Chapter 4 Chapter Four

Alaric

The foreign current remains in the dream boundary after Maren wakes, a narrow black line fixed beneath the green layer she forced into place. Aldric moves toward it before the last trace of her garden has disappeared, but I raise one hand and step between his boot and the residue. The pattern has already copied enough from us. I will not offer it another physical response simply because my brother trusts movement more than thought.

"Do not touch it," I tell him, keeping my attention on the line as it pulses once against the boundary.

"I know what corrupted current does," he answers, but he stops with his weight already shifted forward, every muscle in his body prepared to ignore me if the line moves toward Maren again.

"Then demonstrate that knowledge by standing still long enough for me to preserve it," I tell him, lowering the crystal until clean light reaches the edge of the residue without touching it.

His expression hardens. "You mean long enough for you to decide what everybody else is allowed to know."

The accusation lands because it is close enough to the truth to require care. Maren's garden has already lost most of the details her sleeping mind created. The flowers are gone. The trees have flattened into gray shapes. The stone path remains because the lawful connection is still open, the outer boundary remains because she claimed it, and the black line remains because someone entered without permission. Everything else has reduced to controlled Winter light and bare ground.

"I mean long enough to keep you from contaminating the only physical trace we have," I say, removing a testing crystal from the inner pocket of my coat. "You can be angry after I know what we are looking at."

"I am capable of being angry and useful at the same time," he says, forcing his weight back even while his hands remain curled at his sides.

"History is divided on that point," I answer, and his glare confirms the old argument still has enough life to distract him from stepping forward.

Aldric gives me a look that would have started a fight when we were younger. Now he crouches beside me without crossing the marked edge, his forearms resting on his thighs while I hold the clear crystal several inches above the residue. Clean light enters first. A black fracture appears through the center, followed by three stamped lines too exact to belong to ordinary dreamwalking interference.

Aldric leans closer. "Registry pattern."

"A restricted one," I answer, rotating the crystal until the lines face us. The first identifies the lawful dream route. The second identifies a licensed Winter reflection channel. The third is incomplete, but what remains belongs to the office that approves mirrorcraft technology, renews access seals, and records every device capable of crossing a realm boundary.

The licensing office should be the first institution notified when a restricted pattern appears.

I do not notify it.

Aldric notices before I speak. He always sees the moment I begin withholding something, although he rarely understands why until after he has accused me of enjoying it. "You recognize the seal."

"I recognize the office family. The individual authorization was cut from the trace."

"Which means somebody inside the office removed it," Aldric says, keeping his gaze fixed on the clean cut where the authorization should be.

"It means the trace was altered by someone with access to the format. I will not name a person without proof."

"No, you will avoid naming anybody while they keep reaching for her." He rises, then begins pacing along the safe side of the boundary because standing still has apparently exhausted his patience. "That distinction will be useful when the next hand reaches her waking body."

I turn the crystal until the missing authorization faces him. "Alerting the licensing office would place this exact trace in the hands of everyone who can alter it. I am preserving the original and investigating through the royal archive first. That is not avoidance."

"It is secrecy," he answers, the blunt accusation landing between us while the preserved trace continues pulsing beneath the crystal.

The word irritates me because I cannot dismiss it. I am choosing not to notify the office responsible for the system because that office may be compromised. That protects the evidence. I am also deciding how much to tell Maren before I know whether the mark can be followed into her waking world. That choice repeats the same habit I have defended as caution for most of my adult life.

"She will receive the result when I know what it means," I say, hearing the flaw before the sentence is complete.

Aldric stops pacing and turns toward me. "She should receive what you know and what you do not know. Those are different things. She made that clear enough that even you should understand it."

"Do not mistake your willingness to say everything immediately for moral superiority."

"Do not mistake your fear of being wrong for protection."

The boundary pulses between us, responding to the tension in both our currents. I draw a breath, lower the testing crystal, and consider what Maren asked. No separate stories. No deciding which version she can handle. She had directed that at both of us, but it was intended more for me.

"You are correct," I say, because qualifying the admission would only prove his point.

Aldric's brows rise. "I would like the record to preserve that sentence. It may never occur again."

"Enjoy it quietly," I tell him, turning back to the evidence before his satisfaction becomes unbearable.

I place a second crystal beside the first and speak into the record. "A foreign current entered the lawful dream connection after Maren gave repeated permission for contact with Aldric and me. The foreign current is separate from her invitation and separate from our registered signatures. It carries a restricted Winter mirrorcraft format. The individual authorization is missing. I do not know who removed it, who controls the signal, or whether it has reached her waking location."

The crystal records each sentence without interpretation. I add that Maren stopped the intrusion once, that her body retained marks after waking, and that no magical mark creates ownership, sexual access, marriage, custodial authority, or control over her movement. The final statement should not need to be attached to an investigation record. Winter law contains too many old provisions written by men who believed a woman's magical response made her easier to classify.

Aldric's shoulders lower once I finish, although the anger does not leave his face. "Send that when the connection opens. She should hear the facts from us before another office decides how to name them."

"I will," I answer, sealing the private record with my current and no court office key. "I will also tell her why I have not notified the licensing office, and I will not present the decision as settled if she objects."

Aldric studies me for a second, then gives the smallest shake of his head. "That sounded painful."

"It was survivable," I answer, refusing to reward him with the smile he is trying to pull from me.

I direct the first testing crystal toward the outer boundary. The black residue responds immediately. A thin line rises from the ground and extends through the boundary instead of breaking against it. The route is not searching at random. It already has a fixed point on Maren's side.

