my body completely behind. Only a few—like my
dear, sweet Laeri—ever needed me this entwined with their souls. I followed the path quickly, my nerves
singing with the power of the Nameless One, as they always did when someone needed me so.
The landscape I stepped out into filled me with shock, a sensation like freezing water in the belly on a too hot
day. Rolling hillocks stretched out all around me, every inch of land covered with long blades of dried grass.
What few trees that still stood were twisted, blackened things, hunched up over themselves like arthritic old
men, branches stripped bare. Not far from me a tower rose into the air, a bizarrely contorted mass of step-like
stones leading up, up, up…to a sky unlike anything I had seen before.
Purple-gray clouds stained the sky like a wife’s telltale bruises. Beyond them the clouds grew even darker,
painting the heavens black. All remained eerily still, hushed beneath that ashen veil, but in the distance
lightning danced, leaping from one ebony thunderhead to the next. I heard nothing, no crash of thunder, yet
the hair on my arms raised as if the lightning flashed directly above my head. Lightning of another sort lit
within me, the blaze of sudden realization: No ordinary nightmares could cause this.
A sound behind me made me whirl. I faced my newest client, glaring at him with all the force of my redhead’s
temper. “Your Highness, what is the meaning of this?”
He flinched. “Aeala, please.” He held his hands out in supplication, but did not try to deny his identity. “Don’t
look at me like that.”
Goddess, but I felt a fool. The prince himself! Though I had never seen him in person, I’d seen enough
portraits that I should have recognized him. Especially with his eyes and mouth, so very like his mother’s. But
to show up in my room looking like a down on his luck farmer, and with hands like that…those were not the
hands of a pampered nobleman. They were the hands of a man who did his own work, groomed and saddled
his own horse, gutted his own hunting trophies.
“My mother told me you refused to help without my consent,” the Prince went on determinedly. “I thought—I
thought perhaps I should reconsider my decision.”
“And you couldn’t come to me in honesty, as your own true self?”
“No. Certainly my mother already explained that to you.”
I rocked back on my heels, feeling twice the fool. Of course he had to come disguised, for the same reasons
the Queen had summoned me for so clandestine a meeting. I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose to chase
away an oncoming headache. No time for headaches now. Though I’d have to have a little tête-à-tête with
Kestin later. He would have recognized the Prince, surely. While His Highness’ royal secret could be in no safer
hands, it irked me that Kestin hadn’t seen fit to give me some kind of warning.
I raised my head to find the Prince watching me, his eyes full of concern and uncertainty, and perhaps a little
hope. A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth, though I tried to will it away. I couldn’t bring myself to
remain angry; always a sucker for a pretty face, as I said.
“Very well, Your Highness,” I said at last. “Let’s continue, shall we?”
“Vire, please,” he corrected me, relief evident in his features, easing the lines of tension from his lovely face.
“I…what is this place?’
“Your soul.”
“I thought—that is, aren’t we, um…?”
I gave him a wicked, sidelong smile. “Oh, we are.”
“But…”
“If you should come to me again,” I said, winding my arm through his and urging him forward, “it will not be
like this. This is, well, I suppose you might call it a trance. The curse is strong enough that it is necessary.
However,” and here I turned to face him, walking backwards, my wicked smile turning into a broad grin, “if
you’d like to stay afterwards, get the full experience, you’re more than welcome.”
He smiled back, but my attention was already elsewhere. All humor faded as I took in movement far beyond
us. Something raced through the hills, something large moving beneath the surface. It tore a long furrow
through the battered, dead grass, churning up night-dark soil. The Prince noticed the look on my face and
glanced back.
“We have to get off the ground,” I said, fear choking my voice to a whisper. “Now.”
Vire didn’t argue. What color was left in his face drained away at the sight of the thing coming towards us. I
grabbed his hand and we ran, aiming for the twisted tower I had seen earlier.
Above us the sky cracked open like a nut, split apart by a brilliant flash of lightning. Something spilled from
between the clouds, oozing out in a thick, greasy coil. This time I heard the thunder, thunder that rattled me
right down to the bone. I struggled to breathe, with my heart in my throat and the miasma clotting the air.
Yet still I ran, pouring my strength into my legs and keeping pace with the Prince. Here, I was as much a
warrior as he.
