Dream of Kings

By Sharon Hinck

The Future Never Sleeps

 

In the glacial nation of Norgard, Jolan the dream teller serves every seeker, whether peasant or high lord. Though she loves using her gift, she struggles to navigate the corrupt and dangerous court and the jealousies of the Guildagard.

 

When an old man's nightmare imparts a dire warning, Jolan realizes her entire nation is in danger. But before she can sound the alarm, she is betrayed by the guilds and sold into slavery in a rival kingdom far to the south. As a slave in a foreign land, at first Jolan can't see beyond her singular focus: return home to warn Norgard of the coming calamity. After facing new dangers, making new friends, and forgiving old wrongs, she must fulfill the purposes the Provider has set before her.

 

Only then can she face a decision that could cost her the man she loves, her calling, and her freedom—all to save a people who abandoned her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Enclave Publishing
• Release date: Oct 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9798886050110

Book preview

Chapter 1

The dream teller’s calling is a lonely one. You must live a life of service to those who seek your help. Never bend to the temptation to use the calling for your own benefit.

– The Archives of Gifts, Chapter 10, page 315

My dreams had whispered to me all my life, but lately they were shouting—shouting something urgent that I couldn’t discern.

I pushed aside the mist of sleep, shaken by my latest dream. My fingers fumbled for a quill and inkwell on the desk beside my bed. By the time I smoothed the paper and scribbled the first words, images were fading like morning frost on a windowpane. Remember. Hand trembling, I coaxed a mental picture from the cloud in my mind. My handwriting quavered as I penned the words. Crown. Silver. Ruby. Thin circlet. Shimmering. What could it mean?

After I finished writing each detail, I blotted the page and added it to a growing stack. When I riffled through the notes collected over the past weeks, cold sweat beaded on my skin. Many in the palace court came to me for my gift, and my answers soothed, counseled, and encouraged. But this was different. These dreams, with their strong connotations of power and purpose, troubled my very soul. I had always struggled to fit in with the guilds, to find a sense of belonging. If anyone found out about these portents, the precarious acceptance I had gained would shatter.

I glared up at my portrait hanging over the desk. A gift from the high lord for my services, the brushstrokes were overly flattering. The artist had widened my eyes instead of showing the way one eyelid drooped—a relic of a childhood illness. No freckles marred the skin on this two-dimensional version of Jolan the Dream Teller, and even my snub nose had been drawn longer and more regal. After all my years dedicated to revealing truth, I had no patience with the falsehood of the portrayal. My role as a dream teller didn’t merit insincere adoration. Yes, I lived in a wing of the palace, but I would always see myself as a servant—to the high lord, the courtiers, and to the humblest villager. I’d seen what could happen to a dream teller who forgot that truth.

My small wooden desk mocked my effort at humility. Few trees grew in our northern land, and those were stunted and precious. No farmer or merchant would have such a luxury. They crafted furniture from woven reeds or carved stone. I could tell myself I was a servant. I could see the danger of power and turn from it. Yet my comfortable chamber, the painting, and the wood furnishings all accused me.

A timid knock sounded at the chamber door.

Enter. My voice croaked, heavy with sleep.

The hinges creaked and wood groaned. Cool air wafted from the hallway, ushering in my apprentice Beja. A quilted coat hid her slim figure, and fingerless gloves swathed her hands, allowing her to work while keeping warm in the palace’s drafty rooms. She carried a large basket tied with a festive bow.

My lady, Cimeran sent this gift, and he asked if you would join him for luncheon today in the sunroom.

I smiled and lifted items from the basket: a miniature of the palace garden painted on a copper pendant, a soft woolen scarf, and one perfect elemberry. Where on earth did he find someone who could grow elemberry in midwinter?

So I should tell him yes about luncheon? Her gaze darted to the lush yellow berry in my palm, and she licked her lips.

