22. Pas de Deux

For my first lesson, Two guides me deep inside the belly of the castle. The air is stale in this part of the tunnels, and a few widely-spread torches light our path.

He's not wearing his hood, his shorter hair all disheveled, and I can't help but stare at the intricate web of tattoos that lick the back of his right ear. They are identical to One's, down to the faintest swirl that disappears under his hairline.

My plan for today is simple. I'll be a good student, stroke his ego, and get him to like me before I ask about Morrigan.

"Nightmare hunts might sound dangerous and exciting, but it's the Dreaming that truly powers this realm and its magic. The Shadow Court couldn't survive without it, and we all swore a sacred oath to protect it," he says on our way down a round staircase similar to the one I found during my first trial.

"Dreams are clearly better than nightmares," I answer with a quick smile.

He pauses and observes me for a moment. "What's with you today?"

"Mm?"

"You're awfully…nice. I told you before, you're not going to sweet-talk me into switching you back."

I consider him for a moment. Two might be in love with himself, but he's no fool, and maybe sucking up to him isn't the right approach. "I have questions."

He squints, and the hard line of his mouth eases. "So do I."

We pass through a vaguely familiar corridor before we emerge into the same mirror-covered vault where I had to strip for the Shadow King. The memories from that night turn my legs to lead, the spring in my step gone, my mood careening over a sullen edge.

Oblivious to my current state of mind, Two snaps his fingers to light the candles and shakes out his wrists before he rummages through the paint brushes on the altar.

I inch toward the shadow pool and stare at its oily surface, goosebumps riddling my arms. The dim light of the candles plays tricks with my mind, the curl of my lips so off in my reflection that it makes me look wicked—even cruel.

"Are you up for a plunge?" Two whispers in my ear.

His sudden closeness spooks me, and I spin around to face him with my hands tucked behind my back. The sudden move almost causes me to topple over and fall into the liquid shadows, but his hand shoots out to grab my upper arm, steadying me.

His mask reflects back my surprised face, and I reel at how similar to One he looks in this moment. Under the soft glow of the candles, in this mystical room full of treacherous reflections, he's a faithful copy of the man I've come to obsess about.

"You okay, Old World? You look about to pass out," Two says, finally jolting me back to reality.

"Yes. Sorry."

He's not One. And yet…it's like my body can't quite grasp the concept.

Two walks back to the altar, dips a small brush in an ink pot, and twirls it around a few times. "The sceawere connect us to our most sacred realm, but only the Shadow King and his most trusted hunters can access it without leaving their bodies at the door. You can't bring someone along into the Dreaming. Visitors have to find their way there for themselves, or in your case, with a little help." With a brow raised high, he holds his brush in mid air between us. "Arm out."

I flip over my wrist to offer him better access to the underside of my lower arm. The wet tip of the brush sends a shiver to my core as Two paints a series of runes over the sensitive skin. It tickles a bit, but I study his confident strokes, recognizing "Faerie," "tree," and "soul" as well as a fourth one I've never seen before, the intricate lines no doubt incredibly difficult to reproduce. The ink glistens on my flesh, as dark and ominous as the shadow pool behind me.

I consider the mirror, cold sweat gathering at my brow at the prospect of entering it alone. "Wait. What happens if I get lost?"

Two considers me with more seriousness than I thought possible. "If you get lost…" he pats my shoulders as though we're old friends. "Then it was nice to know you, Old World. I'll miss yah."

His insincere, satisfied grin is enough to convince me that he's not worried enough to actually entertain the question, and I throw caution to the uneven winds of the sceawere. My heart whispers: if you get lost, One will find you.

I step forward, and the frosty sting of the sceawere is not as jarring as it used to be. A quiet, steady string of glass waits for me on the other side. The maze of colors and shapes is distracting, but I concentrate on the task at hand. My heart beating in my throat, I raise a tentative hand to the supple, translucent strings hanging between the glass panes.

