Page 24 of Cursed By the Dawn

“We’renot,” he insisted sharply. “We command the dark. Weruleover the shadows. And we’ve been fighting this demon like we don’t.”

Understanding dawned over me.

Oh.

“So we use the demon’s darkness to our benefit. We command it and make it ours,” I said, slowly starting to smile. He was right. Ofcoursehe was right. “The Weavers want to see our darkness. So let’s show them what we can do.”

Erebus smiled back at me, silver eyes glittering with unexpected delight. “Precisely.”

We sent the shadows down like a scythe, our aim powerful and true.

The demon shrieked, trying to avoid the colossal blow, but it was too late. Our shadows ripped down its skin and shuddered through its mouth. Intuitively, I began to see something within the demon: a small curl of darkness, squeezed into a tight fist deep inside its stomach. I could feel it yearning to escape—to surge from the demon’s diseased heart.

“There,” I said triumphantly, pushing harder.

The darkness reacted to our shadows, eager. Our blades absorbed every last drop.

The demon collapsed into a pitiful heap, limbs instantly still.

Dead.

We looked up at the same time. The Weavers were slack-jawed with fascination, respect, and the barest gleam of something else. Something far more unsettling, perhaps, than the Weavers rejecting us outright.

Fear.

After the demon was dispatched, the Weavers dropped from the sky, floating past dreamers still reeling from the attack, and followed us inside the castle. Erebus and I would be dealing with the Weavers alone; Ceveon and Sorren needed to tend to the dreamers.

The obsidian table was still set as we had left it, brimming with food, drink, and floating silver stars that would burst into tart cherries, blackberries, and strawberries when bitten. If the Weavers were surprised that their clawed seats were heavily cushioned with velvet or that the dining room’s walls were more window than stone, they didn’t say. Perhaps they were too busy eyeing our shadows that were pooling in the corners.

But before glasses of wine could even be sipped, Erebus was on the attack.

“Where is Mithras?” he demanded, leaning forward in our shared chair. The seat’s clawed fingers towered behind us, dramatically framing our bodies and likely making the Weavers wonder if it would come alive and skewer them. “More than anyone else at this table, he owes us his presence.”

“For once, we actually agree,” Fenrir answered, stabbing a slice of meat and popping it between his teeth rather ferociously. “But Mithras cannot be reached.”

Erebus’s fist curled around his dinner knife. “What do you mean, he ‘cannot be reached’?”

Fenrir frowned as he chewed. Perhaps he was imagining that the morsel was a chunk of Erebus’s arm. “I mean exactly that. It’s been ages since we have been able to contact him or his legionnaires.”

Ages?

“Where is he, then?” A sick, buzzing fear swarmed my ears. If Mithras was missing, then where was Elliot? “He has my brother. It’s urgent that we speak with him.”

“We can only assume he is in Noctis, as we have not seen him in the Dream Realm as of late,” Theia answered carefully, folding her pale hands atop her luminous skirts. “His silence is not unprecedented, but we are concerned that the demonic infestation has worsened in Noctis.”

“Worsened how?” I probed, the buzz in my ears growing louder. So many people had already died. Entire families forever changed; futures and choices and dreams ripped to shreds before they even had the chance to bloom. “Corruption has been horrific for years now. I can’t imagine it getting any worse.”

“Then your imagination is lacking,” Fenrir remarked, wrinkling his nose as he sniffed the wine we’d served. “Clearly.”

I flinched at Fenrir’s reproach, stunned that he would chide me. His shoulders were tense, his fiery eyes narrowed in obvious distaste. I didn’t deserve his ire. I was a Weaver, just like him, and he was inmydomain. But any hope for a clever response withered and died on my tongue. Fortunately, I had a vengeful lord of shadows to my right. And his tongue was very clever.

“Andyoulack respect,” Erebus snarled, teeth bared as he placed a protective arm around my shoulders.

Fenrir began to stand. “Well, you’re a pale corpse whose power hides in corners and under beds.”

“Careful,” Erebus said, his voice low and filled with venom. Shadows jutted from his shoulders. The other Weavers didn’t dare move. “You’re only powerful because you burn things. A child can do that.”

Fenrir’s upper lip twitched, but he didn’t take the bait. His eyes dropped to where Erebus’s hand rested protectively. “Shadows and whispers. Disease masquerading as darkness. That’s all you’ll ever be.”