Page 51 of Deals & Dream Spells (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #2)

She faced the cottage and began ascending the steps, her fingers trailing along the weathered railing.

“This is my favorite dreamscape. I modeled it after a seaside cottage where my siblings and I stayed with my grandmother one summer in our youth—the year my parents chose to enjoy Bloomhaven and the Bloom Season unburdened by ‘tagalongs.’ Here, twilight never yields to darkness, the stars shine with impossible brilliance, the moon hangs larger in the sky, and everything feels … safe. I dance barefoot on the sand or wade into the water or simply sway for hours in the hanging chair, listening to the sound of the ocean.”

She forced herself to stop talking before she accidentally spilled her entire soul to him.

That was the way it was with dream sharing, so she’d heard.

Something about existing together within the realm of one’s deepest thoughts made truth flow like water between cupped hands.

The intimacy of sharing one’s innermost self created a vulnerability both terrifying and exquisite.

“It’s beautiful,” Evryn said.

“Thank you.” She settled at the edge of the porch, bare feet resting on the top step, knees drawn toward her chest and palms smoothing the fabric of her gown.

After a moment’s hesitation, Evryn climbed the steps and sat beside her. “So you can craft dream landscapes. You possess an ability relating to dream wards. You can induce sleep with a mere touch.” He leaned back on his hands. “What else can you do?”

“What makes you think I can do anything more than that?” she asked lightly.

“I’m starting to suspect there’s always more when it comes to you, Mariselle Brightcrest.”

She allowed herself a small smile as his words sent a pleasant shiver through her.

“All right then. You’re correct. There is one other ability I’ve manifested.

I can …” She hesitated, biting her lip, but the urge to share more of herself with him was overwhelming.

She turned her head and met his gaze hesitantly. “I can hear dreams.”

“Hear dreams?” he repeated. “What do you mean by that?”

She reached down, her fingertips creating delicate swirls in the scattered sand that had found its way onto the wooden porch.

“At night, when all is still and quiet, I hear the dreams of those sleeping nearby like overlapping whispers. It was so dreadfully overwhelming when the ability first manifested. I keep a dream-chime above my bed now. My parents believe it’s merely one of those silly charms that’s meant to induce pleasant melodies in dreams, but I managed to enchant it with a ward that keeps most of the whispers at bay. ”

Evryn straightened, his expression shifting from curiosity to something more guarded, a flash of vulnerability crossing his features. “Did you—after we were in Dreamland and you left me asleep in the cottage?—”

“Oh, no, I would never,” she assured him. “I left before I could hear anything. Well, I’ll admit I was tempted to stay a little longer and listen, but I didn’t.”

He nodded slowly, turning his face toward the sea, expression thoughtful once more.

“What sorts of things do you dream about?” Mariselle asked. “When you’re not inadvertently trespassing in my dreamscape, that is.”

He shifted beside her, suddenly looking awkward. “Oh, a wide variety of things,” he said vaguely.

Her smile widened at his evident discomfort. “What are you hiding? ”

“Nothing.” But the denial came too quickly, and the faint color in his cheeks belied his words.

“You know, in dreams, it’s exceedingly difficult to lie convincingly,” she told him, leaning sideways to bump him lightly with her shoulder. “The truth hovers on the edge of our tongues, waiting to spill free.”

“Yes, I can tell.” He rubbed his jaw, glancing at her with a sidelong look that mingled sheepish embarrassment with unmistakable warmth. “Your dreamscape appears most eager to draw a confession from me that I’m not quite ready to make.”

She laughed. “Very well then. I’ll allow you your secrets.

I know it’s different when one can’t control their own dreams. Tell me about your writing instead,” she continued.

“When did E. S. Twist first put quill to parchment? What inspired you to begin? Before discovering your manuscript, I never would have imagined you harbored such talent.”

“Ah, talent is it? I seem to recall you referring to my writing as ‘thinly veiled allegorical drivel.’”

She rolled her eyes. “I may have been a touch hasty in my initial assessment.”

“ May have been?” This time it was he who leaned over and bumped his shoulder playfully against hers.

“Very well. It began as simple journaling,” he admitted, his gaze drifting toward the horizon.

“A way to …” He rubbed one hand along the back of his neck.

“Well, to process my frustrations at being perpetually overshadowed by my older brother’s far more significant magic. ”

“More significant?” Mariselle’s brows arched in genuine astonishment.

“Evryn, you reconstructed the physical parts of Dreamland. All that lumyrite shaping … it was no small feat, and was something only you could accomplish. Dreamland’s resurrection would have been impossible without your particular gifts. ”

His gaze lingered on her face with an expression she couldn’t quite decipher.

“I find I rather enjoy the sound of my name on your lips,” he said softly, then immediately appeared startled by his own admission.

“Well, that declaration was entirely unplanned.” He looked pointedly up at the star-strewn sky, as if addressing it directly.

“You really are determined to embarrass me, dreamscape.”

She laughed, a delicate flush spreading across her cheeks. “I believe you may be missing the more significant revelation here—that neither you nor your magic are in any way inconsequential.”

Evryn drew in a deep breath, hand rising to rub awkwardly along his jaw again.

“Well, be that as it may. I continued writing, but my daily observations began to transform into something else. Characters started emerging from the people around me. Fictional scenarios, invented settings.” He paused, a small, wry smile tugging at his lips.

“I spent months during the quiet season working up the courage to submit my first story to the literary section of the Gilded Gazette. But then they accepted one. And then a second and a third. And I finally felt as though …” He shrugged.