Quickly, a path paved in glass eclipses all others. The runes on my arms fade to a light shade of gold, and a sense of peace engulfs me. I walk to the "address" Two drew on my arm without too much difficulty and find him waiting for me there.

"Welcome to the Dreaming, Old World."

The familiarity of the misty forest scenery is oddly comforting, and I fall into step with my new mentor.

"Everyone that falls asleep outside of Faerie visits the Dreaming once in a while. Some come every night, others more sparingly. When you dream, you leave behind your body, your magic—everything but your soul. It travels here alone and feeds our kingdom in exchange for the entertainment we procure," he explains.

Like I thought…the Fae do not pray on their own.

"And who decides what we dream about? You?"

He rolls his eyes at my perfectly reasonable question. "I can't possibly deal with the individual dreams of the worlds' population, but I make sure the Dreaming leaves the wandering souls energized for their day. If mortals didn't get something in return for their voyage, they wouldn't come back.I also make sure they can leave. We don't want them to get trapped here, either." Hands on his hips, he gazes out at the rainy, fog-riddled forest with the beaming pride of a new father. "A soul is safe here. It can explore all its fancies without repercussions. Anything from joy to processing past traumas."

I sidestep the issue of not being able to leave, stowing it for later. "What's the difference between dreams and fantasies?"

"Fantasies are more specific. They reveal what mortals crave, sometimes beyond reason. Dreams can be just fun and meaningless. It's wise to remember the difference between the two." He guides me through the trees with the unwavering confidence of a man who knows exactly where he's going.

"And nightmares?"

We reach a small clearing, and he stops, the weight of his breath disturbing the thick fog. "Nightmares are by-products of dreams. Every once in a while, a mortal will dream of something so powerful that it takes a life of its own. Now, if the nightmare accepts the king's collar, it remains inside the sceawere and continues to feed the realm—dreams cannot exist without nightmares—but if it escapes, it needs to be put down. That's where my expertise ends and One's begins." He glances at me over his shoulder. "You made it here quickly, so you're not…half bad. Why did One get rid of you if you don't suck?" he breathes, his voice so similar to his brother's low baritone that I shiver.

"Who's Morrigan?" I dead-pan.

His tongue tucked underneath his teeth, Two smiles the way you smile to your opponent while bluffing in a card game. "Dropping false pretenses. Alright. I'll answer your question if you tell me why One switched you with Mara."

I bite my bottom lip and consider his offer. "Three questions."

He rubs his palms together. "Let's make it interesting. It's still early enough for the old world gentry to wander the Dreaming. There must be someone you're curious about? A boy, perhaps?" Two stares down at me like he can hear my quickened pulse, and maybe he can. "Tell me his name."

"Isn't it an invasion of privacy?"

"Oh, come on. What's your boyfriend's name?" His tone is laced with a hint of magic, and I find myself blurting out the truth.

"Isaac Henry Longbottom."

He raises his hand to the thick fog wall in front of us and calls Isaac's name. A languid pulse of magic ripples through the air. "Let's see what this mortal's subconscious yearns for."

Magic coats me on all sides, and I hold my breath for a moment, my skin prickling like I've just plunged into a hot bath.

The world blurs, and all of the sudden, Two's fractured mask gleams in the bright sunshine of my father's royal gardens, the apple trees around us suddenly thick with white flowers. "You're all flushed, princess."

"What was that? I feel…different." I look down at myself, my tunic gone, replaced by a traditional wedding dress. A long ivory train flows behind me, the laced sleeves tight around my arms. My hand flies to my hair, the white blond locks now braided inside a hairnet.

"Your boy sensed your arrival, and you became part of his dream," Two explains.

"What about you?"

"I know better than to be sucked in by a mortal's dream." He rubs his hands together. "Let's make this fake wedding interesting. If you manage to pull yourself out of this fiasco without waking him, I'll answer one question of your choosing."

"If I win, I want you to answer three questions." I bite my bottom lip and think for a moment. "One if I lose."

