Chapter 23
For the first time in years, I woke to the sound of laughter.
It rang out from the belly of a child and boomed deep and hearty from the throat of an older man. Perhaps the child’s father or grandfather. Laughter in its purest, sweetest form. The kind of laughter that could drive out fear and replace it with something warm and beautiful.
The Shadow Bringer loomed above me, scowling. “Can you stand, or have you lost the use of your legs?”
“Aren’t you demanding?” I remarked, matching his tone.
We were in an empty parlor. Lavish and pristine, its walls and floors were bedecked in patterned rugs, bookshelves carved into trees and horses, embroidered chairs, and several paintings of a happy, beautiful family—a father, a mother, and their dark-haired child.
I sat up, watching as mist filtered through windows that dotted the room’s length.
Its only exit, a towering archway, swirled with more mist, obscuring whatever rested beyond.
“Follow me,” he said with a sigh, stalking toward the arch. “It’s as I feared; my memory is too distorted. This dream isn’t where I meant for us to go.”
Instead of following, I ruffled through a vase of wildflowers and peonies, dipping low to breathe in their scent. A feeling of dread rose up, unbidden. A feeling of sinking, of dirt being shoved in my throat, and walls closing in.
Focus, Esmer.
From beyond the mist, laughter rang out again, snapping me from my spiraling thoughts.
I set the vase down, ready to clear my mind and move forward. “So, where are we? Do you recognize this place?”
He took a cursory glance around the room. “It feels familiar. I may have lived here once.”
“It looks similar to your castle,” I said, pointing to a landscape I’d seen in the Shadow Bringer’s antechamber. “Though yours is obviously more somber. And in ruins, given its demonic residents.”
“Former residents,” said the Shadow Bringer, his voice lifting in false wonder. “A horde of demons unleashed upon the world. What would Mithras say?”
“The demons wouldn’t have escaped if you hadn’t forced me to be your sacrifice,” I snapped.
“Sacrifice? I tried to make you my heir. But how fortunate for you that—”
“Fortunate for me? If it weren’t for you, my sister and parents would be alive and I’d be home and at peace with my family. Not here with you in an eternal nightmare.”
“I already told you. I didn’t harm your family.”
“How can you be so sure? You don’t even remember how Corruption started, Shadow Bringer.
You have scarcely any memories at all, even though the tales blame you with absolute certainty.
” I crossed my arms, daring him to speak.
When he didn’t, I barreled on. “If I help you through this, you owe me something in return.”
“Your promised freedom should be motivation enough.”
“Not when my freedom means a pitch-black tomb with no food or water. Or the Light Bringer deciding I’ve broken our agreement and punishing Elliot.
I want to learn more about this demon—and hopefully this gets us closer to escaping your castle—but it still forces me to place a lot of faith in you.
” I sank into a sofa, picking at the fraying edge of an embroidered lion.
“Faith that I don’t quite have at the moment. ”
The Bringer shot me an exasperated look. “You’re overestimating how much choice you have. Hurry up. We need to keep moving before the dream collapses.”
Try me, Shadow Bringer.
Sweeping an arm out, I gestured toward the parlor’s several bookcases. Thick, leather-bound tomes sat within each one, some organized by color, others by topic or even length.
“Perhaps my choice could be to first read every single book in this place, since you want me to ‘hurry up’ so badly.” I picked one at random, flipping through its gilt-edged pages, then another, a red monstrosity with an embossed shield in its middle.
Each held words—clear, coherent words. Strange that a dream could be so detailed and visceral that it mimicked reality itself.
I’ll admit I was being childish, but a few things needed to be made clear if we were going to work together as a team.
“Every single one. Even the storybooks with all the illustrations.”
Like a warrior drawn to battle, the Bringer approached, armor gleaming wickedly. “Then I will destroy them before you can,” he threatened, shadows darkening the edges of the room and crawling toward his outreached hands. “Or I could pick you up and drag you with me. Your choice.”
There was that flicker again, just below my wrist.
Now wasn’t the time to battle the Shadow Bringer—not when I was pitifully untrained and he looked perfectly capable of strangling me with a single curl of his index finger.
But my sword was insistent. It itched underneath my skin, forcing my attention as though it were suffocating on blood and bone.
He caught the uncomfortable expression on my face. “Fitting. You’re afraid of me,” he noted. “Perhaps I won’t need force after all. You’d follow me regardless, fearful for your life.”
“I am absolutely not afraid of you,” I shot back, wincing again as the sword prodded my palm.
“See? You flinch from me.” The Bringer snarled, crossing his arms in a mirror to me. “So, what would I owe you for your cooperation?”
“What I want is your knowledge,” I began, taking a small bit of satisfaction at the surprise on his face.
“Teach me how to use the shadows, or other ways of power in the Realm. And then, when we’re free from your castle, you will do everything you can to stop Corruption.
Even if that means partnering with the Weavers and treating Somnus with civility. ”
“What you’re asking is no simple task. Stopping Corruption isn’t like bandaging a small cut. It’s a centuries-old wound as wide and weeping as a tempest.”
“Your memory is broken. Perhaps you’re just forgetting how,” I said through gritted teeth.
The Shadow Bringer pinched the skin between his brow, considering. Then he said quickly, meeting my eyes, “Fine. But I cannot agree to partnering with the Weavers. Or Mithras. Not when I’d rather see them dead.”
