The Light Bringer.
If I found a way to warn Lord Mithras, perhaps he could travel with his legion into this dream and kill the Shadow Bringer while he was still contained. IfIcould find and enter his castle, surely the Light Bringer could, too.
I just needed to keep the Shadow Bringer captive long enough for our savior to arrive.
“Perhaps I would set you free,” I finally conceded, taking a step forward. I needed him to trust me, to believe that I wanted to set him free. At least until I could lure a legion of predators into his den. I almost smiled at the idea of it. Lord Mithras, radiant in his power, would burn the Shadow Bringer down to a pile of iron and ash. “But first I need to go home to Norhavellis. How much time has passed? Does dream time correlate with reality?”
“If there is a correlation, this castle confounds it. When you wake up, it’s possible one hour will have passed. Or perhaps one year.” He stalked forward, leaning over me.Maker, he was tall. “But that shouldn’t matter, because I will not grant you the gift of ‘going home.’ This room anchors you; you shall remain contained in this castle until you free me.”
His snakes jumped forward, bodies rushing to encircle me. I flinched, and they slammed to a stop before they could even touch my dress, spinning instead to face the Shadow Bringer with wide-mouthed screams before dissolving and falling like rain upon the floor.
The Shadow Bringer’s eyes went wide behind his horned mask.
“What are you?” he murmured, almost as if he didn’t intend to be heard.
Before I could answer, he spun on his heels and slammed a newly conjured door into place. I slid to the ground, despair crawling up my throat like an unwelcome sickness, and cried myself to sleep.
I woke up slowly, eyes already swimming with unshed tears. An image of my brother arose in my head: Elliot curled up in his blanket burrow, hiding from the world and all its monsters under a heap of warm cotton and wool. How he’d tuck Chester the cow into the crook of his elbow. His tufted brown fur was always knotted, his button eyes dull from age. I tried to imagine Eden, but it wasn’t as easy. My memories were muddled and foggy: a glimpse of her hair, a single chime of her laugh, a graze of her warm hug. I tried to reach for them, but they kept fading away. It was like grasping for dozens of small, slippery fish as they tumbled down a waterfall.
I pressed my face into my palms and tried not to hyperventilate.
No, no, no.
I willed my tears to stay where they were—in my head, not running rampant down my face. But they escaped regardless, falling in long, meandering lines down my cold skin.
Curse it all.
After a time, I opened my eyes. It simply hurt too much to keep imagining. Although the memories I could salvage were comforting, they were false. I looked around my cell, noting the dim light, the dirty ground, the stuffed cow in the corner—
A stuffed cow slouched against the corner of my cell, its button eyes staring upward.
I nearly fell out of the bed.
“Chester,” I whispered. The name felt odd on my tongue. Gingerly,I picked him up, thumbing the knots in his fur. “What are you doing here? Where is Elliot?”
Other things appeared. A wooden chair, scuffed and peeling where Eden had painted flowers on it years ago. The bookshelf from my room. A favorite linen dress, a hand-me-down from Eden, its cloth soft and practical despite its fraying edges. A plant-filled wall from Mother’s apothecary. Elliot’s favorite book of Dream Weaver tales. The beamed ceiling from our kitchen. Our front door, its window bright with morning light. In seconds, my cell doubled, tripled in size, unfurling and shifting. It was a creature growing into its second set of skin.
The more I saw, the more I felt, and the more I remembered.
The space shifted with my thoughts, readjusting and rearranging its innards until it more closely resembled what I knew to be home. Gone was my cell in the Shadow Bringer’s castle. This washome.
“Elliot?” I called. “Mother? Father?”
I ran from room to room, frantically searching—but found only silence. It looked like home, but there was no one there to fill it. Outside, I collapsed, scarcely feeling the whisper of grass upon my bare legs.
No longer was I wearing the dark, high-necked dress with billowing sleeves. I was barefoot in one of my favorite cotton nightgowns, and the sensation was glorious. The morning light pressed its warmth into my neck; birds soared overhead; woodsmoke mingled with pine and lilac bushes; trees swayed in the breeze—but it was still lacking. All of it, lacking.
Where is everyone?
At the familiar clinking of pointed boots and taloned gauntlets, I turned around.
There was the cause of my despair, descending the wooden steps of my family’s front porch. His white hair, horned helmet, and black armor were a stark contrast against the vibrant color around him; he looked unfit for such an ordinary setting.
“What have you done?” he asked. Despite how odd he looked on myfamily’s property, his eyes were curious, mesmerized by the earth, the trees, and the cloud-covered sky.
Memories of the last few days rose up, cold and terrible. I hated his castle. I hatedhim.
The ground suddenly cleaved apart at his feet, almost as if I hadcausedit, sending him sprawling face-first into the grass. I tensed, expecting him to rise in a fit of rage, but he merely rolled to his side, picked a wildflower, and spun it between clawed fingers.
