a ball in the center of my new bed, alternately crying and trying to plan a way to get out of here. Finally, exhausted beyond measure, I fell asleep.
And woke up in another garden.
Honestly, I wouldn’t even be that surprised this time, given how the fae king seemed to change his tactics on a whim and had no respect for personal boundaries. Except…I blinked my eyes open, and I could see.
Oh. A dream then.
Mostly, I dreamed in colors, and feelings, and conversations with the people in my head. But every once in a while, I’d have a visual dream—more proof that my blindness wasn’t the life-long birth defect my ex-family told me it was. I had faded, blurry memories of what some things should look like, in a way you only could if you had actually been able to see.
But this…this was something else altogether. I sat up straighter and realized I had been leaning back against a massive tree trunk. When I turned to examine it, I could see the emerald green moss. Glancing down, I could make out the individual blades of the thick grass where I sat. things were clear in a really strange way—as if whatever I focused on came into sharper focus, while the rest of the background around me blurred. At times when I turned my head too fast, things rippled, like what I imagined it would look like to see under water.
The dream was so vivid I could feel a gentle, warm breeze on my skin. Looking down again, I realized I was wearing a soft wrap dress of some sort, and dappled sunlight filtered down through the tree leaves to warm the bare skin of my arms.
I stood and slowly made my way across the grassy area, turning my head this way and that, trying to soak up every sight, even if it was all just a dream. I wanted to remember this. The exact shade of blue in the sky and green under my feet. I reached a tall, flowering bush of some sort, reaching out to run my fingers along the crisply defined edges of waxy green leaves and soft pink petals.
It was overwhelmingly beautiful, and I had to swallow back tears.
A sound began to filter into my consciousness, like flute music, but softer, more mellow. I followed the sound, my environment blurring around the edges as I focused on the little path before me. It led through a corridor of flowering trees that opened into a little courtyard outlined with hedges. There was a big wooden swing, like a porch swing, suspended from a pair of trees on the opposite side of the enclosed space. And on the wooden seat sat a man, swinging lazily as he played some sort of wooden instrument.
He looked up at me with eyes the color of the bright green grass. His hair was a tumbled riot of gleaming blond curls. He stopped playing his instrument and gave me a soft, warm smile. “Hello,” he said in a tenor as pretty as the notes of his instrument.
My vision did that weird, narrowed focus thing again as I let my eyes slide over the rest of him, noticing details I had missed at first glance. Details that you would think I’d have noticed first, under normal circumstances. Like the stubby horns that poked out of his curls at his hairline. Or the way his legs peeking out from his loose shorts were covered in swirling golden brown fur and ended in hooves.
I had definitely spent too much time with the fae, if I was dreaming about satyrs, or fauns, or whatever.
The goat guy patted the seat of the swing beside him. “You can join me, if you want,” he said pleasantly.
I inched forward slowly. I might be dreaming, but my mistrust for kindness and pretty things had followed me even here in my dreams. Was this more fae nonsense? Maybe I’d drunk too much magic-laced water.
“Who are you?” I asked as I reached the swing.
He just continued to smile that same soft, friendly smile, like someone who didn’t have a care in the world. “My name is Cicely. I’m sorry to intrude on your dreams. I felt you nearby and was curious. We don’t get that many humans on the island.”
I hesitantly sat beside him on the swing. “I’m Ruya. You could sense me?”
He nodded, his wild curls bouncing cheerily with the motion. “Yep. I’m a bit of an empath. It’s not like I can read minds or anything, but sometimes people’s feelings are just…very loud.”
I snorted at that. Yeah, my feelings had probably been plenty loud lately.
“Your king is an asshole,” I told him flatly. “He kidnapped me and now he won’t let me go home unless I give him information that I just don’t have.” I slumped against the back of the swing. “This place is beautiful. Did you make it somehow?”
He pulled his strange legs up on the seat to sit cross-legged. His posture and his informal attire of gray t-shirt and loose khaki shorts ruined any awe I would have felt at seeing a creature of legends come to life before my eyes. “The king…kidnapped you?” He shook his head, his expression one of resignation. “I can believe that. He’s a high-handed bastard. He’ll do anything to get what he wants.” Then he was smiling again, flashing brilliant white teeth against his golden skin. “And yes, I helped make this place. It’s a weird talent of mine. I can pop into people’s dreams and say hello. Not really the most polite thing to do, I know. But sometimes my curiosity gets the best of me.” He cocked a blond brow at me. “And you felt like a nice person who seemed to need some cheering up. So, I made you a garden.”
I studied his handsome, earnest features, then let out a sigh. “Are you even real?”