Of course. And here, I’ll share this with you. I carefully broke the berry and passed half to Beja. Appreciative silence ruled while we savored the spicy-sweet flavor. Beja looked so young, as did all the new dream tellers. Not that I was much older. In my late twenties, I’d likely seen less than a fifth of my life. We Norgardians were strong and long-lived. Yet there were days that cold seeped into my bones, the constant intrigue and jostling for position wearied my heart, and the emotionally challenging work made me feel ancient. I couldn’t remember being as fresh and innocent as the apprentices in our guild.

I pulled out a simple dress in dappled green wool. What’s on the schedule today?

Other than lunch with Cimeran? Beja winked, and I felt a blush warm my cheeks. Why did everyone in the court have to be so interested in our relationship? The Guildagard meets today, so the head dream teller asked you to meet with some of his seekers while he’s busy there.

While she reminded me of the day’s other appointments, Beja helped me into the dress, then plaited my hair, coiling it atop my head. I was grateful for the nut-brown color of my braids, which suited my desire to stay in the background. I was also glad of the matching overcoat that protected me from the constant winter chill. The central rooms of the palace were kept cozy with red-veined colith stones burning in the hearths. But colith was expensive, so the outer wings of the various guilds used as little as possible. The midwinter cold seeped through every crevice.

You could at least wear the pendant that Cimeran sent you. Beja tucked one last strand of my hair in place.

I shook my head. I’ll wear it for luncheon, but not for my morning sessions.

She rolled her eyes. I know, I know. The dreams deserve all the focus. But I still think it wouldn’t hurt for a dream teller to enjoy some frippery. She tugged the collar of her simple tan apprentice’s uniform.

Poor girl. When her gift was discovered, she had arrived at the palace with stars in her eyes and promptly been assigned to me—the least flamboyant dream teller in the guild. The joy comes in helping each person. That’s all I need. Did I still believe that despite the emptiness that ached like a hollow carved in the snow by a pressing wind? I firmed my shoulders. You’ll understand soon. In fact, I was thinking tomorrow might be a good time for you to tell the dreams of one of the visitors. Let’s look at the schedule together.

She lit up like the hundred-candle chandelier in the high lord’s banquet hall. Together we pored over the names and needs on our list. Am I truly ready? Her nerves flickered in and out like those same candle flames in a draft. Had I ever been that young? That eager?

Don’t worry. I’ll sit beside you. But I’ll only speak if you signal that you want help. You can do this.

Together we hurried to the hall to enjoy a quick breakfast. I left my troubling stack of notes—and my troubling dreams—behind in my chamber, my spirits buoyed by Cimeran’s gifts and Beja’s excitement.

After breakfast, an apprentice from the physician’s guild skulked over and beckoned Beja away. With a word of apology, she followed him out of earshot. Eyes darting, hands gesturing, he conveyed something that he obviously thought was important.

To be polite, I turned my gaze away from their earnest conversation and studied the view outside the dining hall’s window. Brilliant ice spires of violet and blue rose to the sky on Palace Lake, shaped by the pulling wind. As a child, I used to stretch a blanket overhead on days when the pulling wind was strong, screaming with glee as it tugged me airborne. In the winter, those same pulling winds drew moisture upward, creating a magical landscape so vibrant it hurt the eyes. Surely this beauty was a hint of the Provider’s own land, the home where we would one day meet Him. I trembled at the thought. What if I didn’t fit in there either?

Beja slid onto the bench beside me.

What was that about? I rubbed my eyes and blinked a few times to bring her into focus after staring at the sun-glistened spires.

Gorith fancies himself a spy, and he wants to trade information about our guilds. I’m surprised someone like him was granted the gift of healing touch. I can’t imagine he’s a great addition to the physician guild. I told him to go soak his head.

Her indignation made me chuckle. You’re wise to stand firm against sharing gossip. I took a last sip from my mug of hot quoca. The rich, creamy drink made the cold days of winter bearable.

But he says information is power.

I set down my mug with a thump. Why did everyone chase power? Faithfulness and loyalty are the true powers. They strengthen the individual and the whole community.

