On the third night following the wolf, the dream occurred.
Unlike the others, which included glimpses of gold thrones and velvet curtains, half-recalled names, and lullabies sung in an unfamiliar language, this one was different.
This one was acute. Lucid.
Charlotte was in the war room of the old palace. Dust hovered in the morning light as though it were frozen. The map table was empty—no armies or territories. Only one item is lying on its surface:
A crown.
Not her.
Eladin's.
Next to it is a carved figurine of a girl with a braid twisted around her head like a halo. She recognized it right away. She was it. The way she had looked prior to the tea. Prior to the scream that remained in Mira's mouth forever.
From the doorway came a voice.
"She warned me not to weep."
Charlotte spun around.
Elias remained there, silver at his temples, aged and weary. His armor was adorned with a mourning black sash.
"She stated that the world would perceive her as weak if I cried."
He entered the illumination.
"Yet I wept all the same. So did everyone else.
Mira stood behind him with Eladin, who had matured into the prince he was meant to be, no longer a youngster. He regarded her with reverence in the dream, just as he had when she had tucked him in after a night of terror. Love. Fear of losing.
The gap in silence between them shattered.
"Charlotte," Eladin murmured. "I gave the city your name. "It was grief that made it stand, even though I constructed it with stone."
With hot tears on her cheeks, she whispered, "I know," in reply.
The dream started to disappear.
However, Elias spoke again first.
"They'll find you," he whispered. "Whether you're ready or not."
Charlotte sat up in her straw bed, her breath held in her throat.
The little space in the countryside cottage was unchanged. Finn was still curled up like a fox kit under the tattered blanket beside her, fast asleep. But something had shifted in the atmosphere.
Now, the glass that separated the worlds was thinner.
And she was aware of it.
In the manner that the trees murmured secrets they shouldn't have known.
In how the wolf had lowered its head in front of her.
The dream occurred three nights after the wolf, and Finn started sketching maps of cities he could never recall in the ground.
Unlike the rest, which included whispers of golden thrones and velvet curtains, half-recalled names, and lullabies sung in a strange language, this one was different.
It was sharp and clear.
Charlotte was in the battle room of the historic palace. Dust seemed to be frozen in the morning light. The map table was empty—no armies or territories. Only one thing is lying on its surface:
A crown.
Not her.
Eladin's.
A halo-like braid envelops the head of the girl in the etched figurine beside it. She recognized it right away. She was the one. The way she had looked prior to the tea. prior to the scream that escaped Mira's lips.
From the doorway came a voice.
"She advised me not to weep."
Charlotte made a turn.
Elias stood there, older and more tired, with silver at his temples. His armor was adorned with a mourning black sash.
"She stated that the world would perceive her as weak if I cried."
He moved into the light.
"Nevertheless, I sobbed." We all did.
Mira stood behind him with Eladin, who had matured into the crown prince rather than a boy. In the dream, he regarded her with reverence, the same look he used to have when she tucked him in after a night of sleeplessness. Love. The fear of losing someone.
The gap between them shattered.
"Charlotte," Eladin murmured. "I gave the city your name. "It was grief that made it stand, though I constructed it of stone."
With hot tears on her cheeks, she whispered, "I know," back.
The dream started to vanish.
But before Elias spoke again.
"They'll find you," he said softly. "And they'll be ready or not."
Charlotte gasped and sat up in her straw bed.
The small space in the village cottage was unchanged. Finn was still curled up like a fox kit beneath the tattered blanket beside her, fast asleep. Yet, something had changed in the air.
Now the glass that separated the worlds was thinner.
And she could sense it.
In the way that the trees murmured secrets they shouldn't have known.
In the way the wolf had lowered its head in front of her.
in how Finn started sketching city maps in the ground that he couldn't possibly recall.