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The answer nearly slapped him in the face: the roses.

The thief had had a rose leaf with them. Had they had an entire rosebush? A Veredian rosebush, if he didn’t miss his guess. In that case, the dirt might’ve been deliberately left behind, just to rub it in that a Veredian rosebush had been right here, in this very library, and taken away again. Infuriating. The quill pen in his grip snapped, digging shards into his palm and yanking him out of his unproductive thoughts.

Taking a deep breath, calming himself, he set the broken quill aside and took up a new one, holding it in a deliberately gentle grasp. He would not allow this imp of a thief to distract him from his work. It couldn’t be a coincidence that this intrusion had occurred in concert with His Majesty deciding to declare war on the Southern Lands. Stearanos had to keep strongly in mind the subtle tactics of many sorcerers and that this one likely sought to sabotage him before they even began.

His gaze going to the book he’d left on the shelf for his unwelcome visitor, he contemplated the note he’d put inside, considering how he might redraft it in light of this new insight. But no… He would leave it. Better to have a message out there that came cleanly from a state of his not knowing about the dirt, about the actual roses, the ones he’d longed for, having been right here in this very library.

Besides which, if the invader’s aim was to distract him, then he’d thwart them best by remaining focused. With renewed will, he put the thief firmly out of his mind and concentrated on his research.

But, in case his tormenter returned and these apparently innocuous visits were connected to Uhtric’s plans to invade the Southern Lands, Stearanos knew just the thing to draw them out. A bit of a wink and a nod. Then they’d see what happened next.

13

Oneira stepped out of the Dream and into the darkened library. Darker than usual. Was there a storm or was it overcast, to block the moonlight? No, she realized, as her eyes adapted. All the heavy curtains had been drawn over the windows, eliminating all ambient light. What new game was this?

Though she’d told herself she’d only come to borrow a book to read, a little thrill of anticipation ran up her spine, looped through her imagination, and settled into her heart, which fluttered unexpectedly. Stearanos had anticipated her return, either thinking her a liar or unreliable in her guarantees of not returning. Both were more or less true, in the end, she had to acknowledge with chagrin. She would have to be careful to cleave to the truth from now on, as prevarication held many pitfalls for the unwary sorcerer.

But she’d only come to borrow a book, nothing else. Here and gone again. She’d return it as soon as she was done, to its proper spot, with no mischief. She would need light, however, to select the book, which had to be what Stearanos would expect. He could have laid some sort of trap triggered by illumination—either from summoning fire to the wicks in the lamps around the library or creating light via magic. Or it could be triggered by an attempt to open the curtains and allow the moonlight in.

She remained carefully in place, quite certain that she’d not yet triggered any traps by her arrival. Out of long habit and an abundance of caution, she never stepped from the Dream intothe exact same spot. She also checked the sleep enchantment she’d laid over the castle. All was well… But wasthata trick, an illusion? Invigorated by the challenge, Oneira thought through the puzzle, reversing perspective to consider what she would do to thwart an intruder of unknown purpose and origin, who somehow evaded her wards to appear inside her walls.

Of course, Oneira—as a powerful and experienced oneiromancer—also protected her home against anyone arriving via the Dream. She did that from the Dream side, a task well within her abilities. No one could enter a place from the Dream except via a dreamer. It was simple enough to shield her own dreaming self so that no one could insert themselves into her dreams. She’d learned those skills as a child as part of the early lessons in protecting the world from her dreams, and other dreamers from her unconscious mind, so she’d never again inadvertently pull the Dream into the waking world.

She could and did also shield the dreams of Moriah, Bunny, and Adsila, just as an extra precaution. She could not, however, realistically shield all the dreams of any creature that passed through or near enough her home to create an avenue through her wards. Someone would have to know exactly where to look for her, but Oneira hadn’t survived this long by neglecting remote possibilities. Instead she thickened the Dream in a bubble around her physical location. Not enough to prevent the natural flow of the Dream, but sufficient to deflect any but the most powerful oneiromancers from making their way through. As she was the most powerful oneiromancer in existence, that meant no one could get through that way.

