Title: The Princess and the Prisoner
Series: Origins
'Verse: A Lie of Dreamers
Summary: Set in the LoD 'verse, the Origins series is a collection of stories detailing the journey of various characters from where they were to where they are in the beginning of LoD. Spoilers but nothing you won't get from the first chapter featuring these characters
Note: despite the somewhat pornographic nature of the title, there is no porn. I suck at titles. ; But Saethe just sucks ass. Ydael's almost as bad though.

The Princess and the Prisoner

Every year, in the four nations that used to be one empire, the first week was always devoted to the Festival of Souls. Many people had forgotten what the festival meant, what it was meant to celebrate. But the rulers of Sozfir never forgot. They let their people have their parties and their parade. They smiled as they freed scores of blackbirds – a sign of the new year. They traded gifts with their neighbouring kingdoms, as tradition dictated. Even if they knew the dark history behind the festival, it was no reason to let it cast a gloom over the revelry.

Ydael, like all other children of Sozfir's rulers, knew that history. Knew why the Festival of Souls happened when it did, knew why they let the blackbirds block out the sun, knew why they lit candles for one whole week. It wasn't a celebration of the new year or a festival to guide lost spirits home. It was a reminder of the sinister times before and the sinister times to come. True, the Darkening happened over a thousand years ago but it was common knowledge the years of peace since then was only temporary. Scholars and scientists, through the use of prophecies and experiments, knew history would repeat. They simply didn't identify what part of history would be repeating. But while there was little information on what happened then even the most ignorant of children knew the gods had been the sacrifice. After the Darkening the gods that created this world and nurtured it were gone. No one wanted to contemplate who or what would be the sacrifice when the Darkening fell again.

Ydael knew all of that, but she couldn't connect her history lessons to why she and her father always spent the Festival of Souls far away from civilisation. Since her fifth birthday, ten years ago, they left the capital two days into the celebration to ride to the Faerlun ruins with only a small contingent of soldiers.

Twisting her head around to look at her father, Ydael asked the question she asked every time they passed the gates of Faerlun. "Father, why am I here?"

"Because," he answered absently. It was the same answer he always gave.

She rolled her eyes and turned back to watching the ebony spires of the city come closer. "I don't need to be here, it's cold, and how come Lythi doesn't have to come with you?" Her elder sister by seven years always wanted to come to the ruins, and she made Ydael's life all the more difficult for being granted the favour of accompanying their father on the harrowing journey through forests, plains, and across shaking bridges over torrential rapids. Ydael wished her father would take Lythi at least once so her sister could see it was not an honour but a punishment.

"You do need to be here, taasha. And the cold will be gone in a few minutes as soon as we reach the inn. As for why your sister is not here, she has to learn how to take care of everything without me."

Ydael sighed. "I suppose but why doesn't Lythi ever have to come? She can take care of the country some other time. Can't she?" A deep chuckle originated from her father and she looked at him with a hint of imperial annoyance. "Father," she said exasperatedly.

His royal majesty King Tyrus de Laivre reached across the space between them to squeeze her shoulder. "I always bring you here because when I am gone you will have to do this." He let go when the entire contingent came to a stop in front of an old building with a rotting sign hanging out front.

"Me?" she asked, watching her father climbed off his horse. "But you said only the Kings and Queens can do this. Lythi is the one who will become queen, right?" Not waiting for a soldier to help her down, she dismounted as gracefully as any soldier in the cavalry. Thankful for the pants she chose to wear rather than a riding dress as her maid wanted her to, she handed her horse off to one of the soldiers.

Her father shook his head as he left his horse to come offer her his arm – an offer she gladly accepted. Ydael was a good rider but she was not used to writing for a day and half the night. "Perhaps but your sister doesn't have the ability."

While Tyrus took Ydael inside the shelter the soldiers they brought with them began setting up camp. "Why not?" she continued to question. Her father took her to the back wall where there was a small niche, large enough for her to sit on comfortably.

He set her down on the cold stone and unclasped the broach holding his cloak together. "Because the gods decided not to give her their blessing," he answered, wrapping the thick material around her.

"There're no such things as gods," Ydael said promptly, "Or at least, not anymore," she corrected.

Her father frowned. "Who told you that?"

Shrugging carelessly, Ydael folded her legs under her. "Master Farlan did. He said gods don't exist because they all died long ago. It was a discussion in class and someone said gods can't die because they're immortal. But he said that it doesn't matter whether they died or got destroyed, they just weren't here anymore. And I guess it's true because if gods did exist then priests and priestesses would be able to do more than just perform outdated ceremonies."

