“And I battled them all!” the boy shouted, wielding an imaginary sword as he pretended to fight the serpents. “They threatened our lives. They wanted to drag Istralla into the sea!” He ducked as one of the serpents dipped lower. The crowd backed away, muttering in astonishment.
“That boy. Is he someone important?” I asked shakily.
The Bringer muttered something noncommittal, slowly easing us both to our feet.
“But do not fear. I vanquished the demons! So, you are safe now, and you owe that safety to me,” the boy declared, grinning with all the pride in the world. And he bowed low, the hem of his oversized cloak touching the floorboards. “Now,” he continued, straightening himself, “my winnings, please.”
The crowd didn’t move; they were too preoccupied with eyeing the flying serpents.
“Oh. Um, sorry,” the boy said sheepishly, turning the serpents back into ribbons with a wave of his hand. “I had them under my control, you know. You were never in any harm. I promise.”
The Shadow Bringer returned to drinking his wine, no longer interested. “Greedy child. Desperate to rid the poor of their coin, even while dreaming.”
It wasn’t coin that the boy was after, though. As he moved about the inn, he collected donations of food and drink, using his cloak as a makeshift pack to carry it all. He arranged his growing collection as he went, ensuring that nothing spilled. Loaves of bread, a small sack of potatoes, three bottles of milk—he took it all, thanking each patron with a beaming smile. When he made it to the back of the room, nearing where the Bringer and I sat in our shadowed corner, his eyes lit up.
“Now what isthis?” the boy wondered aloud, bounding over to our outlandish plates and scooping up the half-eaten moon. He was a striking boy: fine, noble features and black hair curling to his shoulders. “A ball of cake? Huh.”
“Ridiculous child,” the Shadow Bringer scoffed, making the moon disappear with a quick wave. “These creations are not for you.”
“Was that really necessary?” I whisper-shouted. Even though it was clear the boy couldn’t hear or see us, I still felt as though he could.
The boy stared at his empty hands.
“It’s already happening,” the boy muttered, brimming with great sorrow. “I must hurry. No time to waste.”
He snatched two of our plates, tucking them into his cloak and hurrying away before the Bringer could react. Halfway through the crowd, the boy turned around, rushing back to our table to snatch a cinnamon cake from under the Bringer’s nose.
“Why you—” the Bringer started, grabbing the boy by the wrist. It was useless, though. The boy couldn’t be held. As if he had grasped smoke or water, the Bringer’s hand merely slipped away. But not before the boy glanced up and showed us his eyes.
Expressive and framed in dark lashes, with the beginnings of small silvery shadows dancing within their depths. I didn’t have to guess; I knew immediately who this boy was.
And, based on his stunned expression, so did the Shadow Bringer.
We sprinted through Istralla under a film of salty mist, trailing the boy as he ducked into the surrounding forest. Even with his pack of food and drink, he ran as though he carried no extra weight, darting under boughs and avoiding roots with expert precision. The mist didn’t burden him, either; it was denser now, clinging to every surface and suffocating the air.
“So that boy—he’s really you,” I panted, struggling to match the Bringer’s pace.
“Evidently.” The Shadow Bringer lanced me with a brief, annoyed look over his shoulder. “Remember what I said about imagination. Keep up.”
Keep up?My legs felt like rocks and my head swam from all the wine, but I was dreaming—and I was running as if I weren’t. I should have been nimble, not trailing behind the Bringer and tripping every few steps.
Working through my imagination, I shielded my feet from rocks and twigs, lightened my limbs, and lengthened my stride. My dress was next. It was useless and flimsy in this terrain, so I altered it into dark, close-cut pants and a belted tunic. A biting wind cut through the trees, impossible to ignore, so I added a silken cloak lined with thick,comfortable velvet, taking inspiration from the Bringer’s attire and giving it properties of smoke and shadow. Running became easy, instinctive. The more I focused on what was in front of me, the simpler it felt. So I fixed my eyes on the Shadow Bringer, mimicking the way he moved.
And the Shadow Bringer moved as he always did: like a creature of living darkness.
Even without his shadows to strengthen his steps, he ran through the forest as though he were a spirit that dwelled within it.
“Do you know where we’re going?” I asked, releasing a stream of pent-up air. I didn’t feel like a creature of living darkness, but at least I was keeping up. “It’s your dream. You really should know.”
“I have an idea.” The Bringer spared a glance over his shoulder, evidently surprised that I was still there. Or maybe he was surprised that my clothes now looked a little like his. “Your heart doesn’t beat in the Realm,” he added, picking up his pace. “Eliminate its influence, and you’ll stop gasping for breath every five steps. We breathe here merely out of habit.”
“I’m not gasping. And my heart is fine.”
“You are. And it is not.”
Unconvinced, I brought a palm to my chest. And my wrist. And my neck. But my body was quiet. Nothing but a hollow, silent shell. “Where is my heart?”
“Ask the Maker.”
