Cara O’Sullivan woke up to the sensation of water at her lips. She licked, greedily. The water was real.

Dusty—dusty and not nearly as sweet as the magical water she had conjured.

But real water. She drank. After a moment, the water stopped. She lay back, head spinning, hot.

The water came back again. She drank, and felt it entering her system. Then—something was pressed against her lips.

“Eat.”

She bit. The whatever-it-was was tough. Chewy. She nearly gagged, but more water came. She forced it down.

Ser Dalius stood over her, holding a small bowl in his hands. It was ornate, made of ceramic so delicate and beautiful—white mixed with bright blue in a pattern like the sea studded with flecks of gold that shone—that it would have fit in a museum or the most prized porcelain collection.

And the ghostly [Knight] was also austere, serious as he bent over her, offering her more to drink. He belonged in the medieval world—not the way the dark ages had truly been in Europe, but the grand idea of it. King Arthur and his Round Table. He was a picture of those virtues, from his glowing armor to the way he carried himself. As if you could see his dignity and honor holding him to account for his every action.

He looked at her as she opened her eyes and sat up. The first thing Cara did was jerk, check herself all over.

Had—

—She was fine. Fine. Everything was the same. She felt at her clothes, felt just the same. She took a few breaths. Then rubbed at her neck.

“Huh. You didn’t do anything to me in my sleep. Thanks.”

The [Knight] was horribly affronted. But if he was hoping for words from the damsel in distress, he would be disappointed. Nor had that been a joke. He nodded at her as he set the bowl down. As soon as he stopped touching it, his fingers went through the bowl.

That wasn’t actually that spooky—Cara wasn’t afraid for her life anymore, given the fact that he’d saved her. But seeing the ghost do that was—unsettling. Wrong. It clashed with her tidy sense of reality.

She rubbed at her head. Her body hurt. That hadn’t been a tidy stage fall, where it was all part of the act. She’d actually smacked herself pretty hard.

“How long was I out?”

Ser Dalius shrugged.

“I don’t count time anymore. But I would assume less than an hour or two. You were parched. I found you water and…”

There was something else lying next to the bowl. He offered her a handful of rooty things. She stared at them.

“What’s that?”

“Roots. I think they’re edible?”

The [Knight] replied. She didn’t like the uncertainty in his tone. He went on, before she could respond.

“I—may owe you an apology, Miss Cara.”

“Oh, really?”