"Master Farlan has no idea what he's talking about," her father refuted, shaking his head furiously. "Taasha, listen to me. The gods aren't gone. They're here. They're just...they're sleeping."

Startled by the fervent statements, Ydael stared at her father, his green eyes the same as hers. Lythi didn't have those eyes; she looked like their mother, all soft and plump with a smile for her friends and a fierce glare for her enemies; there seemed to be more of the latter than the former. That was why they called her Lythianna, after their mother's mother. Everyone in the palace said Ydael was her father's child while Lythi was a child of Arduuril, something her sister found hard to tolerate. Lythi hated being reminded that despite being born of the same mother and father, Ydael was more Sozfir than her. Ydael wondered if that was why she was here and her sister was not; was Lythi unwelcome because she was so clearly Arduuril? Did foreign blood mean she couldn't inherit the flame her father kept talking about?

Storing that question away for another occasion, she repeated, "Sleeping?"

"Sleeping. And to make sure they have a good sleep, we're here to sing them a lullaby. Just like I did for you." And her father tweaked her nose, causing her to grimace.

"I'm too old for that. And that thing about lullabies is just silly," she declared. "I know you come here to pray for their blessing."

Her father laughed softly, a rumbling sound that made her feel safer than soldiers at her side. If her father was laughing then everything was fine with the world. "Not silly, taasha. We're extremely lucky that the gods are allowing us to enter their most hallowed ground. They only do it for us. Did you know that?"

Ydael nodded with a sigh. "You tell me that all the time, father."

"Well, that's because it's important. They chose our ancestor out of thousands to be the caretaker of their temple," her father confirmed. Over his shoulders she saw the soldiers finish setting up camp; she would only have a few more minutes before her father realised and made her go to sleep. Fifteen and her father still sent her off to bed like some toddler. Spurred on by curiosity and time constraints, she asked a question she had been hesitating to voice.

"Father, you said all the gods are here. Sleeping, supposedly? " she began carefully.

"Well, not here precisely. They're everywhere but this is their temple. So when we pray to them, it will reach them."

"All of them?"

"All."

She bit the inside of her cheek nervously. This next question was a sensitive one. "Even the lost ones?"

The kind face tightened, and moss green eyes hardened into shards of ice. "The lost ones are not gods. They are charlatans and liars, who claimed to be gods. They were buried under layers of fire and rocks for their treason. We do not pray to them, do you understand me, Ydael? We do not worship false gods."

"But – "

"No," Tyrus snapped, startling Ydael into flinching. "Now come along, you need to sleep; we have an early start tomorrow."

When her father pulled her up, she did not put up any protests.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

Watching the world turn and change and come back to its beginnings and being able to do nothing.

Just sit still, little boy, and watch everything you worked for crumble into dust. Be nothing but a ghost in their eyes. Be a glimpse of white, a flash of light, a spike of fear. Be a shadow of everything you were.

Be a good boy and maybe you'll still exist when everything else is gone.

History books described Faerlun as the prime example of Uqair architecture. Both city and temple, it was the marvel of the ancient and modern world. Scholars drooled over the potential knowledge held within the ruins. If only they could enter. Not since the Darkening had anyone outside the Sozfir royals entered the city and remained sane. No one knew why the city was abandoned, or what happened to the citizens, or why the magic and the dream were so strong there. Perhaps there were gods. There surely had to be a reason why misfortune fell on those who ventured where her father said they were unwelcome. No merchant caravans, no lone travellers, no royal troops dared to step a foot within the city. They all inevitably suffered for their defiance of the sleeping gods. It was more than a fireside story now; it was practically a legend rivalling the one of the Darkening.

Ydael thought it was all a bore.

Nothing in the ruins but mouldy rocks and rotting wood. Years upon years of torrential rain and harsh droughts wore everything down to an approximation of what it had once been. There were no longer any colours or hint of life left in the city. Her father was off in the main temple preparing, and the soldiers were only allowed as far as the inn. The soldiers that came with her father were veterans. They knew where they were allowed and where they weren't. They knew they were as safe as they could get, but not even the king's reassurance could stop the unease they felt. Ydael knew they were uncomfortable, knew they would run if they could. Not that they would tell her, of course not. She was just a child, albeit a child who was approaching her coming of age ceremony. In some respects being regarded as a child had benefits. A child, even those that were close to adulthood, heard things and saw the uneasy glances they exchanged.

