“Septaria, ash, sulfur… I would say it was the Dragon Bar,” Hera said after examining the glass vessels, which sat on a table in the center of the white-tiled chamber. “But the copper is missing.”

Dago pointed to Hera’s pocket, where she’d hidden the coins she found along the way. “We have obols. They’re made of copper.”

Surprise crossed the maga’s face, soon mixed with shame and irritation. She probably felt stupid for not having thought of it herself.

Once, Dago wouldn’t have spared her a pointed remark, but now he had no desire to do so. Half an hour had passed since they’d entered the dungeon, and they were already in the seventeenth room. If he were alone, it wouldn’t have been anything out of the ordinary—but Hera hadn’t known the tasks she had to solve beforehand, and yet she’d deciphered the mudras and incantations hidden in the puzzles and calculated the proportions of the spell ingredients as if she passed through this corridor every day. She never once asked him for help, and it gave Dago a strange feeling.

He felt like he was redundant.

If I hadn’t told her to collect obols, she would’ve had to go back, he consoled himself.

Then he remembered that they were about to enter the second level, which was guarded by a warrior golem, and his mood improved. Hera had no training in fencing, so she would have to rely on him…

Dago spent the next five minutes trying to look interested in the calculations Hera was making on the sheet of papyrus, but inside he chafed at the bit. The last time the woman had seen him with a sword in his hand was in Arkadia, when that Buffoon Herkules had accidentally knocked the weapon out of his hands, but now she would have to be impressed. He spent hours improving not only his technique, but also the way he looked while doing it.

“Done,” Hera announced, lifting a glass globe filled with the necessary ingredients. She placed the spell in a round recess next to the black door and, placing her hands in the Mudra of Fangs, hissed, “Basiliskos.”

The door opened slowly in a grand style, revealing a spiral staircase.

“Congratulations,” Dago said. “You finished level one.”

A strange grimace crossed Hera’s face, as if she couldn’t decide whether she was more pleased or disappointed.

“It wasn’t that hard,” she said, assuming the pose of a modest schoolgirl.

Dago’s eyebrow twitched dangerously, but he somehow managed to stop it from going up. Instead of a jab, he offered, “The upper floors will require more physical effort, so I’ll go ahead, okay?”

Hera gave him a wary look, as if wondering if there was an insult hidden behind his words, but ultimately nodded. “Lead the way.”

As Dago climbed the stone steps, he recalled his previous duels with the golem and thought of possible battle scenarios. These mental preparations proved futile, though. There wasn’t one golem in the black-tiled chamber on the first floor.

There were two of them.

Freaking nightmare, Dago cursed in his mind as he looked at the clay soldiers.

His parents were really testing them. He couldn’t protect Hera if both golems charged at them at once—

Both golems charged at them at once.

Dago tensed, instinctively reaching for the sword placed by the entrance. Before he could lift it, though, Hera stepped forward, having transformed her arm into a large wing of red-gold feathers. With a single wave, she sent a blast of phoenix heat toward the golems. A few seconds later, the places of the dashing, vigorous claymen were taken by motionless ceramic statues.

“We were supposed to defeat them in a fencing match,” Dago said. This time he couldn’t help but be spiteful. “Let’s hope my parents don’t see this as destruction.”

Hera paled, clearly remembering the warning sign. If you break something, you will pay for it.

“I’m sorry.”

Dago gave her a cursory smile, then strode forward.

“Are you angry?” Hera asked, trying to keep up with him.

“No,” he said through gritted teeth.

A pause.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I really didn’t want to destroy the golems. I acted on instinct.”

Dago clenched his jaw even tighter, but forced his muscles to relax. She’s my future wife, he told himself. It’s good that she can defend herself.

Surprisingly, his nerves had calmed. If something dangerous happened during his absence, it would indeed be better if Hera were able to take care of herself.

“What’s in the next room?” Hera asked as they passed the golems, frozen in mid-run.

“A pond with stinking water.”

“And what are we supposed to do there?”

“Dance a waltz.”

A pause.

“But I can’t dance a waltz.”

With that statement, Dago’s irritation evaporated. “I will guide you,” he said in a perfectly indifferent voice.

Another pause.

