63. Willow
Chapter 63
Willow
I ronically, Nero’s forced training keeps me calm as a herd of vengeful mortals strides toward me across the arena. Alfie approaches, his glamour restored, a pistol—an old-world weapon I haven’t seen since Crystal City—swinging at his hip. How did he find one in Avorlorna? Becky, wild-eyed, draws her sword from behind her back. I may have kept her children’s secret, but I’m the reason they’re starving. More come for me, every Shadow, and every exhibitor. A deadly cocktail of hate, fear, and disgust gleams in their eyes. But worse is the betrayal radiating from my friends.
“You keep lying to us,” Geraldine accuses, eyes glistening as she retreats.
“I’m sorry,” I choke out, stepping forward.
Max interposes himself between us, palm outstretched. “Don’t go near her.”
“Max!” I plead. “Please—let me explain.”
“What is there to explain?” He shakes his head, voice cracking. “We trusted you—were willing to lay down our lives for you, and you lied.”
“I’m ashamed, okay?” I cry, pounding my chest. “I hate myself for what I did, what he made me do. I did it so much that I started wondering if I liked it. Maybe I do. Fuck, I don’t know. I just know that I’m on your side. You’re my friends.”
His hand lowers, and I take another step. The gloves are missing from his hands, a detail that sends a chill down my spine.
“Why haven’t you put on the gloves, Max?” I ask, gesturing to his bare hands. I’ll never forgive myself if he dies because he doesn’t trust my gift is for his protection. My gaze flicks to Geraldine, and I wince. She clutches an ordinary dagger—not even steel. “Gerrie, where’s Rory’s dagger?”
Footsteps grow louder, faster, as exhibitors break into a run. “Kill her!” someone shouts. “She’s stealing our wish!” another barks. “She’s not even human!”
They sound seconds away, but I ignore them all because something is wrong—Max frowns at his hands. “Why would I wear gloves?”
“For the trial!” I shout, desperation clawing at my throat. “The first trial is about to start.”
They don’t listen. My mind races, desperately trying to find the missing piece of this puzzle. Something felt off earlier, before Puck’s damning announcement. I’m out of time to think. A muscular exhibitor—pale, tall, dark-haired—charges at me, sword raised. I parry one-handed, twist, and boot him to the side. He goes flying into the wall.
Dahlia is next, shrieking like a Nightmare, sword held high with both hands. The blade chops down but doesn’t connect. Another blocks it—Becky.
Alfie saunters in, green eyes flashing with malice. “Your lies were bound to catch up with you, Willow.”
“Did you tell them your lie, too, Alfie?” I shout. “I was Nero’s prisoner. You were his aeronautics captain!”
“Lies!” he bellows. “Everyone knows I’ve been here for years—same as them.”
“I must have sent you here,” I gape, hardly believe it. “Or Titania stole you when she summoned?—”
I cut myself off. There’s no way I can refute his claims without damning the Six, and he knows it. I’m fucked. The other Shadows—Irisa, Heath, and Corey—arrive with a mix of caution and aggression in their eyes. Exhibitors swarm behind them. Having surprised Dahlia with her block, Becky is the only one between me and the mob.
“Let her explain,” she shouts.
“Fuck that.” Irisa spits. “She had her chance.”
“Get out of the way, bitch.” Dahlia rotates her sword. “I’m ready for a little payback.”
I back up until my spine hits the wall, mind reeling as I try to piece together how we got here. One moment, Legion was warning us to be wary of being recorded. The next, we lined up. Resonance stones were pinned to us. Scrolls were placed in our hands, and brands seared into our palms.
Wait.
I glance down at my hands. One grips my sword, and the other is wrapped around the invisible round thing, itching and tingling in my palm. No scroll. I don’t even remember unfurling it and reading it. I look up at the tiered stadium, leaves rustling around the balconies. I should be able to see faces, especially those in the loges. The sun blazes bright and high in the blue sky, but shadows linger everywhere. It’s cold. Freezing. When did the weather shift from brisk and frigid to a beautiful cloudless day? The sun had barely risen.
A cloying, sickly-sweet scent drifts in the air like rotting flowers. Buzzing under my feet.
The puzzle clicks into place.
Through a nightmare dreamscape, they’ll flee. While we watch enthralled with their struggle to break free.
We’re already in a dreamscape—a nightmare.
In both Elphyne and here, water is a magical gateway. I entered the dream when I put my hand in the bowl. I’d wondered how they’d cleared all the bowls so fast. I’m probably slumped on the floor, sleeping with the other exhibitors. The other Shadows pulled out elaborate, magical weapons as their blessings. Our weapons are figments of our imagination, but the injuries inflicted here will be real. I can still die. We all can.
Becky won’t move out of the way. Dahlia lifts her sword, growling, “I warned you.”
“Stop!” I shout. “We’re dreaming. Wake up!”
