6
After the demon was dispatched, the Weavers dropped from the sky, floating past dreamers still reeling from the attack, and followed us inside the castle. Erebus and I would be dealing with the Weavers alone; Ceveon and Sorren needed to tend to the dreamers.
The obsidian table was still set as we had left it, brimming with food, drink, and floating silver stars that would burst into tart cherries, blackberries, and strawberries when bitten.
If the Weavers were surprised that their clawed seats were heavily cushioned with velvet or that the dining room’s walls were more window than stone, they didn’t say.
Perhaps they were too busy eyeing our shadows that were pooling in the corners.
But before glasses of wine could even be sipped, Erebus was on the attack.
“Where is Mithras?” he demanded, leaning forward in our shared chair. The seat’s clawed fingers towered behind us, dramatically framing our bodies and likely making the Weavers wonder if it would come alive and skewer them. “More than anyone else at this table, he owes us his presence.”
“For once, we actually agree,” Fenrir answered, stabbing a slice of meat and popping it between his teeth rather ferociously. “But Mithras cannot be reached.”
Erebus’s fist curled around his dinner knife. “What do you mean, he ‘cannot be reached’?”
Fenrir frowned as he chewed. Perhaps he was imagining that the morsel was a chunk of Erebus’s arm. “I mean exactly that. It’s been ages since we have been able to contact him or his legionnaires.”
Ages?
“Where is he, then?” A sick, buzzing fear swarmed my ears. If Mithras was missing, then where was Elliot? “He has my brother. It’s urgent that we speak with him.”
“We can only assume he is in Noctis, as we have not seen him in the Dream Realm as of late,” Theia answered carefully, folding her pale hands atop her luminous skirts. “His silence is not unprecedented, but we are concerned that the demonic infestation has worsened in Noctis.”
“Worsened how?” I probed, the buzz in my ears growing louder.
So many people had already died. Entire families forever changed; futures and choices and dreams ripped to shreds before they even had the chance to bloom.
“Corruption has been horrific for years now. I can’t imagine it getting any worse. ”
“Then your imagination is lacking,” Fenrir remarked, wrinkling his nose as he sniffed the wine we’d served. “Clearly.”
I flinched at Fenrir’s reproach, stunned that he would chide me.
His shoulders were tense, his fiery eyes narrowed in obvious distaste.
I didn’t deserve his ire. I was a Weaver, just like him, and he was in my domain.
But any hope for a clever response withered and died on my tongue.
Fortunately, I had a vengeful lord of shadows to my right. And his tongue was very clever.
“And you lack respect,” Erebus snarled, teeth bared as he placed a protective arm around my shoulders.
Fenrir began to stand. “Well, you’re a pale corpse whose power hides in corners and under beds.”
“Careful,” Erebus said, his voice low and filled with venom. Shadows jutted from his shoulders. The other Weavers didn’t dare move. “You’re only powerful because you burn things. A child can do that.”
Fenrir’s upper lip twitched, but he didn’t take the bait. His eyes dropped to where Erebus’s hand rested protectively. “Shadows and whispers. Disease masquerading as darkness. That’s all you’ll ever be.”
Erebus’s expression was positively sadistic now. “You may mock our darkness, but we are the ones who control it.”
The air around us grew colder as Erebus’s words sank in. Shadows caressed me, cradling my skin as a protective lover might, but they snapped close to the Weavers’ faces and hands, obscuring their vision and making them flinch. I fought the urge to smile.
They had wanted to see our power, hadn’t they?
Here it is.
“Let’s see how much power shadows really have when faced with something noble and mighty like fire,” Fenrir spat, eyes flickering with the heat of his own magic.
“Stop antagonizing him, Fenrir,” Theia urged, shaking her head.
Her plea encouraged Erebus even more. “Fire burns, but shadows endure. Shadows are forever. And unlike fire, shadows cannot be so easily quenched.” Our shadows rose, humanlike, towering around our table as looming guardians. “They’re hewn from things that can’t die.”
For a long moment, Fenrir said nothing, his jaw clenching and unclenching as if he was trying to hold on to his pride.
His gaze darted between Erebus and the dark shadows swirling around us.
Finally, with a frustrated grunt, Fenrir sat down, his shoulders slumping just enough to signal his reluctant concession.
He muttered something under his breath, shoving his hands through the shadows to grab his drink.
The fire in his eyes still simmered, but there was an edge of something more cautious now.
More wary.
And he wasn’t the only Weaver with that look in their eyes.
