“But … but it’s too late to change your wedding dress,” said the physician. “A new one would never be ready in time. Lady Kestrel, you must reconsider…”

She ignored him as he continued to talk. The puppy looked at her expectantly, wagging its short tail, wuffling with excitement. Kestrel stooped to pick up the slobbery stick. She threw. The stick soared into the blue sky, whipping over itself. The dog raced across the lawn to fetch it. Kestrel smiled, and waited for the stick to be brought back.

* * *

“Sneaky,” Arin teased her.

Kestrel shrugged a little helplessly at her imagination. She’d come to accept the way her mind would conjure up Arin. She’d come to need it.

She’d left the physician in his garden to walk the lawn alone with her dog. The day had grown warm. Kestrel sat on the lawn. The green scent filled her senses. She seemed to even taste it.

The puppy settled beside her. Kestrel took off her tight shoes. The grass prickled through her stockings. The palace was too large to appear distant. Still, Kestrel felt far from it, at least for now.

“Not far enough.” Arin spoke as if he could read her mind.

She faced her pretend Arin. His scar was healed. His gray eyes were startlingly clear. “You’re not real,” she reminded him.

“I feel real.” He brushed one finger across her lower lip. It suddenly seemed that there were no clouds in the sky, and that she sat in full sunshine. “You feel real,” he said.

The puppy yawned, her jaws closing with a snap. The sound brought Kestrel to herself. She felt a little embarrassed. Her pulse was high. But she couldn’t stop pretending.

Kestrel reached beneath her skirts to pull down a knee-high stocking.

Arin made a sound.

“I want to feel the grass beneath my feet,” Kestrel told him.

“Someone’s going to see you.”

“I don’t care.”

“But that someone is me, and you should have a care, Kestrel, for my poor heart.” He reached under the hem of her dress to catch her hand in the act of pulling down the second stocking. “You’re treating me quite badly,” he said, and slid the stocking free, his palm skimming along the path of her calf. He looked at her. His hand wrapped around her bare ankle. Kestrel became shy … though she had known full well what she was doing.

Arin grinned. With his free hand, he plucked a blade of grass. He tickled it against the sole of her foot. She laughed, jerking away.

He let her go. He settled down beside her, lying on his stomach on the grass, propped up by his elbows. Kestrel lay on her back. She heard birdsong: high and long, with a trill at the end. She gazed up at the sky. It was blue enough for summer.

“Perfect,” she said.

“Almost.”

She turned to look at him, and he was already looking at her. “I’m going to miss you when I wake up,” she whispered, because she realized that she must have fallen asleep under the sun. Arin was too real for her imagination. He was a dream.

“Don’t wake up,” he said.

The air smelled like new leaves. “You said you trusted me.”

“I did.” He added, “I do.”

“You are a dream.”

He smiled.

“I lied to you,” Kestrel said. “I kept secrets. I thought it was for the best. But it was because I didn’t trust you.”

Arin shifted onto his side. He caressed her cheek lightly with the back of his hand. That trailing sensation felt like the last note of the bird’s song. “No,” he agreed, his voice gentle. “You didn’t.”

Kestrel woke. The puppy was draped across her feet, sleeping. Her stockings lay in a small heap beside her. The sun had climbed in the sky. Her cheek was flushed, the skin tight: a little sunburned.

The puppy twitched, still lost in sleep. Kestrel envied her. She rested her head again on the grass.

She closed her eyes, and tried to find her way back into her dream.

* * *

Later, in the Butcher’s Row, Kestrel told Tensen to find out if the water engineer changed her bet on the wedding dress. If she did, then it meant that Elinor and the physician were working together.

Kestrel plucked at her work scarf. She tugged it low. Her disguise felt very thin. “There’s something else…” The weather remained warm, but she shivered. “I was wrong to make you promise not to tell Arin about me.”

Tensen raised his white brows.

“I want him to know,” she said.

“I’m not sure that’s wise.”

“Of course,” she said hastily, “a letter sent to Herran would be too risky. But maybe you know of a way…” She heard the pleading in her voice, and stopped.

Tensen’s expression shifted. It showed a flash of something—what, Kestrel couldn’t quite tell, it had come and gone too quickly—and then settled into sympathy. “Oh, Kestrel,” Tensen said. “I would tell him, but he’s not in Herran. I don’t know where he is.”

“You’re his spymaster. How can you not know?”

“No one does.” Tensen spread his hands. His gold ring caught the light. “If you don’t believe me, you can certainly ask around. But”—his voice grew concerned—“given your … history with Arin, I’m not sure such inquiries would be safe. They could come to the attention of the emperor. Or your father.”

Kestrel felt horribly trapped and robbed, though she hadn’t known it was possible to feel robbed of something she had already given up. She struggled not to show this. Already, that dream on the grass had faded in her memory. It was as if she’d worn it out by thinking too much about it. But in the moment, it had felt so real. Kestrel couldn’t quite believe that it hadn’t been.