Children of Fire by Drew Karpyshyn Page A

they certainly weren’t common—oddly, neither Celia nor her husband was fair-haired. Her daughter’s rare looks, combined with the emerald dress Celia had chosen to perfectly complement Cassandra’s gorgeous green eyes, turned the little girl into an adorable living doll.
    â€œCassandra, darling, you haven’t eaten a thing.” Lady Hollander’s words came unexpectedly, as if Celia’s own thoughts had suddenly drawn attention to her daughter.
    Celia tensed slightly in anticipation of the young girl’s reply.
    â€œI’m sorry, Lady Hollander,” she mumbled, and Celia felt the tension slipping from her shoulders. “I’m not hungry.”
    â€œCassandra has not been sleeping well,” Celia said by way of apology. “Isn’t that right, Nan?”
    The nanny took half a step forward from the shadows. “Yes, madam. The young mistress has nightmares.”
    Celia frowned slightly. She hadn’t wanted the dreams to come up, not tonight. She had foolishly opened the door herself, but the nanny should have known better than to mention Cassandra’s vivid nightmares.
    Lady Hollander, however, was suddenly filled with motherly compassion. “You poor child,” she cooed. “What is it you dream about? Monsters?”
    The nanny answered again, and Celia had to bite her lip to keep from shushing the stupid woman and causing a spectacle in front of everybody.
    â€œYes, my lady. She often dreams of ogres who walk the land and eat whole villages, and sometimes she speaks of great winged beasts breathing fire down from the sky.”
    There was a surprised chuckle from Lord Hollander. “Dragons, is it, my pretty child? I often dream of them myself, when I have too much wine at supper and heartburn plagues my sleep.”
    A round of polite laughter from the table was cut off by Cassandra’s sudden shout.
    â€œNo! Not monsters. Not now. Now it’s the horse dream!”
    Cassandra suddenly broke down in tears.
    Celia froze, mortified by the turn of events. The nanny hesitated, uncertain if she should invade the space of the other diners to try to placate the sobbing child. It was Lady Hollander who made the first move, pushing back her chair and coming around the length of the table to wrap a pair of comforting arms around Cassandra.
    â€œHush, child. Hush. Dreams cannot hurt you. They are only dreams, just like pictures in a book.”
    Cassandra’s sobbing stopped, to Celia’s relief. She was both grateful to Lady Hollander for easing her daughter’s cries, and jealous that the noblewoman had usurped the mother’s rightful role here at her own table.
    â€œMy dreams are different,” Cassandra said softly, defiantly. “They’re not like pictures in books.”
    â€œTell me about your dreams,” Lady Hollander urged. “Sometimes talking about them makes them seem not so bad.”
    â€œIt’s Gerald, the smith. He’s got a horse. A gray one. He’s doing something to its foot.”
    â€œShoeing it, perhaps?” Lord Hollander offered from the other end of the table.
    Cassandra shrugged, not understanding. Celia had never allowed her daughter into the stables, or even the smithy for that matter. How she even knew the smith’s name, she couldn’t begin to guess.
    â€œThen the horse gets mad. It jumps and kicks. It kicks Gerald in the head.” Cassandra traced a small circle on her own forehead. “Here. This part is all squished. Then Gerald is on the ground. There’s blood on his head. Lots of blood.”
    For a second nobody spoke, but then Lady Hollander broke the awkward silence with a light laugh. “That is a scary dream for a little girl,” she admitted, “but the horse can’t hurt you. It isn’t real.”
    â€œIt’s real!” Cassandra insisted with the absolute urgency only young children can muster. “It’s gray and it