Queen of Broken Dreams

By Cara Blaine

In the Kingdom of Revas, the king's dream magic controls every non-royal citizen, except for one. Satyana is a poor girl from a small village, struggling to fit in while keeping her secrets hidden. However, a tragic loss pushes her to seek answers.

With an ally in the castle, Satyana embarks on a dangerous quest, putting her fr

• Language: English
• Publisher: Little Slice Publishing
• Release date: Dec 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9798987272077

Book preview

Queen of Broken Dreams

Cara Blaine

Copyright © 2022 by Cara Blaine

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

More by Cara Blaine

The Queens of Revas YA Fantasy Series

Queen of Broken Dreams

Dream Cursed Queen

Queens of Revas Single Volume Special Edition:

Including Revised Editions of Queen of Broken Dreams & Dream Cursed Queen,

plus an additional, previously unpublished novella in the series, Queen of Ocean Bright

Order of Terra YA Dystopian Fantasy Series

Order of Terra: Book One

Standalone New Adult Fantasy Romance:

Curse of the Soul Collector

Coming in 2024:

Luxe's Lullaby Trilogy – New Adult Romantic Fantasy Series

Contents

Maps

In a Kingdom Far, Far Away...

1.Dreams of the Future

2.Fever Dreams

3.Dreams Lost

4.Disillusioned Dreams

5.Dreams of Adventure

6.Jungle Dreams

7.Broken Hearted Dreams

8.Dreaming of Home

9.Big City Dreams

10.Castle Dreams

11.Dreams of a Stranger

12.Dreams of a Wedding

13.Dreams of Defiance

14.Scheming Dreams

15.Dreams of Discovery

16.Desperate Dreams

17.Dreams of Confession

18.Dungeon Dreams

19.Dreams of Escape

20.Broken Dreams

21.A Queen's Dreams

22.Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Dream Cursed Queen: An Excerpt

About the Author

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In a Kingdom Far, Far Away...

King Dominico walked slowly through the darkened halls to his quarters, his guards silent shadows behind him. Dominico was tired, but knew he still had work to do, even as the rest of the castle’s inhabitants prepared to sleep. It is the way of kingship; there is always more work to do.

His guards stationed in the hallway, he stood alone in his quarters, allowing his eyes to adjust to the brightness of the lamps and fire. His steward would be along soon to help him prepare for bed, but first he must create the dreams, and deliver them. As he walked to his sitting area, he paused briefly in front of a mirror. He saw a few gray hairs among the black on his head and beard, and tiny crows’ feet at the corners of his dark brown eyes. He did look tired. But, despite that and the gray, he was pleased to look younger than his almost 50 years. His caramel skin was healthy and his teeth were good. He had always been considered handsome, he knew. Heartened, he continued to his favorite armchair in front of the fire, and sat.

He breathed deeply for several minutes, eyes closed, and pulled forth his magic. He pictured it as a swirling mass of power kept locked in a chamber of his mind. He must unlock and open the door, and control the flow of the power as it comes through. Once his magic was ready, he paused to consider. How should he shape the dreams of the kingdom this night?

Ah, yes. He knew the recently increased taxation was putting a strain on the people. He did not wish them to be unhappy about it. He decided he would focus, for the next few nights, on the dream message of himself as a benevolent king, his subjects fortunate and grateful. And, he would throw in a small hidden hint of terror of the consequence for lacking that gratitude, just for good measure - only to the older youth and adults of course, not the children. What kind of monster would want to scare children in their sleep? The adults would benefit from a bit of fear, yes, but he could spare the children.

The magic would accommodate itself to each individual, personalizing their dreams; it was a very powerful, special magic, truly. His family line was the only one who carried it, as far as he knew. His only regret was that he could not be open about this power, as he knew many would admire and envy it. No, it was embedded in secrecy, and for good reason - his own protection and therefore the good of the kingdom. His people would never understand that his power was a gift to them. He knew they would feel manipulated, not grasping how they benefited from it. Knowing what is good for his people is his responsibility as king, after all. They could not be trusted with such weighty matters. That burden was his alone.

His magic thus called and directed, he released it into the night. With it went a huge surge of his own energy, so much that he could hardly hold his head upright. A few minutes later, his steward arrived to find the king dozing in his chair, and helped him prepare for bed. The king slept a dreamless sleep, as always. It turns out that magic loves irony almost as much as the gods.

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A small village outside of the capital city also slept. In one home, a family of five shared two beds in their single bedroom. Two young boys slept soundly, dreaming of how kind their king was. They pictured him as gentle, with candy for children always in his pocket. They had only ever seen him from a great distance once, but someday perhaps he would visit their village and they would taste that candy for the first time. The parents were more restless, their sleep a bit uneasy, as their dreams wound through their minds: alluring and happy, but also quietly threatening. The king was kind and generous, yet the retribution of his soldiers for disloyalty among his subjects was swift and final.

