It was something out of a story—a fiction.
A dream .
Now clothed in the revel’s biggest surprise—wings —dreamers and the Weavers with their acolytes floated in the clouds above the Nocturne. The coliseum had dropped, settling back into Evernight like a dog curling up in its favorite burrow, and the amber-eyed man had turned his back to me, no longer interested in my attention. Gone were our drinks, food, and tepid conversation; now came freedom, possibility, flight .
And having wings wasn’t so bad, I decided.
They worked without any conscious input, moving behind me in long, graceful beats, and if I positioned my body in just the right way, they responded instantly, moving with me. If I angled my shoulders to the left, they angled, too, twisting me sideways. If I leaned to the front, they lifted up slightly, carrying me forward. It took no time at all to become accustomed to my wings—to flying. It was as natural as breathing, as smooth as walking.
Dream logic.
Lelantos flew above us, darting between the clouds, mist, and lingering sparks of lightning, fine-tuning his finishing touches. He summoned a flat panel of clouds to rest below our feet, marking the boundaries of his creation, and twisted other clouds into spires that mimicked the shape of marble pillars. He left us open to the world, as he formed no ceiling over the pillars, but there wasn’t much to see. The panoramic view of the Nocturne was marred by his storm.
When he was satisfied with his ballroom in the sky, Lelantos floated above us all, his great, tawny wings forcing a wind to thread through our whimsical clothes and carefully placed masks. His own half-mask of bone curved over one side of his face, framing one-half of his hawkish gaze. He wore robes of fur and leather, leaving his broad chest open to the air, and his full lips were curled in enjoyment.
“Dreamers!” Lelantos shouted, silencing the crescendoing music and lingering chatter. “Welcome to the Revel of Rebirth. You were brought here for a purpose, as you always will be. Rebirth comes when a nightmare is disturbed by the dawn of freedom. Rebirth is hope, glory, wings. ”
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. The air became heavy in his silence, weighted by possibility. Even Erebus and Mithras, now in matching white wings, looked to Lelantos in anticipation. For what, I didn’t know.
And how convenient that the Shadow Bringer was still missing.
Uneasy, I glanced around, trying again to find him among the dreamers. He should be obvious enough, but everyone’s wings made it difficult to see. The wings obscured, masked, hid. Just as I swore I saw his moon-white hair or armor of liquid night, a wing obstructed my view, hiding whatever I thought I saw.
“To you, I am the Air Weaver—the king of the sky, ruler of the winds, and harbinger of change,” Lelantos continued. “But tonight, I am the master of this Revel. And a glorious Revel it shall be. Now, the storms will cease, the rain shall recede, and the dawn of freedom will be upon us.”
Lelantos spread his hands wide, and for a moment, I could have sworn that his pale eyes met mine. But just as the moment came, it passed, and with a final flourish of his wings, the skies listened. The storm quieted to a purr. The clouds dissolved. The rain, mist and lightning ceased. And millions of stars, as gloriously bright as the heavens could be, slid into place around us.
The dreamers had been silent in respect of Lelantos; now, they were silent for a different reason altogether. It was as the Air Weaver said—this was hope. Possibility. Freedom.
Rebirth.
Wind, fresh with the scent of the Nocturne, swept in among the dreamers. Salt, moss, and violets. As the wind swept in, so did the music, commanded by some unseen source.
And like dolls on invisible threads, we began to dance.
The steps were intricate and grand, but I didn’t need to know them. As long as I relaxed my body, it moved without my input, falling into the natural ebb and flow of the dance. My wings spun me in place or guided me to a new partner; my hips twisted and my arms dipped of their own accord.
Some partners were talkative and genuine, complimenting my dress or sharing in the latest Realm gossip. Others were like the amber-eyed man. Enchanting at the outset and interested in learning more about who I was. My past, my status, my hopes, my dreams. But a few steps later, their darker nature would begin to leak through. Their eyes would gleam red, their grip would tighten, and their mouths would wet.
My current partner was like this. He was an older man with a greying beard and a warm, booming voice. I had thought him kind, at first. Charming. But he had since lost that purity. Now as he looked at me, all I saw was a terrible, gnawing violence. It smoldered in his blue eyes, puffed out from his nostrils like smoke.
I wanted out, out, out —
Suddenly, my wings faltered, as if forgetting the next step in the dance. The man and I stumbled, falling into the path of other dancers. I glanced around, desperate to catch the eye of another partner. Even Mithras would be preferable to this monster.
“Get away from me,” I hissed.
The man smiled, as if my struggle entertained him. “This isn’t how you treat a nobleman.”