He says secrets bring influence, and that’s why the dream tellers are dangerous.

Dangerous? I bristled. We aren’t the only ones who learn people’s secrets. I’d think the physician guild learns many private things. For that matter, even the builders know the details of a person’s home. Focus on your calling and hold your own counsel, and you won’t go wrong.

Beja nodded. I won’t forget. But now I’m late for the apprentice meeting.

She hurried away, and I followed more slowly. So far she’d withstood the temptations of palace intrigue. Would I be able to keep her safe? Or would she stop listening to my counsel? The possibility made my breakfast quoca churn in my stomach.

The quiet room where I met with seekers usually restored my calm. On the other side of the windowpanes, the latest snowstorm swirled, obscuring the sparkling spires in the distance. Though goose down lined my coat, the view made me shiver. I set a warming bowl on the low table between the two chairs and lit the colith fragments within. Amber light glowed from the stones, releasing a subtle spicy and smoky scent and gentle heat into the room—a room with no adornments on the walls, no images to distract from the sharing of dreams. I drew some calming breaths and waited for the first seeker.

Whenever someone in Norgard awoke troubled or fearful, they were welcome to come to us for help. If they had recurring unsettledness, it was usually a sign to schedule an appointment with a dream teller as soon as possible. Almost no one in our land remembered their dreams; fewer still could coax the meaning from them. Some even traveled from distant villages since few had a local dream teller. There were days I grew wistful for a simple village life. But the guild had labeled me as one of the most skilled dream tellers, entrapping me at the palace with a level of responsibility I didn’t want.

Provider, reveal their need, I recited the rote prayer. Bring them understanding. You alone know all things. I was tempted to ask Him about my own troubling dreams, but the door opened before I could.

A young woman tiptoed in, bundled in a heavy shawl. She scanned the room nervously, then pulled a chair close to the glowing bowl of colith stones without meeting my eyes.

How can I help? Even though I kept my voice gentle, she startled at my words. Clearly she hadn’t sought a dream teller’s aid before. Don’t be afraid. Sometimes the Provider sends us a dream that—

That’s just it. Her chin jerked upward, revealing eyes glazed with unshed tears. I only remember one image, but it was horrible. Why would He send . . . She bit off a sob.

I longed to lift away her pain, her fear. I’m sorry your dream disturbed you. Sometimes when we speak of what we saw, the images lose their power to frighten us. Reassurance was an important part of what we offered, and patience was a key tool. I silently waited for the young woman to think through her memories. As she did, I closed my eyes. Stark images played across my mind. An elk stamped and frothed, then charged across a frozen lake. Ice cracked, fractured, and the creature floundered then sank into the bitter depths.

I opened my eyes. Tell me how you felt when the elk disappeared.

Her eyes widened, snowy white rimming her irises. Yes! I remember now. It was an elk. You saw it? They said . . . but I didn’t believe . . . how did you . . .

I took her hand. Dreams can be confusing and frightening. Some of my own have troubled me. I bit my lip, wishing I hadn’t voiced that last thought. We were supposed to focus purely on the person we were serving.

It’s troubled me night after night, even when I didn’t remember what I saw. I don’t know what it means. Will someone I love fall through the ice? Is it an omen of death? She ran out of breath and tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders, desperation shadowing her eyes.

When did the dreams begin?

The concrete question calmed her. A few weeks ago.

Did anything change around that time?

Her brow furrowed. My husband began meeting with Norge. The tanner wants to enter a partnership and have him deliver pelts to the far north.

Has your husband had any dreams?

She shook her head, still frowning. He doesn’t dream.

That he knows of, I murmured. You are right to be concerned. Your dream is a warning of danger.

Her breathing turned shallow and rapid. Then . . . I mean, who? Can it be stopped?

I drew a slow inhalation, hoping to help her do the same. The Provider doesn’t send us dreams to distress us, but to remind us to look to Him. They sometimes warn, but if we heed the warning, they are not a vision of an unchangeable doom.

