"Stop that." Surana said this in Ferelden. The scent of Cavan's roasting hares mingled with that of the campfire and Narol and his sister were laughing on the other side of it. "It is disturbing that you try your father's trick and it will not work when you use it."

Cavan's dark brows lifted and he looked at her openly again. "My father's trick?" He broke his evening's silence with those words. "I am doing something that my father did?" He spread his hands and glanced down at himself. "Is it how I am sitting?"

Surana flicked her fingers at him, her lips in a tight line. "This silence of yours. It will not work for you as it worked for him."

Cavan smiled for her, his pale eyes shining, his jaw strong, his nose… stop, stop thinking such things, Surana chided herself. "I thought that my father was a boisterous man. This was not always so?"

Surana only frowned at him. Narol was tapping the side of her boot in a familiar and idle way.

"Mercy, Ana, truly I have no knowledge of what you might mean," Cavan said when she didn't respond, his smile fading a little. "Your brother dreams of a shining and laughing man. I know nothing of who he honestly was, nor how he behaved toward you. Indeed I was not told that this man 'Alistair' who I dreamt of was my own father until I was nearly a man myself."

He leaned toward her, his smile turning wicked. "Please, Surana," he said, the words slow and deep and her belly burned while Narol's hand tightened around her ankle. "Will you tell me what I have done? I know almost nothing of him. Was I being shining and golden like him in that moment?"

Surana looked into his yellow eyes, her breath quick, her lips parting a little. She reached for Narol's hand and wound her fingers through his. "No," she said. "No, I think not."


Surana groaned when someone nudged up against her while she was sleeping. She cracked one bleary eye and found her brother's face a hand's-width away from hers. "Wha.."

"Shh. Go back to sleep." So she rolled over and did so, his shoulder digging into her back.


Shartan and her clanmates were delighted to meet each other, though she did have to punch him when he said, "She's told you she's good at sparring? Hah!" Of course he dodged the punch, which made them laugh more.

Later they walked through the forest, their steps crushing plants that scented the air sharply. "So…" Shartan said, eyes cast sidelong at her. She tensed. "That Narol, hmm? He is very nice to look at."

This time she punched him, hard. He yelped and clutched his arm. "Hessarian's mercy!" She just glared. "Peace! Maker, it was just the one time with Visto!"

"I had already kissed him!"

"He was too old for you!"

She made to punch him again but he bowed away this time and caught her wrist. "So what about that Uncle Alistair's son?" he said in a sudden loud voice. "Not to obviously change the topic, but have you seen him again? By answering you are agreeing not to hit me anymore."

Surana rolled her eyes and shook her hand out of his. "Yes. He says that his name is Cavan." She slipped beneath a mossy branch, swaying along a deer-trail. "He says that he can see your dreams."

Shartan stopped moving behind her and she turned. He was a little pale, his eyes widened just slightly. "See my dreams?"

"Yes. I—I'm sorry, Shartan." She reached for his arm. He took a breath and shook his head. "Perhaps it goes both ways?" she said, brows lifted. "Perhaps you can watch him, too?"

"See his dreams?"

Surana nodded. Shartan's eyes went even wider and then he started gasping with hysterical laughter. He covered his face with his hands. "By all the gods!" he said. "That—Maker's balls, I thought something was wrong with me!"

"Wrong with you?" Surana frowned and tried to pry his hands open by his wrists.

"He dreams about kissing you," said Shartan. "And lately? He dreams about…" he shuddered and looked away, his face deeply red. "…I don't even want to say it. I'm able to make myself wake up if I start dreaming about you." He stepped back and folded his arms. "My mind is scarred. I mean, if I had any interest in women this had it killed for good." He shuddered again. "If you see him again, stab him in the balls. I'd feel a lot better. I… and now I'm just babbling."

"Yes!" Surana interrupted. She had her arms folded around herself too. "Yes, never talking about that again, ever. Right. Yes. Not that it's your fault." She cleared her throat. "What else does he dream about?"

Shartan sat down in the middle of the path and started fumbling with his pack. He drew out a winebottle and held it up triumphantly. "From that good pressing six years ago! Mind-cleansing delightfulness." He pulled the cork out with his teeth as Surana sat down before him. The path was so narrow that they were being pushed in on both sides by undergrowth, only half of their faces showing. He took three long swallows and passed it to her.

"Let me think. I don't properly know which dreams are his," he said as she began to drink. "No doubt any about women. Many about people that I don't recognize. When we were very little, I used to dream in a language that I never heard while I was awake. Flying dreams. Sometimes…" his voice trailed off for a moment as he took the bottle back. "Sometimes I dream of very beautiful places that I do not understand. Gardens with flowers that I have never seen. Music… oh the music, Ana…" He stared into the bushes.

Surana nudged his foot and he startled to look back at her then grinned crookedly. "We need to sever the spell," she said.

"Yes," he answered, but wistfully he said it.