Then the man—monster —caught my wrist, trying to pull my body back into his sweat-slicked hands. I resisted, slamming an elbow into his chest, but his grip was like iron. I couldn’t break free. Why wasn’t anyone watching? Why did no one care ?
But then someone did.
Erebus.
His partner, a beautiful woman in a rose-colored dress, gazed up at him in adoration. But Erebus’s smile was stiff, his eyes distracted.
Searching for something, just as mine were.
As his eyes settled on mine and he dropped his partner’s hand, a jolt snapped like fire through my bones. The feeling wasn’t dissimilar to the drink I tried earlier: a flash of breathless power.
Suddenly I became all-too aware of myself. The neckline of my dress, the color on my lips, and the soft shade of grey fabric that complimented his own attire. I hadn’t realized it earlier, but now it was glaringly obvious.
Aris had matched me to him.
Alter it. Alter it like you did in the last dream, shift it before he can see—
But nothing happened. Even my blade, which had jumped through my skin before, felt tired and dull. Sluggish, as if in a deep sleep.
“Your turn is over,” Erebus told the bearded man, smiling thinly. His voice was as commanding and as rich as the Shadow Bringer’s, but he wielded it with more volume than the Bringer ever did. “Find a new partner.”
After only a moment’s hesitation, the man released me.
“It was a memorable dance, dearest lady,” he said, dropping into a bow and pressing a prickly kiss to the back of my hand before I could snatch it away. “Enjoy the rest of the Revel.”
Erebus’s silver eyes meandered along the lines of my body, much like a man might look at his lover, but there was no warmth in his gaze. His unmasked eyes were sharp and guarded as they beheld the folds of my grey dress. The way my curls fell over my shoulders. The jewelry at my throat.
“You’re wearing my favored color,” he murmured, taking my hand and pulling me to his chest. His gloved thumb brushed over the spot the man had kissed me, even as the dreamers around us stared. “Most dreamers prefer bright colors, but I would rather be surrounded by the depths. Isn’t that strange?”
“Not at all. There’s a certain comfort in the dark,” I answered honestly. “Especially in a place so filled with chaos.”
“You understand, then.” He smiled, squeezing my hand as if in reassurance, but his eyes were still cold. “Are you a lord’s daughter? A cousin of the king? It is rare to see a new face; I’m curious.”
“I’m of no importance.” I pulled back a step, conscious of the way his eyes betrayed the forced warmth in his smile. Speaking to Erebus felt strange; it was almost as if he knew I didn’t belong there. “Just a dreamer at their first Revel.”
“In one way or another, everyone is important here.”
“Especially you, it seems. The dreamers can’t stop looking at you.”
He pulled me back to him. Grazed the tips of his wings over my own. “Are you so sure? Look around—it is only you that they see.”
He was right.
The dreamers’ stares were brimming with jealousy and anger, and in their collective rage, no one so much as blinked at Erebus. A different girl might have felt fear or even triumph at that jealousy—at all that bitter, ridiculous anger fixed upon someone who stole the attention of their beloved.
I turned back to Erebus, meeting his guarded stare with a curious one. If Somnus had made it a point for the Bringer and I to be here, surely this night held something important. But what was it?
And where was the demon?
“Why did you ask to dance with me?”
He hesitated. As if even he didn’t know why he asked.
“You were due for a new partner,” he said finally, guiding me into a slow, graceful spin. My wings complied, following his lead.
“But I wasn’t. The dance was only halfway through.”
“Was it?” he asked, feigning indifference. “I thought it was nearly over.”
Maker, this man is as irritating as his future self.
I skimmed my hand along his shoulder, moving it absently toward the black hair that rested there. What had turned it white? Had the Bringer’s castle leeched all color, all soul , from his body, rendering it bitter and bloodless? Erebus shared many similarities with the Shadow Bringer, but he radiated power and life in ways that the Bringer did not. Erebus’s eyes were sharper, skin darker, and lips more precisely defined. And there was a certain sense of self-assuredness in the way that he carried himself. He was less haunted and burdened. More sure of his path and his purpose.
Our eyes met again. This time, whatever he saw in my gaze gave him pause.
He dipped his head, bringing his mouth to graze the edge of my ear. “Listen carefully, and respond as truthfully as you are able. What is happening outside of the Realm? You’re new here; you will be able to answer more clearly than the others. Has the sickness spread?”
“Sickness,” I echoed, a chill spreading over my skin. Corruption. Did he not have a word for it, yet? “Do you mean Corruption?”
Erebus’s mouth tightened. “That is an accurate way of describing it. What have you seen?”