And a child, if she kept quiet long enough, could sneak away from her protectors and walk onto grounds they couldn't.

The weather was still cold but spring was on its way and made its presence felt with a lukewarm breeze that danced through lonely streets. Ydael wrapped her arms around herself and walked along cobbled roads, marked with signs of wear and tear. She wasn't afraid of the silence, this was her city. Nothing could hurt her here. But like the soldiers, knowing did not mean being comforted. There were occasional feelings of being watched that would quicken her feet. The priests weren't lying when they said the restless souls of Faerlun haunted the city. The city had spots where even the thick cloak and thicker hood were not enough to stop a chill going down her spine. She walked quickly through these spots.

Since her first visit to the city she explored as much as she could in the time allotted, keeping a mental map of where everything was. She knew as much about the city as the original inhabitants did. More so than her father most definitely. The side of the roads were lined with coloured rocks, a colour for important destinations; blue for the main temple, red for the magistrate's house, yellow for the judicial courts, black for the jails. There was one other colour that she had never had the chance to follow, the white stones. Initially she hadn't thought they were part of the code but on her last trip, she realised the white stones did lead somewhere but her father finished before she could find out.

This time would be different. Ydael pulled out the dagger her uncle had given her, just in case, and turned on the small lamp she stole from an officer's pack. Pale yellow light spilled from the windows of the lamp to flood the immediate area around her. It wasn't necessary now but clouds tended to loom over Faerlun and it could go from bright day to grey twilight in a matter of seconds.

A look at the side of the road revealed a trail of white stones leading off in front of her. Clutching her dagger tighter, she followed the path laid out. She passed the butcher's – where the bones sat in their little trays – and the atelier's with its neat racks of disintegrating hats. The houses in between the two shops were all the same; white walls, brown wooden frames, round windows. Then down the street of sinners – brothels right and left. And left to the bankers.

Twists and turns, more so than any other paths, and she almost felt lost. But this was her city and she would find out the last secret the city had to offer her.

One last turn and she came to a dead end she had not encountered before; high walls on both side, and a wooden door facing her. Unlike other structures in the city the door was still new; a healthy brown with no hint of decay or wood-ants. It was plain oak and undecorated, except for the sing line of runes carved across the door. She recognised some of the runes; she had seen some of them on the door leading to the main temple. But that one was monstrous, this was a quiet thing sitting in the middle of nowhere.

Ydael hesitated only one second then she was pushing ahead. The runes flared to life when she touched the door, the white energy sliding over wood and flesh to her heart. Ydael let the magic do what it wanted, as far as she could tell it was only a protection spell. The temple and the jails had something like that too, and it had never hurt her before. She trusted that it wouldn't hurt her now.

She was proven right. The magic settled on her chest for a moment and then leeched away into the ground, its job completed. A gentle push of her hand opened the door, the runes flashing only briefly. No creaking, which Ydael found more unsettling than the incongruous nature of its existence. The door led to a set of stairs; stone stairs that went down to forever. She peered down into the dark and although she stretched her lamp down as far as it could go without stepping inside, the light did not reveal any end to the stairs.

She could leave. She could close the door and turn her back on it. No one would care because no one knew. She could go back to her father and watch him perform the ceremony, then go home and never speak of this. But something in the daunting black called to her. A tug on her mind, like a voice she couldn't hear quite properly. If she took a step inside she was going to change things; for better or worse she couldn't tell. But if she wanted to know, she needed to move.

I am a princess of Sozfir, I am the next chosen, I am my father's daughter and I am not afraid.

The first step sent a thrill of magic, dreams and plain human fear running through her body. It was a talent of her family to feel magic of all sorts; from the sweet earth magic of Sorcerers to the stormy tangles of Dreamers.

This place, whatever it was, had magic and dreams, a combination she rarely encountered. Her lessons from her father said the gods and the Dreamscape were anti-thesis of each other. By all rights the two shouldn't exist in the same place without it causing something very, very bad. Even a idiot knew that much. But with the arrogance born of royal blood and centuries of the gods' good will, Ydael gritted her teeth and took another step down the stairs, then another, ignoring the tingle and tightness of opposing energies. Her lamp dimmed in strength with each step she took but she was halfway down already and she was not going back up.

