Free Dreamstrider by Lindsay Smith Page A

they intend to gather some information on Barstadt in the process. See what they’re a little too interested in.”
    “Aye, Professor.” I nudge him with a grin of my own.
    We reach the heavily guarded entrance to the barracks, fenced in by a prickly wrought iron gate. I march up to the guardsman, who knows us both so well by now that we rarely have to produce our papers, but Brandt lingers back.
    “Well?” I ask Brandt. “I think we’re overdue for another Stacks tournament. I’ll wager you for your spare pinwheel there.” I gesture toward his bag of pastries.
    But then Brandt, my best friend, fades away; what he becomes instead is the aristocrat Brandt. From the tight skin around his eyes and the weary quirk at one corner of his lips, I can see it’s his least favorite role. He looks away from me while he talks, as if he’s reciting something he’s rehearsed. “Actually, I’m staying at my family’s estate tonight. We’re having guests for dinner.”
    I arch one brow. “Ones you’re not fond of, I take it.”
    He takes a deep breath. “It’s another potential marriage contract.” He says it so quickly it takes me a few moments to parse out his words. “Father’s not going to take no for an answer much longer. The dowries are too large, and the families involved, too influential.”
    I don’t hear the rest of his words, because I am a little girl curled up in a remote alcove of the tunnels, her fist clenched around a tithe that could save her life if she’s found. But she only wants the echoing silence of her deep-earth home. Silence too loud to permit footsteps or running water or painful words to break it apart. The silence of true loneliness—of true independence, where trusting no one and feeling nothing is the only way to never get hurt.
    “Oh,” I hear myself say, as if I’m my own dreamstriding victim, speaking from my subconscious. Then, before I can stop myself, “Who is she?”
    That seems to ease some of the tension from Brandt; his shoulders slump again and he musters a weak smile. “Edina Alizard.”
    The blood drains from my face. Of course it would be Edina—clever, kind Edina, who keeps the Ministry’s operations running smoothly and treats everyone like an old friend.
    “She’s a good person, Liv. I like that we already know each other—if you could have seen the awkward dinners I’ve had to sit through with other prospects…” He tries to laugh, but stops himself, and frowns instead. “It helps that she works for the Ministry—she understands the truth of my work, and I don’t have to lie. I like that she has ambitions of her own, too. Most of the girls my father’s picked are the sort who frump about the Cloister of Roses, gossiping and visiting the dress shops.”
    Yes, Edina is perfectly charming, witty, and amiable—all the things I’m not. Though all she really needs to satisfy Brandt’s father is aristocratic blood. My jealousy is a thorny thing, scratching at my skin from inside.
    I always knew this day would come; I can’t keep my dearest friend forever. And that’s all he is to me, I remind myself sternly—my partner, my accomplice, my best friend. He can never be anything more.
    “What about her father?” I ask. The words come too easily, spilling out of me like loose grain. “One of the dirtiest aristocrats of them all.”
    Brandt winces, pastry bag crumpling in his fist. “Yes, yes, I’m aware…”
    But those thorns are scratching, scratching. “I mean, if you think it’s wise to spend time around someone who’d happily toss you to the wolves if he knew the real nature of your work—”
    “Livia!” Brandt cries. “I know what her father’s like. She does, too. Obviously she doesn’t agree with his deeds, or she wouldn’t be working for the Ministry, trying to undo the harm her father’s criminal friends cause. But we can’t just change the very fabric of Barstadt society. The Houses have to marry, alliances must be forged, the