“It’s horrible,” I whispered. The dreamers around us were switching partners, but we did not move from each other’s arms. “It found my parents and killed my sister. Eden,” I clarified, as if her name mattered to him. “She was young.” My voice caught, tangled by emotions that twisted my heart into knots. “She had her entire life ahead of her. And I—I—“
I killed her. I encouraged her to dream, and a demon found her. I caused the shadows underneath her eyes. I caused the blood on her skin and the splinters on her coffin. I ruined a life that was not mine. Then her death broke an honorable mother and father into committing the unspeakable, ripping apart the lives of countless others.
The shadows in Erebus’s eyes swirled, pooled, darkened. I first guessed the emotion to be anger or horror, but it felt different. More depthless and aching.
Sorrow , I realized.
Was he trapped here, in Evernight? Why couldn’t he just wake up and see the answers to his questions for himself?
So I asked him.
He blinked, a flash of sadness breaking through his careful guard. “It is not as simple as that.” He dipped me in perfect timing with the other dreamers, causing my feathers to brush the clouds underfoot. Once upright again, he spun me back to his chest. “I intend to fix this world,” he murmured into my hair. “There will be no more sickness or death. The dark must be destroyed.”
I realized something, then.
Erebus was indeed more certain of his path and his purpose, but his purpose wouldn’t lead him to glory or happiness. It would lead him to five-hundred years of torment at the hands of a thousand monsters and a new name.
The title of Shadow Bringer .
“Whatever you’re about to do—it doesn’t end how you wish it to.” The words stumbled out before I could stop them. “I don’t know why—or how—but your fate ends in disaster.”
Five-hundred years of darkness. Five-hundred years of rotting away in the dark.
Alone.
“Who are you?” he asked, silver eyes searching mine. “Have we met before?” His grip tightened. I wasn’t sure if he was aware of it. “You look…” he drifted off, analyzing my face. For a moment, it seemed as if he was going to rip off my mask.
Far below us, perhaps within the halls of Evernight, a bell clanged, and the skies darkened.
Erebus stopped, suspending us in the air.
“I’m afraid that’s all the time I have left,” he said, smiling sadly and releasing my hand. “I hope I will see you again one day. I intend to revisit this conversation.”
“Wait, you don’t—”
But he had already turned his back to me and dove between the clouded pillars.
Gone .
My wings beat behind me, silently churning the air. What was I supposed to do? What was my purpose here?
And just as I almost dove after Erebus, I finally felt him .
The Shadow Bringer.
I spun around.
Unsurprisingly, he was still in his black leathers, sharp boots, and taloned gauntlets. The armor gleamed wickedly in the half-light, so at odds with the soft hues of the other dreamers, and his matching mask was lined in obsidian points. But no one cared—no longer was anyone looking. The majority of the group had moved toward a new offering of food and drink.
Which left the Shadow Bringer and I alone in the deepest, starless dark.
His wings were velvet-black and glossy; they stretched behind him, complimenting his form and making him appear taller and more intimidating than he already was. It made me regret thinking that wings looked natural on the other dreamers. How they looked on the dreamers was nothing compared to how they looked on the Shadow Bringer.
His were menacing and tempting. I wanted to touch them.
Strange.
The Bringer took in my dress. I could have sworn his masked gaze lingered there—in the shape of it. In the folds, the fabric. Of my wings, soft and grey. And lastly, my eyes.
His mouth slackened. I wasn’t sure he even noticed.
“You look to be in your element,” I managed, heat rising to my temples. I had meant to tell him about Erebus, but the thought had promptly drifted away. “Your wings suit you.”
“I could say the same for yours.” It seemed like he wanted to say more, but he shut his mouth before he could. His skin betrayed him, though; a flush was definitely at his temples, too.
The music soared. We were the only two not dancing.
“Where did you go?” I finally asked.
I was looking for you. I missed having you by my side.
“I didn’t intend to leave you for so long.” He swallowed hard, as if fighting whether or not to tell me a truth or a lie. “I was catching up with old friends.” His voice broke a little at that—cracked and splintered at that single admission. “Or…watching them, really. What can a man say to his ghosts?”
So, a truth. A haunted, heartbreaking truth. But a truth nonetheless.
“Mithras was my friend, once,” the Bringer continued, looking out at the sky. “But he betrayed me. I do not remember how; I only know that he did. And I think it happened tonight at this Revel.” He ran a gauntleted hand through his hair, then brought it down to cross over his chest. “My memories come in pieces. There will be some cue—I should recognize it and know.”
