Page 91 of Cursed By the Dawn

Lelantos’s tomb was nearly the opposite of Somnus’s. The walls gleamed as if they were glowing from within, as though lit by moonlight. His furniture was a mixture of stone and milky, almost translucent finishes that reminded me of clouds. Being in his room felt like being on top of a windswept mountain at midnight, surrounded by clouds and the moon. Swirling patterns were faintly visible across the floor, resembling frozen mist or soft ripples of air. A gentle breeze rustled through the feathery curtains that framed his bed. Brown feathers and delicate glass ornaments adorned other parts of the room, catching the light from the candelabras that were set deep into the walls.

Lelantos woke with a quiet inhale, eyes wide and curious.

“Well, this is unexpected,” he said, flinching as he stretched. He wore a billowing brown shirt, its neckline open to his navel. His half mask of bone was elsewhere; his tanned face was bare. “We’re back to reality, then, it seems?”

Erebus nodded. “For better or for worse. Welcome back.”

Ceres’s tomb was a sanctuary of earth and life. Her walls were polished wood, her floors a carpet of moss, roots, and roses. The scents of loam and wood filled the air, grounding and soothing. Ceres woke reluctantly, emerald eyes heavy with sleep but wrinkling warmly as they landed on me. Her brown hair, adorned with what looked suspiciously like pine cones, was piled into the shape of a crown above her face.

“Esmer, Erebus,” she said softly, her voice like the rustle of leaves. She grabbed for her chest, gasping slightly. “I’m sorry. The pain feels so fresh. What has happened?”

“Rest while we gather the others,” I answered, throat tight. “We’ll talk soon.”

I steeled myself before Nephthys’s tomb. The last time I’d seen her, she’d nearly stabbed me with a dozen blades of ice. Only the back of Raelion’s claw had spared me.

Surely she’d still wish me dead.

Upon entering her chamber, the scents of jasmine, lichen, and stormy ocean air washed over us. Her walls were sapphire, polished to a mirrorlike sheen, and a large crystalline pool dominated the floor. Her bed, just beyond the pool, was shaped like a clam, boasting intricate pearl beadwork and rose-colored pillows. She was fast asleep in its center, wearing a sumptuous blue nightgown that perfectly matched her hair.

The moment we laid hands on her, her long lashes snapped open.

Nephthys glared at me, then Erebus, then back at me.

I winced, wanting very much to flee the room.

“Took you long enough,” she finally said, her voice a blend of irritation and relief. Her eyes glittered as she rose, throwing herself into my chest with such force that I nearly fell off her bed. “I thought all hope was lost, but you did it. You actually came.” She sobbed into my neck, squeezing me tight. It took me a breath to process what was happening. When I finally hugged her back, she cried even harder. “Maker, why does it still hurt? My ribs feel like they’re being pried apart.…”

Fenrir’s tomb was last.

His walls were made from rough-hewn stone, streaked with veins of fire that glowed bright red. Weapons of every kind lined the walls, from brutal axes to finely honed daggers. The air smelled of crackling embers, burnt herbs, and rich, smoky leather. His bed, sharp and angular, appeared carved from rubies, but it was filled to the brim with yards of the finest black silk. Fenrir was arranged haphazardly in the middle, covered only by one of his bunched-up silk blankets. I noted the wealth of tattoos that marked his deep brown skin; observed how they circled his chest and cascaded down his stomach.

I wasn’t sure if he was wearing any clothes.

We had to wake Fenrir with more force than we’d used on the other Weavers, shadows snapping against the stubborn resistance of his slumber. When his eyes finally opened, they burned with fury.

“When I find Raelion, I’ll tear him apart,” Fenrir snarled. He pushed himself upright, muscles taut with barely contained rage. Unlike the others, he didn’t act as if he felt any traces of lingering pain. “I’llkillhim. I’ll—” But then he broke, cracking like an overburdened vessel. “It feels like he’s still here, tearing through my body with that damned chain,” he grated out, hiding his face in his hands. “Let me kill him.Please.”

“You’ll have your chance,” Erebus promised, his tone as deadly as any blade.

Fenrir locked eyes with us, something tenuously close to camaraderie glowing within his. He took our hands between his, gripping them fiercely. “Swear it, Shadow Weavers. Swear it right now.”

We did not hesitate.

“We swear.”

We gathered in Theia’s tomb, sprawling atop the lavish pillows, blankets, and chairs from the Weavers’ various chambers. The atmosphere among us was a mixture of two beautiful contradictions: warm fellowship and ferocious rage. Erebus and I told the Weavers what little we knew, beginning with our awakening and ending on the disturbing cave-in found in the bowels of Citadel Firstlight. The Weavers brought us up to speed, too. We learned that they had been suspended above Citadel Evernight all this time, but their memories were murky. Some had experienced pain for only a few days. For others, it had felt like decades. As a last resort, they had retreated into their subconscious minds, drawing on the dregs of their power to dull their realities into something more palatable.

Erebus shook his head, eyes hard.

He knew what that felt like more than anyone—to be trapped in a nightmare, unable to escape, completely at the whims of his environment. Perhaps that was why they were so friendly to him now.

“Raelion and Mithras are maggots feeding on the corpse of thekingdom,” Xander said, cursing violently under his breath. It was the first time I’d seen him so discomposed. “They didn’t just trap us. They used us. Manipulated our power to shape the Dream Realm to their whims.”

“What of our dreamers?” I asked, dread coiling hard in my stomach. “What of Ceveon and Sorren?”

“Surely some were able to escape back to our domain,” Erebus added, knuckles white atop his knees.

The Weavers looked nauseated.