“I warned you,” he said simply, slamming the knife’s hilt into the man’s skull.
Except it didn’tslam, exactly.
The hilt bounced harmlessly off the man’s head, no more a threat than a push from an infant.
The man reached up to pat the spot where the Bringer hit him. “Aye, boys, I’m thinkin’ there’s a bug flyin’ round here. Just bit me on the head!” The Shadow Bringer tried again, throwing his full weight into the swing. “Aye, ouch! It just ’appened again!”
His companions gave a pointed look about the room, laughing wildly.
“Mate, there ain’t any bugs flyin’ round here.”
“No, I swear it! The spot’s itchy an’ everythin’,” the man protested, much to the hilarity of the others. Huffing, he pointed dramatically at a fly buzzing around the ceiling. “See?See?There it is!”
Another man chimed in, jabbing him playfully in the side. “More like yeh’ve drank too many ales for that thick skull of yours to ’andle.”
“Aye, shut it,” he responded, shoving himself away from thetable—nearly colliding with a visibly disturbed Bringer—and stormed out of the inn. His companions followed shortly after, quickly downing the rest of their ale on the way out.
After a short pause of his own, the Bringer sat down, selecting the most shadowed part of the table to sulk.
“No effect, huh?” I asked, sitting across from him. On my way over, no one acknowledged my existence. Not one person looked up, even if I nudged their back or waved my hands in front of their face. “It’s like we’re ghosts.”
The Bringer grunted in agreement, steepling his hands under his nose. “Some dreams are like that. It means that these patrons aren’t real; they’re merely figments from the dreamer’s imagination.”
“Yourimagination, then?”
He ignored me, instead sweeping his hands across the table to grab an empty cup and plate.
“I think we have more important things to figure out than feasting on imaginary dream food.”
He shot me a withering look. “Do we, now?” At my confused silence, he touched the edge of the cup, concentrating as it filled itself with a ruby-red liquid. Wine, likely.Or the blood of his innocent prey,I thought darkly. At another touch, the plate—and then several more—bloomed with fresh fruit, seared meats, and a slice of mysterious dessert. “Go ahead, figure out your important things. Then you can watch me eat, if that’s what you would prefer.”
I crossed my arms. “I don’t want any of your food.”
“Good. Because I did not offer you any.”
Insolent bastard.
“How is this allowed, anyway?” I asked, gesturing at his admittedly delicious-looking treats. “I thought you couldn’t use your powers.”
Selecting a cut of lamb, he took his first bite, frowning slightly as he chewed. “If an act of creation does not disrupt the dream’s purpose, then it is allowed.”
As I watched the Shadow Bringer eat, slightly amused that he wasnow able to eat through his half-broken helm, I wondered at the point of it all. Was it for the sake of normalcy, to eat and even sleep in a dream? It made sense, I supposed. If I had been locked in a castle for centuries, maybe I’d want to keep human habits, too. He brought the cup to his mouth, drinking deep. But when he brought the glass away, sensuous lips flushed with dark liquid, he still wore a frown.
“For someone eating food fit for a king, you sure scowl a lot.”
“Envious, are we?” he asked, taking another sip. Still, the scowl stuck.
“No. I’m not hungry,” I protested, crossing my arms. Just as my stomach unleashed an absolutely pathetic growl. An instinctual reaction at seeing food, probably.
The Bringer’s mouth ticked up, taking pleasure in the fact that he’d caught me in a lie.
“Suit yourself,” he drawled, leaning back to glare at the ceiling and finish his wine, which refilled itself whenever the liquid dropped too low. “I will continue relishing my ‘food fit for a king.’”
I eyed an especially beautiful strawberry, unable to ignore the hunger prying at my insides. Maybe I’d spoken too soon. Whywouldn’tI want to partake in a feast fit for a king? Plopping the berry into my mouth before I could think otherwise, I closed my eyes, awaiting a delicious, tart burst of juice.
Instead, rancid slime filled my mouth, causing me to gag.
“A hatred for strawberries. Interesting.”
