Page 72 of Never the Roses

“Well, yes. The instructor wasn’t a specialist and claimed it would be dangerous to—”

“Itisdangerous, Em,” she interrupted. “People can get lost in the Dream, even talented oneiromancers before they hone their skills.”

His scowl deepened, his considerable power mantling about him in his displeasure, reminding her that the sorcerer who’d been her nemesis was still contained within the man who’d become her lover. Stearanos would never not be dangerous. “I’m no naïve student, Dreamthief. I’m an experienced sorcerer with skill in wielding magic that rivals—if not exceeds—your own.”

Narrowing her eyes, her pride very much intact, she replied, “I could defeat you, under the right circumstances.”

“We’ll never find out,” he retorted. “To return to your question: yes, now. When else? Teach me some fundamentals of practical oneiromancy. Enough for me to have some control over theDream, to be able to speak with you and know I’m doing so, and in return, I’ll teach you a few wardmaking tricks.”

“I already know wardmaking and—”

“After a fashion,” he interrupted with a sly grin, and she huffed at him. “Oneira darling, be reasonable. We each have skills the other lacks. It’s foolish not to help each other. After all we’ve shared. After all we will share.” His voice dropped to a deep purr and he stroked a finger along her arm, bared by her sleeveless gown.

He did have a point. “Fine,” she muttered ungraciously. “You show me yours first.”

Eyes sparkling with pleased mischief, he gently chucked her on the chin. “I have all along.”

35

It turned out that Stearanos had more to teach Oneira about wardmaking than either of them would have predicted. He was surprised, in truth, that her wards had been as solid as they were, given her methods. She approached the endeavor in a decidedly dreamlike way—no surprise there, he supposed—going about it with more intuition than internal logic.

“More math, less creativity,” he chided her. “You’re not shaping something from the Dream. Stick to the waking world and whatalreadyexists.”

She slid him a glittering, silvery glare. “I am, demonstrably, working only with the waking world. No portals to the Dream anywhere. Evenyoushould be able to sense that.”

“Play nice, Dreamthief.” He had to suppress a smile at her ire. All passion and prickly pride, his lover. “I know you can’t have been taught wardmaking the way you’re doing it. I’m simply saying that you’ve drifted over time, as you grew into your greatest power, adapting those other skills and applying them to this. But indulge me and try it my way.”

With a last glare, muttering something under her breath, she did as he asked, applying herself with diligent intellect and patient focus—and smiling broadly when she succeeded in mimicking his technique. “I can see your point,” she admitted grudgingly.

“You’re welcome,” he replied. “I know I’m an excellent teacher.”

“Ha ha. And thank you.”

“Now, teach me how to open the Dream.”

She let out a long breath, a vertical line between her fiery brows. “Em, there are really good reasons they didn’t teach you how to do this.”

“Reneging on the deal?”

“No. I just—” She stopped herself with a headshake. “Be careful. And do exactly as I say.”

Despite his confidence in his own abilities, Stearanos found himself struggling to follow her very simple instructions. The Dream was there, just beyond the edge of his perception, like one of those dreams immediately forgotten upon awakening, forever out of reach. He reached for it, though with his hands metaphorically tied behind his back, and it slid away from him, again and again.

“I feel like I’m trying to open a door with my teeth,” he grumbled after thenth failed attempt.

“In a way, you are,” Oneira observed, “in that you’re trying to use a totally different faculty. Besides which, you are very much a person rooted in the rational world. The Dream is irrational. You have the magical ability to complete the task, but the logical aspect of your mind is resisting the nonreality that is the Dream.”

He eyed her. “Are you saying I deep down don’twantto access the Dream?”

Tipping her head, she acknowledged that. “You pointed out that I tend to approach every magical problem intuitively, which makes sense. The Dream is a construct of our unconscious and subconscious selves. We’re not meant to enter it awake. Your subconscious knows that and may be guarding you.”

“I can control my subconscious,” he asserted, annoyed when she smiled at that, clearly amused. “What?”

“I suppose you think you can force yourself to relax, too,” she retorted.

“As a matter of fact…” He trailed off, catching on too late.“All right, I see your point. But how do I stop myself fromintuitivelystopping myself?”

“Clever, but this isn’t a riddle to solve. In other words,” she continued before he could reply to that, “I don’t think you can.”

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