Her city and her mystery to solve.

The mantra kept her going, even when the lamp went out and the only thing she could feel were the steps under her feet and the dagger in her hand. A tentative wave of her hand told her either the corridor had widened or there really were no borders to either side of the stair. She didn't bother to find out which one was the truth.

All her energies were focused on not turning and running away from the still insistent call. She couldn't care less about what might or might not be there around her. Her uncle taught her the basics of fighting and the one advice that had stuck in her mind was the one about never letting anything distract her from her target.

She lost count of how many times she repeated the mantra, sometimes out loud, before she hit the bottom. A look back at the top of the stairs revealed a small rectangle of light; a light that was slowly disappearing with the probable appearance of a cloud. She turned back to the darkness.

It was still black, but she could see a little, more than before at any rate. Reminding herself that she was the princess and she was not afraid, she took a step towards where she thought the corridor led. Unlike the stair she could feel the walls around her. It felt solid; smooth and warm where she touched. Like the marble in the palace. She used the wall to guide her steps, sliding her palm along. There were no ridges, no imperfections, nothing but a smooth surface. Unnatural, just like the mix of energies.

It was another long while before she would reach the end. Not once did she stumble, and her dagger never slipped from her fingers. She wasn't sure what she was looking for, or what she would find at the end of her journey but her mental map told her she was moving closer and closer to the main temple. This piece of information was no surprise to her.

Observations of cities she had visited told her that the biggest building always held the biggest secret. It was true for Aleysk where the palace was full of history and things best not said out loud. Ydael had a talent for ferreting out those whispers and keeping them close to her heart. Lead Councillor Taranis of Tyefain had once said, with an amused smile, "Knowledge is power, your highness. Keep that in mind when your sister is on the throne." She deliberately chose to ignore what he meant by the second part of his advice but she took the first to heart. If knowledge was power and the temple held a secret not even her father knew, then she had to get her hands on it.

As she continued to walk the lamp flared into life again; one moment nothing but the dark and in another a light so bright it blinded her for a second. It was easier to stand still and get used to the new situation than to stumble around completely blind; she had an objection to running into things because she was stupid. Stupidity was simply not something she condoned in others much less herself.

The light disappeared just as abruptly, but the dark that came back was heavy with a presence that made her want to run in the way the abnormal mix of power hadn't.

"Little girls shouldn't be crawling in the monster's lair."

There was no other way to describe her reaction to the new voice as anything other than a shriek. Falling back to basics she threw the lamp in the direction of where she thought the voice as coming from and stumbled away, dagger held in front of her chest just like her uncle taught her.

Mocking laughter fell into the dark, weighing her down. "Little girls shouldn't be carrying weapons either."

Following the words, she felt a twitch of dream that centred around her dagger, enveloping it and leaving her hands empty with an almost inaudible 'snap'. "Give it back!" she yelled, anger momentarily sweeping away her fears.

"Why?" the voice asked again. It sounded male, younger than her father, but older than the sons of nobles whom she was forced to play nice with.

"It's mine," she challenged.

The laugh came again, pushing and prodding at her. She tasted magic in that laugh but it was different from those of the Sorcerers'. It was also stronger than she had ever felt, but there was a sense of power beyond what she could feel, as if the person was holding most of it back.

Her intense dislike for lies and secrets made her speak up when she would otherwise have shrunk away. "Stop laughing," she demanded, "Who are you and what are you doing in my city?"

The darkness seemed to rear back in surprise. "Your city? Yours? You think this is all yours?"

"My father said the gods gave this city to us to look after."

His – its reaction to her words was to wrap magic and Dreams around her and tighten the hold until she was gasping for breath. "Let...Let go," she wheezed, breathless with surprise and sudden fear.

"No," the voice purred, "Not until you tell me what you meant."

"Meant? A-about what?" She took a ragged breath, her throat protesting at the pressure.

"Them! I know you're lying, girl. They would never give away something of theirs, especially to a stupid mortal."

Spots were beginning to appear in front of her eyes but she managed to focus on his words. It was important, what he was saying. She didn't know how or why but she knew she had to pay attention. "Th-them," she croaked, "You mean...g-gods?"

"Yes," it sighed, relaxing a fraction of its hold on her body, "Them."

She took as deep a breath as she could manage. "Father," she began then had to take another breath. "Father, said the gods are sleeping and he said they would wake up when we need them. B-but then he also said that while they're sleeping we have to pray every year here."

