But if Em was successful, that wasn’t something she had to worry about for her patient.

It took a moment to get the flow going. But once it did, all she had to do was keep her thoughts on picturing golden mana coming out of her fingers to keep up the momentum.

She didn’t stop until the horse suddenly relaxed.

Relaxed so completely it farted. Long and loud.

She pulled her hand back and coughed while it turned its head to look at her.

Gentle brown eyes looked her over. The creature whinnied softly and before she could think to step back, it leaned toward her and licked her hair. Then it farted again while the stable hand looked around its bulk to see what had caught its attention.

Em wrinkled her nose.

The stable hand moved swiftly between her and the horse. Holding out his hands like a shield.

“Afternoon, young miss. Is there something I can do for you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “You shouldn’t be here, miss. This stallion don’t like anyone but me and the young master.”

He was trying to sound polite, but it was clear that he was impatient to see her there. And obviously he either hadn’t seen or misinterpreted the horse’s ‘thank you’ from a second ago if he thought she might be in danger.

“I was just looking.”

The horse farted again, accompanied but a sudden splatter of manure.

Em wrinkled her nose again and took a step back. The stable hand was distracted another way. With a beaming smile, he turned to the horse and grabbed the creature’s head.

“Feeling better, are you? Just a little upset stomach? Thank the gods! I thought you might’ve had something more serious. Wouldn’t the young master be sad if his favorite horse came up dead while he was away? And I would’ve been sad to lose you, too.”

Em backed away.

Grinning.

So, even though this was a dream and she wasn’t really Emmaline, at least her mind had fabricated it close to the original. Her powers hadn’t changed or disappeared.

Cheerfully, she spun around and walked out the building.

She didn’t know yet how she’d use it, but such a valuable gift will come in handy in the future.

As long as she was careful about where and when she used it.

***

The time had skipped again. He had to be about fifteen now and visibly very different.

He looked like he’d aged not only from twelve to fifteen, but with an added weariness and ‘world experience’ in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

Someone who’d seen and done a lot.

After taking in his overall appearance, Em zeroed in on the smaller things.

Scars on his arms and all over his exposed upper body. Mostly, they looked like the sort of things a whip or a smaller lash would leave behind.

There was also a tattoo that partially covered the back of his neck and wrapped around the front. Not a slave mark. With Emmaline’s memories, she would have recognized one of those. They were usually made with a hot iron, which made a very different kind of scar.

Since there was nothing in her memory to help her identify the tattoo, she mentally let it go to look around.

He was sitting in a cell with dozens of other slaves, one knee tucked up to his chest. If Em were to guess, they were waiting to be sold. Though, she didn’t know if it was an auction or just an overnight holding cell.

Even in a dream within a dream, it smelled bad.

Too many unwashed bodies. Not enough latrines.

She covered her nose and crouched next to the boy.

Could he sense her?

Apparently not. He just looked straight ahead. Not seeing anything until he would suddenly flinch and glance around. On alert. Especially when a guard passed the cell.

“What’s your name?” Em whispered to the boy.

He didn’t answer. Didn’t see her. Didn’t hear her.

It made her sad.

Especially when she realized she was no longer feeling what he was feeling. When had that stopped?

If the story had been real, this would be a perfect explanation for why the ‘lost prince’ never appeared. As a slave, he was at the whim of whoever bought and sold him. And he hadn’t passed the mana test from the last dream, so no one would have detected him.

She sat down next to him and put a hand over his lifted knee.

“I’ll stay with you. Until I wake up, I’ll stay with you.”

It was a silly thing to say. She couldn’t seem to wake up from the main dream, but she woke up from in-dreams all the time. Every ‘morning’ and in the middle of the ‘night.’ With no control whatsoever.

With nothing to do but sit and watch, Em started talking to him. Telling him about the accident, about Maddie and her antics, about being sick.

“They only gave me two years,” she told him. “I survived three, so I guess I was lucky. But you don’t feel lucky when you can’t even get out of the car by yourself.”

She paused. Emotion welling up. She wiped away a tear.

“Maddie always had to carry me. She took special classes, you know, so she could be my nurse. And she started working remotely so she could be home with me. I put her in so much debt and she already sacrificed so much for me.”

Pause.

The passing guard couldn't hear her any more than the boy could, but she waited until he passed their cell, anyway.

“I hope… I hope she’s ok. And that she gets a chance to live a better life when I’m gone. Maybe she’ll even meet someone nice.”

That’s what she hoped for.

Maddie could be a… character.

She swore and smoked and liked her tattoos. She didn’t take bullcrap from anyone and rarely knew when being quiet was the better option.

But her sister deserved a good relationship.

Like the ones they used to drool over in the movies.

And Em hadn’t missed the wistful looks Maddie sometimes gave women carrying newborns. If she hadn’t seen that, she never would have suspected that her brash older sister had any desire to be a mom.

Especially the way she bad-mouthed their mother.

Em talked until the boy fell asleep and she felt herself waking up.

Once her presence left the cell, all that was left of her warmth were the dreams she left behind.

***

The memorial was tomorrow.

Em hadn’t been idle. Though there wasn’t much she could do.

She couldn’t outright ask anyone her real questions about the inheritance and guardianship. Someone would remember that she’d asked and wonder how she’d known to ask.

It could be chalked up to curiosity.

Or it could be interpreted as a premonition.

If it was interpreted as a premonition, which it basically was, she could end up at the Temple. Or, worse, at the Palace.

Most likely the Palace.

She shuddered at the very idea, pausing mid-step and nearly tripping Tracy.

The Temple might be alright. Probably better than her future with Felix as her guardian would be.

But once the Crown Prince heard there was someone else with those powers, he’d never leave her alone.

No. She wouldn’t risk it.

So she asked her questions in a roundabout way. And usually starting with things she already knew the answer to, so she could lead into the other questions.

Why wasn’t Felix called Baron?

Oh, brother Flint is the heir. Then why was Felix in charge? I heard brother Flint is about to become a Marquis. I don’t know where I heard it… Can’t Felix become Baron since Flint is something better?

Oh, I didn’t know the title could only be passed to a second brother if the first brother died or abdicated.

What would happen if Felix died, too? Would I inherit instead?

I can’t because I’m a girl. That isn’t fair!

What would happen to me, then? What’s a ward? Oh.

Back to Flint, you can have two titles? Why would you want two titles?

By the time she was done asking questions, Tracy and the butler both looked worn out.

It was necessary.

If she asked enough questions, many of the important ones might get lost. Of course, someone might still remember a specific question, but they’ll also remember that she had made no real focus on the relevant ones.

The end of her questions though was to find out who might end up being her guardian. In the event of the death of both brothers.

Unfortunately, the servants didn’t know.

And as the day of the memorial drew nearer, even Tracy was forced to leave Em alone for long periods. Because the manor was so short staffed, they needed everyone they could get to help ready it for the event.

She did find out which branch of the family it would likely be.

Once Tracy left with Em’s breakfast bowl, Em slipped out of her room and went upstairs.

Felix had long ago commandeered Father’s office for himself. He’d changed things in subtle ways, making the room feel alien to Em as she looked around.

The clock with the elephants on it, a foreigner’s piece mother picked out for Father, had been sold. Then replaced with a taxidermy rodent that was neither mouse nor mole, but looked like it could eat her hand, anyway.

Maybe a miniature monster?

Some books had been switched out. Either taken to the family library or also sold.

The portrait of Mother and Father had been removed from the mantel and the wall left bare.

Those sorts of things.

She wrapped her arms around herself and turned her back to the disturbingly empty wall. Scanning the bookcase.

There!