Page 86 of Cursed By the Dawn

“There’s no time to explain,” he said urgently. “I need to move you to more private quarters.”

“But—”

“Now,” he insisted. “If we get caught here, you’ll be killed on the spot.”

Silas led us back down the corridor, the sound of our hurried footsteps echoing against the walls. The golden light that bathed the halls now felt harsh and menacing, as if it was watching us. Finally, Silas stopped in front of a nondescript door. He shoved it open, revealing a sprawling room filled with opulent furniture and several candelabras.

“Stay here,” Silas said, his voice strangled. “I’ll be back with fresh food and clothes.” Then he stared at Erebus, his expression deadly. “Don’t do anything rash. And no matter what, donotleave this room.”

And then he slammed the door, locking us inside.

Erebus scoffed, looking righteously offended.

“What a fool. We areabsolutelyleaving this room.” He leaned against the wall, his tall frame shrouded in the deep folds of his cloak. The candelabras caught the sharp angles of his face, casting shadows across his pale skin. “I’ve broken out of doors twice this size.”

The bravado in his tone only stoked my frustration. “So, what do you propose we do? Waltz out of here and take on the entire Light Legion by ourselves?”

Erebus pushed away from the wall, his movements slow and deliberate like a predator biding its time. His presence filled the room, shadows deepening around him as he stepped closer to me.

“No. We start with what’s missing.”

I frowned, my frustration giving way to confusion. “And what’s that?”

“The Weaver tombs. You heard Silas—and you’ve seen this place. Every inch of it screams overindulgence and excess. And yet they keep their sacred dead locked away. Sealed. Forgotten.” He crossed his arms. “I lived in this citadel when I was the king’s chosen dream interpreter. We can use that to our advantage.”

“Do you still remember where the tombs are?” I asked, my earlier frustration tempered by the gravity of his words.

Erebus inclined his head slightly. “I think I remember the way. It’s been centuries and the paths may not be the same, but it’s worth the search if we can find the other Weavers.”

“What happens when we wake them?”

My stomach twisted. The last time I’d seen the Seven, they were cursing my name.

“I don’t know,” he answered seriously. “They might not even wake. There’s a very real possibility they are already dead.” For a moment, something like sorrow flitted over his features. “I used to hate the Weavers more than I hated being imprisoned in my own castle. I wanted them to die for what they did to me.” He looked out the nearest window, reminiscing on a centuries-old memory. “But so much has changed since then.”

I joined him at the window, marveling at what I saw.

The sea.

Water stretched beyond the castle walls as far as the eye could see, glimmering faintly as the sun dipped low in the west. The landscape was a velvety blend of shadows and deep blue hues, the last remnants of daylight scarcely touching the water’s surface. In the distance, the sea appeared to merge with the sky, an unbroken line where the two vanished into something unknowable. Somethingnew.

It felt like an omen.

A good one, just for us.

“Then let’s go and save them. Or try, at least,” I said, tears biting at the corners of my eyes. This was it. This was the final push before the end. “I—”

The claws around my neck suddenly tightened, sharp and unrelenting. I hissed in distress, knees buckling. It wasn’t just physical pain; it was a reminder that Raelion was watching. That I washis. My fingers grasped at my throat out of instinct, even though I knew there was nothing I could tear free.

“Breathe,” Erebus urged, not a command but a helpless plea. He placed his hands over the marks, as if he could pull them from my skin by sheer force of will. “Breathe, Esmer.”

“It’s Raelion,” I choked out, the words scraping my throat. “He’s—”

In another breath, the pressure was gone.

I collapsed into Erebus’s arms, gasping. To be marked as Corrupt after everything I’d been through was a twisted joke. How long before I turned into one of the creatures we’d battled at the village? How long before it twisted inside me, tempting my cruelest instincts? Before I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize what stared back?

Panic rippled through me, sharp and fierce. Eden had thieved; she had eaten a rat. Our village blacksmith had bludgeoned his friend to death. Mother had shoved a blanket into Elliot’s mouth, trying to suffocate him. My father had conspired against his king. What atrocities wouldIbe capable of?