The Land Where Dreams Descend Sample

Chapter One

Seraphine Cardenie was not a woman of half measures. Certainly, she could’ve lived an easy life, as many Grand Couturiers did, assigning tasks to apprentices and letting them do all the work while she claimed all the glory. However, her parents had, fortunately or unfortunately depending on the day you asked Seraphine, instilled in her a certain kind of pride that made such an idea borderline absurd. If she didn’t form it in her mind or craft it with her hands, could she really call it hers?

Perhaps, however, there would be some who’d say she’d taken her love of the craft too far. At present, that group included Seraphine herself, who today—or tonight, if it pleases—found her love of design and moral convictions rather unfortunate. For there she was, crouched in the dirt with her fidgeting assistant, waiting for a blackbacked porcupine to leave its hollowed log and answer the call of nature.

As it happened, blackbacked porcupines had an excellent sense of smell and apparently weren’t too keen on the scent of their own stink, a fact Seraphine planned to take full advantage of.

Her apprentice shuffled his feet, jostling Seraphine’s shoulder. “To think we could’ve been sipping sparkling wine and dancing with nobility right now instead of crouching in bug-infested dirt, waiting for a wild animal to go relieve itself,” he hissed.

“Shush, Jaca. You could’ve gone without me.”

Jaca glanced at her, aghast. “An apprentice showing up to a couturier’s invitation without their mistress? Maybe if you’d taken the time to attend a single party you were invited to, but they hardly see your face, let alone mine.” He groaned. “I’d be laughed out of the place.”

Seraphine tried to arrange her face into something other than amusement, offering a sympathetic pat to a bony shoulder. “Look at it this way. If you’d gone to the party, you’d be standing around like a pretty, willowy wallflower because you’re too timid to talk to anyone. At least this way, you can talk to me and see your mistress at work.”

Jaca frowned. “I’d rather be ignored in polite society than gored to death in the forest.”

Seraphine rolled her eyes. On nights like this, she couldn’t fathom how Jaca was ever mistaken for her kin. With his tepid nerve, he could never be a Cardenie, and he lacked the look of one too. His golden-brown complexion was leagues lighter than Seraphine’s dark skin, his closely cropped coils a stark contrast to the spiraling curls that fell past Seraphine’s waist. Where Jaca was a reedy pile of sticks threatening to blow away in the breeze, Seraphine was all gentle curves. They were nothing alike in appearance or manner. Yet she couldn’t deny she was fond of him, much like a little brother. One she was quite happy she’d never had.

“So dramatic. Don’t get your stars in a tizzy.”

“It’s not dramatic if it’s true! I don’t want to do this.” Jaca sounded a sniffle away from crying. He held out a trembling hand. “Even my body rejects this terrible idea.”

Seraphine tore her gaze away from the porcupine’s abode and gave her apprentice a sidelong look. “And you think I do?”

“Great. Neither of us wants to be here. Let’s go.” He moved to stand. Seraphine swiftly tugged him back down.

“We’re not storming a castle or fighting a troll. It’s a porcupine. He’ll do his business, maybe gorge on a few berries, and we will help ourselves to his lovely needles.”

She ignored his answering sigh and tolerated the second, but by the third, she was ready to throttle him. “Jaca!”

“Seraphine!” he said, matching her shouted whisper.

“Without those needles, the design is ruined. Which means the gown is ruined. Is that what you want, Jaca? To ruin the gown?” she demanded. He pouted and mercifully fell silent. Satisfied, Seraphine returned to watching the tree, eyes peeled for the glint of moonlight on obsidian needles.

The quills on a blackbacked porcupine were the only thing sharp and thin enough to penetrate emperor’s silk without puckering the delicate fabric. So, of course, they were extremely hard to come by. And dangerous. Any sane couturier would have simply adjusted their design and washed their hands of the whole affair. But no one had ever praised Seraphine for her sanity.

A low growl came from the hollow log, and a blunt snout appeared. Jaca closed his eyes and made the sign of a star on his heart. The porcupine sniffed the air, made an awful chuffing noise, and swiveled its head sharply in their direction. Seraphine ducked down and starred her heart too. Maybe the porcupine hadn’t caught their scent, and if he had, he wouldn’t deem it necessary to investigate. Braving another peek, she saw those prickly needles pointed skyward and moving closer. Jaca, ignoring Seraphine’s silent but emphatic shoving, shuffled around for a look. His eyes widened.

The blackbacked porcupine lumbered toward them, its wolf-like size made all the more frightening by the quills decorating its back from neck to hindquarters. They ranged in size from a few scant inches on its haunches to nearly two feet in length at its nape.

Jaca’s gaze darted from the massive frame to the sinister needles. Seraphine barely moved in time to cover the yelp that slipped free of his mouth.

Her heart pounded. Beneath her hand, Jaca mumbled a prayer to Mother Night. She could swear she heard her name between the pleas for mercy and something that sounded a lot like a curse for her demise. Seraphine would’ve berated him if the poor boy didn’t look as though he might pass out before he even finished. She was displeased to discover she shared her assistant’s fear.

