Dreams Made Flesh (The Black Jewels #5)(108)
Author: Anne Bishop

He waited, slowly becoming aware that all the whispery tugs had faded until only one remained. Strong. Powerful. But not threatening. Just a thread to follow.

He followed a path out of the clearing. More of a game trail, actually. The kindred must have used the clearing as their landing place, must have created this trail as they traveled from one part of the island to another.

He moved carefully since he wasn’t sure what would happen if he stumbled and brushed against one of the tangled webs close to the trail. He couldn’t judge how far he’d walked, but his bad leg ached by the time he reached the caves and the thread of power drew him inside.

Witchlight glowed in niches in the cave walls. Was it for his benefit or did the spiders need the light as well? As he passed from one chamber to the next, the floor rocked beneath him, and the air became golden and veiled. No longer sure if he was still in the real world or caught in a dream, he stopped moving.

*Here,* a soft voice called. *Here.*

Light filled another chamber. Since he was watching where he set his feet, the dark stain that covered most of the chamber floor was the first thing he saw when he reached the entrance.

And the Blood shall sing to the Blood. And through the blood.Jaenelle’s power, and her pain, rose up from the blood that had seeped into the stones, choking him. He sank to his knees. His hand touched the stain.

Feelings flooded him, but, thankfully, no images. Still, he recognized the feel of Ladvarian, the Sceltie’s feet planted on the blood-washed stone as the dog braced for the battle of helping to heal a body devastated by a backlash of power.

He didn’t know how long he knelt there while feelings of love, courage, and stubborn determination washed through him. No human could have done what the kindred had done. No human could have believed as they had believed. Had he ever thanked Ladvarian, Kaelas, and the other kindred for their gift of courage and love? He couldn’t remember.

Pulling his hand away from the stain, he regained enough self-control to wipe the tears from his face and look around the chamber.

The tangled web that covered one part of the chamber left him breathless. The large golden spider clinging to the wall near one end of the web scared him to the bone.

*This is Kaeleer’s Heart,* the Arachnian Queen said.

Gathering his courage, he stood and moved closer to the web.

Living myth. Dreams made flesh. Witch.

Hundreds of threads made up this web. The wishes and longings of all those dreamers. Lifetimes of longings. Generations of wishes. All woven together to create one extraordinary woman capable of touching all the races in Kaeleer, human and kindred, giving them a way and a reason to connect with each other.

*You ask about Jaenelle,* the spider said.

He kept his voice quiet, barely above a whisper. "Why is she different? I mean no disrespect, but if you truly were able to re-create the web that formed that dream and made it flesh, why did she come back to us different?"

*She is not different,* the spider replied. *She is still Kaeleer’s

Heart.*

"But not the same. If she were truly the same, she would be able to wear a Black Jewel."

*Kaeleer does not need the Queen. Her task is done. But Kaeleer still needs the Heart.*

Saetan closed his eyes, not even sure why he couldn’t let this go.

Jaenelle was alive, and she seemed happy. Why couldn’t he let this one difference go?

"Answer this one question, and I’ll never ask again. Is this the same web? Can you tell me, with no doubt, that this is the same web that originally shaped that dream?"

The spider didn’t answer.

Saetan opened his eyes and stared at the Arachnian Queen. "Is it the same web?"

*It is not quite the same web,* the spider admitted reluctantly. Walking on air, she moved above the web until she reached a place where three thick strands formed a triangle. *Because of that.*

He stared at that triangle, his heart pounding. He was one of those strands, one of those dreamers. Father. Brother. And the Lover, who was the father’s mirror. Within that triangle, one delicate thread ran from the apex to the center of the base. One fragile strand with a tiny bead of blood attached to it.

If he broke that thread, would Jaenelle be everything she had been?

He took a step forward, lifted his right hand… and felt a thrum of power far, far, far below him.

The light in the chamber changed, refocused on that triangle and the single strand. The tiny bead glittered in a way a drop of blood never would.

And suddenly he knew what he was looking at…a tiny chip of an Ebony Jewel.

The Weaver of Dreams said, *There was another dreamer.*

6

Saetan sat on the window seat in his study at the Keep, staring at the evening sky, a glass of yarbarah dangling from his fingers. As much as he adored her, he was glad Surreal had left the Keep before he returned. Right now, he needed some time to himself before he returned to the Hall.

There was another dreamer.

What is Twilight’s Dawn? It iss the Jewel for Kaeleer’ss Heart. There was another dreamer. Sshe iss who sshe hass alwayss been. I lost nothing I regret losing. I am what I want to be.Lorn was right. He should have looked with his heart to find the answers. If he had, he would have realized there was one person who had no regrets, who felt no grief about the power that had been lost. Was, in fact, enjoying her "diminished" strength.There was another dreamer.

One tear spilled over, not from sorrow this time but from joy. He raised the glass of yarbarah in a salute. "To you, witch-child."

Fifteen

1

No one saw him, heard him, felt him as he entered Lektra’s town house and climbed the stairs. He paused on the landing. He’d spent the day learning about his prey, so it was simple enough to sense which woman huddled in which bedroom.

Turning away from Lektra’s room, Daemon walked down the corridor. As he passed through the door of Roxie s bedroom, he placed aural and psychic shields around the room that would keep this conversation private.

She was curled up in a chair, reading a book…something he doubted she usually did for entertainment. She wasn’t aware of him as he watched her, as he breathed in her scent.

An illusion spell could hide what a person looked like, but it didn’t change her psychic scent. When he’d seen her in Banard’s shop the day he bought the bracelet for Jaenelle, he’d felt pity for the witch who needed an illusion spell to hide a disfigurement.

Tonight, pity…and mercy…were words that had no meaning for him.

"So," he said pleasantly as he dropped the Black shields that had kept him hidden from her, "since you couldn’t have my brother, you decided to play games with me."

Roxie sprang out of the chair, dropping the book. "I…I don’t know what you’re talking about."