Sleep, baby, sleep.
The Ashes guard the keep.
Another shakes the dreamland tree,
And from it fall sweet dreams for thee.
Sleep, baby, sleep.
The first time Wren opened her eyes she saw Liza sitting next to her bed. She was in an unfamiliar room, the starry night sky clear outside her window, and Baxter dozed nearby, slumped in the chair next to the fireplace. Wren wanted to call out to them, to shout for them to wake up and see her, but her mouth wouldn’t work properly. Her eyelids felt heavy with sleep, and though she fought it, they shut, sending her back into dreamless slumber.
Next, it was Jill. Wren still couldn’t speak, but Jill saw that she was awake.
“You must rest, Wren,” Jill said, bathing Wren’s forehead with a cool washcloth. “Wielding the amount of stardust you did”—she wrung out the cloth over a bowl on the nightstand—“is unheard of, even for a full Fiddler. Rest.”
Wren struggled against it, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stay awake. Each time she opened her eyes, someone else was there, soothing her, telling her to sleep, that she was going to be all right, that all was well, that she must rest.
Once, before she even opened her eyes, she heard Mary’s voice, and then Cole’s answering her. “The gateway remains closed,” Cole had said definitively. “The Ashes confirmed it.”
“And at what cost?” Mary sounded sad. “Two apprentices.”
“Jack and Wren both still live,” Cole had said. “Don’t give up hope.”
Wren wanted to comfort Mary, to tell her she was all right, but her mouth felt dry as dust, as though she might never speak again. She wanted to tell them that Nod must be okay, because for the first time in a long while she hadn’t dreamed about it. She hoped that meant Robin was all right now. Wren pushed hard, fighting through the way her jaw felt wired shut, but to no avail. Sleep came unbidden, and Mary and Cole were gone.
Each time she woke, it was someone else. Once she even saw her parents, which she knew was impossible. Most of the time it was Jill or Liza. Sometimes they washed her forehead. Other times they held a spoonful of hot broth to her lips. But beyond that Wren couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, couldn’t do more than blink at them. Until the time Simon came.
Wren opened her eyes, looking immediately to the chair where someone always sat. Instead of a person, though, she saw her falcon perched on it, and behind the chair stood Simon, looking down at her with his warm brown eyes.
Wren felt happy tears prickle at the back of hers, and her wooden mouth melted into the hint of a smile.
“Thank you,” she managed through parched lips.
Simon’s eyes grew wide, as though Wren had done something unimaginable. He disappeared from sight, and Wren moved her head weakly, watching Simon run to the door.
“She’s awake!” he called out to the hallway. “And she spoke.”
The next moment her room was filled with people. Simon and Jill. Baxter and Liza and Mary and, next to her, Cole. Wren blinked. And beyond them, her parents. Wren’s mother and father hovered behind the Fiddlers, eyeing them warily. Mary drew close, leaned over and felt Wren’s forehead, peering into her eyes.
“The sickness is breaking. She’ll recover,” Mary said breathlessly. “She’s going to be all right.” She clasped Wren’s hand in both of her own. “You’re going to be just fine, Wren, you wonderful girl, you.”
“And Jack?” Wren was surprised at how tiring it was to say the words. Like being awake for two minutes was running a marathon.
“Jack is here, too,” Mary said, but she wouldn’t meet Wren’s eyes. She looked down at her hand. “But he hasn’t woken. The Ashes brought you both back from the gateway.”
Wren felt her eyelids beginning to close. She fought to keep them open. She had so many questions. She wanted to talk to the Ashes. To find out what the others knew. Did they hate Jack? Did they know how Boggen had tricked him? She worked her mouth, but no words came out.
“We’re tiring her out. She must rest to regain her strength.” Mary rose, shooing the others out of the room. “Suzette? Walter?” Wren wanted more than anything to sleep, but she saw her parents drawing near, and she willed her eyes open for a few more moments.
“Little Bird,” her dad said, tears making his eyes all shiny. “We’ve missed you so much.”
“We love you, sweetie.” Wren’s mom kissed her on her forehead. “We won’t go anywhere. We’ll be right here when you wake up.”
Wren wondered if this was actually happening. Her parents? And the Fiddlers? The last thing she saw was them settling into the unoccupied chairs by her bedside, her mom and dad sharing a smile. Wren stopped fighting. She had done it. She had saved Jack and kept Boggen from opening the gateway. Mary’s words echoed through her mind. She was going to be okay.
Wren let her eyes shut, succumbing to sleep, and, for the first time since the gateway, she dreamed of Nod.