It’s too late. Swords clash. Pandemonium erupts. I shout for Geraldine and Max to hear me, to believe me, but they’re also fighting. It seems as if disgruntled exhibitors can’t reach me; they’re going for my friends.
But how do we wake with no one standing guard while we’re asleep?
More exhibitors break past Becky and Dahlia’s battle, faces mottled with fury—the ground tilts. The air presses in on me. I can only defend so much one-handedly. It’s either drop the round thing in my palm or die.
The round, invisible thing.
My brain clicks, and I glance down at my seemingly empty palm. I don’t even see the brand, but it stings. It’s there. That’s my way out, my anchor. Peablossom gave something that won’t transcend the dreamscape. Everything else is an illusion so real that it takes form.
Angry exhibitors charge me, but I drop the sword. I focus all my attention on the invisible ball in my hand—feel its round surface, cool and smooth. That’s real. Not this. I glance up as someone swings an ax at me, the blade arcing toward my face, and I crush that object in my fist until the brand burns so painfully I scream.
I wrench awake, lungs heaving, heart galloping. The taste of copper lingers on my tongue, a remnant of the dream or a warning of what’s to come. I’m slumped against the flat rock at the center of the arena, cool wind whipping my face, a small steel ball in my hand.
Shivering, I dust the light snow off myself and climb to my feet. The sun is high in the overcast sky. Time passed swiftly in the dream. Around me, by the central rock, four Shadows sleep. Some have blood pooling in places and welts forming on their skin—their dream injuries made real. Glowing spectral figures battle each other—swords clashing, fists flying, faces contorted with rage and desperation. The one with the ax has already stumbled past me, looking around, stunned.
“Where did she go?” he growls, looking my way.
I tense, but his gaze swings past as if I’m invisible. Not me—the metal ball. Now that I’m awake, it’s keeping me from being dragged back into the dreamscape. Maybe. Hopefully.
Voices swim in and out of earshot on a breeze. Becky—screaming at Dahlia and Irisa as she fights them both off. Blood oozes from a wound on her face. And Geraldine, Max? They’re fighting exhibitors who’ve come for them since I’ve gone. Death by association—their worst fear.
“No,” I breathe and bolt to the House of Shadow’s arena section, swerving around stray arms swinging, ducking under swords. Each near-miss sends a jolt of electricity across my skin. Even with the magic-cutting ball, if one touches me, I still might be dragged back into the dreamscape. Nothing is certain.
Geraldine and Max are slumped against the wall, sleeping with their heads together. But their faces are pinched with dismay. I fall to my knees beside them, the ground beneath me shifting like sand. Their skin is clammy and cool to the touch, unlike the feverish heat radiating from my skin, from the brand on my palm.
“Max! Wake up.” He groans but doesn’t rouse.
I move to Geraldine. Do the same. Then I slap her face.
Her brow furrows and her lashes flutter, but she doesn’t wake. She jerks as though hit, and a welt forms on the side of her face. Shit—did I disrupt her focus in the dream? I glance over my shoulder and scour the specters. There. Her ghostly figure clutches her jaw, pointing a sword at someone I can’t see.
I hunt around her body. Behind her on the floor is a scroll and Rory’s dagger. She must have put it down when she put her hand in the bowl. I place it in her palm—pressing it hard against the brand mark and shouting in her face, “Fucking wake up, you stupid cow!”
She gasps awake, eyes wide. “What the fuck?”
Relief punches a laugh out of me. A sob. She’s awake.
“That was a dreamscape,” I blurt. “Quick, help me wake Max. The gloves.”
Thank the Well, she doesn’t fight me. I fish into Max’s pockets and pull out the lacy gloves. They hum with power, with violence. I hand her one, and she tugs it onto his hand while I fit the other hand.
“I hope this works,” I mutter, pressing the glove where his brand is. Pain seems to be some kind of grounding force. He roars alive like the undead, body pulled to his feet by an invisible force. We duck in time to avoid his flailing fists, and he stumbles forward. “You were dreaming, Max!”
He pivots, eyes wild, sees Geraldine, then glares at me.
“She woke us up, Max,” she says, about to sheath her dagger.
“Don’t!” I shout, palm out. I show her the silver ball. “Metal and the pain keep us from being pulled back into the dreamscape. Don’t let go, just in case.” I look at Max. “The magical gloves must be enough to keep you grounded in reality.”
He winces, nodding. “They fucking hurt! But it’s good. They feel strong. Like I can Hulk smash.”
Geraldine quickly redraws the dagger and opens her palm. “The brand—it’s a big circle welt. Kind of dusky.”
“It’s our connection to the trials,” I reply. “It’s where the compulsion to put our hands in the bowls came from.”
Her eyes lock with mine, and I see confusion and pain swimming in the depths.