“As though I’d achieved something of my own. ”

Mariselle nodded, watching him, understanding what he meant. “And why E. S. Twist?” she asked, curiosity warming her voice. “There must be a story behind the name.”

“It’s silly,” he demurred, shaking his head. “Ridiculous, really.”

“Tell me. I promise not to laugh.”

Evryn hesitated, then sighed in surrender.

“E for Evryn, obviously. S for Secondson.” A self-deprecating smile crossed his face.

“And Twist … for twisting the truth into fiction. Taking what I observe and transforming it into something new.” He glanced at her, vulnerability plain in his eyes. “I told you it was ridiculous.”

“I like it.”

“Flattery, Lady Brightcrest?” His lips curved into a smile. “I shall endeavor not to let it go straight to my head.”

“ Lady Brightcrest?” she repeated with a laugh. “I see you are actively resisting the dreamscape’s invitation to openness.”

Evryn’s smile deepened, genuine warmth replacing his earlier guardedness as he leaned toward her, closing the distance between them by inches. They fell quiet then, the silence stretching between them, delicate and charged with possibility, neither willing to look away.

“Mariselle,” he said softly, and a shiver danced down her spine, because she rather liked the sound of her name on his lips too. “I am … perplexed.”

“Oh?”

“By what I witnessed earlier this evening.”

“Ah.” She withdrew slightly, the gentle warmth that had enveloped them moments ago retreating like the tide, leaving her exposed to the chill memory of her family’s cutting remarks.

“You present yourself to the world with such fierce independence and unwavering confidence, yet in your family’s presence, those qualities seem to vanish entirely.

Why do you not assert yourself with them as you do with others?

With me ? Why do you endure such treatment from them when you would permit it from no one else? ”

She turned away, her gaze finding refuge in the endless horizon where sea met sky.

Her fingers curled around the edge of the step.

“It’s … complicated.” She inhaled deeply, then let her shoulders fall.

“And extraordinarily simple, I suppose. I merely … want them to love me. To value me. And they’ve never wanted a daughter with … spirit.”

The admission hung in the air between them, raw and honest in a way that would have been impossible in the waking world.

“That’s why restoring Dreamland means so much to me,” she continued.

“If I can accomplish something of such magnitude, something that brings glory to the Brightcrest name, they’ll finally see me differently.

Once they witness what I’m truly capable of creating, they won’t speak to me as they did tonight.

My achievements will demand the respect they’ve always withheld. ”

“Mariselle,” he said gently. “Your true worth isn’t measured by your accomplishments. It exists simply in who you are.”

She turned to look at him, pressing her lips together and blinking away the tears that threatened. There was a slight tremor in her voice when she said, “Is that so, Evryn Secondson Twist?”

Something in Evryn’s expression shifted, recognition dawning in his eyes as her words mirrored his own counsel back to him. He drew back slightly, his gaze sliding away from hers, a small frown puckering his brow. “I suppose that’s … something to consider.”

After another moment’s pause, she said, “Perhaps we should divert ourselves from this particular line of conversation. It seems to have grown rather more intimate than either of us anticipated.”

“Might I say one thing more?” he asked.

She nodded.

“I suspect Dreamland isn’t solely about proving yourself to your family.

I’ve witnessed how you come alive when working on it.

The way your eyes light with genuine passion.

When we stepped into that realm, your entire being radiated joy.

It wasn’t the expression of someone merely seeking approval.

That was the face of an artist in love with her creation for its own sake. ”

A smile bloomed across her face, warmth spreading through her chest at his words. They rang true in a way she couldn’t deny. No language could fully capture the exhilaration she’d felt wandering through Dreamland.

“May I share another thought?” he asked, leaning forward slightly. “An idea.”

Her lips curved into a wry smile. “Are you truly asking permission, or merely preparing to tell me regardless of my answer?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners, a flash of appreciative humor crossing his features. “Dreamland is magnificent as it is, but I’ve been thinking … what if it could be more than a collection of wondrous scenes?”

She tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“What if visitors experience a story rather than merely scenes? With themselves the characters? There could be several, and visitors could choose the narrative they like best. Or perhaps a different story for each day of the week. Something of that nature.”

Mariselle watched his face brighten, his voice warm with enthusiasm. “I like that,” she said. “Do you have any ideas?”

“I’ve had several brewing. Though I’d like to hear yours as well, if you have some.”

“I need to contemplate the possibilities, but I’m genuinely enchanted by the concept,”she replied. “I’ve already begun crafting more intricate environments and experiences, so narrative would be a natural evolution—a way to thread those moments into something cohesive and meaningful.”

“Excellent. While you think on it, I have another question.”

A smile tugged her lips. “Of course you do.”

“How easy is it for you to create dream versions of Cobalt and Cinder within this realm?And if they were to materialize here, might we actually ride them?” His eyes brightened with unmistakable longing.

“I find myself rather missing our nocturnal flights. It’s been some time since we raced beneath the stars. ”

A grin spread across Mariselle’s face as anticipation coursed through her veins—that familiar, exhilarating promise of stars rushing past and the unmatched freedom that only flight could offer .

“Consider it done,” she said, standing and looking out across the beach, where two magnificent pegasi had just descended from the twilight sky, their hooves sending up a glittering spray of seawater as they landed gracefully in the shallow surf.

“Prepare yourself, Rowanwood,” she said as her evening gown shimmered and rippled, restructuring itself into her riding attire. “For you’re about to taste defeat at my hands once again.”