Lady of Dreams Read online

  “It’s his funny little face,” I murmured. “People tell him things they’d never tell anyone else.”

  “Ah, that explains it,” said Yong-hwa, more to himself than me. “You’re very similar, Clovis-a.”

  I didn’t answer that because it was nonsense. Instead I let the sound of Yong-hwa’s voice flow in the background while I followed the trailing edges of the Dreams to see what I could see. The Dream of Jessamy, unwilling to be pushed aside by others, nudged closer, and I saw without surprise that he had already found Hwan-chul’s cottage.

  He knocked at the door in his customarily energetic way, and a girl answered the door. She was short haired, but unmistakably feminine—and, just as unmistakably, she was Hwan-chul.

  Jessamy’s mouth dropped open, his eyes wide with shock. “You—you—!”

  A girl! Hwan-chul is a girl! I laughed out loud, the sound of it curling light and bright like tea steam against the cool air of the evening. My Dreams had become very interesting again.

  Yong-hwa’s voice abruptly stopped, drawing my attention back to his face, and he said, with a soft upturn to the corners of his lips, “I had no idea I was such an amusing conversationalist.”

  “Miane, Oppa,” I said. “I saw something funny out the window.”

  The glimmer of mixed amusement and interest that sprang to Yong-hwa’s eyes made me ruefully aware that Yong-hwa knew exactly what I could see out the window from my prone vantage point—which was, not to put too fine a point on it, the sky and nothing else.

  “That’s odd,” he said. “I wouldn’t have thought the view from there was particularly interesting. Perhaps if I help you sit up, you’ll come to find me more interesting than the sky.”

  “You’re already more interesting than the sky,” I said, a little sleepily. The Dream of Jessamy and Hwan-chul must be an important one, because it was stronger than usual, and Yong-hwa’s touch would be useful. At any rate, it didn’t make me feel as heavy as his magic-laced music had made me feel. “But help me up anyway, Oppa.”

  Yong-hwa looked surprised, and then quietly pleased. I felt the warmth of his hand sliding beneath the small of my back, balancing but not overpowering the Dream, as he gently lifted me into place against the side cushions of the window seat. The world tilted a little too far, and I grasped convulsively at Yong-hwa’s wrist to find my balance again. That wrist turned beneath my fingers until Yong-hwa’s hand was curled around mine, our palms pressed together, but when I looked up in surprise, Yong-hwa’s eyes weren’t on me. He was gazing out at the garden, to where Hyun-jun had just pulled Ae-jung around behind one of the hedges to kiss her. There was the slightest of lines between his brows.

  I clicked my tongue, instinctively pressing the fingers that held mine. “Poor baby,” I murmured in Scandian.

  I saw utter surprise in Yong-hwa’s face for one still moment, and in that moment realised that out of all the Eppans I was surrounded by, Yong-hwa was the only one who also spoke Scandian. Then he looked down at me and smiled, a full, glowing thing that was the first really warm smile I’d seen from him since that day he sat cold and alone in the rose garden. He said in halting Scandian, “Poor...bay-bee? Exactly how old are you, Clovis-a?”

  “Nineteen,” I told him. I found that I was still pinching his fingers and let them go. “But I’ve been alive for a very long time.”

  There was a fascinated glow in his eyes that worried me a little. I wasn’t supposed to be involved in my Dreams; Dreams were all they were, and all they ever would be. I had played with Yong-hwa as a child plays with a toy—or perhaps I had simply fed him all the bread I had to give—and it wouldn’t do to get caught up in the game myself. I was a spectator only.

  But when Yong-hwa spoke, it was merely to ask, “Do you care for tea, Clovis-a? Chajin blend, perhaps?”

  I don’t know exactly what he suspected, or even if he still did suspect me. But if he expected me to jump, he was disappointed.

  “I haven’t had Chajin in some time,” I said, truthfully and calmly. I’d used up the last of it on Yong-hwa’s hilltop morning. I remembered his eyes glowing warm and content, the breeze stirring his perfectly combed hair into disorder, and for a moment I was unsure which Dream to follow.

  Neither, I told myself, a little shaken, as Yong-hwa continued to speak. That was a memory, and this—this is real. There is no Dream. It shouldn’t have been difficult to tell; not only was I heavy, but my heart was ticking an uneven rhythm somewhere around my collarbone. It was uncomfortable and not at all familiar. The thing was, I decided, that I wasn’t used to things happening to me. I was used to watching things happen to other people.

