I relaxed my tense posture as I trimmed my last thread and held my completed dream up. Darius looked up from the book he’d been reading while he’d been waiting and frowned. “The stitches look unnaturally tight, almost as if they’re about to break. Are you sure you did them right?”
A heat of defensiveness swelled in my chest. “Of course I’m sure. I wouldn’t have used a stitch I didn’t know.” Guilt immediately followed the words, especially when Darius rose a single eyebrow, as usual seeming to see right through me.
But rather than retort, he simply said, “I suppose we’ll see how your stitch holds up.” Without another word we tucked our dreams around Maci. I rummaged through my bag for my weaving mirror, but before I could use it, Darius brushed his hand on my arm, causing me to jolt as his warm, tingly touch.
“Look, Eden.”
Darius’s nightmare had already seeped into Maci, but before mine could follow, the threads started splitting, causing the already rambunctious flowers to tear apart. Loose strands of torn thread hung limply from their wilted petals and the details in their auras faded like washed-out colors in a watercolor, too frail to ever be reused. Just like that, the dream was ruined. It was yet another failure, one of many that could cause me to lose not only the only place I called home, but the first real friends I’d found.
I hastily tried to blink back the tears already stinging my eyes. Maci whimpered from her cradle as a cloud of dream dust swirled into Darius’s locket, but tonight he didn’t gloat. Instead he turned to me, his expression grave.
“This has gone on long enough. Something needs to be done.”
I couldn’t hear another post-victory speech, not with the sting of my broken dream still fresh. “I’m trying.”
But in my heart I knew I hadn’t been trying hard enough. Instead I was allowing myself to become distracted. But it was difficult not to when I felt as if I was being pulled between two parts of my heart—my desire to protect the world where I wanted nothing more than to remain, and my desire to create pleasant dreams for Maci.
Darius stepped forward to touch me again, this time to carefully wipe the tears that had escaped to trickle down my cheeks; thank goodness Stardust wasn’t here to see me crying in front of Darius. But for some reason I wasn’t embarrassed, trusting him enough to cry in front of him. “I know you are, but it’s not enough. If things don’t improve soon, the Council will terminate you as Maci’s Dream Weaver. Without a weaving assignment you’ll be forced to return to Earth.”
No. I needed to stay, and not just to prove to everyone I was a Dreamer. My love for Maci had only grown with each passing weaving, a warmth that blossomed like a carefully tended fire. I couldn’t be taken from her now.
“Please don’t tell the Council how badly I’m doing. I need to stay.” Surely their powers allowed them to check on my progress at any time, but perhaps if Darius refrained from informing them of my repeated failures, I’d have more time to improve.
“I know, Eden,” he said gently. “I want you to stay just as desperately.”
I blinked at him in astonishment. “You do?”
He nodded. “Of course I do. But you clearly need more tutoring than a book can provide. Please allow me to help you.”
Compassion filled his green eyes…along with something else. That something else stoked a different fire in my heart, one far more powerful than the one that burned for Maci or even for the Dream World.
I fiddled with my bag strap as I deliberated, a movement which drew Darius’s attention to it and one of my many practice cloths sticking out from it. His brow furrowed.
“What’s this?” He took it and carefully examined the threads, which resembled a night sky of distorted half-stars more than a proper stitch. “This is the star stitch. Is this what you used tonight?”
My cheeks burned as I yanked it away from him. “Spare me your usual commentary. I know I failed miserably at it, and I know you’re probably amazing.”
For a moment he looked quite hurt. “That’s not what I was going to say. I don’t want to hurt you, Eden.”
Shame twisted my stomach that I’d allowed my embarrassment to make me so rude, especially after Darius had offered to help. I lowered my eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s just…really terrible, isn’t it?”
“It’s not too bad, but you do need more practice. Here’s my advice, even if you don’t want it: either stop using basic stitches—they’re too weak for the elaborate dreams you keep attempting—or create simpler dreams. Since you’re determined to raid the entire Cultivating Fields every night, we’re going to have to improve your stitches.”
I froze in shoving my practice cloth back into my bag. “We?” I stared, waiting for him to crack a smile at this obvious teasing, but his expression remained stoic. “Why would you do that when you’re obsessed with winning?”
“We’ve been over this before,” Darius said with a sigh. “Even winning loses its appeal if it’s too easy. If you really want to stay—which I can see that you do—you'll stop being stubborn and accept my help. Besides, some things are more important than winning.” His entire manner had gone very soft, causing a stirring in my stubborn heart. He held out his hand. “Let me see your star stitches.”
Even after everything, he still wanted to help me? I searched his eyes, wide and earnest, before lowering my gaze to his hand, extended in invitation, compelling me to accept what he was offering. I glanced down at Maci, still restless from her recent nightmare, and the walls of