“I’m s-sorry,” I say, tripping over my tongue. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Nero. I did so many bad things for him. I never planned on raising the army of undead or everyone here. Didn’t even know I could until the taint and—” I scrub my face, distraught. “We don’t have time for me to explain. We have to wake the others; otherwise, the dream will spin and evolve. Everyone will find reasons to attack each other. Will you help me?”
They stare at me for a heartbeat, then nod. A blood-curdling scream pierces the air—sharp and real.
“What was that?” Max breathes.
“I don’t know,” I murmur. “Is anyone else awake?”
A bad feeling prickles over my skin. I start running, saying, “I’ll wake Becky—you find Colin and the young ones.”
Max calls after me, “But how will we wake them if they can’t let go of?—”
Geraldine hits his chest, eyes wide. “Chaser chains. We’ll put them in their branded hands.”
“Genius!” I shout, grinning, dodging two brawling specters. A shoulder brushes mine, zapping me with electricity. I wasn’t dragged in. Good. I find Becky on her side by a wall, blood oozing from her ear. My throat clogs. She defended me. I should have come here first.
I fall to my knees and grab her palm, slap it to the chain dangling across her uniform, and push hard. “Wake up, Becky!” She moans. Lashes flutter, but then she jerks and spits blood. Fuck. She’s in the midst of a fight. Instinct takes over. I draw my sword, pierce a meaty part of her thigh, and push her palm into the chain again. “Becky, wake up! Your kids need you!”
She lurches forward, eyes opening, and vomits onto the ground—blood-stained bile.
“You’re okay,” I say, dropping my things and taking her face. I bring her disoriented eyes to mine and repeat, “You’re awake. This is real. I’ve got you.”
Tears leak from her eyes, and she nods. “I’m okay.”
Exhaling, I collect my sword and steel ball. I give her a quick rundown of what I told the others while I search the arena, trying to ensure Geraldine and Max are okay. I spot them further down, shaking someone.
“You saved me,” Becky rasps.
I turn to her and smile. “You saved me first. Thank you for trusting me.”
Wincing, she climbs to her feet and wipes her mouth with her arm. “I figured anyone who protects children is more trustworthy than someone like Puck.”
“He told the truth,” I whisper. “I’m responsible for waking everyone up.”
Her eyes widen. “For real?”
“It’s a long story we don’t have time for. Let’s help up more. I think the more awake, the less power the dreamscape has.”
She stops me by the shoulder as I move. “Are you with Titania or us?”
Red fills my vision. Rage. Death. Revenge.
“She’s dead,” I promise through gritted teeth. I don’t care if all of Avorlorna hears. I’m done hiding.
“Good,” she exhales, then falls to a knee, head lolling, body swaying. “Give my kids a chance.”
“Becky!” I drop and grab her shoulders, holding her up. “What’s wrong? Where are you hurt?”
She groans and spits blood. “Everywhere.”
I start searching her for a wound, but she pushes me off. “It’s inside me.”
“Shit.” I scrub my face. “There’s no triage for this.”
“I know, bitch.” She smiles weakly.
“Then you’ll have to survive,” I fist her collar and shout in her face. “Parents shouldn’t give up on their kids. They shouldn’t stop protecting them. Never! They shouldn’t?—”
My voice cracks. I sob. Tears stream down my face.
Becky whispers, “Is that what happened to you?”
“Yes. No.” I close my eyes and cover my face. “They left me with an evil man so that I would survive. It broke them. It broke me. I can’t even be angry at them. I can’t be angry at anyone .” I bite the inside of my cheek before I reveal something I shouldn’t. But it’s so fucking hard not to feel this now it’s out. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be at peace with the injustice of my life. There’s no one to blame.”
But the gods.
Her sticky hand covers mine and squeezes. “Willow, knowing who to blame won’t give you peace. Believe me.”
“What will?” I ask, opening my eyes.
“I’ll let you know when I find out.” Her sharp laugh erupts into a cough. I watch her with concern, one hand gripping my sword, the other on the steel ball. She can’t die. I won’t let her. When she’s done, she smiles again and says, “Fine. I won’t give up.”
“Good.” I stand.
Her gaze lifts with me but then drifts somewhere over my shoulder. “What the fuck?”
My gaze lifts higher, following Becky’s line of sight. The blood-curdling scream echoes again, sending vibrations through my chest. Perched on the flying buttresses, an army of Nightmares looms. Some of their forms shimmer and twist as if struggling to maintain solidity in our world. Some are flesh. Some are just blood.
“Next,” Becky whispers, “their nightmares will come alive.”
I have to warn Geraldine and Max. My gaze drops, seeking them out. They’re still working on waking that first troop. They don’t see the solitary figure walking around the arena, getting closer by the second.
Only four Shadows were still asleep by the rock when I woke up. One was missing. I should have stopped to work out who. Alfie strolls along, systematically eliminating his sleeping competition, piercing his sword into their chests.