Page 68 of Cursed By the Dawn

“Never will you touch her again,” roared a furious voice.

Erebus, great wings outstretched, slammed his shadow blade through Raelion’s claw, severing it with a hard, vicious sweep. The next few moments were a blur. Erebus held me tightly with his left arm as his right furiously bade every shadow and every dreamer still conscioustofight. Raelion’s hold on the shadows slipped, and they immediately went after his numerous arms, splitting them down to bloody stumps that were half demon, half citadel. Raelion thundered, slamming his jaws open and shut. With a great shake of Raelion’s head, Mithras was sent tumbling to the ground. He landed hard on a rocky patch of earth, scrambling to stand even as another claw fell and nearly crushed him.

His eyes were red, smoking—and then they weren’t.

Raelion’s chains rattled; their hold on the Weavers was weakening. One final push and the chains would finally break, freeing the Weavers. Even our legionnaires were beginning to escape back to our castle, led by Sorren and Ceveon at Erebus’s command.

But then Mithras started to laugh.

He doubled over in great racking fits, laughing so hard that his entire body shook. Tears streamed down his face, dripping atop the rocks at his feet in bright, sunlit flecks.

“Come closer, Shadow Weavers,” Mithras howled, spreading wide his arms as he continued to laugh, gold tears streaming down his face. Agony and mirth, mingling in a twisted dance. “Come and take your revenge!”

Erebus snarled in disgust, diving toward Mithras in a cloud of rage. A warning bell was clanging deep within my soul; we should be focusing on freeing the Weavers, not blindly attacking Mithras in a fit of vengeance.

“The Weavers—we need to get to the Weavers—”

But before we could reach the shore, Mithras drew his sword, an enormous gilded blade, and engulfed us in a beam of light.

A light so bright that it burned us a path back into consciousness.

PART TWO

To Fight in the Shadow of Dawn

Athin layer of dust adorned my face.

Chalky, earthen, ancient.

I tried to wet my lips—a mistake—and winced as cough after cough sputtered out of me.Ouch.I sat up in a hurry, trying to get my bearings. My skin was cold, stiff, and dusty like that of a corpse. But my heart, frantically beating with the kind of life that was impossible in the Dream Realm, spoke a different story. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I noted my clothing.

Another impossibility.

I was wearing a dusty burgundy cloak with a tattered hem, a black traveling dress with long sleeves, and worn leather boots. The very outfit in which I’d entered the Tomb of the Devourer, the eternal resting place of the Shadow Bringer.

As if on cue, Erebus’s tomb flickered to life. There were several candelabras set deep into the crumbling walls, and they began to glow weakly with dark, magical fire. But from what I could tell, that was the only magic left in this place. Shadows, once swirling around the room in long, caressing sweeps, were now crawling across the floor, shriveled like worms. I tried to immediately close my eyes and drift back into theDream Realm, but it was as if a boulder had been placed in front of its only entrance. I couldn’t go back.

And where was Erebus?

Despair clawed its way up my throat, threatening to pour from my mouth in a hysterical scream. Not only was the Dream Realm inaccessible, but Erebus’s body wasgone. I was alone on the slab he’d once used to lull me into the Dream Realm. White dots sparked across my vision. I was nearly gasping now, trying to control my breath. The tomb was a labyrinth of dark, windowless tunnels; logically, it made sense that Erebus might be near the entrance, devising our escape.

I need to find him.

Before I could so much as plant a foot on the tomb’s ancient floor, a pair of strong arms wrapped me in an embrace.

“You’re awake,” Erebus said into my hair, crushing me to him. “Thank the Maker.”

For a blissfully foggy moment, I melted into his affection, turning so that I could see him better. He was clothed in a variation of his attire in the Dream Realm, albeit far more battle-worn and tattered. His black armor, once magnificent, was smeared with dirt and blood, and the heavy cloak around his shoulders was now more “shroud” than it was “cape.” His draconic helmet was discarded, cast aside at the foot of the slab, leaving his face and hair unmasked. It suited him. He deserved to be unmasked. My magnificent, beautiful prince of darkness.

Except he’s no longer safe to be mine.

I pushed out of his arms, feeling a stab of remorse at the hurt in his eyes.

“I tried to kill you,” I said hoarsely. He reached for me again, but I hit his hands away, vehemently shaking my head. “No.No.I let that—thatthing—into my head and into our domain. I let Raelion wrap his power around my sword and our shadows. Allowed him to make you bleed until life drained from your eyes. He said it would be permanent, Erebus. He said your death would be permanent and I still let it happen.”

“Esmer—”

“Don’t give me any pity,” I cried out, interrupting him. “I don’t deserve your grace.” Tears burned at the corners of my eyes, but I held them in. He didn’t need to see me cry—didn’t need to feel compassion for me when I didn’t deserve it. “Mithras may have forced you into a five-hundred-year prison, but it wasIwho almost killed you.” He tried to interrupt again, tried to touch my shoulders, but I barreled on, pushing myself away. “I who led humanity’s last hope into a doomed battle against Raelion. I who let the Weavers get chained to Raelion’s infernal body. I who left Ceveon, Sorren, and our dreamers to their fates. I might as well have killed them all with my own blade.”