Unchangeable doom. The phrase from the chapters of guidelines for dream tellers crept through my mind with icy tentacles, and I recalled the stack of notes on my desk. I pushed that fear away.

Light from colith warmed the hope in the seeker’s eyes. What should I do?

Have you told your husband?

Her lashes dropped, hiding her eyes. I didn’t want to look foolish.

Will he listen?

She met my gaze. Yes. I believe he will.

I nodded. You have your answer. When he faces a frozen lake on his journey, he’ll know not to trust the ice.

She stood. Th-thank you. A friend in the village said you’d helped her, but I didn’t realize . . . how can I show you my thanks?

I walked her to the door. Our gifts are freely shared. I’m glad I could serve you.

As she left, I leaned against the bricks with a contented sigh. If only I could live in these moments all the time. Helping, serving, quietly useful, unencumbered by the intrigues of the court and the grappling for position that permeated these walls.

Beja poked her head into the open doorway. M’lady, the Guildagard is beginning in an hour. They require your presence.

Me? Only the guild leaders attended the Guildagard.

She lowered her voice, a quaver coloring her words. The head dream teller has taken ill. The physician fears poison.

Wind pelted ice against the panes of the room, and I was suddenly an elk, floundering as a lake’s surface crackled beneath me.

Chapter 2

Each guild is vital. All skills have value to the Norgard people—and perhaps beyond. Celebrate the calling of those in other guilds, so harmony will fill the nation.

– The Archives of Gifts, Chapter 1, page 6

The Guildagard was beginning, yet I still delayed outside the door, dread locking my legs. The common hall was tucked behind the throne room in the center of the palace. Each guild lived and worked in a separate wing, several limbs stretching out from the center. Several limbs that often flailed about doing their work with little regard for the others. The Guildagard had been designed to remedy that chaos, but from what Cimeran had told me, it had become a place for airing all the discord. I would rather brave a blizzard in my summer garb than enter.

However, avoiding the conflict wouldn’t solve anything. I stiffened my spine and reached for the door.

Wait! Beja ran toward me, a fistful of rolled parchments in hand. Other guild members insisted I give you these requests. They’ve been pestering me since word got out.

I unrolled one of the lists, the row of words adding weight to my already-tight shoulders. The Guildagard won’t let me address all these.

Beja leaned closer. This is a great chance for you to earn favors. If you handle this well, you could make a lot of friends within the guild.

And one misstep could make enemies for life. Which was why I preferred staying in the background. I could never keep everyone happy. The image of the crown from my dream flared through my mind. Had the dream augured this new opportunity? I didn’t want this sort of power.

I thrust the parchments back at Beja. I’m not the head of the guild. I can’t make these requests. Tell them that. Or tell them you didn’t catch me before the meeting began.

Beja nodded but couldn’t hide her disappointment. You’ll be fine.

Heat rose to my cheeks. An apprentice shouldn’t need to reassure her mentor. I should be the one assuaging her fears. Of course I will. My job is simply to listen and fill the seat.

I strode into the somber room, feigning confidence I lacked. Three stone tables formed a U shape, with today’s regent sitting in the gap and facing the tables. Massive curtains that helped hold out the cold were parted just enough to allow streaks of light throughout the room, bolstered by free-standing candelabras set around the space. I slid into the open spot between the representatives from the physicians and the minstrels, with a quick nod to others nearby.

I recognized a few faces, though my work tended to keep me cloistered in the dream tellers’ wing. The table across from my spot held the heads of the cleric, military, and philosopher guilds, while foragers, hunters, masons, and others sat at the table adjoining us. My gaze quickly found Cimeran. As always, my heartbeat quickened at the sight of him. His royal-blue tunic sported intricate embroidered elk, geese, bears, and rabbits. The padded vest spanning his broad shoulders was his only concession to the cold, the hunter guild’s insignia emblazoned on his chest. Sitting demurely at his side, his tundra lioness blinked slowly, unimpressed by the august occasion. The mason near him edged away but made no objection to her presence. No one would ask a hunter to leave his hunting partner outside. Those in the hunter guild each had the unique gift of bonding with an animal companion that aided their stalking of prey, and they were inseparable.

