Chapter 30
We woke in the Shadow Bringer’s bed, haunted and shaking. We had no time.
“We need to go further into my subconscious,” the Bringer said breathlessly, fingers shaking slightly as he formed the shadows around the bed, cocooning us from the sounds of destruction.
“This is our final opportunity. I need to be able to sustain the third dream long enough for us to explore it fully.”
I helped him construct the veil of shadows this time, strengthening it with threads of my own magic.
Almost instantly, a small weight appeared to lift off his shoulders.
Still, he seemed distracted. Unfocused. I felt similarly untethered.
My mind was a raging pit of despair, filled with a deep, nauseating terror at the prospect of Elliot being hunted by that demon.
He brought his gauntleted hands to my face, gently easing them through my hair.
“Before we enter the final dream, I need you to know something,” he said.
“Hopefully you’re not about to tell me that you’re actually a figment of my imagination.”
“What? No.” The shadows in his eyes danced, an unexpected display of mirth.
“I am real, Esmer. All of this, all of me, is human. From the moment I met you, you’ve never ceased to remind me of that fact.
” His shadows stilled, and for a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me.
But something in him resisted. “I was only going to say that first, you must know that I will do whatever it takes to free us from this castle. Even if it means that you’re freed and I’m not. ”
“That isn’t the plan, Bringer.”
“The second is that I will destroy the demon before it can hurt you or your brother,” he continued, ignoring my protests.
“I will tear the Dream Realm asunder before I let that monster harm you. Now,” he continued, voice shifting into a deep, melodic purr, “I’m going to ease us into this final dream.
Listen to me. Imagine with me. Have you ever been to a ball? ”
The question was so unexpected that I laughed. “They’re not exactly commonplace in Norhavellis.”
But Eden and I always dreamed of what it would be like to attend one.
His smirk was back—almost a smile this time. “Then let us disrupt one.”
I’m not sure what I expected to come next, but it wasn’t a boat. We arrived upon a sleek, elegant vessel adorned with two throne-like chairs. As soon as the Shadow Bringer and I sat, the boat tilted forward, cutting soundlessly across the Nocturne as it headed toward Citadel Evernight.
I fidgeted in my chair of tufted silk, wishing I had something to brace myself against. I had some experience riding horses, and I had been inside the Light Bringer’s carriage. A boat was another thing entirely.
I bit my tongue against a sentence that would have betrayed my unease, instead forcing myself to stop glancing down at the Nocturne—with its eerie stillness and faint, slithering shadows—and to instead look up at the towering structure that was Evernight.
Closer now, its walls seemed carved from a mountain.
It rose in jagged swaths of stone, forming the base of seven massive arches, and within each arch flowed a waterfall, pouring into the ancient sea below.
The tops of the arches seemed to be circling something—exactly what, I couldn’t tell. It was too far up in the sky to see.
For an academy, it was breathtaking.
But it was more than a school for dreamers. It was a training ground for talented scholars, but it was also a temple for slumbering mortals to have their dreams interpreted, a host for decadent revelries, and an important meeting place for the seven Weavers and their followers.
The boat rocked to the left, almost sending me careening into the Bringer’s shoulder.
I tried to counteract the next motion—surely a dip to the right—but I guessed wrong.
My hip slid awkwardly against the silk, sending me off the seat and onto the floor.
Reflexively, I grabbed on to something to steady myself.
Unfortunately, that something was the Shadow Bringer’s thigh.
He stiffened at my touch, thoroughly disrupted from whatever musings he had been lost in.
“Easy,” he muttered. But instead of ridiculing me, the Bringer simply offered me his hand.
I took it gratefully, settling back into my seat with no small amount of embarrassment.
“The Weavers enjoy making the Realm as lifelike as possible. Some of their creations—such as this boat—translate better than others, as you have just discovered.”
Other boats could be seen in the distance, carrying their appointed dreamers in vessels similar to ours. And sure enough, they rocked and swayed just as much as we did.
