“No, fool,” said the man in crimson. “Why would a dream of power be about an upstart Middling girl? It is not even a pretty one. Look at that nasty burn.”

“Perhaps we are to make it do what we want. Perhaps that is the dream.”

I thought about how easily Sid would turn this situation into what she wanted it to be. “This is your dream,” I said. “The most powerful people are benevolent. I need your help finding someone. If you are truly powerful, you will help me.”

“It is lying, brother,” said the man in crimson. “But it is funny. Help it? Hilarious!”

“Pick this up.” The man with black braids tapped his jeweled sandal near the broken glass.

As I knelt to gather the shards, I began to describe Sid.

“Shut up. So chattery,” said the black-haired man. “Buzz buzz, maggoty fly. And stupid. I told you: pick this up!”

“I am picking it up,” I said evenly. “Sid is a traveler, a friend of mine—”

He dissolved into laughter. “Absurd! Unbelievable!”

“She likes to go to High-Kith parties—”

“I told you to pick this up. This shard. The biggest one.”

I let the small shards in my hand tinkle to the ground, and reached to collect the longest one, by his foot.

“Yes. That one. It is truly brainless, is it not, brother, even for a Middling? Now, fly. Cut yourself.”

I froze, the shard in my hand. “What?”

“Cut yourself, I said. Your finger, your hand, I do not care. This is my dream. You will do as I say.”

“I don’t—”

“I want to taste it.”

“Brother.” The crimson man rolled his eyes. “You know that Middling blood is useless.”

The other wagged his finger. “We do not know. This is a dream. The rules might be different. Three drops, little fly. Right on my tongue. And then”—his chin lifted proudly—“I will help you.”

Hope lifted into my throat. Three drops of blood was an easy price to pay. If this had been a tithe, it would have been one of the gentlest, the kind taken from children. The man stood, head tilted back, mouth wide-open.

“I wish you could see yourself, brother.” The crimson man giggled.

I pricked my finger. Blood welled. I squeezed three quivering drops into the High-Kith’s mouth. He swallowed.

I said, “Now will you tell me where I can find her?”

“No!” He bent over with laughter. “Of course not! Stupid fly! Did you see, brother, how I tricked it? Help it! Oh, I want another dream. Give me another. You have all the vials. Quickly, quickly.”

Shaking his head in amusement, the crimson man reached into his pockets, then frowned.

He removed his hands. He patted his clothes. “Brother…”

But his brother was not paying attention. He had straightened, laughter dying on his lips. He was staring at nothing that I could see, his face locked into a rigid expression.