‘I’m not.’ She raised her head and looked him straight in the eyes, contrary to protocol. Emhyr shuddered, moved by the honesty and trust of her gaze. He immediately stood erect, imperious and repellently supercilious.

‘Ask me for whatever you wish.’

She looked at him again, and he involuntarily recalled the innumerable occasions when he had so easily bought himself ease of conscience for the harm or pain he’d caused somebody. Secretly and reprehensibly pleased that he was paying so little.

‘Ask me for whatever you wish,’ he repeated, and because he was already weary his voice suddenly gained in humanity. ‘I’ll make your every wish come true.’

If only she wouldn’t look at me, he thought. I can’t bear her gaze.

Apparently people are afraid to look at me, he thought. So what then am I afraid of?

Vattier de Rideaux can shove his ‘reasons of state’. If she asks, I’ll have her taken home, where she was snatched from. I’ll order her taken there in a golden carriage and six. All she need do is ask.

‘Ask me for whatever you wish,’ he repeated.

‘Thank you, Your Imperial Majesty,’ said the girl, lowering her eyes. ‘Your Imperial Majesty is very noble and generous. If I might make a request…’

‘Speak.’

‘I’d like to be able to stay here. Here, in Darn Rowan. With Lady Stella.’

He wasn’t surprised. He’d sensed something like that.

Tact restrained him from asking questions that would have been humiliating for them both.

‘I gave my word,’ he said, coldly. ‘Let your wish come true.’

‘Thank you, Your Imperial Majesty.’

‘I gave my word,’ he repeated, trying hard to avoid her gaze, ‘and I shall keep it. I think, nonetheless, that you’ve made a bad choice. You gave voice to the wrong wish. Were you to change your mind…’

‘I shall not,’ she said, when it became clear that the emperor was not going to complete his sentence. ‘Why should I? I’ve chosen Lady Stella, I’ve chosen things I have known so little of in my life… A home, warmth, goodness… kindness. You can’t make a mistake by choosing something like that.’

Poor, naive creature, thought Emperor Emhyr var Emreis, Deithwen Addan yn Carn aep Morvudd, the White Flame Dancing on the Barrows of his Enemies. By choosing something like that one can make the most awful mistakes.

But something–perhaps a distant memory–stopped the emperor from saying it aloud.

‘Interesting,’ said Nimue, after listening to the account. ‘An interesting dream, indeed. Were there any others?’

‘And some!’ Condwiramurs cut off the top of her egg with a swift, sure movement of her knife. ‘My head’s still spinning from that pageant! But that’s normal. The first night always brings deranged dreams. You know, Nimue, they say about us dream-readers that our talent isn’t about being able to dream. If you pass over visions during trances or under hypnosis, our dreams don’t differ from other people’s in intensity, richness or pro-cognitive content. Something quite different distinguishes us and determines our talent. We remember the dreams. We seldom forget what we have dreamed—’