“If you evaporate the water in the pond, my parents will definitely consider it a loss,” he added.

He opened the white door and climbed another spiral staircase. As soon as they crossed the threshold of the black and white chamber, the enchanted piano standing in the corner began to play the Dark Waltz.

“Why do we have to dance?” Hera asked, looking closely at the glass dance floor, beneath which was a pool of murky water. “Can’t we just walk through? This glass looks solid.”

“It will melt like ice if you put your foot in the wrong place.”

Hera sighed. “Of course.”

“Where has your enthusiasm gone?” Dago held out his hand. “I thought you enjoyed challenges.”

The woman gave him a strange look. “This is different,” she muttered, taking his hand.

Dago turned so they stood face to face. He lifted their clasped hands, adjusting his grip to one more comfortable for dancing, and moved closer. “Put your other hand on my shoulder.”

When she did as he said, he made a similar move himself, except his hand rested on her back. As usual, Hera’s first reaction to his touch was tension, but she didn’t pull away. Instead of suspicion, he saw tentative anticipation in her eyes. Compared to the state of their relationship a few weeks ago, it was significant progress, but Dago showed no satisfaction.

“When I step forward, you step back,” he said, lowering his voice. “You start with your left foot back.”

He took a slow step forward, giving the woman time to connect his words with his movement. She stepped back a little too quickly for his taste, but he didn’t comment. The pink tint of her cheeks sweetened his mood. “Now forward.”

He slowly backed away. Hera followed him, confused but trusting. A shiver ran through him.

“Backwards. This time slightly rise onto your toes at the end.”

They practiced the basic step forward and back, then right and left, until he felt Hera finally relax. Then he moved on to a practice dance. He stopped giving verbal cues and started relying solely on body language, guiding her with gentle pressure. She didn’t seem to notice the difference.

“Good,” he said after a few minutes. “Now let’s try a little faster, in time with the music.”

He felt a growing excitement. Hera Galenos understood him without words. He would never have guessed.

But that wasn’t the only surprise. On her flushed face played a smile. The longer they danced, the more noticeable it became. She seemed to be having a good time.

“Ready for the main performance?” he asked when he deemed their test performance satisfactory.

She hesitated. “Is that really enough? It’s only four steps.”

“It’s enough to cross this dance floor. If you want, I’ll teach you more when we get back to the castle.”

The blush on her face darkened. She glanced at the glass parquet floor as if to estimate its dimensions, but he knew it was really embarrassment that made her look away. “Okay,” she said.

He led her to the edge of the glass-covered pond and waited for the piece to start over, then let himself get carried away by the melody.

The room spun. Everything but the woman in his arms seemed blurred and unimportant. What mattered was music, dance, and those dark amber eyes.

Before he knew it, they had reached the center of the dance floor. Dago was aware that their dance wasn’t perfect, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so good dancing. Maybe never—

Suddenly, Hera tore her hand away with a cry and threw herself at his neck. He thought she’d stumbled and instinctively tried to catch her, but he too lost his balance. Cold water embraced his body and pulled him down.

It doesn’t stink, he thought nonsensically as water splashed across his face.

Instinctively, he clamped his mouth shut and held his breath. Then he let it out abruptly, choking. The fall winded him, and the weight of a feminine body pressing down on his chest made it hard to draw in oxygen. He was suffocating…

He tensed his muscles and rolled onto his side, pushing Hera’s body off him as gently as he could. He coughed and spat out the water that had pooled in his throat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her doing the same. It took him a long moment to regain his normal breathing, and even longer to realize he was kneeling on grass.

Dago blinked, but the green blades growing from the ground did not disappear.

He straightened and looked around. Grass as far as the eye could see. Above them, the sky was a pleasant blue. But it was rippling and waving, as if it wasn’t sky but water…

A meadow at the bottom of a pond?

Impossible…

And yet.

Dago swallowed. It was hard to believe, but there was a rational explanation.

They were in Elysium. A place where the impossible became possible. A place inhabited by walking trees, cloudragons that resembled cotton candy, and luckbeasts that brought bad fortune.

A place where logical human magic didn’t work properly, and where potential opponents were infinitely more unpredictable than golems.

They were in the Dreamland.