Emerahl looked at Star. A mattress had been brought into Rozea’s tarn for the girl. Star was managing to pretend her injury had been bad, but not potentially fatal. Unfortunately, being mostly healed meant she easily grew bored with lying about all day. Sometimes Emerahl pretended to fall asleep to escape the girl’s chatter. Right now, Star was looking up at Emerahl in concern.

“A dream, that’s all,” Emerahl replied.

“What were you dreaming? It wasn’t about a tower falling down, was it?”

Emerahl blinked in surprise. “Why do you ask?”

Star shrugged. “A few of my customers have told me about it. Said they had the same dream many times.”

“How many?”

“I don’t know. They didn’t say.”

Emerahl shook her head. “I mean, how many customers told you they had the dream?”

Star considered. “Three or four.” She looked at Emerahl. “So did you have it?”

Emerahl nodded. “Yes.”

“Is it the first time?”

“No, I’ve had it a few times.”

“What’s it all about then?”

“There’s a tower. It falls down.”

Star grinned. “I mean, why are people having the same dream? What does it mean?”

“‘A dream’s meaning depends on the dreamer,’” Emerahl quoted. She frowned, considering her theory that the dream was about the death of Mirar. Something about this didn’t quite fit.

“To be crushed under a building…” Star shuddered. “Nasty way to die.”

Emerahl nodded absently. If the dreamer was dreaming about the death of Mirar, they couldn’t be reliving their own experiences. They were reliving Mirar’s. To do that they must have link memories of his death, which meant that someone must have linked with him as he died.

That was extraordinary. The thought of it sent a shiver of cold down her spine. No wonder the dreamer could not stop experiencing the dream over and over.

“Maybe it means the White will fail.”

“Dreams aren’t predictions, Star,” Emerahl said.

Not this one. This one was historical. Mirar’s experience of death must have passed from Dreamweaver to Dreamweaver for the last century. Now, in the mind of a powerful Dreamweaver, it was being projected to every man or woman Gifted enough to receive dreams.

I wonder if that’s deliberate. Is somebody trying to remind the world who killed Mirar?

“Jade?”

Emerahl raised a hand to stall Star. The gods made Mirar a martyr. This dream is no doubt touching the minds of priests and priestesses, too. Surely the gods are trying to put a stop to it.

“I have to tell you something,” Star said in a quiet voice. “I told…”

Maybe they can’t. Maybe this dreamer is protected. By whom? Someone powerful. An enemy of the gods. The Pentadrians! Maybe—

“…I told Rozea you healed me with magic.”

Emerahl turned to stare at Star. “You did what?” she snapped.

Star flinched away. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “She tricked it out of me.”