Shocked silence followed her words then it quickly filled with another laugh, almost a giggle this time. "Sleeping? Gods don't sleep. If they aren't here, it's because they're gone. No god would sleep while their followers still lived."

"...You think that too?" she exclaimed, surprised to hear that someone else agreed with her. "But it does make sense I suppose. If they existed then they would have taken care of the Nightmares long ago."

"Nightmares? They're still here?" The hold slipped away, leaving her standing in the middle of nothingness, no sensation to help her orientate.

Knowing they had something in common – even if it was something as small as belief in the gods – made her braver. She edged forward, taking a confident stride when nothing stopped her. "Yes. They live in the Obsidian Ranges."

"And the Dreams and Dreamers? They exist too?" A sense of urgency in the tone caused her to look around in askance.

"Them too," she said slowly. "They prevent the spread of Nightmares. I've never been to their city but they travel to our country regularly."

She felt the presence come closer to her, triumphant rather than angry now. It ignored the latter part of her comment, muttering to itself, "Still alive. Still here. Still here. Lock me away all they want. Still here." The voice faded away, and Ydael knew that whatever that had been about, the attention was back on her now. "And who are you?"

Her chin tilted up. She was at the creature's mercy but she was determined not to be afraid. "Princess Ydael de Laivre of Sozfir. My father is the king. And you?"

"...Call me Saethe." If she remembered her history lesson correctly, Saethe was the ancient Uqairi word for 'oathbreaker'. An ominous name. "Princess, hmm? You reek of magic," the voice continued. It was as if the darkness reached out to her, stroking along her jaw with finger-like projections. Ydael fought not to shudder in disgust. "Is that the norm for you people in Sozfir?"

"No," Ydael protested, "Only the chosen ones have magic."

"Very cute. If those with magic are the chosen, then what are Dreamers?" it mused, apparently not expecting an answer.

"Children. They say that Dreamers are the children of gods." It was a common story in all of the four countries. No two stories ever agreed on how or why the Dreamers were created but everyone knew Dreamers were born of the gods' blood.

"Oh really? They say that?" Ydael had a feeling the creature – Saethe, she reminded herself – was attempting to cover up its amusement. "Do they tell you whose children they are?"

Ydael through back to her lessons and found that piece of information lacking. "No. I don't know. I don't think anyone does," she admitted.

The darkness seemed to lessen, withdrawing away from her. "Smart child, knowing when to confess ignorance. So no one truly have any knowledge of the Dreamers' origins?"

"It's true. I asked a Dreamer once and they didn't know either. Why does it matter?"

The creature chose not to answer her question. Instead, continuing with, "Do you want to know? The truth about the Dreamers? The things no one could ever tell you?"

She licked her lips, tasting sweat on the first pass. "Yes," she whispered. Curiosity was her greatest weakness, everyone said so.

It swirled around her; not looming but enticing. "Then I will make a bargain with you. Free me. Let me see the sun. Don't leave me here to rot. Do that and I will give you all the truths you want."

There was so much desperation in the voice. Was it just a human who found their way into the city and couldn't find his way out again? It would explain quite a lot, including the barely there edge of insanity in its - his voice. But her common sense prevailed and she found herself saying, "Even if I wanted to, how am I supposed to free you? I don't know where you are."

"As you wish."

It was as if the universe froze for a long moment then whirled into action to make up for lost time. The darkness threw itself away from her, taking all the black with it. Streaks of white appeared in between tendrils of black as the dark coalesced in front of her. Her skin tingled with magic and dreams, and the ebony mass condensed, collapsing in on itself while taking shape at the same time. "Close your eyes," the creature warned. It was an advice Ydael was happy to follow, squeezing her eyes shut and turning her face away from whatever was going on. A wave of heat washed over her then, "Finished."

Slowly turning her face back to the front, Ydael tentatively lifted her eyelids.

And promptly stumbled back, barely stopping the startled yelp threatening to emerge from her throat. "You – " and she couldn't find any words to follow.

"Yes?" the human-looking creature asked silkily. It looked nothing like any human or Dream she had seen before. No one in the four nations had silver hair or gold eyes so bright they burned and only the Marecarians living at the base of the Obsidian Ridges had the same pale blue hue to their skin. Admittedly, it was far more handsome than any man she knew but the attractiveness was the kind edged with ice and set with cruelty. An uncomfortable beauty that she found hard to look at for long. It wore clothes that, at first glance, were black but closer viewing revealed it to be streaks of several shades of grey and black that changed pattens before her very eyes. There was nothing she liked about it but the insistent call from before was still there in her mind. She could not have moved if she wanted to.