I pushed him on ahead of me, shoving him towards the first step of the tower. The thing beneath the earth
was close on our heels now, so close I felt the clods of dirt it sent up stinging the backs of my legs. Vire
hesitated at the foot of the step until I shouted at him to go. He scrambled up easily but I, smaller than him
by a head and more, had to make a desperate leap. As my fingers curled around the edge of the black stone,
something grabbed me. I shrieked as cold, clammy hands grasped my legs and pulled.
Only Vire’s hold on my arms kept me from falling to the horror behind me. I twisted around to face it,
determined not to lose my nerve. Long and fat like a worm, it was, but not a worm; rather a writhing mass of
human limbs and heads, jumbled and contorted as though sewn together by a mad man. Its blue-gray flesh—
the color of a body too long in the water—erupted with mucous pustules. Alarmed though I was, I refused to
be cowed. I kicked fiercely, catching the chin of the head nearest me. The vile thing shuddered, a ripple
running along its form, but it did not let go.
“Aeala!”
“Hold tight, Vire,” I warned him, wriggling one arm free of his grasp. “Don’t let go.”
He nodded, face grim and pale. I dropped my free hand towards the grotesquerie, palm down, fingers
splayed. It reached for me, scrabbling at my arm with slimy fingers. I called the power of the Nameless One to
my fingertips. Bright light, as white as sun on snow, poured forth from my palm, washing over the creature.
Shrieking, it released me and retreated into the ground, leaving behind only its grating screams.
Vire pulled me the rest of the way up. I didn’t give him time to ask questions, just pushed him on to the next
step. We clambered up side by side, breath harsh in throat and lungs. From time to time I glanced up, aware
of the vaporous corruption pouring down from the crack in the sky.
The stairs, though they corkscrewed perilously, grew smaller and smaller. I scrambled up ahead of the Prince,
racing against time, against the thing coming down from the sky. This is my domain, I thought, teeth bared in
a snarl, as I slid on my knees across the tower’s top platform. I lurched to my feet, already calling on the
power of my goddess. Curse, nightmare, I didn’t care what. Nothing would beat me on the turf I knew best.
A globe of luminescence flared to life between my palms. I stood to face the roiling miasma crawling down
from the sky. It rolled and shifted, forming shapes I couldn’t identify, though I heard Vire suck in a startled
breath behind me. Good. If something gave him a hint of who had done this, all the better.
The thing above us curled itself up, rearing back to strike. I let the goddess’ power grow stronger, larger, the
globe continuing to expand. As the nightmare bore down on us, I reached out for it, using my light not to
ward it away but to draw it in. It fought, jerking and bucking like a wild thing. Pain—physical and yet not—
clawed into me, sinking hooks into my belly, into my limbs. I gritted my teeth, pulling as hard as I could,
ignoring the pain and drawing my foe slowly, but inevitably, to me.
A high and hollow shriek went up as the dark blot came in contact with my globe. The ululation rang in my
ears like the clarions of the underworld, sending a chill straight to the marrow of my bones. I ignored it all and
pulled, pulled, pouring all my energy into the fight. It sapped me, sucking me dry as no foe had before, yet it
could not escape. And as I drew it into the power of the goddess, so too came the damage it had wrought.
Slowly the shadow lifted from the vista of the prince’s soul. As it peeled away, it left behind verdant hills and
strong oak trees rich with foliage. The blackness drained from the stone beneath our feet, dripping away like
ink to leave rock as pristine and white as dove feathers. As the last of the darkness and rot disappeared
within my globe, the howl went with it, fading to a whisper and then to silence. All around us the air filled with
the roar of rushing water, as a waterfall burst from the rock and flowed down from the tower, quickly
becoming a silver ribbon of stream across the landscape.
The globe shrank back to a manageable size, black smoke swirling beneath its pearly light. Heady with relief,
with exhaustion, I wobbled and would have fallen if Vire hadn’t caught me. As he lowered me to the ground, I
finally thought about what I’d just done. Goddess save me, had I been a second slower, a mite less stubborn,
the nightmare could have devoured both our souls. The thought set me to trembling; I didn’t wish to know
who could create such a thing.
“Aeala!”
“I am fine, my prince,” I assured Vire, though I did not _feel_ fine. “I struck before it could do us real harm.”
“That was…” He cradled me in his lap, gazing at me in amazement. Already the haunted look began to fade
from his eyes. “How did you—no, forget I brought it up. But Aeala, I saw something, faces in that—that
darkness, and I think I know who—”
I used what strength I had to reach up and smother the words before they passed his lips. “I am a Dream
Courtesan. We do not involve ourselves in politics.” Another might be insatiably curious to know, but not I. I
was satisfied to wait until the gossip reached my ears, as it no doubt would by sometime next evening.
