Page 15 of Cursed By the Dawn

Erebus, Ceveon, Sorren, and I sat in armchairs designed to look like folded wings, drinking mugs of spiced wine heated with blackberries and oranges. I smiled into my mug whenever Erebus brought his to his lips; he didn’t realize it, but he let out a soft groan of appreciation almost every sip, and it sent a warm, shivery sensation down my spine. We spent most of our evenings like this, recanting tales of the past, trying to enjoy small luxuries in food and drink, and strategizing for what was to come.

Doing everything we could to stave off the inevitable horrors ahead of us.

A fire, framed inside the mouth of a dragon, crackled in front of us, tinged with the same silver and purple as the courtyard flames. Paintings, originally imagined by Erebus, had been restored, paneling the walls amid several candelabras, and our feet were comfortably padded by thick rugs and plush, fur-lined footstools. No dust, cobwebs, or broken things—merely dark, comfortable luxury. The glass had purposefully been removed from the windows, a straightforward answer to the demons’ pleas.

Let us out.

I took another sip from my spiced wine, enjoying the steam as it kissed my cheeks.

CLANK!

Suddenly, a tightly rolled scroll, sealed inside a bone carved to look like a thin cylindrical cage, rattled its way across the floor. It tapped against Erebus’s armored foot with a delightfulclunk. He unfurled it quickly, face twisting into a scowl.

“Well, don’t leave us in suspense,” Ceveon pressed. “What does it say?”

With a swift crush of Erebus’s hand, the bone cage shattered. The scroll inside disintegrated instantly, floating up in a puff of smoke. Erebus leaned back in his chair, looking positively murderous.

“Somnus says we’re to welcome the Weavers tomorrow,” Erebus said, an agitated edge to his voice.

“I’ll need to finalize arrangements, then,” Sorren said smoothly, twisting one of his silver rings. At Erebus’s instruction, he had been working tirelessly to redesign the lower rooms of the castle, including the dining room, and, with my help, crafting the dinner fare. “What are our thoughts on entertainment?”

“‘Entertainment,’” Erebus bit out.

Sorren shot him a gentle, if a bit withering, glance. “We’re hosting the Seven, for Maker’s sake. The Light Bringer, too. We need to ensure they view us as venerable hosts before they agree to fight Raelion as our allies. So, yes. Entertainment. We’ve talked about this before. Atlength.”

“Perhaps our entertainment should be taking Mithras’s head and using it as one of our chandeliers,” Erebus suggested nonchalantly, hiding his smile with a quick drink from his mug.

“The Light Bringer, indeed,” Ceveon said with a snort.

Sorren’s chest deflated with a deep sigh. “I see now that it was a mistake to ask. I’ll proceed on my own.”

“Well, in that case, you should take Mithras and—” Erebus said, sarcasm sharp on his tongue.

“If we act like the monsters they expect us to be, how do you think the meeting will go?” I interrupted, tapping my foot in barely veiled irritation. The three men stilled. “I don’t want to provoke Mithras,” I continued quietly, squeezing my hands together. “I hate him for what he did, but he still has my brother. And we can’t afford to make enemies of him or the Weavers. Not when we need their help to restore the Dream Realm.”

“At least one of our leaders is acting rational,” Sorren said, giving me a grateful look. “We may never forgive Mithras and the Seven for locking us here, but there is a certain level of decorum that will be expected. And if we ruin any chance at an alliance before we face Raelion, we’ll—”

“Fail,” I provided, my eyes boring into each of them. “You said theylocked you here centuries ago, putting a hold on this place that could never be tampered with. We cannot risk that happening again.”

Erebus’s eyes darkened. “It won’t. And we will stop at nothing to get your brother back, Esmer. I swear it.”

My eyes stung. Beyond Erebus, Elliot was all I had left. A small flicker of hope had embedded itself in my chest when we’d first purified the dreamers, extracting shadow like poison from their bodies. I had looked around wildly, searching for the souls of Eden and my parents. But they never appeared.

They were never here.

My stomach soured. I needed to reframe my grief and reestablish my hope. If I didn’t, I’d lose my mind.

They were never here because their souls are already with the Maker.

The fire crackled, sending a swirl of purple sparks into the air. They mingled with the shadows that clung to the corners of the room, gleaming like violet stars. I took a deep sip from my mug, relishing the smooth undercurrent of berry and citrus.

After a time, Erebus said quietly, “Before tomorrow, I need you all to see firsthand what they did to me. How they damned me as amonsterafter years of devotion to their cause.” He cursed, dark and low. “We will play the hospitable hosts because we must, but that doesn’t diminish their transgressions. Or my rage, for that matter. You all deserve to see what happened that night.”

Erebus took my hand in his; Ceveon and Sorren stood so that they could each place their hands on his shoulders. When we were all connected by touch, we each took a deep breath, steadying ourselves for what was to come. And then we closed our eyes.

Erebus’s castle had been built from shadows and starlight.

It towered over the hillside like a dark jewel, embraced by iridescent trees and an eternal sky rotating between purple twilight and deep, relentless night. Its stone was the outer threads of dreams, its mortar the underbelly of shadow. Erebus hadn’t intended for itto be beautiful; no, the castle was merely intended to be his haven. A place to freely practice his abilities as a dreamer. A place to create and imagine and be. All advanced scholars, like him, were given temporary pockets within the Dream Realm in which to practice their talents. But the longer he’d worked, the more glorious it had become.