Chapter 31
The moment I stepped over the threshold and into Evernight, a warm breeze licked my boots, curled around my legs, and skimmed my back. Then it cupped my face, examining me, before whisking through my hair and away to something else.
“What was that?”
Aris squeezed my elbow. “It’s Evernight. It does that to dreamers—skims their bodies and reads their minds. Like a thorough guard. Or nosy grandmother.”
“Bizarre,” I breathed, wondering what Evernight saw when it examined me. Did it know that I was from a different time? Did it even care? I glanced around, half expecting to see eyes on the walls.
“When it first happened to me, it felt similar to the attentions of a curious dog,” she said, chuckling softly. “But don’t be alarmed—it happens to all of us. To some, every time. For others, just once and never again.”
“What does it do if it doesn’t like what it finds?” I asked.
Aris shrugged. “That depends. Evernight could deny you entry or throw you out. Or it might steal your secrets and deliver them straight to one of the Seven.”
I did not like the sound of that.
“So did I pass its test, then?”
“Possibly. But sometimes Evernight chooses to do nothing, even if it questions your origins or intent.”
Before I could ask more questions, the passage opened into an excessively opulent chamber.
My eyes burned from the brightness of it, just as my nose burned from the smell.
Jasmine, lemon, rose, pear, vanilla. Other things that I couldn’t name.
Things I had never smelled before but wanted to.
Vanity mirrors lined the walls, each with its own golden chair, and botanical arrangements in glass vases sat between each mirror, growing so long and unruly that they trailed to the floor, eventually crossing stems and growing into intricate shapes, whorls, and paths.
Aris stood by me as I stepped to the side, watching as women in an array of colorful dresses, each more gaudy and more intricate than the next, filed in.
They chatted excitedly among themselves, taking their seats in front of the mirrors.
Once they were seated, male and female scholars, dressed in black with the silver insignia of Evernight on their robes, at once began assessing and altering the women’s appearances.
It was a kind of magic that only a dream could produce—instant changes of hair color, makeup, adornments, clothing—and I couldn’t help staring.
It was fascinating, and most scholars needed only a minute to work their magic.
One minute of concentration and anything was possible.
Hair of all colors, textures, and lengths was shaped into elegant styles without a single pin.
Dresses were shortened, fabric loosened, colors lightened into ivory, rose, and peach.
Masks were added last. And while the dresses, makeup, and hair varied from woman to woman, every mask had the same ornate design: carved ivory, inlaid feathers, and rows of delicate beadwork lining the edges.
Despite the masks, the women looked lighter as they left the chamber. Unburdened.
Well, most of them.
“Hideous. This color doesn’t suit me at all,” a woman at the mirror complained.
She pinched her skin as she examined her eyes, lips, and cheeks.
Her scowl deepened the longer she looked.
“Sorren always used a shade darker—less plum, more berry.” The attending scholar brushed a hand over the woman’s face, delicate as a breeze, and the makeup changed.
I had thought it looked fine before. But the woman smiled, finally pleased. “There. I look beautiful now, don’t I?”
The scholar nodded, bowed quickly, then promptly moved on to the next dreamer.
“He probably thinks he’s too good for this work now,” another woman remarked. A scholar was in the middle of fixing her hair into a loose braid atop her head. “You saw how he looked at us the last time. Pride is such a sin.”
The first woman rolled her eyes, adjusting her flowing skirts as she rose. “And an unhoused dreamer is still unhoused, no matter what friends they keep. One would think Sorren would understand that by now.”
“One would think,” the second woman echoed. Her attendant finished her hair, and she beamed at herself in the mirror. “Lovely.” To the first woman, she said sweetly, “Have a glorious Revel.”
The woman returned her saccharine smile. “And a glorious Revel to you, too.”
Aris gestured at a chair to my left.
“May I?” she asked, waiting for a nod before setting her hands on my head.
Her fingers meandered through the strands, gently lifting them from my scalp.
“Your hair is a fine color—and quite full. It needs little else.” She let the strands fall; at once they became untangled, glossy, and loosely curled.
“Unless you’d prefer something more eye-catching?
” Aris gave a subtle nod toward the woman at my right.
The woman was in the middle of admiring her hair, which didn’t look that different from a large bird’s nest. Even for a Realm style, I imagined it must feel heavy and awkward, but the woman seemed pleased with herself, ignoring her attending scholar’s suggestions.
I winced. “Definitely not.”
“Good. And besides, you don’t need the distraction,” Aris agreed, turning her attention to my face.
She brushed a hand over my cheeks, my nose, my eyebrows.
Lightly pinched my chin. Took the edge of her pinkie nail and traced the shape of a half-moon on my forehead.
“Let’s accentuate your eyes, add some shimmer to catch the light, and use a darker rose for your lips. What do you think?”
I looked at myself in the mirror. Tried—and failed—to envision what she was planning. My eyes, lashes, and brows were already dark. My natural lip color was muted. Unremarkable.
“I don’t usually fix my face with powders and paints,” I admitted, trying not to fidget under Aris’s scrutiny. “So I’m not sure.”
“Oh, this is far better than those simple embellishments. Promise. Now, let me see.”
And before I released my next breath, my face changed.
