Dream of Me/Believe in Me

prison.
    For a moment, her spirit rebelled like the wings of a bird beating frantically against its cage. She desperately needed to be free, to feel the wind and sea, to run and dive and leap, to vanish far from this life. As her mother had needed to do, in the end when she had known that love was not to be.
    Krysta walked over to the windows. There were many of them around the curved walls of the tower, most looking out toward the sea. Edvard had closed the shutters but she opened a pair now and gazed out. The night was moonless and the water very dark. She leaned out the window and looked at the stars blazing overhead. Long ago, her father had taught her about their shapes. She knew how to pick out the huntsman and the bear, among others, and she could reckon by the star that never moved, always showing the way north. The way barred to her now by Sven's decree. He was head of the family and he had the right to disown her. No one would dispute that, whatever Hawk believed. As for the dowry, she knew not what the Wolf would do but it scarcely mattered. Sven had forced her to confront what she had tried so desperately to deny, that the mystery of her past threw a shadow over her entire life and made it impossible for her to nurture the hopes and dreams common to ordinary women.
    Her throat was very tight and she knew she was perilously close to tears. The long, tumultuous day had left her exhausted. She went to the table and managed to eat a very small amount of what Aelfgyth had brought. Not wishing to worry her maid, she crumbled up the bread and threw it out the window for the birds to find in the morning. Wondering again where Raven was, Krysta lay down on the bed, in the place where Hawk had been. Weeping, she slept, and sleeping, she wept. The two entwined in dreams of loss that haunted her throughout the night.
    Aelfgyth came in the morning with fresh water, more food, frowns of concern, wobbly smiles and—wonder of wonders—several books. She herself carried the books, unwilling to trust them to the lesser servants who had brought yet more food and water as well as their owncurious, worried glances. When they had departed, Aelfgyth set the books on the table with tremendous care, then breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped back.
    “His lordship handed them to me just as I was on my way up the stairs, otherwise I would have gotten Edvard to carry them. I never thought to touch a book in my life and heaven knows I don't ever want to do so again. What if I bent a page somehow or left a smudge? But there his lordship was, pressing them into my hands and telling me to bring them up to you.” Aelfgyth shook her head somberly. “I must say, the poor man doesn't look well. I warrant he didn't sleep a wink.” She peered at her mistress to see how this news was received but Krysta was too distracted by the books.
    He had sent her books. After damning her and locking her away, he had sent her objects more valuable to her than jewels, and apparently trusted her to look after them properly. She turned away quickly lest the finely turned leather covers be stained by her tears.
    “Oh, there, now,” Aelfgyth clucked. “Everything will be all right, you'll see. The Hawk's not one to stay angry and he's good to his word. If you look out the window, you'll see the fastest ship he has setting sail for Sciringesheal. Your half-brother is leaving, too, but I don't think he's going to enjoy the trip. Word is his crew has already put him in irons, judging Lord Wolf will only reward them for it.”
    “Do you really think that will matter?” Krysta asked.
    The question surprised Aelfgyth. “How not? The dowry must be paid, it's only proper, and Lord Wolf will see to that. Lord Hawk doesn't blame you for the delay, not really, or he never would have sent the books.”
    “But the dowry is only part of it,” Krysta said slowly. “What of the story my half-brother told?”
    “About you being a changeling?” Aelfgyth blushed at her boldness. “It's true everyone is talking about that. Allagree he isn't anywhere near as good a teller of tales as the Lord Dragon. Why, I believed
his
story about the Irish lord and his bride from the sea. So did most folks. Sends a shiver down your back, doesn't it, to think such a thing could be? But no one actually expects to meet someone like that, not in real life.”
    “You mean … it couldn't have to do with me?”
    “Of course not.” Aelfgyth grinned at the thought. “Although