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Chapters (70)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Map
  5. Epigraph
  6. BEGINNINGS
  7. PART I
  8. ONE
  9. TWO
  10. THREE
  11. FOUR
  12. FIVE
  13. SIX
  14. SEVEN
  15. EIGHT
  16. NINE
  17. TEN
  18. ELEVEN
  19. TWELVE
  20. THIRTEEN
  21. FOURTEEN
  22. FIFTEEN
  23. SIXTEEN
  24. SEVENTEEN
  25. EIGHTEEN
  26. NINETEEN
  27. TWENTY
  28. TWENTY-ONE
  29. TWENTY-TWO
  30. TWENTY-THREE
  31. TWENTY-FOUR
  32. TWENTY-FIVE
  33. TWENTY-SIX
  34. TWENTY-SEVEN
  35. TWENTY-EIGHT
  36. TWENTY-NINE
  37. THIRTY
  38. THIRTY-ONE
  39. THIRTY-TWO
  40. THIRTY-THREE
  41. THIRTY-FOUR
  42. THIRTY-FIVE
  43. THIRTY-SIX
  44. PART II
  45. THIRTY-SEVEN
  46. THIRTY-EIGHT
  47. THIRTY-NINE
  48. FORTY
  49. FORTY-ONE
  50. FORTY-TWO
  51. FORTY-THREE
  52. FORTY-FOUR
  53. FORTY-FIVE
  54. FORTY-SIX
  55. FORTY-SEVEN
  56. FORTY-EIGHT
  57. FORTY-NINE
  58. FIFTY
  59. FIFTY-ONE
  60. FIFTY-TWO
  61. FIFTY-THREE
  62. FIFTY-FOUR
  63. FIFTY-FIVE
  64. FIFTY-SIX
  65. FIFTY-SEVEN
  66. TRICKSTER
  67. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  68. Also by Susan Dennard
  69. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  70. Newsletter Sign-up

The deeper she pressed, the more each face looked human, and the more she tried to scan them as they rushed against her. Because even in all this madness, the logical, detached part of Iseult’s brain knew where she was.

This had to be the Hell-Bard Loom. She was inside the Hell-Bard Loom, and somewhere amidst these thousands of souls, thousands of ghosts, her Threadsister waited.

A shadow slammed into Iseult, grinning and hungry. It bellowed wordlessly, frozen fingers scraping into her skin. Then another shadow came from behind. From the left, from the right, until she was surrounded. Trapped. She could not move and could not see.

Safi! she screamed, though no sound came out. Only fog that crystallized and disappeared.

The voices filled every piece of her, their hands ripped and shredded. She felt trapped by their anger, and no amount of struggling would let her break free.

This is what drowning feels like, she thought as she was dragged beneath an ocean of forgotten souls who were bound for all eternity to a Hell-Bard Loom. Yet before she could crumble away forever, a figure moved over her. Fully formed, fully alive.

Relief washed through Iseult. This person would help her, just as the Rook King had helped her before. She would not be lost to drowning. She would not crumble yet. But then the person’s face coalesced: a pointed chin and long jaw framed by black hair, graying at the temples. His yellow-hued eyes were small, his lashes short, and on his forehead were deep trenches that made him seem forever mildly surprised.

He looked mildly surprised now, turquoise frothing within his bright Threads—but there was pink pleasure in those Threads too.

“Ah,” he said, a smile sliding over his face. “I had been wondering when you would finally step inside.” Corlant’s hand reached for Iseult’s face, fingers long and spindly. “It will be easier if we meet in the real world, though, Iseult det Midenzi. I will be waiting.”

He shoved. Iseult screamed.

The Dreaming ended.

EIGHT

It was well past midnight before Safi was able to confirm whether the Truth-lens actually rested in her pocket. She had returned to her quarters, her usual Hell-Bards flanking with Lev at the lead. Her muscles burned after hours of endless dancing, her bad ankle ached, and her face had gone stiff from too many smiles.

But those were all distant, cursory sensations. The whole of her being was focused on the Truth-lens.