Page 60 of Cursed By the Dawn

My legs felt numb as I strode to the castle’s gathering hall.

Shadows shifted restlessly around my feet, jumping in dark, erratic wisps across the stone floor. Perhaps they were running from me. Perhaps they were afraid.

I didn’t blame them; I was afraid of me, too.

I pulled my feather-lined cloak tighter around my dress, the cold press of Erebus’s absence a gnawing ache in my chest. He was still unconscious in our bed, lost in the depths of whatever shadow had consumed him. I desperately wanted to remain by his side, to wait for his shadow-flecked eyes to open again, but I was a monster who didn’t deserve to be near him.

A monster who somehow had both Raelion and Mithras in my head.

The sounds of dreamers immersed in training echoed throughout the open-air hallway, shouts of triumph mixed with fluttering wingbeats and the sharpwhiskof shadows. Whether it was innate talent or their profound desire for vengeance, our dreamers were far more capable than should ordinarily have been possible given our circumstances. Determination burned through me, strengthening my steps. If they could be strong, so could I.

And Citadel Evernight needed to be reclaimed today.

I hurried to the dining room and stood alone in front of the seat I usually shared with Erebus. Its carved palms sat empty, fingers towering menacingly above my head as shadows swirled restlessly around its claws. The view was especially striking today from the dining room’s vantage point; several windows, all without glass, shared a resplendent view of our violet sky and iridescent forest. But something was lurking beyond the sky and trees, darkening the horizon.

Citadel Evernight.

I squeezed my fists, metal gauntlets clinking quietly. I needed to compose myself.

A flicker of colored light announced each Weaver’s arrival into the banquet hall, an otherworldly luminescence that pushed against my frenetic shadows. Sapphire blue for Nephthys, emerald green for Ceres, ruby red for Fenrir, and a tawny brown for Lelantos. The time Weavers commanded a different pulse: bone for Somnus, iron for Xander, and a piercing gleam, clear as diamond and biting as glass, for Theia.

As they settled into their seats, talking among themselves, Sorren and Ceveon entered, too, swiftly joining me to stand at the head of the table. Sorren’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the scene, clearly looking for Erebus. Ceveon peered around my chair, trying to look nonchalant as he, too, searched for our lord of darkness.

“Is Erebus off slaying a demon?” Ceveon asked lightly, crossing his arms. “Or maybe he’s practicing his swordsmanship?”

Sorren frowned. “It isn’t like him to shirk his duties.”

“It isn’t like him since he’s knownEsmer, you mean,” Ceveon said with a laugh. “He used to dependably shrug off any mandated activity in favor of swordplay and demon hunting. It’s why we got along so well.”

Sorren sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Which is precisely why you two never ceased to be a nuisance during our studies at Evernight. Mithras, too. Positively insufferable—”

“It’s not that,” I interrupted, dropping my voice to an urgent murmur. The Weavers were still conversing among themselves, but that diversion wouldn’t last long. “Erebus hasn’t woken up yet. He’s still in our chambers.”

Sorren and Ceveon immediately blanched.

I squeezed my fists again, trying to settle my shaking hands.

“Well, that is…,” Ceveon began.

“Odd,” Sorren supplied, appraising me head to foot. As if he could sense the voice lying in wait under my skin, eager to regain command of my flesh. “Very odd.”

“Please go to him. Both of you,” I pleaded quietly. “I can handle myself alone here.”

“I’ll remain by your side,” Ceveon said with a frown, holding himself deadly still. “Sorren?”

Sorren nodded quickly, giving me a final concerned glance before leaving the room. His long cloak brushed the floor behind him as shadows trailed his footsteps, following him like a protective wolf. A weight partially lifted from my chest. Sorren was clever and capable. He’d keep Erebus safe from me no matter what. Even if the voice broke free again.

“He’ll wake soon,” Ceveon offered, trying to be reassuring. “Just yesterday, several of our dreamers were slow to rise.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, clamping down until it hurt. Once Erebus woke up, he’d never be able to look at me the same.

He’d hate me.

At once we began our meeting. Fortunately, the Weavers were largely unperturbed by Erebus’s absence. Xander reiterated that the demon-infested Nocturne was a threat; without access to dreamers and their dreams, the Weavers couldn’t recruit more individuals to join our cause, couldn’t use those dreams to bolster and inspire humankind, and couldn’t confirm what was happening in Noctis. The Dream Realm was growing more distorted by the hour. We could feel a deep, thrumming pressure on all our domains, as though the Nocturne was pressing against us with powerful, blood-slicked hands. Wanting in.

Wantingus.

Somnus demonstrated how limited his powers had become. He tried to show us a past memory of Citadel Evernight so we could plan our approach, but visions of the past had become distorted, blurry, anddifficult to reach. Xander’s powers were similarly affected; when he tried to summon a current vantage point into Evernight, all that could be seen within the vision he summoned over the table was a dark, teeming mass. A mass that felt as if it waswatchingus. Red smoking eyes flashed briefly, reminding us of what lurked within its walls.