  I found that Yong-hwa had stopped talking and was gazing at me questioningly. His cheeks had sharpened a little, as though he were on the point of smiling, and when I said mechanically, “That sounds lovely,” the smile broke through.

  “Tomorrow, then,” he said. “I’ll go now, Clovis-a; you still seem tired.”

  He bowed and left, and I followed him in the Dream that grew as soon as he exited the room, hoping for a clue as to what I had agreed to do tomorrow. He was smiling as he walked down the stairs, that Dreamy, mischievous smile that meant a game was afoot, his cane flicking at the carpet lightly as he walked. What game was this? I had arranged games to cheer him up, but those were my games. Was Yong-hwa making his own games again? Why? He wasn’t playing with Ae-jung any more. Was he—could he be playing a game with me? Why?

  It was just as well, I thought, slightly shaken, that he didn’t know about my Dreaming. I was quite sure that I wouldn’t be able to succeed in a game played against Yong-hwa if he was aware of all the circumstances. I liked to think of myself as clever, but if I was honest, most of my cleverness was caused by my knowing more of my fellow humans and their movements than was strictly fair. It wasn’t so much cleverness as knowledge. Yong-hwa was actually clever.

  Still, I was relieved to see him stop one of the servants in the lower hall and hear him order a tea tray for tomorrow at eleven, in the gardens.

  “Bring it to the marble gazebo in the gardens,” he added. Ah, so we were taking tea in the marble gazebo tomorrow at eleven? Very well. Was this just Yong-hwa being kind to Jessamy’s sister? Perhaps it was, and there was no other explanation needed. But then why did he smile?

  I made a small, exasperated noise and let go of the Dream. It lingered despite me, and for the rest of the afternoon it hovered in the back of my mind, tugging at my attention, inviting me to discover what else Yong-hwa was doing. I ignored it as well as I could, slipping in and out of immediate Reality all evening until Jessamy came to visit me and played chess, cheating outrageously every time I drifted away.

  I slept late the next day as well. When I was awakened by an unusually silent Carlin it was past ten o’clock, and it was difficult to see him through the Dream that was already there. Yong-hwa was drinking tea in the conservatory, a bright, entirely private smile on his face. Why was he drinking tea now in the conservatory when he would be drinking tea with me in the garden less than an hour later? And why that smile? That smile—that smile that was bright, interested, and glowing with amusement. His cheeks sharp in enjoyment and the faintest hint of white teeth showing through his curved lips.

  “Aish!” I said crossly to myself. “I must be growing senile. Why shouldn’t he smile? But—but—oh, why should he smile?”

  12

  What would I do if I couldn’t Dream? Well, what would you do if you couldn’t walk? You’d find another way of getting around. If I couldn’t Dream, I suppose I’d have to pay more attention to the people around me to satiate my boredom. I don’t know if I’d care about them any more, but I would have to be more attentive. That’s what they call character building.

  Perhaps I’d like it. Perhaps if the Dreams weren’t there I would care more, and be able to walk every day, and perhaps people would even be able to see me properly. But it’s no use wondering about it, because I can Dream. More importantly, I can’t not
Dream; even you can’t keep them at bay completely.

  So you shouldn’t be asking what I’d do if I couldn’t Dream. You should be asking what you’ll do since I can’t stop Dreaming.

  ***

  I took my time traversing the garden path to the gazebo, the heaviness of my limbs weighing me down and wearying my mind. It was a toilsome day. My chaise passed me on the shoulders of two servants long before I got there, and I was tempted to call out to them to lower it and carry me as well. I caught a Dream-sight of Yong-hwa entering the garden behind me the next moment, his cane swinging lightly beside him without touching the ground. Well, if I did succumb to my weariness, at least there would be someone at hand to look after me. Yong-hwa never had any trouble seeing me nowadays. The servants, on the other hand, passed me a second time without seeing me, and I didn’t think it worthwhile to draw attention to myself when Yong-hwa would catch up with me any second.

  Dream and immediate Reality clashed for a disorienting moment as I heard the crunch of Yong-hwa’s footsteps on the path behind me and struggled to push away the Dream-sense of him.

