Wait—no.“If I said something wrong, I’m sorry,” I said quickly, stiffening at the sudden change in her tone. What unspoken line had I crossed? If I had already blundered so severely, I wouldn’t last five minutes at the Revel. “Erebus has told me some things about Evernight, but he tends to be a little cryptic. My question wasn’t intended to hurt you, but I apologize if it did.”
She held my stare, challenging me. Finally, she let loose a sigh. Her defensiveness weakened. Snuffed itself out like a dying flame. “No, I overreacted. To answer your question, I have no assigned domain. I’ve yet to be formally selected by a Weaver, even though Theia sought me out in a dream all those years ago. A Weaver can sense potential in scholars and even their likely specialty, but dreamers don’t always develop their abilities enough to join a Weaver’s domain as one of their acolytes after completing their studies at Evernight.”
“So why haven’t you been chosen? You’re very talented.”
“You flatter me,” Aris said softly. “Modifying appearances is a common ability in the Dream Realm. I have not shown significant potential in whatmatters, which is showing talent in one of the seven Weavers’ areas.” She added, voice lowering, “If I’m not selected by eighteen, I’ll be deemed unhoused. Then I will either work to maintain Evernight until the end of my mortal days or be banished from the Realm forever. I’ll never be able to join a Weaver in their domain or do anything of true purpose or importance.” She squeezed her hands together. “My brother and I turn eighteen at the end of this year.”
I shook my head, contemplating the reality of that fate. “And your brother? Does he face the same future as you?”
She nodded, eyes downcast. “If he isn’t chosen, he will be devastated. We’ve both trained years for this, but he’s the one it will hurt most.” Aris coughed, straightening her black skirts with a flourish. “I’m sorry for rambling. I should get you to the Revel before Lord Erebus hunts you down himself.”
Before we left, I caught my reflection a final time. I almost stumbled, noting something different in my eyes.
There were shadows in my irises, swirling and vibrant.
Just like the Shadow Bringer’s.
I smelled the next room before I could see it.
Salt and flowers. The wormy odor of fresh earth. The brush of a storm-soaked wind. Tree roots, pine needles, and sun-warmed fur. Damp rocks and cracked acorns and sweet dandelions. Tart berries. Gentle touches of lavender, sage, mint. And roses. The soft, powdery scent of roses. Peonies. Tulips.
And about one hundred other things that I couldn’t name.
“It smells…” I wasn’t sure which word could possibly do it justice.
“Most say ‘heavenly.’ But I’ve heard one or two dreamers who thought it too rustic. As if the smell of earth is a thing reserved for animals.” Aris took a deep, cleansing breath. “Or those of common blood.”
“That’s ridiculous. It smells incredible. Like joy and wonder.”
She led me to a glass bridge that split the center of a cavernous antechamber. Except there was no ground under the bridge—no visible ceiling, either. Only pillared walls connected the room’s various parts. Under the bridge was a vista of a great forest, and above the bridge, where the chamber’s ceiling cracked apart, was a cyclical sky. Dawn, day, dusk, night. The sky rotated quickly, mesmerizing in its pure depictionof the sun, moon, stars, and clouds. It illuminated the bridge and the forest with new colors every few steps.
It was life itself, captured in a room.
No, it was more than life—it was idealized beyond what would be possible outside the Realm. The trees were too even, the sky too wondrous, the flowers too full, the rocks too precisely placed. Still, I couldn’t help recognizing the chamber’s majesty. It was, after all, the essence of earth made into its fullest potential. And as we walked across the bridge, my footing unsure in my new slippers, I breathed deep and examined all that I could.
A strange emotion welled up in my chest, hollow and uncomfortable. I wanted to share this experience with someone. Wanted deeply, achingly, to share what I was seeing, hearing, and smelling. Eden and Elliot would have loved Evernight. It was the culmination of everything we’d ever imagined: bright, beautiful wonders in a place safe enough to fully enjoy it. No demons, no darkness, no hunger, no fear. It was why, I think, Eden had finally relented when I’d begged her not to drink the elixir. Because dreamingjust oncewould be worth it. And for hundreds of dreamers centuries ago, itwasworth it. I swallowed hard, focusing on my footsteps instead of the pain in my heart.
And the Shadow Bringer—I’d very much like to watch his eyes as he beheld this room.
“Every year, a different Weaver is charged with furnishing Evernight,” Aris explained, softly interrupting my wandering thoughts. “It is Weaver Ceres’s year, though she is not in charge of this season’s Revel.”
Furnishing Evernight.As if the scene were no more elaborate than a rug or a houseplant.
She pointed at the sky, growing heavy with the colors of dawn. “This room is enchanted to change at precise points on the bridge. But only to the beholder.” She gestured at a family ahead of us. They laughed as several plumed birds flew overhead, circling once before diving underneath the bridge. “By the time we reach that point, it will be day. But they will be farther along, so they will see the onset of dusk. Three cycles pass before we reach the end.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It is. And tedious,” Aris sighed. “And a few hundred paces too long.”
“What’s the purpose of it, then? To be beautiful and tedious?”
She shrugged. “Evernight serves a different purpose for each of its inhabitants. And it’s best to be aware that some purposes are more sinister than others.”
At its end, the bridge forked into three paths. The dreamers, dressed in their finery, continued forward. Their accompanying scholars did not. With a quick curtsy or bow, each scholar left them to continue on. Alone.
“Go to the middle bridge,” Aris directed. “Revels are for the Weavers, their acolytes, and dreamers. We scholars have other matters to attend to.”
“Like making dreamers look acceptable?” I asked, fluffing the folds of my dress.
