6 #3
“Mithras killed his legionnaires because he wanted to protect Erebus?” Fenrir asked, utterly confused. He twirled a dinner knife idly between his fingers. “Are you sure you understood him correctly? Because what you’re suggesting is blasphemous.”
“If she’s lying, Fenrir,” Nephthys shushed. “Calm yourself.”
“She isn’t lying,” Lelantos offered. “I can sense the grief she feels for her village and her family. It’s real. As is the love for her brother whom she so desperately wants back.”
I nodded, thankful for his support. At least I managed to convince one Weaver I was telling the truth.
“But why would Mithras want the tomb protected?” Fenrir mused. “Better for him to ransack it and gut the Shadow Bringer. All it would take is one blade to his frail stomach. One tiny twist of a knife.”
“It would take more than that,” Erebus said darkly. “Much more.”
“If Mithras had wanted to kill you, you’d have been dead before you even rolled off your burial slab.
” Fenrir ran his thumb down the knife’s blade, and I shuddered, involuntarily picturing it slicing into Erebus’s stomach.
“But he didn’t. What could our golden lord be plotting?
” Fenrir suddenly asked, pointing the knife at Erebus before swinging it back to me. “Care to hypothesize?”
“I don’t know why Mithras wanted the Shadow Bringer’s tomb protected,” I answered honestly.
“He just insisted that I join the Shadow Bringer and keep him locked away as a service to the kingdom.” I remembered that dark, bloody night and nearly gagged.
It was the night—out of many dark and terrible ones—that changed the trajectory of my life forever. “I wish I knew more.”
Erebus gave me a long, expressive look. We had survived so much alone and together. When would the nightmare end? Was it even possible for us to someday live in peace, separate from Corruption?
Xander cleared his throat, calling our attention.
“Before we go any further, I must apologize on behalf of every single Weaver sitting around this table,” Xander began gravely.
“We were wrong to condemn you as a villain, Erebus. It was a grave error, and not one we’re keen on repeating.
We are not so arrogant as to require your forgiveness, but we do want you to know that. ”
We were wrong.
We don’t require your forgiveness.
Silence followed, thick and uneven.
There was no spark in Erebus’s eyes, no relief. Just a vast, echoing hollow where fury once lived. The apology skimmed over wounds too deep to reach.
Too little.
Too late.
The Weavers entertained peace only after banishing Erebus for several lifetimes, and they had still brought a demon to our door.
A cold ache settled over me—not the kind that hurt, but the kind that anchored.
Deep and permanent, like frost over a grave.
Next to me, Erebus did not speak, but I noticed that his legs were jittery under the table.
His foot jostled against mine, making my own legs quiver.
I repeated his gesture from earlier, lightly squeezing one of his knees in a show of silent support.
His leg instantly relaxed under my touch, no longer twitching.
“‘A villain’? You made me into a monster,” Erebus finally said, voice low.
“I begged. I bled. And I became the beast you feared because you gave me no other shape to wear.” He leaned forward.
Not threatening, exactly, but unshakable.
“You don’t require our forgiveness? Good.
Because there is nothing left for us to give. ”
“We realize this. And as a result, we’re more desperate for your help than you might realize, Shadow Weavers,” Somnus responded quickly, adjusting his crown.
It was sleek and made of bones. “You are the only Weavers who can hypothetically leave your tomb, the only Weavers who possess human dreamers in your legion, and the only Weavers who have the Maker-given power required to vanquish these demons once and for all.”
“What are you proposing, exactly?” I asked, instantly wary.
“Your Shadow Legion must be the might the Dream Realm needs. Fearless, intuitive, and faithfully acting as our last and best hope as we overtake Citadel Evernight,” Somnus explained.
“All other nonessential Weaver duties can wait. We will educate you on those miscellaneous and fascinating tasks once our world is no longer on the verge of collapse.”
“And?” Erebus and I prodded at the same time.
“The Weavers’ focus will be intense instruction.
An abridged version, of course, given our unfortunate time constraint.
We cannot have the entire kingdom falling into Corruption while we take eons to train, after all.
” His serpentine smile turned absolutely feral.
“We will guide your dreamers in the ways of the Realm—by way of movement, restraint, and power. Three skills, three trials. And then we shall stretch your abilities with a culminating test.” Somnus’s eyes flashed eagerly.
“I do love a good old-fashioned labyrinth,” he added.
Fenrir barked out a laugh, leaning back so far in his chair that I thought it might tip over. “Finally. I was wondering when there would be entertainment.”