"Alright, but if you fail, I get to ask three questions myself. And whatever happens, you'll have to answer truthfully."

My nose wrinkles. "How do I know you won't lie to me?"

"I'm Fae."

"Are you really?"

Jo is right. If the triplets aren't Fae lords, they have to be stigmas that learned to only pass as Fae, which means I can't trust a word coming out of Two's mouth.

He rubs the sharp angle of his jaw. "Is that your question?"

"No. Let's just vow we both will answer truthfully… and I get one question regardless. One if I lose, three if I win. Same goes for you."

"Alright, but you have to ask your question first," he negotiates.

"Done."

"Now, let's see who wins." He extends his hand with swagger, but I can't let his obvious confidence erode mine.

I shake his hand, and a tingle of magic buzzes in my fingertips. Whatever just happened, it was a formal Fae deal, and breaking it would no doubt prove to be worse than answering truthfully to a few personal questions.

Isaac appears under the stone arch leading to the stables. The tunic he's wearing marks him as the Duke of Axel, his father's title, and his cloak is adorned with a white fur trim, embroidered with the royal insignia.

Two snickers. "A June wedding. How proper."

Isaac grabs both my hands in his. "Penny! What are you doing in here? I'm not supposed to see you before church."

"Isaac, hi." I glance sideways at Two, the dark Fae apparently invisible to my…groom?

Two motions for me to deal with Isaac as I see fit and examines the apple trees like he wants to grow them in his garden.

I turn back to dream-Isaac. "I—I missed you," I say, and for a moment, I'm taken over by the illusion. The tight corset, the button-down collar of the dress…they barely allow me to move—or breathe.

"Oh Penny, it won't be long now, and you'll belong to me. Properly."

My brows pull together at the peculiar choice of words, but I put as much cheer in my voice as I can. "Yes. Finally!"

I'm playing along, wondering why Two brought me here and what I'm supposed to do. This is a test, and I need to figure out exactly how to get out of this dream without waking Isaac. If dreams feed the realm and leave the souls content, then maybe I just need to get to the end of the scenario.

Isaac pulls me along past the stone archway, and I struggle to walk, the long train of my dress hindering my movements. He runs ahead of me, and suddenly, we're in a church. A seemingly endless red carpet leads to the altar where Isaac is now waiting for me—so far away that I have to squint to see him properly.

Two offers me his arm like he's the one giving me away. "Are you really going to go through with the wedding?"

"Why did you bring me here?" I whisper quickly. Many of the faces in the audience belong to friends and family, and I smile awkwardly at them as I start walking down the aisle.

The flower girl skips ahead and scatters rose petals in her wake, a white ribbon sagging on top of her basket.

When we get to the front, I spot Cece in the crowd. My sister is wearing a dark tunic with pants and a hood as she claps half-heartedly in the first row.

Wait… This can't be Isaac's dream. Can it?

Two leans closer, his heavy breath on my cheek. "What do you crave, Nell? Do you wish to be the dutiful wife this mortal yearns to possess?"

Unease grows in my chest, the train of my dress suddenly much heavier than it was, and the corset much tighter. I glance back behind me and stifle a gasp with the back of my hand. The ivory fabric now runs at least thirty feet behind me, and the friction of it on the velvet carpet makes me cringe.

Two stops walking, bringing the wedding cortege to a halt. "Is that really the kind of life you desire? Bearing children—boys for crowns, girls for cradles. Isn't that what your father says?"

I grit my teeth and walk forward. "There's more to my country than you know. It's my home."

Two took me here to hijack Isaac's dream so he could rattle me. I wrench the jeweled veil off and tear the skirt of the dress.

Dream-Isaac's smile is wiped from his face, and he inches forward. "Penny? Are you alright, dear?"

"Get me out of here," I growl to the dark Fae.

Two shakes his head. "You get out."

"Fine."