The third child was the only one in the small room to feel a sense of heaviness drift across the room, and settle. It happened every night; she sensed it even if she had already fallen asleep. Like an invisible heavy blanket. She didn’t feel its weight herself, however; it seemed to slide right past her before coming to rest on her siblings and parents.

This child dreamed her own dreams. She dreamed of her new small kitten recently rescued from a neighbor’s pond; she dreamed of food, because she had gone to bed still hungry. She had come to realize that her dreams were different from everyone else, and had ceased to share her true dreams during the dream sharing conversation over breakfast. It was too upsetting for her parents, how different her dreams were.

They only looked perplexed when she asked about the heavy feeling that came every night. They could not understand what messages she might be receiving in her dreams, nor why. Their kingdom put great stock in their dreams, as a tradition: they believed their dreams were messages from the gods. She did not want to be thought different, or wrong. So she dreamed her dreams, but quietly, and kept her own secrets.

Chapter 1

Dreams of the Future

Cecil’s gray and white tail flicked Satyana’s face and she rolled her eyes, smiling. The sun had begun creeping through the window, painting bright streaks across her bed. The cat, resting on the pillow next to Satyana’s head, stood and stretched, kneading his paws into her hair strewn across the pillow. Ever since she had rescued him from a local pond more than ten years ago, Cecil had been her closest companion; he was never too far away, except when he went to hunt. She was, fortunately or not, used to his body parts being in her personal space. She liked his company as she went about her daily chores, and welcomed his warmth in her bed at night. He helped her keep the loneliness at arm’s length. She was always surrounded by people - her family, the other villagers, but she still felt apart. She thought this was likely because of the secrets she had to keep; if you cannot be your true self around others, they can never really know you.

She looked across to the other bed and saw her parents stirring. The rest of the tiny house was quiet, which meant her younger brothers were still asleep on their pallets by the hearth in the main room. She stretched again, feeling grateful to have the bed to herself. She didn’t miss sharing it with her brothers and had been glad when the day came that they all simply could not fit anymore. Alden kicked like a mule and Hux snored terribly. Luckily she was the oldest, which gave her rights to the bed. Cecil was a much better bed mate, even if she did wake up with his fur in her mouth a little too often.

She rose and dressed quietly. She went barefoot, preferring to save her shoes so that they would last longer in the winter months. Going softly, she left the room to give her parents a bit of privacy to wake and dress. She would relight the fire and wake her brothers.

Kneeling next to the boys, she gave Alden’s shoulder a gentle shake. His dark blonde waves spread across his pillow; he looked even younger than usual when asleep. She always woke him first, because he was less cranky about it than Hux. Better to start their day around Hux and let him wake on his own as the rest of the family broke the quiet of the night.

Alleycat, she whispered, using Alden’s pet name. She had given him the nickname as a toddler. He used to walk up to any stranger to try to make friends, like hungry alley cats did in the city, begging for food. Alden, come on, the sun is up. Alden blinked his eyes open and sighed.

Morning, Ana. His deep blue eyes drifted shut again. Satyana poked him in the belly and he giggled. I’m awake, I’m awake, he said, smiling. Alden had always been sweet and easy going. He had grown into the role of family peacekeeper, especially when Satyana and Hux had disagreements, which was all too often.

Satyana took care of the fire while Alden made use of the outhouse. As he came back inside, she started on breakfast, and Hux was beginning to wake. Their parents, Lyra and Owen, came out of the bedroom together. Her father nodded and smiled at all of his children as he went out the door to check on the goats. He was tall and broad shouldered, so he needed to duck his head and go a bit sideways to fit through the doorway. He was a man of few words, but devoted to his family. Her mother smiled at her too and took the spoon from her hand.

Go get us more water and clean yourself up, child. I’ll finish this. She patted Satyana’s arm affectionately with her free hand.

Yes, Mama. Satyana knew it was useless to tell her mother not to call her child, even though she was 19 years old.

Since the weather was good, she took a bucket to the small creek behind their home rather than the village well, stopping at the outhouse on her way. In a couple of months the stream would be frozen over, but Satyana would take advantage of the flowing water as long as she could. She took a moment to admire the changing leaves and the reflections of the trees in the water. Squirrels busily prepared for winter; she spotted several of them in nearby branches. She breathed in the fresh, crisp air of autumn. She would love to sit by the creek all day, listening to the music of the water flowing over the rocks. But she had work to do.