Erebus’s fingers tightened, pulling me a fraction closer.
Theia cleared her throat. “If we’re quite finished with the theatrics, I’d like to answer Esmer’s initial query.
” At Erebus’s curt nod, she continued. “We would investigate the worsening Corruption ourselves, but it is far too dangerous for us to leave the sealed tombs that protect us under Citadel Firstlight. We are also the final pillars holding the Dream Realm together; therefore, we cannot risk abandoning it.”
“What Theia means is that we have been in perpetual dreamsleep for centuries,” Fenrir corrected, slicing a fish so fiercely, I thought the knife would pierce through the table.
“Since you”—he motioned to Erebus with his knife—“unleashed all the demons five hundred years ago, our dalliances into Noctis have been nonexistent. The entire Dream Realm has been shaken thanks to you. Nothing works as designed.”
Lelantos nodded sagely, gently removing his half mask of bone so he could eat with more finesse.
“And since your entrapment, it’s been one misery after another.
Demons overran Citadel Evernight, and every attempt to end Corruption in the past five hundred years has been an utter failure.
The demons don’t submit to our power like they do yours, Shadow Weavers. ”
“It has been unrelentingly terrible,” Nephthys said, sliding her hand over Fenrir’s partially exposed leg. Tattoos swirled over his rich brown skin, a mesmerizing array of flames and suns with sharp, twisting rays. “And lonely.”
Somnus brought a goblet of wine to his lips, eagerly watching for Erebus’s reaction.
“Lonely?” Erebus surged to his feet, shadows coiling around his arms. The shadow guardians, still looming high above our table, leaned in.
A few Weavers shrank back, clearly unnerved.
“You live in domains that have been honed to perfection over the course of millennia.” He shook his head, silver eyes flashing.
“I have been trapped in a castle with thousands of shrieking demons who were human all along.”
“Better to be trapped than dead, which was our original aim when we fought you here. You should be glad our combined powers merely bound you instead,” Fenrir snapped, unfazed. “And our own plight is worse than you understand.”
“Fenrir speaks true. Our hope is gone, Shadow Weavers. We have nothing left,” Ceres said sadly.
“Your eternal domains aren’t nothing,” Erebus snarled back. “I haven’t forgotten the sprawling palaces you call home. Or the armies of dreamers you command.”
Fenrir chuckled, ripping apart another fish.
“‘Armies’? Our legionnaires in recent centuries aren’t even real.
They used to be people, once. Dreamers who trained at Citadel Evernight under our guidance before becoming acolytes.
Now our ‘armies’ are mere figments of Weaver imagination.
Hollow puppets, made by our magic, walking inside armored cages.
Mithras’s elixir forced dreamers out of the Dream Realm.
No dreams, no dreamers, no acolytes.” Erebus’s shoulders lost some of their tension; he clearly hadn’t anticipated this possibility.
I hadn’t, either. Even though dreams were poisonous, it felt strange to imagine the Weavers without the followers I’d glimpsed during the masquerade at Citadel Evernight.
I thought of Aris, too, fighting back tears after she’d prepared me for the ball.
She’d shared her fear of never being chosen by a Weaver.
Of her brother not being chosen, too. Becoming an acolyte had meant so much to them.
“You two are the only Weavers left with any true dreamers under your command, and yet you can’t even wield them properly. ”
Heat flamed my face.
We’d barely had time to train them. The Weavers hadn’t even given us a chance.
“They’ve only been back to human form for a few weeks,” I contended. “Some even less.”
Fenrir flashed his teeth. “So? This much power in your hands is clearly a wasted opportunity.”
“Blame yourself, Fenrir. Not us,” Erebus countered, a touch of exasperation in his voice as he sat back down. His shadows wavered, shrinking back just a touch; he was trying hard to appear in control. “You all cursed yourselves when you locked me away.”
Xander leveled a serious look at Erebus. “We locked you away because demons flocked to you in droves, refusing to leave your side. It was a necessary safeguard for the entire kingdom.”
“A grave mistake. I could have been a powerful ally against the demons, but instead you trapped me alongside Corrupt dreamers in the bodies of the very beasts you sought to kill. Had you simply spoken with me—had you trusted me—the true demons would already be vanquished.”
“Because you and Esmer can control the demons?” Ceres asked, eyes wide.
I did not like what she was insinuating.
“We can’t control them, no,” I answered sharply.
“But they are drawn to you,” Ceres insisted. “Real demons and Corrupt dreamers alike.”