The Way Back (Champions of the Crystal Book 4)

Chapter 6.2

It was pitch dark when Sabrina awoke with a start. Her dreams had been full of incomprehensible images again, disturbing and unrestful. She felt as though she'd hardly slept at all. She rolled over and was alarmed at the empty space beside her. "Ford!" she hissed.

She heard him turn before her eyes adjusted enough to make out his shadow at the window. "What is it?" he asked.

"I thought you were gone. Can't you sleep?"

"Someone...something...is dreaming very disturbing dreams nearby," he said.

"I know. I've been getting them too. What is it?"

"I wish I knew. Or rather, I wish we didn't have to find out."

Sabrina lay back and tried to feel out the consciousness she could dimly sense. Her mind slid away from it instinctively, but she gritted her teeth and tried to concentrate on it. There was a flash of contact, lasting barely an instant, but it was enough to make her gasp in horror.

"Stop that!" Ford hissed at her. "You'll draw its attention!"

"I...I didn't think I could," she tried to explain, her voice shaking just a bit. "I'm not very sensitive psychically."

"Well, it obviously is," he replied. He continued looking out the window, his face deathly pale and edged with harsh shadows in the sickly light of Stanos' one small moon.

Sabrina was shaking from the aftermath of her brush with the unknown force. She wanted human contact, a reassuring touch, but she didn't dare ask him for it. Instead she got out of bed, wrapped herself in one of the coverings for warmth, and went to stand beside him at the narrow window. Even though they weren't touching, she was keenly aware of his presence near her, and she felt less alone.

Am I taking too much for granted? I don't really know him very well, do I? I have to be careful. Of course I want to trust Mara and Tirqwin's son, but I shouldn't presume too much on heredity. He obviously thinks he's not a model Miahn. But Sabrina had a hard time reconciling his professed self-image with her own observations. Aside from his edged sense of humor, and what she suspected was a desire to shock, and the act he was putting on for Varla, his behavior didn't differ so drastically from what she'd come to expect of Miahns and Praxatillians. When he wasn't thinking about his conduct, he seemed naturally to fall into a pattern that reminded her of Haaron or Therenden—a sort of instinctive courtesy.

"What are you thinking?" he asked after a moment, sounding vaguely amused.

"You're not quite what you claim to be, are you?" she said.

"Much worse, in fact," he said, in a light tone that rang just slightly false.

"Much better, in fact," she corrected.

"You're seeing me in exceptional circumstances. Most of the time I'm a good-for-nothing wastrel, as Aunt Imari puts it."

She regarded him curiously for a moment more, then shrugged. "It's hard to believe you're nearly three times my age. I feel so much older than you." In fact, she realized, thirty was the age of accountability for Miahns, so his investiture must have taken place when he was her age. That meant he'd been a ruling prince for twice as long as she'd been alive. "I would like to see you at Bathir," she said wistfully.

"I hope you will, Cousin. Though I'm afraid you'll be disappointed."

"I doubt it. I loved Bathir on the very rare occasions I was able to go. And from what I remember, it must suit you. I bet you're pretty popular there, aren't you?"

He shrugged. "It's hard to tell what's sincere—and what's aimed more at my mother than at me."

Sabrina gave a little smile. "You inherited all her charm, I think—when you're not trying to come off as the prodigal son."