The porcupine stood on its hind legs to sniff the air, and she trembled. A part of her was ready to tell Jaca to run and she’d be right behind him, but the larger, more sensible part knew she couldn’t.

There was a reason for her success at the young age of thirty. Seraphine had learned early on in her apprenticeship that grand ideas were plentiful among couturiers, but it was a hundred small, daring ideas that set the Grand Courtiers apart from the rest. Ideas like waiting hours for a porcupine to leave its dwelling so she might help herself to the fallen quills.

After giving the air a thorough sniffing, the porcupine grunted and returned to all fours. With a bumbling move that was in direct contrast to the swiftness Seraphine knew it capable of, the creature turned and loped off into the trees.

She grinned at Jaca, yanking on a pair of her thick, metal-lined gloves. “Come on.” She twisted the knob on her lantern, a yellowish glow illuminating her face. “Before he comes back and sticks you full of needles.” She laughed at Jaca’s horrified expression and hiked up her dress, hopping nimbly over the log they’d hidden behind.

Inside the porcupine’s abode, she crouched and held her lantern to the dark. The orange light illuminated the shadowy interior, revealing glossy pinpricks of obsidian in varying lengths, scattered among the dirt and fallen leaves.

Seraphine scooped them up in handfuls; she’d worry about sorting them later. Noticing her side was strangely cold and her bag strangely absent, she glanced over her shoulder to find Jaca several paces behind, shuffling his feet and fiddling with the burlap sack over his shoulder.

“Hurry up,” she hissed.

Jaca picked up speed, though not by much. Thankfully, a few steps more brought him, and the sack, to her side. Seraphine deposited the gathered quills into the bag, grinning all the while. Their haul would be even greater than she’d expected. The shorter quills would make excellent needles, and she’d have enough to experiment with cutting the longer ones. A few more handfuls, and they’d be set.

A vicious snarl ripped through the air. Her satisfaction plummeted into dread. Seraphine whipped her head around Jaca’s slim frame.

There, at the edge of the clearing, stood the blackbacked porcupine. Even from fifteen feet, those coal black eyes managed to pin Seraphine to the spot. It bristled, quills quivering and expanding like a peacock’s tail—only less pretty and far more terrifying. Instead of a hundred soft feathers, it was over a hundred sharp needles that could maim or run them straight through. Neither fate sounded appealing.

“Run,” she shouted. Jaca took off in one direction and Seraphine in another. She’d already escaped into the cover of the forest when she heard Jaca scream. Backpedaling, her frantic gaze found scattered needles and Jaca scurrying up a tree, the porcupine close behind.

“I told you they could climb!”

“I panicked. He was about to stick me in the back,” Jaca wailed. “Do something!”

Grabbing the heftiest rock she could find, Seraphine tossed it like her father had taught her, careful to miss Jaca and the porcupine. It smacked the tree above the creature, spraying down bits of bark. Needles prickling, it turned and growled at Seraphine, claws tearing gouges in the tree as it slid back down.

“Mistress!” Jaca shouted.

“I’ll come find you,” she yelled, sprinting into the trees. The porcupine charged after her.

Seraphine jumped over bushes and sailed over logs, putting distance between them. Swift feet were a Cardenie trait. She was confident she could lose the porcupine near the river and double back. At least she would have, had her foot not caught on a gnarled tree root.

She screamed, the forest floor rushing to greet her. Twigs slapped her face. Leaves stuck in her hair. And the dirt—she didn’t want to think about it. She hit the ground with a thud and lay there, staring at the night sky, wondering if the stars were spinning or if her head had suffered a grievous injury. It took a moment to right herself, head swiveling to take in the ravine she’d fallen into.

A low growl from above sent a shiver racing down her spine. Beady eyes sought her out among the dirt and the porcupine snorted hot breath into the cold air, readying to charge down the ravine. Only it didn’t. Instead, it shrank back, snarls becoming whimpers, and scurried out of sight.

Seraphine’s sore body wasn’t sorry to see it go. But what fresh horror awaited her now?

The golden fox was almost a pleasant surprise. Or it would have been, had it not also been of a rather worrying size. She’d never seen anything like it. Its unwavering stare unnerved her. No doubt, the same stare had sent the porcupine running with its tail between its legs. She eyed the fox warily.

“Hello,” she said slowly. Politeness was always the way to go when dealing with unknown, likely enchanted beings. “Apologies for disturbing you. I’ll just be on my way.”

The fox let out a chuckle, the sound eerie like the tinkle of a wind chime on a windless night. It stood slowly on its hindquarters, lengthening till it towered over her by several feet, its dark shadow looming. The fox cocked its head and grinned.

The smile was too human. Its eyes too cruel.

The fox lunged forward, its front paws slamming into her. Seraphine fell, half expecting the fox to follow and sink its teeth in when she landed.

But she didn’t land. She just kept falling.