Cimeran’s eyes widened when he noticed me, but then he winked. As leader of the hunter guild, he exuded confidence and strength and was a head taller than those on either side of him. Unlike me, he didn’t fear power. It would be comforting to let him handle the court intrigue while I focused on telling dreams. I’d hesitated far too long already. At our luncheon I would let him know I was ready to move ahead with our marriage. I only hoped I wouldn’t make a fool of myself in front of him today.

Refreshments dotted the table, including pitchers of fermented elemberry and glass goblets. My mouth was so dry, I sipped from a crystal flute as I continued to take stock. Small flags with our emblems rested before each of us. During the years I had served in the palace, new factions within the guilds had formed, disbanded, combined. One thing remained constant: the squabbling.

A woman across from me all but sneered and nudged the man beside her, whispering something. His eyebrows lowered, and he stared at me with suspicion. Beside me, the head of the physician guild hissed, If you’re behind this, you’ll regret it.

Understanding dawned. She believed I would poison the head dream teller just so I could join this nightmare meeting? Of course I’m not—

Begin, the regent intoned, stifling a yawn.

I bit back my defense as several guild representatives grabbed their flags and planted them in the stand before them.

The regent pointed to a crimson flag embroidered with a silver spear. I didn’t recognize the emblem or the woman leaning back with her arms crossed. We have a new proposition for—

Identify yourself, the regent said with a sharp glare. He may have been bored with the proceedings, but he was making clear that he was in charge.

One eyebrow arched, although the woman’s arms stayed folded. Raka of the new security guild. We propose the dream teller guild be disbanded.

I drew a sharp breath. Disbanded? Opposition to our work had surfaced from time to time over the years, but nothing this severe. And who made up this new security guild? Guilds only included those with special gifts from the Provider. What gift did she have? Meanness? And what was the purpose of a security guild? The high lord’s soldiers had long kept Norgard secure from danger.

I planted my flag. The image of a mirror, stitched on the fabric, glistened as it moved. When the regent signaled permission to speak, I pushed back my chair and stood. I’m Jolan, here at the behest of the head dream teller who was taken ill. Our guild serves everyone in Norgard, including the high lord and lady. We see things that can warn of—

Exactly. You see things. Secret things. And what happens if one of the dream tellers has a loose tongue? Raka’s voice was oily as grease in a caribou stew.

A few chairs scraped. Around the tables, other guild members exchanged uneasy glances.

The representative of the cleric guild waved his flag and was recognized. An old man with a mustache that drooped past his chin like icicles, he turned a frosty gaze my direction. Indeed. We have long believed the dream tellers should be under the . . . care . . . of those who worship and teach about the Provider.

Tightness in my throat made it hard to speak, but I stood firm. Care? Or control?

A few members of the Guildagard gasped, but someone nearby chuckled.

Fists planted on the table, I leaned forward, searching for allies. Dream tellers never share the images revealed to them. Except—

Raka smiled. Except when you deem it vital.

She was twisting the truth. Yes, if Norgard is in imminent danger, or the high lord—

And you make that decision. You hold all that power.

Despite the cold room, sweat beaded under my braids. No. The power is in the hands of the Provider. He guides. He gifts people with dreams. He reveals their details to dream tellers. He conveys the meaning.

The tight smile that Raka directed toward me knotted my stomach. Yet one man of your guild told a mason that his dream indicated the best place to build a new tower.

Murmurs rose around the room. Everyone knew about the tower that had collapsed in a nearby village when the pressing winds of spring had weakened the soft earth. One mason had been injured, and a young dream teller had fled the guild in shame after his flawed interpretation.