Begging to be unleashed at the most ill-timed moment, the sword launched from my palm, warming with life when its hilt met my hands.
It thrummed softly, as if it held a soul within.
And maybe it did. The soul of a demon so powerful that it could warp mountains and blot out the sky.
A demon so mighty that Xander, Theia, and Lord Mithras sought to crush it with the power of their three legions.
The Bringer recoiled, staring at me as though I’d grown a second head.
He dropped his gaze to the sword, mouth thinning. “Did Somnus give you that?”
I gripped the handle tight. “I know how to use it.”
“Good,” he said simply, unsheathing his own blade. It was a brutal thing, a twin to my own. Pure, light-eating black. “Show me you’re not afraid of the shadows that bind us.”
With a snarl, he pounced, blade raised high and shadows storming in his wake.
And something in me snapped.
My sword unlocked some raw, instinctual knowledge about battle.
How to parry and block. How to handle the weight of a blade and prepare for the onslaught of another.
How to study an opponent’s body and react accordingly.
So when I met the Shadow Bringer’s powerful swing with a counter of my own, his eyes widened—then gleamed bright with some feverish, unhinged thrill.
Shadows ebbed to their corners as the Bringer launched forward again, slinking down into the floor as though he wanted this fight to be between us, and us alone.
But that wasn’t what I—what the sword—wanted.
We wanted the dark, wanted the rise of shadow and night under our control. The shadows rushed toward me, clinging to my feet and dancing along the lines of my arms.
“They truly do answer to you,” the Shadow Bringer pondered, cutting right and aiming a strike at my shoulder. I deflected easily, intuiting where to position the blade. “But can you control them?”
“That’s where I need”—I ducked under another of his swings, using the rug underfoot to steady my balance—“your help.” Shadows clung to the both of us now, rising from our bodies like second skins.
Around the Bringer they roiled, reflecting his fury and challenge, but around me they shuddered, quivering between varying levels of opacity. “And you need mine.”
A strong wind began to circle the room, overturning chairs, shattering glass, and scattering books across the floor.
It centered on the Shadow Bringer, coiling through the shadows that now wrapped his limbs and towered high atop his back.
In a few moments, he had transformed completely, black wings unfurling from his shoulders and new armor covering most of his skin in dark, sharp edges.
“Do I?” he asked, slamming his blade into the ground.
Shadows exploded over the room, sucking away all light and color.
“I’ve thought of a different proposal. One that involves ripping this dream apart from the inside and then doing the same to my domain.
After that, we can crawl out of the Beyond and end Corruption on our own terms.”
“That is a terrible idea,” I hissed.
The walls bent in and out, flexing like some giant, breathing creature.
They shook under his destruction, rattling as he peeled away their layers.
But even as the walls fell, they resisted—reversed back into place as though their creator, somewhere beyond this scene, fought to repair each broken piece.
Then something changed.
The Shadow Bringer’s face twisted from triumph to alarm; his eyes widened, and his jaw clenched against whatever internal demon he was battling. Underneath us, the floor gave way, collapsing in on itself as mirrors shattered and furniture fell into cracks, disappearing into the void below.
I screamed, staggering aside as a bookcase nearly crushed me, and tripped on a globe as it rolled into my shin.
I fell toward one of the widening cracks, scrambling to grip something, anything, as the void, gaping open like the maw of some ungodly monster, pulled me down.
It was just a dream—everything was just a dream—but fear, dark and terrible, jolted through my skin, physical as fear could be.
As if roused from a stupor, the Shadow Bringer snapped his eyes to mine. He dove in a whorl of shadow and feathers, pulling me against him just as the ground dropped away with a final crack.
For a few wingbeats, we were silent, suspended in the air and staring into the emptiness below.
The Bringer’s breathing was more ragged than I expected, his chest rising and falling in deep, labored pulls. Even his eyes looked pained. Haunted. Guilty. It didn’t make sense. He had tried to rip the dream apart—wasn’t this what he wanted? What was the point in regret now?
My fingers clung to his shoulders, desperate for a better grip. One slip—or one change of the Shadow Bringer’s mind—and I’d plummet.
“I’m not going to drop you,” he snapped, annoyed. Still, he made a point to reposition his arms. “As I said, we must walk these dreams together. That can’t happen if you fall into an abyss.”
“We won’t be walking in any dreams if this is how you’ll be acting,” I cut back. “You said we had only three dreams. Three dreams until your domain shatters with us in it. I would much prefer to not end up in the Beyond.”
Almost imperceptibly, his claw-tipped fingers tightened. “I might be able to warp this dream into another. If we don’t wake up from this, we won’t waste another day.”
“You’re mad,” I criticized.
“I’m not in my right mind, no.” And I haven’t been in some time, he seemed to imply.
Debris continued to fall as the room disintegrated around us, swallowing any hope of its restoration.
Stone collapsed into vapor, books ripped themselves apart as they burned, and the painting of the family tore itself into shreds.
I half expected the seven Weavers to appear in front of us, shaking their heads in dismay at our complete and utter failure.
The Shadow Bringer cried out in pain, arching his back as though he were struck by lightning.
Screams lurched from his throat, even as he ground his teeth against them. His limbs shuddered under the weight of whatever was attacking him, and in the chaos, his grip slackened. I buried my hands in his armor, but the material was slippery, liquid.
I gasped, barely holding on as his body continued to thrash in pain.
And then the wings upon his back melted into dust, sending us plummeting into darkness.