Nic closed her eyes and, for the first time, hoped that Gabriel wouldn’t wake up, so he’d never know about this. In the meanwhile, she was on her own again, and it would be up to her to extract herself and the babe from the Convocation’s trainers. If she was smart and kept her cool, she could do it. She would have to.

~ 15 ~

Gabriel wandered in a mist. It was a peaceful place, reminiscent of his boyhood when he’d go out on cool mornings before the sun rose high enough to burn off the fog. He’d wander the orchards, hills, or marshes, alone but for his thoughts, the early birdsong weaving with the peeping of frogs. Unseen, he’d felt safe in being unobserved. No one could chide him about doing his chores or, much later, look at him askance as his eyes blackened and his hair turned silver.

His thoughts tripped over that. How old was he? Then he shook the uncertainty away. It was restful in this place, and he was happy to be back in that place of no responsibility.

Except that something niggled at him. He kept feeling like he’d forgotten something, as if he’d misplaced a valuable he’d intended to keep safe. The unease prompted him to search the mist, for what, he couldn’t quite remember, the cloaking fog no longer restful. Thwarted by his inability to find his way, utterly depleted, he’d sleep for a while, enfolded by the once-again comforting fog, dreaming deeply of emerald eyes and fiery kisses.

Until the vague urgency spurred him to wakefulness. He was forgetting something, but what? Restless, he wandered through the mist again, searching with mounting frustration, until exhaustion claimed him, and he lay down on nothing to sleep.

At one point, he thought he heard someone calling him. He tried to follow the voice, feeling the warming of the cool mist, like the distant sun finally burning through. It must be summer, because he smelled roses. No—it was spring, because he was certain the blood poppies were in bloom. Perhaps he’d meant to find the meadow where the poppies bloomed. He’d certainly meant to show them to someone. Bloodred lips, magic as warm as a hearth in winter, eyes green as summer grass, an embrace lush as rose petals.

Love and loss intertwined, roses blooming crimson on black vines with piercing thorns.

You’re a good boy. The voice was comforting, reminding him of his great-grandmother, who’d passed long ago. You’re lost is all.

He was lost. Lost in the mist. And there was something wrong with that.

Forcing himself to move, he began searching again, blindly seeking that something. The ground squished beneath his feet, spongy with moisture. The peeping of frogs grew louder, the fog clearing to show a pond. Lily pads covered the surface, studded with blossoms of ethereal beauty, seeming to glow with their own light, ivory petals framing soft pink interiors that shaded into sunshine yellow at the tips.