Page 21 of Cursed By the Dawn

Dmm.

We hurried through the castle, past where Sorren presided over the dining room.

The room had been designed to feature the best view in the domain. Several windows, all without glass and exceptionally large, overlooked silver stars in a purple sky, a sprawl of iridescent trees, and the eternal sea of dreams, ever present, gleaming on the horizon. A sleek table stood in the center of the room, filled with grand arrangements of food and drink. Tart berries, formed to look like silver stars, floated around chairs shaped like clawed hands. Roses, designed to melt like rich chocolate when bitten, sat in proud bouquets. A fluffy white cake, layered with moving shadows that tasted like woodsmoke, was already cut into generous slices, eager to be plated.

The clawed seats, lined in thick velvet pillows, were a bit dramatic, but they were impressive. More important, however, was that Erebus liked them—especially the ostentatious one we’d be sharing. Two hands, carved to look more lavish and menacing than the other chairs, stood dramatically at the end of the table, each palm curved slightly inward. Where the other chairs could be moved, ours was planted deepinto the floor. The plan was for Erebus and me to sit in each of the palms. It was a clear show of our union; there wasn’t one single Shadow Weaver, after all.

There were two.

Suddenly, the sensation of hot fire careened into our skulls. It was like a knock—if the knock was a fist made of flames and the door was our skulls.

“Fenrir,” Erebus spat, grabbing my hand and urging us forward. “Bastard.”

We were nearly through the castle entrance when the impression of frigid water rushed down my scalp, bursting like icicles behind my eyes.

“Nephthys?” I guessed, right before we were slammed with boulders reverberating into our ears. I wanted to buckle and scream, but there were too many dreamers watching us from the courtyard. I caught Ceveon’s eye; his brow furrowed in concern. “And Ceres.”

Each Weaver’s arrival knock was more insistent than the last—pounding, demanding,excruciating, and entirely unbothered by the pain they were causing us. The bite of fire. The rage of water. The explosion of earth. The shriek of air. Fenrir, Nephthys, Ceres, Lelantos. Erebus and I held hands as we strode like dark rulers through our courtyard, keeping our heads high even as the pain crescendoed.

The ravenous hiss of the past.

Decay.

The brutal agony of the present.

Despair.

The all-consuming madness of the future.

Death.

Somnus, Xander, and Theia.

“To the end and ever after,” Erebus vowed, the shadows in his eyes thrashing like frenzied beasts.

“To the end and ever after,” I answered, giving his palm a hard squeeze.

Then we thinned the domain’s walls, letting our visitors in.

The seven immortal Weavers, winged and imposing, descended from the stars.

They remained aloft above the trees instead of landing in the courtyard, as if our domain was a stain they didn’t want sullying their pristine boots. Some watched our dreamers with open curiosity, the same way one might observe a wild animal before determining whether or not it was feral, while others fixated on Erebus and me. Their eyes dragged from our obsidian crowns to the shadows curling between our feet.

Examining, weighing.Wondering.

Would we be a threat to their power? Or valuable allies to their cause?

It was difficult not to squirm under their scrutiny.

“Be still, dreamers,” I could hear Ceveon warn. “Follow the Shadow Weavers’ lead.”

Lining the central path leading up to the castle, dreamers were dressed in dark, form-fitting outfits and cloaks hewn from supple leather and soft shadows. They bristled under the Weavers’ stares, murmuring among themselves. The newest dreamers were more familiar with what it meant to look, act, and be human; the ghost of the past,however, was still present in the older dreamers’ faces. They were free from the Corruptive demons that had held their souls captive, but centuries of wearing demons’ skin had taken its toll. We had worked diligently these past weeks to instill in them the seeds of loyalty, courage, and other component parts of human dignity, but the road ahead would be long.

And by the looks on the Weavers’ sneering faces, their perfect lips curled in ugly displays of mistrust, it was clear how they still viewed the dreamers.

Monsters.

Demons.