The real test is coming. Magic pulses around me from all sides, the fabric of the dream almost palpable. Two wants me to escape, but Isaac will be jolted awake with a sour taste in his mouth the second I do so. From the moment the threads of the Dreaming pulled me inside the scenario, I didn't have a chance.

I draw in a deep breath and try not to think about the damn corset. Magic tingles in my palms, and a wisp of black smoke condenses into flesh next to me, shaped like a shadow of myself—a ragged runaway bride.

Two fashions a delicate collar between his hands, the shadow magic taking tangible form as he weaves a necklace out of thin air. The apparition bows to him, and he ties the collar around her neck, working her hair gently over it before stepping back. "Hello, beautiful."

She offers him her hand to kiss with a timid smile, and, for a moment, I feel like I'm intruding. I push through the discomfort in my belly to dispel the magic that trapped me inside the dream, and the shredded wedding dress disappears, replaced by my uniform.

Isaac draws a sharp intake of breath at the sight of my new clothes. "What the crops is going on? You're not Penny, are you? Guards!" he shouts for imaginary guards to come to his rescue, and my heart sinks.

"Wake up, Isaac," I say regretfully, giving the shape of him a big push.

In a blink, Two and I are back to the foggy forest.

My dark teacher nods emphatically. "A bit dramatic with the dress tearing and all, but it was certainly a memorable finale. You weaved your first nightmare, bravo!" A satisfied grin glazes his lips. "I still won, though."

"There was no way not to wake him once I'd been sucked inside his dream besides staying in there forever. That was the most unfair?—"

"Tut-tut. Everyone hates a sore loser. You still have one question, so use it wisely." He licks his lips.

I wrangle my hands, unsure how to phrase my question to get the most out of this bad deal. "I heard about a woman named Morrigan…"

"Mm?"

"Jo said she was engaged to a hunter," I add, testing the waters.

"Jo said that?" Two opens his mouth, his lips torn between a cringe and a smile. "I'm not an idiot. I won't be baited into answering more questions than necessary. If you have a question about Morrigan, let's hear it."

I should confirm if he's Fae, but I can't pass up the chance to know more about Morrigan. A hundred variations of the same question tumble inside my mind, but I know Two might take advantage of a poorly-phrased question, so I decide to be as direct and clear as possible. "Was One ever engaged to Morrigan?"

Two's eyes widen, and his chest heaves like I've just punched him in the gut. "Why would you ask that?"

I lift my chin and hold his avid stare. "We had a deal. You have to answer."

"Yes," he spits out begrudgingly. "He was engaged to her."

My hand flies to my mouth. By the Mother and all she holds dear…

Two doesn't waste any time, his revenge-question ringing loud and true. "What happened between you and One that you think could most likely explain his desire to switch you with Mara?"

I press my lips together. If he'd asked differently, I could have claimed that I didn't know, or that I wasn't sure, but the phrasing makes it impossible for me to weasel out of the question.

A fierce blush heats my cheeks as my gaze darts to the ground. "I think that he got upset after we kissed."

Two loses all semblance of humanity, the cruel curve of his mouth lost in shadows. "And if I wanted to know all the details of that kiss, what would you tell me about it?"

Words bubble out of my mouth as though they're being raked out from the depths of my chest by his magic, and I offer him a play-by-play of the kiss and the circumstances surrounding it. I talk about the lightheadedness, the enchantment, and how the taste of my own blood shook me out of it.

I ramble on and on about the way One's lips felt on mine, and Two doesn't make fun of me for calling it "the most sensual experience of my life."

In fact, the man looks like I've just sank a knife in his gut.

When I finally regain control over my tongue, I fight back the urge to scream, the humiliation hot and heavy in my ribcage. I feel…used. I haven't made good use of my question at all. No wonder the devil in front of me insisted for me to go first.

"I'll reserve my third question," he says quietly.

"That possibility wasn't mentioned in the deal."

A wolfish smile blooms on his lips, the kind of smile that makes me doubt he's related to One at all. "It was not precluded either."

And just like that, I know I've been utterly played.