Page 89 of A Theory of Dreaming
She blinked back the wetness from her eyes. They were stinging with the piercing shine of the lights. She ached all over, but especially in her chest. In her heart. After a beat, she whispered, “Will you come here?”
Preston nodded again. The next few moments unfolded in silence. He rose, and first reached over to the light switch on the wall. He flipped it down and plunged them into a hazy, incomplete darkness, illuminated still by the eerie green glow of the machines. They continued to give off a low, staticky hum. Preston sat down on the edge of the bed. Effy shifted over.
He reclined slowly, his head resting back on the pillow beside hers. He propped up his legs. The bed was too small for there to be any space between them; his arms came around her waist and Effy raised her hands to cup his face, brushing her thumb across the bridge of his nose. There were no small indentations in his skin. He hadn’t worn his glasses since the night of the Midwinter Ball.
“How have you been able to see anything?” she murmured, frowning.
“I’m not sure. Well—I can’t see much. Not really. Not anymore. I suppose I need to get new glasses.”
“You don’t say.”
He laughed softly. Effy recalled the first time they had been this close. The first time they had shared a bed—back in Penrhos, all those months ago. She had wanted so badly to touch him but had never thought she would get the chance—had never thought he could be persuaded to love such a weak, flighty thing like her.Now she only had to incline her chin an inch for their lips to meet, if she wished.
“Do you remember anything?” Preston’s tone took on an urgency that almost startled her in the dark. “From when you were asleep?”
“No,” she said. “It was... nothingness. Oblivion. I didn’t even dream. Why?”
“It doesn’t matter. I was just curious.” His grip tightened around her waist. “You can rest now. I’m here.”
Exhaustion was making her eyelids feel as heavy as lead. “I’ll wake up,” she said, her voice slurred slightly with weariness. “I promise.”
Sleep washed over her—over them both—like the slow hushing of the tide.
On the orders of Dr. Quinbern, Effy would have to remain in the hospital for days, perhaps even a week, while she regained her strength. She was transferred to a larger room with a window, allowing her a view of the smoke-gray sky and the flurries of snow, of the gloaming streetlamps that burned like embers at dawn and at dusk. She could see the pedestrians in wool coats bustle through the streets and the rain-slicked hoods of the cars as they crunched down the cobblestones. From behind the glass, she watched the pulsing hum of the city’s life. It carried on, despite the cold, despite the war, despite all the small agonies and injustices.
As promised, Angharad returned. She sat at Effy’s bedside and read aloud to her, since Effy’s head still throbbed and her visionstill blurred when she tried to squint at the words. Preston had brought her an enormous stack of books to keep her occupied—among them, Antonia Ardor’sLetters & Annals. Effy had never finished it.
“Had you ever heard of her?” Effy asked as Angharad thumbed through the pages.
“Not by name. I knew Ardor had a daughter, but...” Angharad sighed. “These are the sorts of stories that most people would rather not know. I understand it better than most. They don’t want their heroes to lose their shine.”
“It’s hard,” Effy said. “Letting go of what you believe in. The way you make sense of the world.” She felt a tug of grief in her stomach. “Even I was afraid, I think, to find out the truth. To see how her story ends. I know it’s not a happy one, but... will you read it anyway?”
“Of course.” Angharad propped up the book against the bed. “Mourning is nothing new to me. Though even now...” She paused, closing her eyes for a moment. “My father is dead.”
Effy drew in a shocked breath. “Blackmar—he’s gone?”
Angharad nodded. “Just a few weeks ago. I’ve tried to keep it out of the papers. Goodness knows there have been plenty of other stories to occupy the public’s mind. And I suppose it’s not too much of a shock, when a man of ninety-eight finally passes.”
“I’m so sorry,” Effy said. She frowned. “Should I be?”
“I’m not sure. I’m not even sure ifIam.” Angharad let out a soft laugh. “But as I’m his only living family, his estate has been left entirely to me. I never thought it would end up this way, so I don’tknow what I’ll do with it all. There’s more money than any one person could possibly ever need.”
Effy’s gaze passed over Angharad—her face, lovely as ever, her skin smooth and almost pearlescent, her green eyes bright. She had an unworldly quality about her, as if she were neither old nor young, or perhaps both at once.
Then Effy’s gaze lowered, to the book in Angharad’s hands. Antonia Ardor’s words wound familiarly through her mind.
I am helping to create something that I believe—truly—will be a great work of art, which will reverberate beyond the years of my life and into eternity.
“I hope it isn’t too forward of me,” Effy said at last, lifting her head, “but I think I might have an idea.”
Angharad returned that evening to her hotel, and aside from Preston, Effy had not been expecting any more visitors. The day was waning, heavy clouds of dusk gathered over the bone-white roofs of the university buildings, which Effy could just barely glimpse from her window. Preston was reclined in the chair beside her bed—he had left the hospital only once since she had woken, to bring books to keep her occupied. Now the door open and his head snapped up.
Dressed immaculately in a fur-trimmed coat and matching muffler was Rhia. When she saw Effy, she drew in a sharp and sudden breath, as if she had lost her nerve to speak.
“Do I really look so terrible?” Effy asked.
Rhia let out a tremulous laugh. “No. Well—sort of. You lookterrible, but also wonderful. Alive.” And then her voice cracked and caught.