A rare mistake. We’ve lengthened training time for new—

So you agree more oversight is beneficial.

That isn’t what—

And just this morning, your head dream teller was taken ill. Perhaps by an intentional plot. Apparently he couldn’t protect himself. What good are inaccurate dreams or ineffectual interpretations? Except to increase your influence over the high lord and our nation’s laws.

My face heated at these unjust arguments. We don’t focus on our own—

The regent sliced his hand in the air toward me, stopping my pleas.

The nearby mason waved his gray flag violently. We join the security guild in calling for the disbanding of the dream tellers.

More guilds chimed in, their representatives taking turns to speak. I sank onto my chair, listening to the arguments that held higher stakes than I wanted to be responsible for. What would the head dream teller say when he recovered if I allowed our whole guild to be disbanded? He should have chosen someone else. Provider, reveal Your path.

Cautiously, I scanned for images of recent dreams. Dream tellers couldn’t read minds—despite the fears some had of us. But at times remnants of dreams could uncover ill intent or dangerous ambitions. Today flares of color and fog played through my thoughts. I cast it all away, zeroing in on the stranger, Raka. Nothing. A blankness as empty as a frozen lake.

She tilted her head and stared at me, as if aware of what I’d attempted. Then she slowly bared her teeth.

I shook my head as the regent lost control of the Guildagard and everyone spoke at once. My pulse swished in my ears, and the angry points and counterpoints became a blur of sound like a swarm of summer bees.

I tried to formulate a wise speech that would turn everyone’s hearts to support my position, but thoughts tangled around each other, jumbled and confused. Someone beside me poured more wine into my glass and nudged it toward me. Did I look as pale as I felt?

Thank you, I whispered, taking another sip.

Instead of steadying me, my thoughts grew more confused. I blinked several times. The room seemed to sway. No, it was my eyes. They were moving in circles. Except they weren’t. I gripped the edge of the table and fought to focus.

Somewhere in the haze, I heard Cimeran—his voice strong and impassioned—reminding the Guildagard of the many ways the dream tellers had helped Norgard. Gratitude welled up, but then gave way to shame. I should be the one making eloquent speeches, but my tongue felt swollen, and my brain couldn’t form words.

Before I could gather my senses, the regent called for a vote. I fumbled for my flag, removing it just in time so that it wouldn’t be registered as a supportive vote for Raka’s proposal. I squinted and tried to count the flags that stood but saw double and couldn’t add them.

The proposal is rejected. Next topic.

Relief swirled through me, but my vision continued to slide in and out of focus. I rested back in my chair. It took effort to stay upright as the floor canted one way and then another. No one else seemed to notice. What was wrong with me?

I wanted to slip out until these strange symptoms passed, but I couldn’t leave. The Guildagard required representatives from each guild. With sentiment skewed against the dream tellers already, I didn’t dare cause annoyance. So I held onto my chair and stared at the shimmering glass before me. Tiny white flecks floated, suspended in the liquid. I followed their movement, shutting out the dizzying chaos. I couldn’t follow the discussion and didn’t participate in further votes. I only hoped nothing vital had been decided.

Then people stood, moved around, laughed. Some hurried off to their duties. Cimeran waved at me before leaving by a side door. Others lingered and snacked. The minstrel near me touched my shoulder. Are you alright?

I pushed my chair back a few inches but standing felt beyond me. I . . . I’m a little unwell.

He helped me up. When I swayed, he supported me to the hallway. Should I ask the physician to return?

The bracing chill in the hallway was already clearing my head. No. It’s nothing.

I wouldn’t be so sure.

I rested a hand on the wall’s cool brick. What do you mean?

He shrugged. Straightforward opposition is not as dangerous as that which goes unspoken. You shouldn’t drink anything that hasn’t come from your own hand.

My stomach lurched. The wine. Was it possible? If someone had dosed my goblet, I should report it to the new security guild. I shook my head. Not likely. For all I knew, Raka had poisoned my drink.