He laughed, the rippling sound of it making me want to smile along in reflex. “I’m real,” he said easily. “And clearly you’ve spent too much time with our king, if you have to ask that question.” He nudged my shoulder with his. “Just relax, Ruya. You’re sleeping right now. Resting. You might as well rest your mind as well.” He lifted his instrument and wiggled it in illustration. “Can I play for you?”
I bit my lip as I considered, eyeing the wooden instrument warily. “What is that? What will it do to me?”
He huffed a laugh. “It’s a pan flute, Ruya. It makes music. It won’t do anything to you, except hopefully make you happy. In a strictly non-magical sense.”
A pan flute? Of course it was. He was a faun-thing after all. Why wouldn’t my mind dream up every stereotype I had ever heard.
“It was pretty, when you were playing earlier,” I said slowly. I was already sharing some sort of magical dream with a stranger. How much weirder could it get? If there was magic afoot, I clearly couldn’t stop it, since the man was already here, in my mind, manipulating my dreams.
And honestly, I just needed to stop thinking for a while. This whole ordeal was wearing on me. I didn’t know how much more I could take.
“Poor Ruya,” Cicely said softly, reaching out to pat my knee. “I’m sorry you’re so upset. It’s not much, I know. But, let me do what I can to make you feel better?”
I nodded and he lifted the pan flute to his lips, playing a soft, playful tune that made me think of children playing in the garden, maybe climbing the trees or running and tumbling in the grass. There was magic in the sound, no matter what he had said. But it was a good magic, sweet and alive.
I don’t know how long we sat like that, gently swaying in the swing, the sun shining around us while he played his flute. Eventually, the music stopped, and I opened my eyes, which had slipped closed as I soaked up the sun and the comfort. I found Cicely watching me with a soft, fond smile.
“You feel better,” the faun said happily, more a statement than a question.
I found myself smiling in return. “I do. Thank you.”
He patted my knee again, then leaned in to brush a strand of my hair back behind my ear. It had been shaved by my previous family, but now it had grown out long enough to fall into my face in the warm breeze that danced around us. His warm fingers slid through my hair with familiar ease, then traced my cheek and jaw. “So pretty,” he said, his eyes soft. “You should look this content all the time.”
I pulled away from his touch, suddenly aware of how I’d been leaning into it. Damn it, was this all just more fae tricks? But why? What was the point of any of this?
Cicely frowned. “I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?”
I felt my cheeks heat up with embarrassment. Because of course I could manage to blush in a dream. “I’m not okay with strange men touching me like that.” Only partially true. Because I liked it when he did it, apparently. But I was afraid what might happen if my suspiciously quiet healing powers suddenly decided to flare to life, even in a dream. And I was also well aware that seducing me might be a good way to get me to tell him all my secrets.
His eyebrows shot up and he held up both hands in a staying gesture. “I’m sorry! I don’t leave the isle much. I tend to forget that other species aren’t quite as tactile as my own.” He smiled wryly. “Fauns tend to be a bit touchy-feely compared to others, or so I’m told. And a bit freer with our compliments. I didn’t mean any offense.”
I rubbed a hand over my face, then sat up straighter. “It’s okay. I’m just…not really used to being touched so easily. And, honestly, I’m still waiting for you to tell me why you’re really here.”
He ran a hand through his gleaming curls, and I yanked my thoughts away from whether they really were as soft as they looked. He just had this sweet, boyish, warmth to him that made me want to hug him. “I’m just here because I wanted to meet you,” he said, looking down at the flute in his lap. “I get lonely too, locked away in this place.” Then he looked up, and a shy smile graced his lips. “I swear I’ll keep my hands to myself. So…can I come visit you like this sometimes? I’d love to have a friend to talk to.”
I sighed. “Well, I’m not planning on staying here much longer, if I can help it,” I muttered. Then I looked into his hopeful green eyes again. “But…yes. I suppose that’s okay.”
His smile was infectious, and he nearly bounced in his seat, but he checked himself when he started to move toward me. “Sorry! Sorry. I just want to hug you so bad. Thank you, Ruya!”
I chuckled despite myself. Was he a grown man or a child? Maybe a puppy. I wanted to pat his head and tell him to settle down. But my vision was going blurry around the edges, slowly fading back to what it normally was—nothing but blurry hints of light and shadow, with a hint of faded color now and then.
“Oh! You’re waking up,” Cicely said softly, his sweet tenor coming from far away. “I’ll see you again soon, Ruya. Be well!”
I lay on my borrowed bed for a moment with my eyes closed, just breathing. Had any of that been real? Or was I just dreaming in high-definition technicolor now because I had soaked up too much fae magic?
A scratching sound came from the direction of my bedroom door, followed by an impatient, muffled meow. I bolted upright and stumbled to the door. “Queen cat?” I whispered. “Is that you?”
“Witches are so slow,” came the answer. Followed by a very distinctly bird-like chirp of terror.