Eventually I’d have to figure out what that meant. “It is a trap. The people who laid it think that we’re weak and stupid. I promise you that if they try to hurt us when we get there, they will deeply regret it. We’ll sail away with panacea, and they will still be figuring out why they’re sitting in a puddle of their own blood trying to hold on to their guts. You’ve seen me take on dangerous things before.”

“You get hurt, Kate. A lot.”

“But I survive and they don’t.” I hugged her with one arm. “Don’t worry. We’ve got this.”

“Okay,” she said. “I just . . .”

She clenched her hands together, staring straight ahead.

“Yes?”

“I have bad dreams.”

So do I. “What do you dream about?”

She turned to me, her eyes haunted. “Towers. I see them being built on the grass. They are terrible towers. I look at them and cry. And I see you, and you’re looking at me, and you’re calling me . . .”

Oh no. Cold claws pricked my spine.

Why would we have the same dream? It had to be magic. If my dream was the result of my magic or the result of Roland looking for me, it shouldn’t affect Julie. He couldn’t possibly know about Julie.

The ritual. That was the most likely explanation. When I healed Julie, I’d mixed my blood with hers. Some of my magic had tainted her. Now we shared dreams. If we were lucky, this was just a by-product of my magic stretching itself while I dreamed. If we were unlucky, then Roland was trying to find me by broadcasting visions into my head, and Julie was picking up the signal.

Damn it.

It must’ve shown on my face, because Julie focused on me. “It means something, doesn’t it? What does it mean, Kate? I saw you. You were in my dream. Did you see me, too?”

I didn’t want to have this conversation. Not here and not now. In fact, I didn’t want to have it at all.

“Tell me, please! I have to know.”

I wasn’t planning on going to my funeral, but one never plans to die. If something happened to me, Julie would be left without answers. She had to know something at least. In her place, I would want to know.

“Kate, please . . .”

“Hush, please.”

The need to hide had been hammered into me since I could understand words. The number of people knowing my secret had gone up from one to five in the past year, and thinking about it shot me right off the beaten path into an irrational place where I contemplated killing those who knew. I couldn’t kill them—they were my friends and my chosen family—but breaking a lifetime of conditioning was a bitch.