"You – " she repeated and got no further than before.

It smiled, ruby lips stretching taut. "I am a prisoner. And I am the answer to every question you ever had. You said you wanted to know, princess."

"I did," she had the presence of mind to admit. "But you are…"

"Strange?" it offered. The smile grew wider and before her very eyes it shifted again. The silver hair turned a dark brown and gold eyes became blue, the lights dimming in them. It changed every aspect of itself until it resembled a Sozfir peasant, clothing included.

She took a sharp breath. "Nightmare," she whispered. Only those dark creatures had the ability to change themselves. Unwittingly she made the mark of protection over her heart.

He, she was sure of that now, burst into laughter. His entire body shook with his mirth and the small pebbles threaded into his hair struck against one another, creating a strange kind of music when combined with his laugh. "Nightmare? Princess, I am so much more than that."

"How? You change like they do and you can become the dark. How are you different? Tell me."

"Why?"

Without her meaning to the answer slipped out of her and it felt right. "Because knowledge is power. And the Darkening is coming."

He tilted his head to the side, arching an eyebrow. "And you need all the power you can get, I can understand that. Are you afraid of it?"

She returned his stare for stare. "No, of course not. Father said the de Laivre are never afraid of anything."

Blue eyes flashed bright, a sharp reminder that though he may look normal enough now, the man – creature was as unnatural as the curse on the city. "Admirable sentiments. False but admirable. Tell the truth, Princess; you may not fear for yourself but you fear for your country," he said perceptively. "If you free me I will keep your country safe from all manners of demons."

It was a tempting offer. Very tempting. "Do you know when it's happening?"

It smiled slyly. "If I said yes?"

"If you said yes," she began cautiously, "I would ask why you think you could protect my country against it." The Darkening was spoken of with fear and awe; she could not imagine anyone able to say that they did not dread the coming of the second wave. Very few traces remained of the civilisation before the Darkening but it was enough for scholars to state with confidence that they had technology and magic more advanced than scientists of this era could even dream of. And they had lost.

he smirked. "Your Highness, I may be the only one who could."

"How do you know?"

His smile fell away for a slight second and she saw things in his face that made her breath catch and heart stop. Ancient eyes with the oppressive feel of old power that promised reward and retribution in one glance. She saw barely there sanity and a weariness she used to see in veteran soldiers that knew what a real war was. For the first time, she wondered how old he truly was.

In another moment the smile came back and he was nothing more than a very strange prisoner again. Ydael swallowed the questions she wanted to ask – she wasn't sure she would like the answers. His smile took a mocking tilt; he knew what she saw; perhaps even meant for her to see it. "I know because I am the thing Nightmares fear."

She believed him. "…How – how do I free you?"

"You said this city was yours. Correct?"

"Yes. It's technically father's as well but I think it likes me better. At least I think it likes me better." She was babbling, words blurring together in her nervousness.

Teeth flashed in between parted lips; if it was supposed to be a grin to comfort her, he would have done better not to even try. Knowing what she knew now, it was hard for her to see him as anything other than a potential threat. Unfortunately, he was a potential threat she needed to protect everything she cared about. She wished her father had been the one to find him. "Good. Tell it to transfer ownership to you," she didn't take offence at his imperious tone. If she were him, she would be eager to escape too.

"I'm not a Sorcerer or a Dreamer," she felt compelled to point out.

He scoffed, and it sounded so human. "This city is outside the realm of gods and dreams. Human will rules here. Tell it to let me go."

"Just…tell it?" she asked carefully. He gave a sharp nod. Watching him uneasily – how did he know the city could actually understand her – she gathered herself and focused on slipping into the layer between reality and the Dreamscape.

Scholars called it godsight, the ability to see the ebb and flow of power. Just like every other aspect of magic and dreams, no one knew how it worked. All she knew was it helped her identify Sorcerers and Dreamers, and potential sources of threat.