“Very well,” Vire said, smiling at me. “You know, you’re not at all what I expected.”
And here I managed a smile of my own, though weak. “There is no need for lines, my Prince. You’re already in
my bed.”
I closed my eyes, enjoying the richness of his laughter. We were rarely what anyone expected us to be, we
Dream Courtesans. Perhaps the royal family of Traia might have a kinder opinion of us now. Of a certainty,
their prince did. Kestin will be pleased, I thought, releasing my grip on Vire’s soul. He loves a successful venture.
Which, to venture a guess, was only because Kestin had never experienced the nauseating wrench of being
pulled from the dream world and back into reality.
~ * ~
Murmurs woke me from my sleep. I rolled over, sorely tempted to pull the covers over my head. Yet I resisted,
wishing to hear the conversation. I already recognized the voices: Vire and Kestin. Would they agree to
another time? Would the Prince want to return?
Most did. The things we fought against—nightmares, bad memories, stress—rarely disappeared easily.
Though even if vanquishing his curse cured his nightmares, I hoped the Prince would want to return. All my
focus, all my energy, had gone into destroying the curse and there had been none left afterward with which
to enjoy the Prince’s company. Beauty like that was meant to be savored. Oh, let the goddess be kind…
“I will be sending my personal physician down later to check on her,” the Prince said, keeping his voice low.
“Until then, I want you to keep an eye on her. She’s exhausted.”
“I always keep an eye on my own, Your Highness,” Kestin responded, though he did not sound offended. “All
is well with you, then?”
“As well as can be expected. She is—a miracle. I feel lighter. I can feel that it’s gone…”
Kestin chuckled. “Careful, Your Highness. If she hears you, it might go to her head.”
From the warmth and comfort of my blankets, I made a rather unladylike sound in Kestin’s direction, revealing
my waking state. No one ever said a Dream Courtesan must always act her age.
The soft whisper of footsteps crossing my floor. All the Shemian lamps had gone out, so I could see little, but I
heard Vire, knew it to be him who approached my bed. Fingertips callused but gentle stroked my cheek,
brushing away a stray curling strand of red hair. I smelled the faint, spicy soap I kept in my washroom as the
prince bent down and kissed me tenderly. I sighed, going boneless beneath that mouth.
His breath tickled my ear as he whispered a heartfelt, “Thank you.”
No other words, no names, nothing that might try to draw me into the intrigues of the court. Relieved, I
bundled up tighter in my soft fur blankets, cocooning myself. Dream Courtesans did not intrigue; we had not
the time to waste.
As Kestin and Vire left the room, I heard the Prince say, “Has she time later this week?”
I huddled down beneath the furs, waiting until the door closed. And then, in the privacy of my own room—I
freely admit this—I buried my face against the pillow and squealed like a girl-child, kicking my feet in
triumphant joy. Exhaustion, perhaps? Hysteria? Perhaps not. Though the years wore on, I had yet to meet an
age in which my own impish nature has diminished. A streak of playfulness is not uncommon in a Dream
Courtesan. We are, after all, many things.
In the main, we are lovers and healers. We chase the nightmares from the minds of those worn and weary
from them. We blunt the sharpest edges of our clients’ bad memories, drowning the thorns in velvet-soft rose
petals. We ease the tension from necks and shoulders, sometimes with our bodies, sometimes with our
mouths, sometimes with only our hands. At times, we even subdue a curse or two.
We are the Dream Courtesans of Traia.
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B.T. Sønderby is an American woman living in Sweden with her Danish husband and their cute but
none-too-bright Scottish Fold/Turkish Angora mix cat. This only occasionally causes household World
Wars.
She considers herself a genre writer. In fact, she might love genres a bit too much, and it would
probably be easier to list the ones she hasn't attempted rather than the ones she has. Some of these
attempts can be found on her blog The Airplane Experiment.
none-too-bright Scottish Fold/Turkish Angora mix cat. This only occasionally causes household World
Wars.
She considers herself a genre writer. In fact, she might love genres a bit too much, and it would
probably be easier to list the ones she hasn't attempted rather than the ones she has. Some of these
attempts can be found on her blog The Airplane Experiment.