I angled my shoulders away from him, twisting free from his arms.
“Who?”
He drank from his chalice, not bothering to wipe away the liquid that dripped down his chin. “The special little lords of light and dark. You really haven’t been to Evernight before, have you?”
Two figures, both in black leathers, appeared under the arch. The left wore a circlet of gold; the right, a circlet of obsidian. At the top of the coliseum stairs, they shared a genial smile.
Mithras and Erebus.
Two men flanked Erebus as he made his way to the coliseum floor. The first walked with confidence and easy grace, nodding at the patrons nearest to him. He was tall—as tall as Erebus—with caramel-brown hair, light brown skin, and an easy smile. The second kept a quieter, more calculated presence. Pale and mean eyed, with sleek black hair falling to his jaw, he glared at the stands as if making a judgment about every patron in attendance.
“Lowly bastards,” the man beside me grumbled. “An unhoused should never be made into something they are not. It’s like giving a pig a crown and calling it a king.”
“They appear quite powerful to me,” I said, ignoring the man’s crude dig.
“Unhoused, scum, pigs. They’re all the same. Mithras and Erebus were both scholars at Evernight, but they never possessed a specific affinity.” The man shook his head and took another sloppy drink from his chalice. “Fortunately for them, they demonstrated power in other ways and became the Realm’s most illustrious demon hunters.”
“It sounds like they’re of great value to the Realm, then.”
“The Weavers may think so, but that doesn’t mean all Revel guests agree,” he responded, low and guttural. For a moment, his green eyes darkened, becoming something evil and wrong. But it was only for a moment.
He took a final swig. The darkness was gone, replaced by mild boredom.
My skin prickled, buzzing with anticipation and fear that carved away my clouded edges. It didn’t seem possible that Mithras and Erebus would be friends—even five hundred years in the past—but there they were, chins raised high and smiling across the coliseum as if they were celebrating something magnificent. They frequently turned to each other, sharing some secret joke or another.
They looked happy. As if the world no longer weighed on them.
And just like that, the host of the Revel finally appeared.
Lelantos, the Air Weaver, jumped from the sky in a burst of blue, sparkling lightning. As he dropped, he splayed his arms wide and the sky changed, shifting from twilight into clouds heavy with storm. He pulled the clouds closer, closer, and closer still, forcing them to spiral around the coliseum. The clouds moved quickly, spinning faster and faster, sparking with light and booming low with thunder. And as the clouds spun, the coliseum began to spin, too; it slowly rocked on its axis, tilting slightly to the left. Then the right.
Finally, itcracked. In a rush of wind and lightning, the coliseum lifted into the air. I gripped the edge of my seat, trying to anchor myself to something—anything.
The green-eyed man laughed at me, reaching for my hips. “Easy. It’s not as though they’d make us fall into the Nocturne.”
I stood up. Shoved myself out of his hands.
His eyes burned with rot, twisting into malice. “Where are you going? You don’t know anyone here. Pitiful little dreamer, all alone.”
He rose to face me, squeezing my shoulders as the coliseum shook. No one noticed or cared. They were too busy laughing about the Revel’s newest entertainment. His lips bent into a sneer all the way up to the edge of his mask.
“You don’t belong here. Why don’t you justwake up—”
He didn’t get to finish his sentence.
Wings, unfurling in asnapof feathers, burst from our backs.
And just as the coliseum rose, it fell.
It was something out of a story. A fiction.
A dream.
Now clothed in the Revel’s biggest surprise—wings—dreamers and the Weavers with their acolytes floated in the clouds above the Nocturne. The coliseum had dropped back down, settling far below us into Citadel Evernight, and the green-eyed man had turned his back to me, no longer interested in my attention. Gone were our intoxicating refreshments and tepid conversation; now came freedom, possibility,flight.
Having wings wasn’t so bad, I decided. They worked without any conscious input, moving behind me in long, graceful beats, and if I positioned my body in just the right way, they responded instantly, moving with me. If I angled my shoulders to the left, they angled, too, twisting me sideways. If I leaned to the front, they lifted up slightly, carrying me forward. It took no time at all to become accustomed to my wings—to flying. It was as natural as breathing, as smooth as walking.
Dream logic.