The walls and the earth faded away, replaced by shades of white. She directed her eyes around her, testing the godsight. The entire city was covered in a layer of white with little bright spots where there were extra magic. It was brightest at the temple. But that wasn't what she was looking for, what she wanted was both dreams and magic. Dreams were always harder for her to ferret out than magic, another fact her father never bothered to explain to her. They came in shades of red, what that implied she did not know. A more detailed search revealed little wisps of red threaded through the magic, outshined by the sheer amount of white. They were very slippery things. She would catch a tendril of it then it would slip out of her hold, making it near impossible for her to trace it back to its source. It took five tries to get a definite hold on a thread; then it was simply a matter of letting the flow of power take her to the centre.

When she reached her destination, a smaller temple hidden behind the judicial courts, the heady combination of energies hit her hard. A strangled grasp was all she managed to utter before the heat of magic and sticky tangle of dreams wrapped around her. It was not like the darkness, or even the tight feeling in her chest whenever she entered the city, it was as if someone took the essence of life and poured it into her body. She felt…energised and renewed and it was such a seductive sensation. She could dwell within the well of power and never leave.

"Princess," she heard whispered into her ears, rough lips brushing over the soft edges, "Addiction to power is such an ugly thing. Are you a slave or a master of your desires?"

Annoyance and anger rose up in her at those taunting words. She was not addicted to power. She used her power for the bettering of her people. And who was he to imply that she would ever fall prey to putting her desires in front of her country? She opened her mouth to tell him precisely that but he was speaking ahead already. "Much better. Now make it do what you want." And she realised his provoking had the effect of clearing her head.

Tampering down on her annoyance she turned her attention back to the well of energy. If she strained her eyes she could see the white of magic and red of dreams coming together and separating again, an intricate dance. She turned her attention back to the creature standing in front of her. He was white and red, as she expected him to be, but of a brightness unmatched by anything she knew of, even the temple was a candle compared to him. Forget being driven to insanity by Faerlun, no one should have that much power and still be sane. No one.

"What are you?" she asked, not expecting an answer.

Behind the curtain of energies, she saw him smile. "Just a prisoner, Princess."

"Of course," she said dazedly. She thought she knew how dangerous he was but seeing physical evidence of it was another thing entirely.

"Free me," he insisted, blue eyes slipping into gold.

Before she could, would, she needed to know that he would not betray her. Especially given all the evidence of how easily he could turn the tables. "Promise me. Promise you won't harm me and mine."

He laughed at her with his eyes and mocked her with the florid bow he performed. "Unless you wish me to, I promise I will not harm you and yours." A nice little loophole. She would have to watch what she said around him because he could, and would she realised, twist her words to suit his needs.

She did not trust him. She never would. But she trusted he would keep his words. Nodding sharply to show she heard Ydael turned back to inspecting the connection between the creature and his metaphysical prison. There were ropes and ropes of power stretching from the source to the creature and holding tightly onto him. That was what she wanted. Taking a deep breath, she threw her will at the ropes, clinging to them with a tenacity that would have done her father proud.

The first tug did nothing but cause the ropes to bend with her pull. It didn't want to leave the pool of power, it was comfortable there. It was used to being there. Gritting her teeth with effort Ydael threaded her will through the ropes and pulled again. A little bit more of a yield this time. And a little more with the next pull. Strands of power would break away with each tug, drifting away from the power to latch onto her. Reminding herself and the city that it was hers, she threw everything she had at the ropes, weaving every part of her into it. Then she flooded the connection with power and pulled.

She was no Sorcerer or Dreamer. Or a Nightmare with their inherent ability to change shapes. But she was chosen and the city was nothing but a vacant source of power. It had no will of its own. When confronted with change, it had no choice but to let it happen. The shift from being just Ydael to being the guardian and prison of a power as great as the creature's should have hurt. She was waiting for the pain, the backlash but the connection soaked into her with nothing more than a slight pressure over stomach.

"Done," she gasped, sudden weariness settling into her bones. Without her willing it, her legs gave out from under her. She braced for the impact of flesh on ground but an arm scooped her up before she hit.

"Very good, Princess. You did well," Saethe congratulated.

She tilted her head back to look up at him. "You're mine now?"

"Yes. But remember, the bond goes both ways."

Sitting up took more energy than she was happy about but it was better than staying in the creature's arms. "What is that supposed to mean?" She wasn't sure what he was trying to imply but she didn't like it.

"Oh not much," he sang, "I just though you should know, the city was as much mine as I was its. And now that you're my keeper…"

"Don't even think about it. I'm not yours," she corrected flatly. "I am no one's."

Saethe smiled. It was as false as his current appearance. "As you wish. Come along, Princess. I have a hankering to see the sun."