Before returning to the house with her full bucket, she knelt by a small pool to wash her face and hands. The smooth surface reflected her curly, reddish brown hair coming out of its plait, her tan skin freckled from a summer outdoors, and her dark gray eyes. She took after her father, minus the freckles from her mother, as did Hux. She wasn’t as tall as they were, of course, but she was taller than average for a girl. Alden, with his lighter honey colored hair and blue eyes, as well as his smaller stature, took after their mother. She tidied her hair and washed, and carried the water back to the kitchen.

As usual, over breakfast, the family shared any dreams they remembered from the night before. And as usual, Satyana kept the secret of her real dreams, and invented one that sounded similar to her mother’s.

She wondered why the gods did not send her the same messages that her family received, but she had accepted the fact long since. She didn’t even bother trying to determine what messages she might be receiving any longer. Her dreams were mostly full of day to day, silly things, and sometimes they were utter nonsense. Like that time she dreamed she could fly like a bird: ridiculous.

Her secret fear was that the gods did not favor her, or had abandoned her, and that she must somehow have earned that disfavor. She tried not to think of the matter anymore, but had spent many hours worrying about it in years past.

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Every person in their family worked hard each day to contribute to their household. Satyana prepared most of the meals alongside her mother. She also went to market, foraged when the seasons permitted, cleaned the tiny home, kept a small kitchen garden, and helped care for the goats. Alden and Hux were sometimes hired to help on a fishing ketch. They wanted to be fishermen and dreamed of someday having their own boat.

Her mother and father repaired boat sails. On a rare occasion, they were commissioned to make a new one, but that business more often went to one of the shops in the capital, Sonos City. When the weather was good, they worked outdoors in the yard behind the house; when it wasn’t, they made do with the cramped living space. She occasionally helped her parents with their trade, but she had no real talent for the work. Nor any interest in it, for that matter.

She planned her day out while she cleaned up after breakfast. She needed to harvest more from the garden before they had the first frost. The goats’ pen needed to be mucked out as well. She wrinkled her nose at the thought, and sighed.

Her brothers would be helping a neighbor with a harvest. The neighbor had lost his wife and both of his children the previous winter, so he needed the extra hands and paid the boys a portion of the harvest. A small portion, but their family needed it. Her brothers left after breakfast, and she went to work in the garden after she finished the dishes. And so the day went, with the usual late summer, early fall rhythm.

Two days later was market day, Satyana’s least favorite task. One would think that the small village would be a close knit community, as most of the families had lived there for generations. Instead, there were subtle divisions, even a tiny bit of animosity, between various groups, and an underlying sense of distrust.

She had never understood why it was like this. She simply knew she didn’t enjoy being in the midst of it. Why should the farmers resent the fishermen, anyway? The fishermen provided both food and export goods, which surely benefited the farmers as much as everyone else. And why should the fisherman resent the farmers? One would not like to eat only plain fish every day for every meal, so they should appreciate the oats and wheat and fresh herbs and produce. Instead, each faction considered the other to be lazy, or cheats, or the like. She shook her head as she mulled this over for the thousandth time on her walk to the village square.

The weather was fine, although the clouds in the distance foretold rain soon. When she reached the square, Cecil ran off. The market wasn’t his favorite place either; too many people to step on a cat’s tail, or to chase him away just for taking a sniff at something with an interesting smell. She knew he would rejoin her on the walk back home. She hefted her hand woven basket. It held a couple pints of goat milk and a good amount of foraged mushrooms to trade, as an addition to the few coins in her pocket.

She waded into the crowd, searching for the stalls with the items on her mental list. Honey, salt, thread, and then if she could afford it, cloth for a new shirt for Hux. He was growing quickly and was near to busting the seams on his two shirts. It was time to hand them down to Alden before Hux did bust the seams and she had to do that much more sewing. She would make him a new shirt about father’s size; it would be a little big, but she had no doubt he would grow into it quickly. It seemed he got broader and taller each day, since turning 16. Now he was 17. Alden, at 15, looked younger than his age. He had always been more slight, somewhat delicate for a boy. He would swim in Hux’s shirts, but he needn’t wear them right away.

As Satyana did her shopping and trading, she caught snatches of conversation. Most of it was the usual bargaining and haggling, and mothers reprimanding their young children: Stay right here, don’t you go running off, or Don’t touch that with your grubby hands!

Her ears perked up as she stood in line at a stall where she thought she would get the best price on the honey. The men in line just ahead of her spoke a foreign tongue. She had never traveled more than about 12 miles outside her own village to visit the capital, Sonos City, so she had no idea where they were from. But the cadence of their language fascinated her. Foreign traders occasionally stopped