  “Clovis-a, it’s too far for you to walk,” he said, his steps quickening until he was beside me. “You should have taken the chaise.”

  “It’s all right,” I said, bowing my head just slightly to acknowledge him. One of the pleasant things about being an invalid is that people don’t expect you to bow as politely or fully as others are expected to do. It’s these small, ill-natured things that bring me pleasure. “If I overexert myself I can stay inside tomorrow.”

  I caught the brief grimace that pulled his lips sideways; Yong-hwa was annoyed with himself.

  “It was a bad choice of meeting place,” he said. “Take my arm, Clovis-a. I’ll make sure you’re carried back.”

  I pinched a fold of his sleeve between my fingers, surprising myself at the feeling of familiarity that came with the action, and for a fleeting moment let the backs of my fingers rest against the warmth of his arm. It made me feel heavier, but it was also oddly comforting, and today was feeling just slightly off kilter in a way that I wasn’t used to feeling.

  Yong-hwa looked down at me curiously but didn’t say anything, and we walked the path in silence until we found ourselves at the marble stairs that ascended into the gazebo. They were littered with bright leaves that scattered beneath our feet as we climbed, and I saw the path the footmen must have taken to bring my chaise longue in the disturbed leaves farther up. The patchwork of green and brown against the paleness of the marble was pleasant, and I surprised myself by smiling at it. I thought Yong-hwa looked at me again, but when I turned my head to look up at him he was smiling at something only he could see, his eyes on the stairs beneath us.

  It was a relief to sit down when we reached the top of the stairs. The occasional heaviness makes me able to walk, but despite that—and despite the contraption that makes my muscles twitch—I use my legs so little that any walk farther than the gardens is always an ordeal. The gazebo was right at the edge of the gardens behind the manor, where they turned to woods, and I’d never walked so far by myself. I wondered, as I sat down on my chaise longue, exactly why it had seemed so necessary to walk out today. I also wondered, my eyes flickering around at the woods behind the gazebo, if Carlin had followed Yong-hwa and me again today.

  I looked back at Yong-hwa to find that he was watching me with amused eyes while pouring tea from the tray that had been left for us.

  “You should sit comfortably,” he said, touching a magic-laced finger to both of the teacups he had just filled. “I have something I want to talk to you about.”

  “All right, Oppa,” I said, leaving my shoes on the marble floor and curling my legs up beside me. “What do you want to talk to me about?”

  “A few things,” Yong-hwa said, and instead of sitting on the seat opposite, he sat on the chaise longue with me, almost but not quite touching me. I stiffened instinctively, drawing away from that heavy warmth of his, and found that he was smiling again.

  “The first thing,” he said, “is this,” and he cupped my face with both hands. I would have fallen sideways with the weight of it, but his hands were there to hold me, gently lowering me to rest against the arm of the chaise.

  “Ah,” said Yong-hwa, his head turned sideways to match mine, his eyes bright. “I did wonder about that.”

  I groped with an exhausted hand to pull one of his away, but found that all I could do was grasp that hand. “Oppa.”

  “Clovis-a,” said Yong-hwa, one hand steady beneath my left cheek and the other warm around the right, “exactly how long have you been Dreaming about me?”

  There was a shout and the sound of someone hastily taking the stairs of the gazebo three at a time, then Yong-hwa was rudely thrust away and I was being cradled in Carlin’s arms while his voice said urgently, “Miss. Miss. Are you all right?”

  “Just a minute, Carlin,” I murmured, resting my weighty head against his shoulder. Despite the weight of Yong-hwa’s touch, I could still see Dreams about me. Experimentally, I drew one of them closer, balancing the buoyancy of it against the heaviness of my limbs, and felt the curious sensation of something coming into alignment deep within me.

  Opposite us, Yong-hwa sat down again and said, “I wondered how long it would take for your footman to get here.” The teacups beside him were still steaming as they had been when he first poured them; he’d been prepared for this.

  “Did you put sugar in mine?” I asked him, still slightly slurred. I didn’t normally take sugar, but I had the feeling I would need it today.

  “Of course,” said Yong-hwa. “Just a little; nothing too sickly.”

  “That’s good,” I said, comfortably lighter for the closeness of my Dreams. I lifted my head from Carlin’s shoulder, but he pressed it back down again, almost angrily.

