7
After dinner, the Weavers retired to their various domains, promising to return tomorrow at dawn for training. If Erebus would let them back in, that is.
Heavy emphasis on the if.
The three trials Somnus had in mind—testing movement, restraint, and power—followed by the culminating labyrinth, would be a mere glimpse into the rigorous training scholars once received at Citadel Evernight, but it would have to be enough.
If what the Weavers said was true, there was no time to waste.
Evernight needed to be purged of its demonic infestation and Raelion needed to fall before Corruption overtook the entirety of our kingdom.
And if the trials went well, our dreamers would become true legionnaires.
Talented, rage-filled members of the elite Shadow Legion, wielding shadows as if it was their Maker-given birthright. And perhaps it was.
Perhaps their pain had a purpose after all.
A wisp of shadow curled around my wrist and palm, giving them a gentle squeeze.
I squeezed back, trying not to recall the guilt I’d felt when I first understood the shadows listened to me.
That they linked me to my greatest enemy, Noctis’s most reviled villain.
The Shadow Bringer. But now the shadows were as much a part of me—and a part of Erebus—as the blood in our veins.
A mysterious magic as deadly as it was healing.
And now that it was mine, it was becoming difficult to ignore its beauty.
And its power, too.
Ceveon and Sorren were waiting for us outside our bedchamber, shoulders slumped and mouths tight.
“The dreamers are finally calming down,” Ceveon began dutifully, stifling a yawn. “The Weavers’ special gift”—his lip curled in disgust—“upset them, but the general consensus is that they are eager to learn. They want to know how to better protect themselves.”
There was so much to do.
So much for them to learn.
Would I be a good teacher? Someone worthy of my title?
Or would I crack under the pressure and damn us all?
My hands clenched. Shadows at my fingertips twitched, as if they, too, sensed my uncertainty.
Once, I’d taught Elliot how to read, our fingers tracing worn letters as we shared stories of the Weavers in whispered fragments.
He’d listened with wide eyes, asking me questions I didn’t always know how to answer.
Questions I’d once asked Eden.
But teaching the dreamers would be no ordinary lesson in reading.
No quiet moment beneath a padded quilt sewn by my mother.
This was war. I’d be helping to train a legion in the ways of shadows, under the scrutiny of seven immortals and the weight of impending doom.
The stakes weren’t Elliot’s frown when he stumbled over a word.
They were Corruption, death, and the loss of what little hope remained.
“Good,” I answered, plastering on the most convincing smile I could muster.
“We want that for them, too. I’m sure the demons we’ll encounter at Evernight will be even more powerful than our little ‘gift.’?
” I added with a grimace, “Not to mention Raelion. We’ll need our dreamers powerful if we hope to defeat him. ”
And because what happened with the Weavers’ demon should never happen again.
Widespread fear and a primal desire to protect themselves would motivate the dreamers to master the skills quickly; if they weren’t motivated, training would be a disaster.
And we had no time for error. If we moved swiftly, infiltrating Citadel Evernight and killing Raelion, perhaps Corruption would end for good.
No more demons, no more unjust deaths. I’d have my revenge.
And then Elliot can finally live the life he’s always deserved.
Ceveon finally gave in to the yawn he was suppressing. “I’m sorry,” he said, yawning a second time. That made Sorren yawn, too. “Today has been exhausting.”
Erebus gave their shoulders firm pats, guiding them away from our bedchamber doors. “Both of you need to rest,” he said, leaving no room for argument. “You’ve done more than enough today.”
Ceveon and Sorren were halfway down the hall, nearly to the stairwell, when Sorren added: “Oh, and Shadow Weavers? Don’t forget about tonight’s entertainment.”
“‘Entertainment’?” Erebus asked, confused. “The Weavers already left.”
“Do me a favor and go witness it before it disappears, will you?” Sorren asked, pointedly evading Erebus’s question. “The view should be just fine from the roof.”
Sharing cryptic chuckles, Ceveon and Sorren left us alone.
Interesting.
Perhaps Sorren had found a dreamer or two who could sing or play instruments. But why would they be singing on the roof?
