Page 94 (1/2)

Six ht, and wondered what Neve would ift to her

And wondered, with a frisson of nerves, what she would make of hirandest structure on the Isle of Feathers, and never grander than on Christather was the social event of the year, and the betrothals were its heart Every own for

Neve had a ring already It had been her first gift from the Dreamer--the jewel beetle--and she’d carried it in her pocket ever since

Tonight she would wear it on her finger

She would also wear the dress she’d iven her It was blue as the sky and as cunning as all his gifts: it wasn’t one blue but every blue--all the hours and ed its hue, deepening fro out stars And when she s at herself in the e, as bright as fla up at the gather in such a gown! It was like the story froodh, or slippers lass--only of spider silk, with a sheen like dew on a petal--but she had her old cloak and boots for the long walk, and when had she ever had qualms about mud on her hem?

She looked in the mirror and wondered if it were true or enchanted How could she know if this was herself reflected or some dreaain flaht to sunset Her heart felt like an ember in her chest, ready to catch fire and throw sparks

What would happen tonight? She didn’t know Spear’s hand would never hold hers She knew thatCup would never be her hoo, those had been her only two choices Now miracles were her daily fare and her pulse still beat its one simple question: Who?

She understood that he was the Dreamer, whom she’d called upon in her despair But how could she knohat that meant? What was he? She’d felt his presence in her dreams but had never seen him, and he didn’t leave tracks in her yard as the reverend did (or as the reverend had, anyway, until six nights ago, when his gifts abruptly ceased)

Once, she’d dreamed she embraced a hill of black feathers and felt the pulse of a heartbeat deep within

And then last night, a miracle unlooked for: she’d opened her book to read a story and found in it not the eighteen that there had always been, but nineteen, and the last was called "The Dreah the millennia, taken it in turn to sleep, and drearowth and death that turned the world They were gods frood, and they cared nothing for worship or thanks Only for the act itself: creating

So

And so she kneho he was, but not what forht take There had been no illustration to accompany the tale, and no description, either It didn’t matter; by now she loved him in any skin In her book there was another tale--one of the original eighteen--of a dragon who had a human wife, and Neve had never understood it before, at least from the wife’s point of view But she did now Love was love

But she hoped that he was not a dragon