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.*

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