“I suppose we’re flying, then,” I mused aloud. Our bedchambers were dimly lit; only a few scattered candelabras emitted a soft bluish glow. “Should we go up from the balcony?”
“I had something else in mind,” Erebus said, concentrating on an empty corner of the bedroom.
At Erebus’s urging, a glass staircase burst from the ground, sprouting like a crystalized flower. We climbed as it grew, and when we reached the top, part of the ceiling unfurled, revealing our domain’s amethyst sky in all its glory.
I gasped in delight.
Not singers, not instruments—art.
The stars had become ribbons of silver paint, transforming the landscape into a kaleidoscope of darkness and light.
The constellations shifted like brushstrokes upon an endless canvas, rotating, dragging, falling, rising.
Constantly in motion. A ripple passed through the sky, and suddenly, new colors bled into existence.
Molten golds, spectral blues, vivid purples.
I instinctively reached out, as if my fingers could graze the celestial ribbons and feel their texture.
The forest mirrored the sky’s fluctuating colors, reflecting the dreamscape above.
We were suspended between two endless worlds. One above, one below.
And us—just the two of us—caught in their mercurial balance.
“I think we gave Sorren a bit more power than he needs,” Erebus noted, commenting on the degree of magic we let flow toward Sorren.
But despite his complaint, his eyes couldn’t leave the scenery.
It truly was splendid, and we marveled at the beauty as our shadows unfurled before our eyes and joined the constellations.
A symbol of unity, wonder, and even hope.
The earthbound and the divine, dancing as one.
“Maybe we should give him more power,” I said with a laugh. “It’s perfect.”
The roof’s various stone slabs moved for us as we sat, arranging themselves around our legs as if they didn’t want us to fall.
I chanced a look over the edge, nearly gasping at how high we were.
It seemed to defy the number of stairs we climbed to reach the castle’s peak.
A sudden wind, cold and fierce, hissed through the stars, making my arms erupt in goose bumps.
“Careful,” Erebus warned, pulling me into his chest. Our closeness abated some of the sudden chill, but not all. “I think we both remember the last time you tried jumping over a ledge.”
I shivered, recalling Lelantos’s Revel of Rebirth.
I was so desperate to help Erebus in our desire to discover the truth about Corruption, its origin, its hunger.
I’d jumped after him without hesitation, even though I hadn’t yet mastered my wings.
He caught me. Helped me land. And then he rushed to the Nocturne to stop his past self, only to witness the end of an era as the demons crawled from the sea regardless.
We’d failed to stop the past; now all that remained was the future. Ours to shape, ours to lose.
“You’re cold,” he noted. “I’m cold,” he added, as if that surprised him. “Becoming Weavers has sharpened our senses, it seems. One could almost mistake this for reality.”
“As near to reality as it gets,” I said, laughing again as I shivered. “It feels like we’re on the cusp of winter.”
“I can warm the domain if you’d like. Halt the breeze and still the sky.”
I frowned, considering his proposition. Part of me liked the chill on my skin, a constant reminder that I was alive.
But Erebus had once warned that confusing the Dream Realm for reality was deadly, that one could get lost in the Realm forever and never want to wake up.
It was why he was so accustomed to wearing gauntlets and covering himself head to toe in obsidian armor.
One can never confuse a dream for reality if they’ve cut off physical sensations.
But this was our life now. Our home.
I squeezed my eyes shut, wincing as a stab of sorrow plunged like a dagger into my chest.
Home.
Elliot was out there somewhere without me.
Was he cold, too, tossing and turning on a thin bed in some decrepit cottage?
Or was he sleeping in a warm, luxurious bed somewhere in Istralla, hugging one of his stuffed animals?
I wondered if he even knew I was alive. I wondered if he thought I abandoned him.
“No, keep the cold. It makes our domain feel more alive,” I said, opening my eyes again.
“But I have an idea for how we can warm ourselves.” I was desperate to chase away the ache that was churning hard and heavy in my chest. I needed to replace it with something else.
And quick. “It can be our small respite before the Weavers’ training starts tomorrow,” I added.
He pursed his lips, slightly tilting his head. “What do you have in mind?”
“A hot bath,” I suggested, folding my hands over my knees and forcing back another shiver. “I’ve been craving one.”