20 As If You Should Be Kissed (1/2)

Isilla turned the page, engrossed in the book that Mattin had given her. It had no real cover, the front featured a simple illustration of flower and a sword, the threads of the binding exposed on the spine. Still, the words made up for it. Right away Isilla found herself taken with the story of the woman on the pages.

A knock at her door broke her from her focus and she frowned, pushing the book under her pillows to hide it.

Who is that, the maids wouldn't knock, she thought, sliding from her bed. Ilun lifted his head, his ears perked up at the sound but he kept his body on the bed, letting her walk to the door alone.

She turned the knob and pulled it open, revealing Arren's tall form in the doorway, clad in a plain white shirt and dark pants.

He dipped his head, a slight bow as greeting. ”You left me a note and asked that I come see you when I had some time. So I have, as you requested.”

She smiled sheepishly and pointed to her sitting room, indicating that they should meet out there.

He glanced back at the small space. ”You want to sit on your couch with me? That seems very, ah, intimate,” he said, a hint of laughter in his deep voice.

She jumped realizing her mistake and covered her mouth for a moment before stepping away from the door and inviting him into the bedroom.

I'm being silly, she thought as she closed the door and he took a seat on her dressing stool, his shadows pooling around his feet. He's been in here before.

She retrieved her book from the table where she took her meals and sat on the edge of the bed, closest to where he sat so that he could see her writing.

Thank you for coming, she wrote in large script so that would be easier to see over the distance.

”It is no matter. Are you feeling better?” he asked slowly, eyeing her.

She nodded, I feel fine.

”And has the food been sufficient to fill your beast?”

You've ordered him to be fed? she wrote.

He lifted a finger, a tendril of shadow reaching for Ilun on the bed. Ilun sniffed at it as it poked him, running along his side through his fur for a moment before Arren called it back. ”Of course, I don't want it to begin gnawing on your maids. It feels strange, half familiar but alien to my magic. How does he feel to you?”

Surprised by the question she sat with her pen hovering over the page. I don't know, she wrote. Like anything I've ever touched in the Veil. I don't have any magic to compare it to, she motioned for Ilun to put his head on her lap while Arren read. The bed creaked as the animal moved, wrapping himself around her body.

Arren lifted an eyebrow. ”You really have no magic? None at all?”

She shook her head. Anyone like me can't use magic, not even a little. We say it's because that part of us never wakes up so we can never really sleep, so we never dream, she wrote.

”What about when you're sleeping, can you use magic then?” he asked curiously, his eyes focused. The feather touch of his shadows tickled her feet as they reached for her from the floor. She paid it no mind.

I can make things in dreams but it's not the same. They're just dreams, imagination, she wrote.

”Even that?” he asked pointing at Ilun.

She shrugged, she didn't have an answer for him.

”I've read about you, well, people like you. Nothing mentioned creating anything like that animal. I think that you're underestimating yourself.”

You called it a parlor trick, she wrote.

”That,” he said slowly leaning back in his seat, ”Was for the benefit of the court. I think you can do more, that you do more than you realize. Your cheek for example. There was a bruise, and now there is nothing at all.”

I heal quickly, she wrote.

”That is beyond quick healing, Isilla. That is magic. The body does not heal a bruise in an afternoon. There seems to be more to you than even you know. I am trying to understand it before you cause too much trouble.”

She frowned, There's nothing to understand. I just make dreams better, that's it.

”You take away nightmares,” he said slowly.

She nodded, a question on her face.

”I read about it. The book talked about people like you, half remembered, traveling from dream to dream reshaping them to your will,” he held out his hand, palm out, drawing shadows into a swirling sphere in the center. ”You don't think that would be a problem for someone like me?”