“Go on,” the man demanded, his half-hooded eyes glassy with sleep. “Go forward to the dais.”
The Shadow Bringer shot him a look of icy, utter disdain, but the dreamer either couldn’t see him or wasn’t paying attention.
The dream, ever so slightly, flickered.
“You need to calm down,” I ordered, grabbing the Bringer’s hand before he could attempt anything drastic. “This dream relies on the strength and tranquility of your subconscious, correct? Because I think I’m starting to understand something.”
“I am anything but tranquil, Esmer.”
I fought not to roll my eyes. “If you let your emotions get the better of you—your rage, your disgust, yourhate—then this dream will shatter before we can even meet the interpreter, yet alone confront the demon.”
“So what do you wish for me to do? Be civil?”
“Yes. Be civil.”
His eyes widened a touch, as if this was the most ridiculous concept he’d ever heard of. But then he sighed, a terse breath through his lips, and slowly squeezed my hand.
“I don’t wish to be civil,” he said darkly, giving me a deadly half smile. It was positivelyviolent. “But for you, perhaps I will put my rage aside. Reserve it for those who truly deserve it.”
Dozens of dreamers had formed a queue behind us, slowly materializing into the temple chamber each time a new dream was interpreted. From what I could see, interpretations held a specific pattern: The dreamer would approach the dais, images would appear in the water, the tree would glow one of several colors, and finally the interpreter would relay a brief message. Then the dreamer would vanish, presumably sent back to their earthbound dwelling. It appeared that the central figure was the main interpreter, whereas the figure next to him was perhaps his guard. Sometimes, the guard leaned sideways, sharing a laugh with the interpreter. Other times, he stood still and serious, glaring daggers at any dreamer who dared get too close or too comfortable.
“If the tree glows a color, the dream was sent by an elemental Weaver,” the Shadow Bringer explained. “Red, blue, green, or brown for Fenrir, Nephthys, Ceres, or Lelantos. If the dream is from Somnus, Xander, or Theia, it will harden into either bone, iron, or diamond. If it turns black and charred, that means the dream is a nightmare. Some worthless figment either conjured by the dreamer themselves or under the influence of a demon.”
Soon, we were near the front of the line.
With each step, the air grew thick with anticipation, as if the very atmosphere hummed with the secrets of the universe. The air thatsurrounded the dais was blurry, as if time itself was beginning to distort. The interpreter motioned us forward, his hands covered in black leather.
“Approach the water,” the interpreter commanded, his voice a dark, haunting melody. “Look into its depths and show me what you seek, dreamer.”
“Listen to him,” the Shadow Bringer urged. “Look into the water and focus on your desire for freedom. Think about breaking away from my castle, and ask the Maker to help you. The Nocturne and your subconscious will do the rest.”
I looked up, meeting the interpreter’s silver-flecked eyes. Eyes I’d know anywhere now.Erebus.
My breath stilled; my chestburned. He was even more beautiful than I’d imagined he’d be.
His hair, raven black, swept away from a pale, perfect face that balanced masculinity with something so refined and so elegant that he was difficult to look at. With his helm on, the Shadow Bringer was a striking collage of sharp and captivating pieces: eyes, lips, jaw, metal. Unmasked, with all his features revealed, he was a masterpiece.
“Why is—”
“Don’t acknowledge me,” the Shadow Bringer murmured just as a shadow ghosted across my lips, silencing me. “It will draw the suspicions of Weavers or dreamers, which could jeopardize the dream’s viability. Just… be careful. And be especially mindful ofthatone.”
That one?Reluctantly, I tore my eyes from Erebus to his guard.
Not guard—the Light Bringer. Mithras.
Mithras, his honeyed eyes sparkling with humor, stood next to Erebus, arm casually draped atop the back of his chair. Erebus’s cape billowed behind him like the wings of some nocturnal creature, complementing the finely tailored clothes he wore; Mithras, on the other hand, wore a white shirt that was open at the collar, black slim-fitting pants, and golden adornments that gleamed even in the dimly lit room. Bothwore similar signet rings; both had the trappings of two beautiful young princes in their primes.
The water was still and depthless like an all-seeing eye.
Odd.
When I looked, I could feel the water looking back. Waiting. Assessing. Probing for ways to help mesee. Something tugged faintly on my mind, coaxing out a memory. I followed the Shadow Bringer’s instructions, focusing on my desire for freedom. Vaguely, I could sense my mind drifting to Elliot, but I pulled it back, focusing instead on my dream of the Shadow Bringer’s castle and the invisible bindings that trapped us there. The Nocturne wanted more—it felt unsatisfied—so I gave it more context. Corruption and my frustration because there was no cure. Eden, Mother, and Father. Aching for a normal life outside of Norhavellis. The terror I felt whenever I thought about Elliot. My connection with the Shadow Bringer.
My deeplyunsettlingconnection with the Shadow Bringer.
Erebus could see some of what I was showing the Nocturne—pieces of the Shadow Bringer’s castle, the demons, my family—but other parts were swept away, hidden as if only for the water itself. The willow’s branches sank idly into the liquid, softly swaying.
Show me how to be free, I thought.