“Interesting,” I managed, gripping the edge of my seat. “I can’t say I understand the logic. They could have made it glide, or fly.”
The boat suddenly righted itself, cutting through the water like a hot knife through butter. As it picked up speed, a soft wind, touched by twilight and the scent of the Nocturne, gently lifted my hair. The only indicator of the Bringer’s influence was a haze of darkness at the ship’s underbelly.
And the Bringer hadn’t even twitched a finger.
“Let’s see what we can make it, then,” he said playfully.
The boat tripled in size, stretching itself tall and wide as it grew to fill the waterway.
A carved figurehead emerged from the front, shaped into the visage of a one-winged angel, and black sails, glistening like a blanket of stars, unfurled from its new mast. Saturated in ink, the boat—now a magnificent ship—became a thing of darkness.
The Shadow Bringer gave me a pointed look, clearly amused with his abilities.
I found myself leaning into the wind. It was a strange feeling, being whisked away to a ball with the Shadow Bringer at my side, and I tried not to think about the previous dream or my nauseating fear about Elliot’s safety.
I considered instead what we were about to face.
Because even while the Shadow Bringer seemed at ease in his vessel of darkness, there was trepidation in his eyes.
As though he knew what was coming. Or, if he didn’t, his instincts knew.
I didn’t have time to ask.
A crowd filled with dreamers was gathering in front of Evernight as they stepped off their various ships.
I couldn’t tell who was a Weaver, who was a regular dreamer, or who was a scholar of Evernight.
To me, they all looked the same: clothed in outrageous colors and textures and outfitted to look like kings and queens.
But even in their finery, it was us they stared at.
Hundreds of eyes, bright with envy—no, hunger—at our ship’s power and beauty.
They were staring at us, too.
“They’re staring,” I hissed. “Why are they staring?”
Unbothered, the Bringer leaned back into his seat. “Because I gave them something to stare at.”
“Right. Well, they look like they want to eat us.” I mimicked his posture and leaned into the silk. If he wasn’t concerned, then maybe I didn’t need to be, either. “If they attack, I hope you’re as confident mounting a defense as you are in your shipbuilding. It’ll be you versus a few hundred.”
“Just me? You have a maddening habit of wielding the shadows, too,” he murmured, clinking the tips of his armored fingers together. “You should be perfectly capable of defending yourself. Me versus half of them, by my count.”
“Fine,” I agreed with a grin, shivering with delight when the shadows rose to my call, pooling around our feet and dancing across our limbs. Then there was my sword, thrumming reassuringly under my palm. “Me versus half.”
Once our ship slid to a stop in front of Evernight, I fully expected the crowd to storm us. But as we stepped off the ship, their eyes drifted elsewhere. As if the ship had never existed at all.
As if we had never existed at all.
“My ship wasn’t a part of the original dream, so it can’t be remembered for long,” the Bringer explained, making his way to Evernight’s main entrance.
There were three passages cut into the citadel’s mountainside: The left went down, the right went up, and the middle went straight.
So far, none of the dreamers had approached the middle; masked gatekeepers, clothed in black with silver insignias on their chests, directed the dreamers left and right.
“And even if they acknowledge us, our impression will be fleeting. We’ll neither be truly seen nor fully remembered for long, no matter how memorable one might be.
” He said the last part coyly, clearly meaning me.
Face burning, I noted the crowd’s excitement. They were radiant, beaming and chattering as if they were about to experience the most glorious event in all their lives. Still, I questioned whether they truly couldn’t see us. Some looked as though they were purposefully avoiding eye contact with us.
“Think of this night as a frozen memory,” the Bringer continued, failing to notice the dreamers who had quietly begun to watch him.
They whispered as we passed, glancing at him from the corners of their eyes.
Some looked on in admiration, others in outright fear. “We can do whatever we wish within it.”
“His hair and his helm, what do you suppose…,” one anonymous voice said audibly.
“Perhaps it is the theme,” said another.