“So we have some time, then?” I asked. Then I tried for something more playful—to ease the sorrow in his eyes that so clearly mirrored Erebus’s. “We could dance.”
“I am not dancing.” He added quickly, “I don’t dance.”
“Your past self would disagree. I was just dancing with him, actually.”
The Bringer tilted his head, considering. “Were you, now? You should know I only learned to dance so I could appease the Weavers who hold these cursed parties.”
“So what you’re saying is that you are indeed very capable of dancing.”
He grabbed my hands and pulled me to him.
“Only this once,” he warned. “Just to stop your pestering.”
Despite his hesitation, he guided me through the music, keeping up even as the pace frenzied. Our wings beat in unison; we twirled across the clouds, lost in the soaring violins, the complicated spins, and the beauty and wonder of it all. And before the first song ended, he was already flushed and smirking.
And so was I.
“How can you do that without flinching?” he asked, guiding us to a more secluded part of the clouds. Toward the pillars and the stars.
“Do what?”
“Touch me,” he answered, bringing his gauntleted hand to the back of my neck. ‘Like this.”
Like—oh. My left hand was perched in his shoulder, absently threading through his hair.
“My fear of you must have been overcome by your impressive dancing skills.”
“Hmm,” he murmured, bringing his hand back to my waist.
“It’s nothing, really,” I insisted. “Your hair looked soft, is all.”
The fingers around my waist tightened, metal talons digging into the bindings. Oh? So this isn’t anything either, then? It seemed to suggest. But he pushed too hard, talons pinching my side, and I flinched.
The Bringer made to pull away from me, taking his hand from my waist.
“I have nothing against your hands,” I said, making a point to squeeze the taloned hand that held my right. “But right now they are encased in knives.”
He cast a fleeting glance downwards, apparently startled by the realization that his hands were indeed encased in metal.
“They’re meant to be a type of protection—to keep dreamers isolated and from forgetting what the Realm truly is. If we forget, then we might never choose to wake. We might forget where we are, who we are, and why we are.” He added, eyes darkening, “The sensation of touch is a powerful thing. I’ve rarely allowed myself to enjoy it.”
He looked at his hands again—weighing, considering. Finally, with a slight shift in his eyes, the gloves drew back, melting into the spires that lined his forearms. His right hand, now unbound, stretched against my back; his left hand roved the curves of my fingers. The shadows in his eyes were on the brink of shattering. He clenched the fabric at my back, as if that would anchor him.
I couldn’t help but wonder again how long it had been since he’d felt the touch of another. There was solace in the comfort and warmth of human touch; to have that feeling dulled or removed entirely was unthinkable.
The Bringer’s expression changed; the cold, indifferent mask was coming back. Without thinking, I pulled his hand to my face.
“Bringer. Look at me.”
For a breath, his hand stilled on my skin. His expression was guarded, unreadable. But then his thumb brushed my jawline. Long fingers stretched across the curve of my neck, winding into my hair. The braid the dreamer had given me gave him pause, so he unbound it—whether by his power or his hands, I couldn’t tell—then snagged my lower lip with his thumb. The shadows in his eyes darkened, beckoning, then eddied away.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, skimming his thumb across my mouth. “I’ve always thought so. Did you know that?”
Maker, my skin was warm. Of course I didn’t know that.
I brought my hand over his, guiding it from my lips to my neck. With his hand moved aside, I leaned in closer, bridging the gap between us, and softly placed a kiss on his jaw, right near his ear. “I could say the same, Shadow Bringer. You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever known.”
His breath hitched as he pulled me closer, titling his face so that his mouth hovered over mine. In that suspended moment, uncertainty flickered in his eyes, as if questioning whether I truly wanted this. Needing to erase his doubts, I cradled his face in my hands, fingertips tracing the contours of his face left exposed by his mask. I could feel the tremor in his touch, but I also felt his longing—his desire to bridge the distance between us.
But instead of my mouth, his lips unexpectedly found my neck.
I gasped, arching into him and giving more access to the skin there. The skin that was absolutely and unequivocally burning. He yanked his mask off, sighing when he was able to reach more of my neck without it, then dragged his teeth down the column of my throat.
Teeth that I had once imagined would tear through my bones and devour my soul.
Time had stopped. The darkness was full—and something was terribly wrong.
“Esmer. I remember,” he said, his voice suddenly cracking in horror.
Something snapped in his eyes. Something wild, fierce, unbound. He stumbled back, wings shuttering. Hesitating. He flew to the pillars, just as Erebus had. It was all so similar—his expression. The urgency.
The look of death in his eyes.
Only this time, when he jumped, I followed.