I strengthen the edge around the line and follow only the recorded pattern, keeping my mind outside the path. The trace moves through a lawful Winter relay, enters an unregistered conversion plate, and divides into several reflective surfaces in the human realm. Most remain inactive. One answers with a weak pulse.

The crystal projects a flat image above my hand. White tile. Metal taps. Three rectangular mirrors. Bright overhead lights. A narrow section of painted wall beside a door.

Aldric steps closer without touching the projection, his eyes moving over the white tile and public fixtures. "Her room?"

"No. The proportions are wrong, and the surface receives public movement," I answer, enlarging the image until the repeated heat signatures become visible near the door.

Several blurred figures pass through the image. The device does not preserve faces, only changes in light and body heat. A number appears along the bottom of the record, followed by a human location code Maren mentioned when she described Boise State University.

"Campus," I say, and the larger risk becomes immediate. Her room can be warded once she knows how. A public building can place reflective surfaces around her without attracting attention.

The pulse strengthens even though she is awake and no dream connection should be feeding it. Someone placed a separate route near her daily life before tonight, or activated one after identifying the university through the record.

I send a narrow block through the trace. The black line contracts, then pushes back with enough force to crack the edge of the testing crystal. A copied royal signature protects it. The copy contains elements of my current and Aldric's, which explains why the registry treated the intrusion as authorized long enough to reach Maren.

Aldric sees the matching lines and goes completely still. His anger becomes more dangerous when he stops moving. "They copied us."

"Part of us," I say, preserving the fracture before the crystal can collapse. "Not enough to reproduce a living signature, but enough to open systems that verify bloodline before intent."

"From the dream connection?" Aldric asks, his voice flattening as he looks from the copied lines to the boundary Maren closed herself.

"Possibly. Or from an older royal record," I answer, preserving both possibilities because choosing the more convenient one would make the evidence useless.

The second possibility is worse. A copy drawn from the current connection makes Maren the point of access. A copy built from archived records means the observer prepared for a royal target before she appeared.

Aldric looks toward the closed boundary. "She asked why we were searching for someone missing twenty-one years."

"And we told her the truth as we know it. The timing is relevant. It is not proof that she is the Spring heir."

"You keep repeating that because you are trying to convince yourself."

"I keep repeating it because the court will treat her as property if we announce a conclusion before she has records, counsel, and the ability to refuse what follows."

That silences him. We both know what four courts will do if Maren's signature matches the missing Spring royal line. Spring will demand her return. Winter will claim responsibility for the bond. Summer and Autumn will demand verification, access, and political concessions. Every official will call the pressure lawful while surrounding a woman who learned magic existed only hours ago.

I preserve the copied signature in a third crystal and close every archive route behind it. Then I open the restricted index without notifying the licensing office. The pattern family appears in six historical entries. Five belong to defensive communication systems. The sixth was removed from ordinary access twenty-one years ago after an ethics inquiry involving involuntary biological sampling, altered memory storage, and cross-realm observation.

The investigator's name is absent. The accused technician's name is absent. The final disposition is sealed under the Chancellor's Office.

Aldric reads over my shoulder, one hand braced against the table. "Twenty-one years."

"The same length of time the Spring royal signature has been missing," I confirm, opening the surrounding entries to make sure the date has not been altered.

"And Varyn's office controls the seal," Aldric says, straightening beside me as his anger shifts from the copied signature to the institution protecting the old inquiry.

"The Chancellor's Office controls the seal," I correct, though the distinction offers little comfort when Varyn currently holds the title. "This inquiry predates him by several years. We need the chain of custody before we assume he created it."

"You do not believe he is innocent," Aldric says, watching my face instead of the record because he already knows I will separate suspicion from proof.

"Belief is not evidence. I believe he will protect his office before he protects Maren. That is enough reason not to alert him until the original trace is beyond his reach."

I copy the file reference into the private record and close the index before the system can send an automatic access notice. The act is lawful under royal emergency authority, but it is not transparent. I will have to explain that choice to Maren, and I already know which part she will reject. She will understand protecting evidence. She will not accept being informed only after I decide the danger has become legible enough for her.

Aldric touches the edge of the damaged crystal. "The campus mirror is still active."

The projected bathroom brightens. A woman enters, but the image preserves only heat and movement. Her current touches the device, green light flashing beneath the black copied signature.

"Maren," I say, although she cannot hear me through the channel.

I send the private record through the lawful bond with no demand that she open it. It settles at the edge of her sleeping current, carrying facts, uncertainty, and the exact reason I am not notifying the licensing office. I add one final instruction in ordinary language rather than court phrasing. Do not touch unfamiliar residue with bare skin. Photograph it. Cover any sample so it cannot reflect light. Keep iron near you if possible.

Aldric watches the record leave, then looks at me with none of his earlier humor. "That should have been your first decision. She should not have needed to demand basic information twice."

"It is the decision I made once I could send it without opening another route," I answer, although the explanation sounds thinner after everything Maren said.

"You always have a reason," he says, rubbing one hand over his jaw while the mirror image continues brightening.

"Reasons matter," I answer, but I keep my attention on Maren because defending myself has become less important than reaching her.

"So do people while you are collecting them," Aldric replies, and this time I do not argue.

The woman in the projection stops in front of the center mirror. The copied signature flares, and the black current opens around her green response before my block can close it.

Her image turns toward the reflective channel.

I put my palm against the crystal even though I know the gesture cannot reach her. "Maren. Step away from the glass."

The bathroom mirror activates fully.