“But that look in his eyes. Don’t you think…,” the first went on.
Others looked at me, too. Not so much in awe or fear, but jealousy. Anger, even.
“No one has ever seen her here before,” a third voice hissed.
“A new scholar, perhaps,” another wondered.
“He would never…,” a fourth voice gasped.
“Evernight is permanently housed within the Realm, so there is never a primary dreamer,” the Bringer continued, oblivious. As we passed through the crowd, some of the bolder ones reached out to feel the edge of his cloak. “No singular Weaver in control, either.”
I swatted at a man’s too-eager hand. “Um, Bringer…”
“Lord Erebus,” announced a gatekeeper, stepping in front of us and sweeping into a bow.
He adjusted his collar as he rose, fixing me with a curious once-over.
A silver mask covered most of his face, framing the top of his mustache.
“You may pass, of course, but the Seven have decreed specific attire for the dreamers.”
The Shadow Bringer stared at the gatekeeper as if he had grown a second head.
As if growing a second head would be more likely than him actually seeing us and, consequently, talking to us as though we were regular dreamers and not the Shadow Bringer and his companion from five hundred years in the future.
“I must also take the name of your… partner,” the gatekeeper stammered, flustered by the Bringer’s silence. “She is not listed on the register—we did not know you would be bringing a guest—but I will, of course, make all suitable arrangements. How nice it is that you brought…”
“She is—” the Shadow Bringer began.
“My name is Esmer,” I interrupted. I tried to look as pleasant as possible, even as my name echoed in the crowd. Esmer. Esmer. Esmer. By the fourth Esmer, my name was written on a scroll that appeared from thin air. “What attire is appropriate?”
The gatekeeper straightened. “It is the Revel of Rebirth, my lady. Weaver Lelantos has prepared the appropriate specifications to honor the occasion.” He pointed at the left passageway. “Evernight scholars will attire you within.”
“Thank you,” I said, feigning nonchalance. As if I knew exactly what he was talking about.
I gave the Bringer a pointed look. Frozen memory this definitely was not.
It all felt strange, wrong. As though we were intruding on a life already lived.
Was it possible that the Bringer did something to skew the dream?
He ran a finger along the armor at his neck, fidgeting with one of its points. I had never seen him fidget before.
The Bringer noticed me looking at him. Shadows spun slowly within his irises as he unhooked his hand from his neck.
“Have a glorious Revel, my lord,” said the gatekeeper, bowing again to the Shadow Bringer. He gave a third bow, this time to me. “As may you, Esmer.”
At once, a silver-masked girl with golden brown skin and hair braided like a crown emerged from the left passage, wearing black robes lined in silver.
An Evernight scholar, I assumed, based on her intelligent, appraising eyes and the quiet, confident way she carried herself.
She appeared to be my age, if not younger, and I found myself wondering which Weaver she had pledged herself to.
Ceres? Theia? I bit the inside of my cheek, undecided.
I had no way of knowing what her gifts were, so guessing would be useless.
“Welcome to Evernight, dreamer. My name is Aris,” she said, regarding me with polite curiosity.
It was different from the curiosity of the gatekeeper, or the judgmental crowd.
“Please, follow me. I can escort you personally.” She nodded to the Shadow Bringer, as if her escorting me was a personal favor.
“Have a glorious Revel, Lord Erebus. Ceveon and Sorren are inside.”
The Bringer’s face twisted into cold indifference. “Of course they would be.”
Maybe he would have said more, but Aris gently touched my arm straightaway, cuing me forward. Evernight gleamed overhead, beckoning me to experience something that was only available through the pages of a storybook. Yet still I hesitated.
I should be excited, I told myself. Elliot would be excited. Eden would have been, too.
I looked at the Shadow Bringer one final time, perhaps seeking his approval or reassurance, but he didn’t notice me. He was too busy glaring at Evernight as though it was a foe to be conquered, killed, or strangled with his bare hands.
I turned back to the passage, frustrated.
Maybe I was right to be worried after all.