Page 45 of A Theory of Dreaming (A Study in Drowning #2)

For a moment, they all looked among each other, cowed by Preston’s eloquence. Effy felt her own heart ache with love for him. She wanted to reach out, to take his hand, but her next thought stopped her, like a hard jab between the shoulder blades. You don’t deserve him.

“Well, not to be a killjoy,” Maisie said, “but even if that’s true, how are you supposed to prove it?”

“Oh, please,” Lotto muttered. “You relish being a killjoy.”

Maisie glared at him, but before she could reply, Effy cleared her throat.

“Maisie is right,” she said. “We’ve had a hard enough time trying to convince the world that Myrddin is a fraud.

To come out and say that Llyr’s founding myth was cobbled together from peasant folktales and that identical ones exist in Argant.

.. you once told me that magic is just the truth most people believe.

No one will want to give up that version of the story.

They’ve believed it for so long, and so passionately, that it’s become the truth to them, and that belief has shaped it into magic. Why would they let that go?”

Preston looked down at his hands quite intently. It was almost as though he were seeing something there that the rest of them could not. Even Effy could not guess at the thoughts in his mind.

“Because,” he said at last, “I have to believe that things can change. That people can change. And I think I have a way to prove my point.”

“Preston Héloury,” Effy said, with a small smile, “I think you may be an idealist after all.”

Preston lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Maybe so.”

The teakettle abruptly stopped its bubbling. There was only the faintest scent of smoke in the air. But the smoke had a strange tang to it, almost like the salt of the sea.

“How do you intend to prove your point?” Rhia asked.

Preston drew in a breath. Then he reached into his pocket. After a moment’s searching, he held out a small golden key. All four gazes in the room strained to see it; even Maisie abandoned her post against the wall to crane her neck over Preston’s shoulder.

“This is the key to the Sleeper Museum,” he said. “The curator gave it to Master Gosse, under the pretense that he was writing some article about Myrddin and needed off-hours access.”

“So Master Gosse gave it to you?” Effy frowned.

“Well,” Preston hedged, “not exactly.”

At that, Lotto straightened up in his seat. “You stole it from him? Nice.”

“It was mostly just to avoid an awkward conversation,” Preston said hurriedly. “I’m going to return it to him, of course. Just as soon as I...”

“Break into the Sleeper Museum?” Maisie finished.

“I don’t think it counts as breaking in if he has a key,” Lotto said.

“Yes, I’m sure the police will care very much about the technicalities.” Maisie rolled her eyes. “I’ve heard a lot of bad ideas in this kitchen, but this one might be the worst. What sort of proof do you even expect to find?”

“Gosse will protect me, if the police somehow do show up,” said Preston. And then, with greater certainty—as if to convince himself as much as the rest of them—he added, “He will. Gosse owes me.”

For what? Effy wanted to ask. But she didn’t speak.

Just as when she had overheard Preston’s conversation with Master Gosse in his office, she was afraid to know the answer.

And an even greater part of her felt she did not deserve to know.

If Preston refused to tell her, surely he had a reason. Was it to protect her?

Or , a small, nasty voice in her mind said, he’s shutting you out. He’s going to leave you. Why would he stay?

Effy squeezed her eyes shut, willing the voice into silence.

“As much as I love a foolhardy plan,” said Rhia, “I think you might be overestimating Master Gosse.”

“I’m not.” Preston swallowed, throat bobbing. “And I know that it doesn’t quite make sense. I can’t explain right now, I just—I need to do this. I can’t dream or wonder anymore. I have to know. This is the only way to find out the truth.”

“Potentially ruining your life in the pursuit of esoteric knowledge is very academician of you,” Lotto said, nodding sagely. “I would expect nothing less from Preston Héloury. That said, this is quite a terrible idea, so I’m coming with you.”

“No,” Preston said quickly. “You shouldn’t. Your father is on his way to Caer-Isel. He could be here as early as tomorrow and if this doesn’t work, or something happens—”

“Then I’ll fast-track my way to disownment.” Lotto waved a hand. “I know. But what’s a life without a little risk? And what’s friendship if not the renouncing of one’s lesser ties?”

“Careful, Grey,” Rhia said. “You’re almost sounding wise.”

“Well, I’m not going,” Maisie cut in, voice flat. She gave Rhia a stern look. “And neither are you.”

“No,” Rhia agreed. “I’m not. I’m staying here with my best friend.”

At that, she dropped herself soundly into the chair beside Effy’s, and covered Effy’s hand with hers. She gave it a gentle squeeze.

Effy felt her throat tighten. For weeks now she and Rhia had barely exchanged a passing word.

She had shut her roommate out, just as she had shut out everything else.

Yet still she tried. Still she cared. Tears—which had not fallen, or even threatened to fall, in so long—now crowded the corners of her eyes.

“Yes, you have to stay,” Preston said. His eyes were on Effy, with that same intense, probing look that was no longer hampered by—or perhaps hidden behind—his glasses. “Please. I need you safe.”

It was the first time he had articulated the sentiment so plainly. But as much as Effy tried, she could not receive it as love.

“I’ll stay,” she murmured, averting her gaze. “I’d probably get in the way.”

At the door, Effy stood silently and watched as Lotto and Preston donned their coats and scarves. There was shakiness to Preston’s movements, his breathing brisk and labored, as though he had run a long distance.

“Are you sure you have to do this?” Effy asked. “It seems...”

“Ill-conceived. Potentially dangerous. I know.” Preston hurriedly buttoned his coat.

“It seems like the sort of thing that you would panic over, if I told you I was planning to do it.” Preston certainly looked jittery, but not panicked. The buzz about him was more anticipation. Eagerness, if anything.

His fingers shook as he tried to clasp the final button. Effy reached up and fastened it for him, her thumb brushing the column of his throat. She felt his pulse, uneven, unquiet.

Before Effy could let her arms fall, Preston grasped her fingers and held them there, against his chest.

“I love you,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

Effy swallowed hard.

“Don’t you believe me?”

She wanted to. More than anything. What she wouldn’t do, what she wouldn’t give, to take away this fear that seethed and hardened inside her, as immutable as a wall of stone.

When she didn’t reply, Preston leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll be back,” he said again. “I promise.”

And then, with Lotto holding open the door, he vanished through the doorway.