  “Rest, miss. I’ll get you some tea when we’re back in our room.”

  “Not just yet, Carlin,” I said. “Yong-hwa oppa still has something to say.”

  “Ever since I came back to Eppa with Jessamy, I’ve had the strangest feeling,” said Yong-hwa meditatively. “Even when I’m alone it feels as though I’m not, quite.”

  “Have you considered that you might just be going mad?” said Carlin. “Sir. Miss, we should get you back inside. You shouldn’t have come out this far.”

  “It’s no use carrying her away,” Yong-hwa said. “I’ll just follow you.”

  Carlin, his nostrils flaring, said, “Eun-hee-ssi might have something to say about you bothering her guests.”

  “Even if you take her away now, that will only stop me from seeing her. Do you think you can stop her from seeing me? That presence I’ve felt for so many weeks, Clovis-a; that presence that feels so real that I’ve spoken to it before—it’s you. Now that I know you better I can feel the familiarity to it. Are you really going to run away?”

  I sighed. “Put me down, Carlin.”

  “Miss!”

  “Put me down.”

  Carlin did so, reluctantly, while Yong-hwa watched with his forefinger tapping against the arm of his bench. Then, instead of going to his proper place behind me, Carlin stood at my feet, between Yong-hwa and me. I considered telling him to go away, but I wasn’t sure he’d obey me, and I preferred not to lose any more face in front of Yong-hwa.

  Instead, I said, “How did you know Carlin was mine?”

  “I suspected when I saw him come out of your apartments. When I found out that he didn’t even know the name of Eun-hee’s butler, it was obvious that he wasn’t one of the manor servants. Your surprise, though—it was so genuine that I had to adjust my ideas. I was quite sure of it a few days after that when I saw him carry you back in after I left you in the garden. The way he spoke to you—the way he carried you—I knew he’d been with you for a very long time.”

  “That was your fault, Carlin,” I said.

  This time it was Carlin who sighed. “Yes, miss.”

  “The Dreams,” said Yong-hwa, smili
ng at me, “the Dreams I was certain about only this morning. I knew someone like you a long time ago, but back then I didn’t understand it. I still don’t really understand it, but I’m beginning to get a good idea.”

  “You—” I stopped and considered, and said, “You told me one meeting place and time when you were sure I wasn’t listening, and made sure I saw the other in a Dream.”

  “That was your fault,” said Carlin. “Miss.”

  “That—then it was a game!”

  “I was inspired,” Yong-hwa said, with a deep glow of enjoyment to his eyes, “by the games you’ve been playing with me for the last few weeks.”

  “Told you we should have packed up and gone home,” said Carlin, in a barely audible mutter. “Miss.”

  “Quiet, you,” I said.

  Yong-hwa, looking from Carlin to me, said, “Now that your footman has seen that I’m not going to harm you, do you think we can dispense with him?”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” said Carlin flatly.

  I said, “There’s nothing I’ll say that Carlin can’t hear.”

  “Is that so?” said Yong-hwa. “That’s very transparent of you, Clovis-a, but I’m planning to say several things that I’d very much rather he didn’t hear.”

  I sighed. “Carlin—”

  “Miss—”

  “Wait for me in our rooms. Yong-hwa oppa will bring me back.”

  “I could wait at the bottom of the stairs, miss.”

  “Our rooms.”

  “Or at the hedges, miss; there’s a seat there and—”

  “Wait for me in our rooms,” I said. “And I’ll know if you don’t.”

  Carlin opened his mouth, closed it, and muttered something beneath his breath. At last he said, “Yes, miss.” He bowed, short and precise, and with an angry look at Yong-hwa strode back down the gazebo stairs and toward the manor.

  He was out of sight beyond the hedge in a minute, and I followed him in a Dream, well aware of his tendency to do what he thought should be done rather than what I’d ordered him to do. But he was still walking moodily toward the manor when I entered the Dream, kicking at tufts of grass that sprang up through the carpeting of leaves. He was so preoccupied with kicking grass that he didn’t see Se-ri as she exited the manor by the servants’ door, neatly dressed in a severe navy-blue suit that made her look very different from her usual peaches-and-cream self. Even her hair was covered by a tightly wound scarf that bound it closely to her head.