“I need to thank you, too,” he murmured. “This is the first time in five hundred years that I haven’t fallen asleep to demons screaming.”
I swallowed hard, uncertain as to what I should say.
“May it be the first of many,” I finally whispered. “I never want to hear their screams again.”
A few soft, slow moments passed, marked by the evenwhooshof the cocoon.
“Esmer,” the Shadow Bringer suddenly said, his tone deadly serious. “I will do what I remember, but if this goes awry, we could find ourselves trapped in a deep layer of the Dream Realm. Or some false, incorporeal pocket. It could take us years to escape if a Weaver doesn’t intervene.”
“We don’t have time to consider hypotheticals, Bringer.”
“It wouldn’t be fair if Ididn’tconsider this very possible hypothetical with you. Because if I don’t go deep enough, the dream might be useless, wasting a day and bringing us closer to our ruin. Do you accept that kind of risk?”
I didn’t hesitate to answer. “I do.”
“I could go alone,” he urged. “Even if I became trapped in a deeper level of the Realm, time would function as usual on this layer. You’d wake up after a restful sleep, and I’d wake up, too; only I’d be a few centuries older.”
“Then don’t trap us. Guide us true.”
He made a sound of approval, shifting again so that his spine better aligned with mine.
“Sync your breathing with mine,” he prompted. I could faintly feel the deep rise and fall of his breaths.
In, out.
In, out.
In, out.
My mind lifted, guided by the Shadow Bringer’s inexplicable prodding. He urged me to follow.
And so I did.
For the first time in years, I woke to the sound of laughter.
It rang out from the belly of a child and boomed deep and hearty from the throat of an older man. Perhaps the child’s father or grandfather. Laughter in its purest, sweetest form. The kind of laughter that could drive out fear and replace it with something warm and beautiful.
The Shadow Bringer loomed above me, scowling. “Can you stand, or have you lost the use of your legs?”
“Aren’t you demanding?” I remarked, matching his tone.
We were in an empty parlor. Lavish and pristine, its walls and floors were bedecked in patterned rugs, bookshelves carved into trees and horses, embroidered chairs, and several paintings of a happy, beautiful family—a father, a mother, and their dark-haired child. I sat up, watching as mist filtered through windows that dotted the room’s length. Its only exit, a towering archway, swirled with more mist, obscuring whatever rested beyond.
“Follow me,” he said with a sigh, stalking toward the arch. “It’s as I feared; my memory is too distorted. This dream isn’t where I meant for us to go.”
Instead of following, I ruffled through a vase of wildflowers andpeonies, dipping low to breathe in their scent. A feeling of dread rose up, unbidden. A feeling of sinking, of dirt being shoved in my throat, and walls closing in.
Focus, Esmer.
From beyond the mist, laughter rang out again, snapping me from my spiraling thoughts.
I set the vase down, ready to clear my mind and move forward. “So, where are we? Do you recognize this place?”
He took a cursory glance around the room. “It feels familiar. I may have lived here once.”
“It looks similar to your castle,” I said, pointing to a landscape I’d seen in the Shadow Bringer’s antechamber. “Though yours is obviously more somber. And in ruins, given its demonic residents.”
“Formerresidents,” said the Shadow Bringer, his voice lifting in false wonder. “A horde of demons unleashed upon the world. What would Mithras say?”