It was as she had promised. My features darkened, becoming more defined and commanding, and the color on my lips made them appear fuller.
Tempting, even. And at my temples, brushed artfully into my hair, was a shimmering silver dust. I had worried she would make me unrecognizable, but I still looked like myself. Polished and beautiful, but myself.
Aris gave an approving nod. “You look lovely, Esmer. Lord Erebus will surely think so, too.”
I blushed. Actually blushed. Over a simple compliment.
Aris must think I am incredibly vain. Someone easily swayed by pretty words—just like all the other women here.
“It is not wrong to acknowledge or appreciate your own beauty,” Aris remarked, as if hearing exactly what I was thinking. “In fact, I think it is rather honorable to recognize beauty in yourself. No matter which form it may take.”
She was sincere. But I had already averted my eyes from the mirror.
“Thank you,” I managed. “Truly.”
“Of course. Now, for your attire.” Aris took a step back, assessing. “You will want to match Lord Erebus, I presume. He does favor his black, but this Revel requires a lighter touch.”
I bristled. “I don’t have to match him.”
She gave me a peculiar look. “You are his guest, are you not? It is tradition to honor your Realm host.”
“And I would honor him by matching him?” I pictured the Bringer and me entering the ball together.
Envisioned the hundreds of eyes as they swiveled to stare, fixating on our matching dramatic capes, devilish armor, and pointed boots.
What a pair we’d make. A very obvious, not-blending-in-at-all pair.
“Yes,” she said with a smile. “But your attire would not be identical to his, if that is what you are imagining.”
“It wasn’t.” It was.
Soft fabric cocooned my old clothes, squeezing, shaping, and stretching them into something new.
As the cocoon unfurled, it revealed floating layers of dove gray silk, sheer sleeves that fell from my shoulders to my wrists, and a wide, somewhat-revealing neckline.
Delicate slippers cushioned my feet, molded to me as if I had worn them my entire life.
Last, a mask nestled itself to my face, curving elegantly over my nose and eyes.
It was gray, not ivory like the others, and a simple, flattering shape that matched the silhouette of my dress.
My breath caught as I studied myself.
I had imagined, when I was younger, what I might look like in a princess’s gown.
Eden and I had shared many of these daydreams as girls, describing what we’d procure when we could finally visit a proper dress shop.
What we’d wear to balls or garden strolls with wealthy lords and handsome princes.
What we’d wear to our own weddings, even.
In truth, we had little understanding of what people wore outside of Norhavellis.
What colors were favored or what quality satin or velvet felt like.
All we had were storybooks and the imaginations of children.
And even with all my lavish daydreams, never in my life had I imagined donning something so magnificent.
“Go on, take a twirl,” Aris said, grinning. “This may be my best work yet. Come, now.”
She guided me into a spin, making a sound of approval as my dress gently floated behind me.
“How long have you been a scholar here in Evernight? You’re very talented.”
We completed a second spin. “I was recruited at thirteen with my twin brother. It was Theia, Weaver of the Future, who found us in a dream and assured us of our potential.”
“So you study under Theia’s guidance, then?” I asked, curious about what it was like to study in a place such as Evernight.
But instead of answering, she dropped my hands. “I should escort you to the Revel. I’ve taken enough of your time.”
Wait—no. “If I said something wrong, I’m sorry,” I said quickly, stiffening at the sudden change in her tone.
What unspoken line had I crossed? If I had already blundered so severely, I wouldn’t last five minutes at the Revel.
“Erebus has told me some things about Evernight, but he tends to be a little cryptic. My question wasn’t intended to hurt you, but I apologize if it did. ”
She held my stare, challenging me. Finally, she let loose a sigh.
Her defensiveness weakened. Snuffed itself out like a dying flame.
“No, I overreacted. To answer your question, I have no assigned domain. I’ve yet to be formally selected by a Weaver, even though Theia sought me out in a dream all those years ago.
A Weaver can sense potential in scholars and even their likely specialty, but dreamers don’t always develop their abilities enough to join a Weaver’s domain as one of their acolytes after completing their studies at Evernight. ”
“So why haven’t you been chosen? You’re very talented.”
“You flatter me,” Aris said softly. “Modifying appearances is a common ability in the Dream Realm. I have not shown significant potential in what matters, which is showing talent in one of the seven Weavers’ areas.
” She added, voice lowering, “If I’m not selected by eighteen, I’ll be deemed unhoused.
Then I will either work to maintain Evernight until the end of my mortal days or be banished from the Realm forever.
I’ll never be able to join a Weaver in their domain or do anything of true purpose or importance.
” She squeezed her hands together. “My brother and I turn eighteen at the end of this year.”
I shook my head, contemplating the reality of that fate. “And your brother? Does he face the same future as you?”
She nodded, eyes downcast. “If he isn’t chosen, he will be devastated.
We’ve both trained years for this, but he’s the one it will hurt most.” Aris coughed, straightening her black skirts with a flourish.
“I’m sorry for rambling. I should get you to the Revel before Lord Erebus hunts you down himself. ”
Before we left, I caught my reflection a final time. I almost stumbled, noting something different in my eyes.
There were shadows in my irises, swirling and vibrant.
Just like the Shadow Bringer’s.