Stearanos had to be plagued with curiosity—and perhaps some of his infamous paranoia—trying to figure out how she got in. Everything she knew about him pointed to his love of knowing,of controlling, categorizing, and quantifying. He also loved to win, and was accustomed to being the victor of every battle. Just as she was. “Not this time, Stormbreaker,” she murmured, pondering what measures he might have taken.

He’d clearly thought she came in the windows, so the curtains would be a trap. Or they set the stage for the real snare, as he’d know she’d need light.

In his place, she might have rigged the lamps to burn her if she lit them, perhaps with a blaze hot enough to kill her. They were, after all, enemies. Even if he didn’t realize exactly who she was, he regarded her as a thief and invader, rightfully so. It would be difficult, though not impossible, for him to set a spell triggered by a very small use of magic, such as to summon a lick of flame. Any spell like that, however, should have gone off already in response to her oneiromancy, and all remained quiet.

It was a risk, but a small and exciting one. Oneira created a ball of soft green radiance and rested it on her palm. A child’s trick, requiring minimal magic and yet producing enough light to see anything up close. Her magic coiled, resting lightly on the sliver of a portal she’d opened to the Dream. It gleamed with its own iridescence, shedding light from the single, thin vertical line, as she waited for anything to change, however minutely. Nothing did.

Smiling, pleased with the initial victory in this round—she was well ahead in this game with the Stormbreaker—she moved to a shelf she’d previously noted with books themed around air and flying. With her recent ruminations on what it might feel like to fly, she craved a book with wings involved. Running only her gaze over the spines, she looked for fiction, letting go of the burr of irritation that Stearanos couldn’t arrange his books in a more logical fashion. Even within the theme, novels weren’t grouped together, instead organized according to some arcane system she’dyet to fathom. The sorcerer’s mind was truly a labyrinth where logic lurked only in the dead ends and alleyways. Finally selecting a book that looked interesting, she slipped it into the pocket of her gown and prepared to leave.

In and out again, only borrowing a book, she reminded herself. Yet, she hesitated, tempted to go to the shelf where she’d leftThe Adventures of the Beastly Bunnyand her reply to his first note.

Shesowanted to look. For the first time, she considered that her curiosity could indeed lead her into real trouble. The Stormbreaker was certainly trouble, by any definition, and this enticing game they played had already tempted her into risky behavior.

What real risk, though? She’d built herself a bier, for stars’ sake. As much as the romantic image of laying herself upon the bier to die appealed to her, the underlying fact remained that she hadn’t cared if she lived or died for a long time. Justifying it to herself that way—ignoring the niggling voice that suggested she had, in fact, recently discovered several reasons to want to live—she went to the shelf.

The Adventures of the Beastly Bunnywas gone.

In its place sat a thick volume that appeared at first glance to be about gardening. Intrigued, she slipped it from the shelf—after checking it for magical traps; she wasn’t that careless—observing that a folded note had been left inside. He’d written to her again, something that should not give her such a thrill of pure exhilaration. Prolonging the anticipation, she opened to that page and examined the chapter heading in the soft green light, a laugh escaping her as she saw the title:Chapter Twenty-Two, On Rabbits and the Various Methods for Protecting Vegetables from Their Incursions.

Delighted with this escalation in their game, she pocketed that book, also, and unfolded the note.

My Dearest Thief,

I cannot fathom why you imagined I’d find the torturous tale of a persistent, disagreeable lagomorph and its willful destruction of an innocent gardener’s sustenance a subject of amusement. Perhaps you imply that I should be infuriated by the gardener’s hapless and ineffectual efforts to combat the creature. Am I to suppose you are the adorable bunny in this scenario and I am the excessively stupid gardener? I assure you, I am no such thing.

Stop taking my carrots or you shall be rabbit stew.

Em

Oneira read the note three times with rising levels of astonishment and furtive glee. Was she mistaken or was he being… playful? He’d actually read the epic poem of the bunny and the gardener and taken it seriously enough to reply with barbed commentary, to the point of locating a book with the apparent intent of educating her on the topic. Which she intended to read, as her canine Bunny had only minimal devotion to his duty and the tender shoots of new lettuce were suffering from his inattention.

Most interesting was that Stearanos had signed it “Em.”