“And where is that, dear mortal? Where is it that we should go?”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I turned on my heel and marched back inside, clenching my jaw against their varied and clever taunts. The conversation had felt almost preferable to the uncertainty and loneliness that dwelled within the Bringer’s chamber.Almost.
I spent the next few hours searching through the Bringer’s things, hoping that his real or imagined cloaks would emerge. His room was cavernous, stretched tall by ribs of obsidian and adorned with inconceivable opulence, so it took some time to look through it all—even with half its furniture piled against the door. I found books both strange and familiar; some pages were empty, some burst with poetry, art, and music. Then there were some Weaver tales, though they no longer felt like tales at all. They seemed living and true, depicting both Mithras and the seven Weavers in ordinary settings and conversations. And then there were the citadels Firstlight and Evernight.
In these books, Citadel Firstlight was a haven in Istralla for the Weavers and their acolytes; it provided resources, training grounds, and a means for the Weavers to delegate among earthly rulers. On the other hand, Citadel Evernight was a place where nobles and their families could dream in profound ways; it was there that collective Dream Realm feasts and balls, lavish affairs beyond the imagination, could occur without restriction.
There were also two unnamed dreamers of great talent.
The young men were anomalies, failing to possess a specific affinity to any Weaver, but their acclimation to the Realm allowed them to join the Weavers’ ranks regardless. Pages spoke of their raw, unprecedented ability, describing the ferocious battles they led with the Weavers against demons and their false gods.
I read until my eyes hurt—until the pages blurred and the words swam.
Moving to the floor, I cradled my head in the crooks of my arms. Above me, dramatic seascape and mountain paintings, easily the height of three or four men, crawled up the walls to coil around a great chandelier. The paint broke apart in some places, slipping out of the canvas to float alongside the shadows.
It was a beauty both strange and breathtaking.
The floor held me for some time, ghosting its phantom shadows over my skin and toward the balcony, where they disappeared. Despite its opulence, the Shadow Bringer’s room felt empty. Void of warmth, hope, and joy.
It ached for something, but I wasn’t sure what.
I woke in a pile of silken pillows and feather-soft blankets, bathed in the strange scent of a thunderstorm mixed with dusty furniture. I pressed my face to the nearest pillow and breathed in, relishing it. It reminded me of a fog-covered field, but with a subtle undertone of woodsmoke and old books.
“Let us out, let us out, let us out!” shrieked a demon far too close for comfort.
I sprang to my feet, disoriented from the low candlelight. My heart plummeted as the chamber sharpened into focus.
“Oh, Maker,” I gasped in dismay.“No.”
The barricade of furniture I’d piled high against the door was gone. Every chair, every desk, every book was now precisely placed, resting exactly where it had originally been.
“Let us out!”
I made to slam a chair against the bowing door but quickly changed my mind. A chair would be nothing against the strength of a demon; I might as well use a scrap of lace to stop the force of a river.
Maybe there’s a way out through the balcony. A hidden ladder of some sort.
Two familiar demons sat against a pair of trees below the balcony,their distorted faces mocking and cruel. One was sharpening a piece of metal, carving its edge into something gleaming. The other simply looked bored.
“Dreamer,” greeted the gray-haired demon. It took the second demon’s improvised weapon and tested it on a section of its long cape, nodding appreciatively when it sliced straight through. “Still without that cloak, I see. Here to delight in this good morning?”
“This is no morning.” The sky was the color of sapphires and turbid, ancient wine. Without the balcony’s candlelight and the forest’s silvery-blue orbs, the demons would have been altogether obscured. “How is this morning”—I motioned wildly at the sky—“and what about any of this isgood?”
“Ah, that. Should we tell her?” The long-caped demon glanced at the second, its expression thoughtful, but the gesture was ignored. The second demon merely continued sharpening its makeshift blade. “Very well, I will tell her.” The first demon looked back at me and grinned. “We aren’t in the mortal world, darling. Our eternal night is, well, eternal.”
“But we are all dreaming. Can’t the structure of day and night just be altered?”
I thought back to when the Shadow Bringer’s dungeon had shifted, transporting me to my home in Norhavellis. Or when wings had burst from the Bringer’s back, carrying him high over the Visstill.
“No. This domain was permanently set to protect our lord. Or to punish him—we aren’t certain. Have we decided our opinion on that?” The first demon glanced at its companion again, and again it was ignored. “As I said, we aren’t certain. So eternal night it is.”
I cursed under my breath. The forest below was a long way down, dropping farther and farther away the more I looked. Without wings or the Shadow Bringer’s magic, I’d have to physically descend the wall. Or jump. And neither option seemed very realistic.
“Are you in distress?” the long-caped demon inquired. “You seem a bit distressed.”
“No.”
“If you ask our lord nicely, I’m sure he would quell your troubles,” the demon said, its cracked lips widening into what could almost pass as a smile.