The floor continued to make unexpected dips, so I used the wall for support and made my way back to my room. Months ago, after a minstrel in the palace had been poisoned, Cimeran had given me a small vial of burned and powdered colith to keep in case of emergencies. I used it now, along with glass after glass of water. My head had just begun to clear when a rhythmic tap sounded from my door.

Beja poked her head in. One of the physician apprentices heard you were ill. Do you need anything?

I’m fine.

She stepped closer, sharp eyes taking in my appearance and the empty vial on the table. Do you think the people who poisoned the head dream teller made you a target as well? Are we all in danger?

Could her fears be justified? Was this all a coordinated attack on our guild: Raka’s attempt to disband us, the head dream teller’s sudden illness, the potion put in my drink?

The powdered colith warred with the dread in my stomach, and I swallowed back fear. A bit of caution wouldn’t go amiss. But we won’t allow ourselves to be drawn into rumors and conspiracies.

Beja nodded slowly, only half convinced.

When she left, I let myself sag against my chair. Whether I liked it or not, I would need to find out all I could about the new security guild. I could guess what had prompted Raka’s proposal at the Guildagard. If she succeeded, the dream tellers would lose their influence with the high lord, clearing the way for Raka and her new faction to gain power and steer our nation. Competing for favor was nothing new in Norgard’s court. But would she have gone so far as to poison the head dream teller? Or me? None of us would be safe until we could learn who was behind that attack.

Chapter 3

Pledging loyalty to any guild requires sacrifice. Beware. Do not commit your life to the high calling of guild service unless you are prepared for the dangers you may face.

– The Archives of Gifts, Introduction, page 3

By the next day, I had been able to scrape together only fragments of information about the new security guild. Led by Raka, they were fast gaining influence in the palace, convincing the high lord to fear nonexistent dangers that made their role seem vital. I’d seen these grasps for power play out in the past, although never to the extent of destroying a guild completely. Everyone wanted the high lord’s ear. Everyone sought to shape his decisions to their benefit.

It seemed the clerics, too, had drawn Raka’s disapprobation, a revelation that disturbed me almost as much as her challenge to the dream tellers. I was about to seek out the head cleric when a sudden summons to the throne room arrived. My inquiries into the new guild would have to wait. Slipping in behind a steward, I found a place among a bevy of others called into the high lord’s presence. Courtiers flitted by with nary a glance at me, so I drew a deep breath to calm my nerves and set about the business of waiting.

The high lord, his mane of silver hair framing his face, was a bear of a man. His thick fur robe added to that impression as he frowned at a letter in his hands. A courtier hovered, several advisors whispered to him, and the high lady stood nearby as well.

And where is our spy who retrieved this information? The high lord’s voice was too booming to be secretive, even though one of his advisors tried to shush him.

Back to his mission in the west. But his reports have always been accurate, said the nervous courtier.

Fine. And what about news from the south?

The military is preparing a report. We can discuss that in council, said an advisor who waved away the courtier.

The high lord sighed and settled back against the throne. Very well. Next?

The advisor handed him a document. Yesterday’s decisions at the Guildagard.

An even deeper sigh. The high lord’s grizzled head bent over the report, and he pointed. Agreed. No. Yes. This proposal can go ahead. Absolutely not on this one. He handed the papers back to his advisor, who backed away.

All that effort yesterday, and little of it mattered. Our ruler could negate any decisions with the flick of a finger.

What is next on the agenda? the bear growled.

The advisor scanned the room. You asked for a dream teller.

My stomach clenched. The high lord had always been kind and supportive of me, but this public setting made me sweat.

The high lord smiled. Not just any dream teller. Come forward, Jolan! His words rang through the marble throne room.

I eased out of the cluster of people where I hid and took a place in front of him, staring at the floor. Here, my lord.

Welcome. In recognition of your recent service to me and my lady, I have commissioned a special gift for you. A flick of his hand sent a young courtier scurrying