Dream by the Shadows (Shadow Weaver Duology Book 1)

I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t a boat.

The vessel rose up from a waterway in the middle of the nearest bridge, gleaming proudly in the twilight. It was a sleek, elegant thing, adorned with two throne-like chairs. As soon as the Shadow Bringer and I sat, the boat tilted forward, cutting soundlessly through the channel.

I fidgeted in my chair of tufted silk, wishing I had something to brace myself against. I had some experience riding horses, and I had been inside a carriage once. It wasn’t a working carriage, exactly. More like an empty shell that sat forgotten behind Norhavellis’s blacksmith. But still.

A boat was another thing entirely.

I bit my tongue against a sentence that would betray my unease and forced myself to stop glancing down—at the Nocturne, with its eerie stillness and faint, slithering shadows—and to instead look up at the towering structure that was Evernight. Closer now, its walls seemed carved from a mountain. It rose up in jagged swathes of stone, forming the base of seven massive arches, and within each arch flowed a waterfall, pouring into the ancient sea below. The tops of the arches seemed to be circling something—what, exactly, I couldn’t tell.

It was too far up in the sky to see.

The boat rocked to the left, almost sending me careening into the Bringer’s shoulder. I tried to counteract the next motion—which would surely be a dip to the right—but I guessed wrong. My hip slid awkwardly against the silk, sending me off the seat and onto the floor. Reflexively, I grabbed onto something to steady myself.

Unfortunately, that something was the Shadow Bringer’s thigh.

He stiffened at my touch, thoroughly forced from whatever musings he had been lost in.

“Easy,” he muttered. But instead of ridiculing me, or throwing me off the boat into the Nocturne, the Bringer simply offered me his hand. I took it gratefully, settling back into my seat with no small amount of embarrassment. “The Weavers enjoy making the Realm as lifelike as possible. Some of their creations translate better than others, as you have just discovered.”

Other boats could be seen in the distance, carrying their appointed dreamers in vessels similar to ours. And sure enough, they rocked and swayed just as much as ours did.

“Interesting,” I managed, gripping the edge of my seat. “I can’t say I understand the logic. They could have made it glide—or fly.”

The boat suddenly righted itself, cutting through the water like a hot knife through butter. As it picked up speed, a soft wind, touched by twilight and the scent of the Nocturne, gently lifted my hair. The only indicator of the Bringer’s influence was a haze of darkness at the ship’s underbelly.

And the Bringer hadn’t even twitched a finger.

“If you’re going to control the boat, you might as well make it pretty,” I challenged. I was impressed, but I refused to give him the satisfaction.

He arched his brow. “Like this?”

The boat tripled in size, stretching itself tall and wide as it grew to fill the waterway. A carved figurehead emerged from the front, shaped into the visage of a one-winged angel, and black sails, glistening like a blanket of stars, unfurled from its new mast. And, much like it had been saturated in ink, the boat—now a magnificent ship—became a thing of darkness.

The Shadow Bringer gave me a pointed look, clearly amused with his capabilities.

I rolled my eyes. “Now you’re just showing off. But yes, like this.”

I found myself leaning into the wind, smiling even as Evernight loomed overhead. It was a strange feeling, being whisked away to a Realm ball with the Shadow Bringer at my side. I considered what we were about to face and wondered if it would be a nightmare, like the dream before, or something else. Either way, we’d be facing both the demon and a part of the Bringer’s memory.

And this one seemed important.

Because even while the Bringer seemed at ease in his ship of darkness, there was trepidation in his eyes. Like he knew what was coming. Or, if he didn’t, his instincts knew.

I didn’t have time to ask.

A crowd filled with dreamers was gathering in front of Evernight, stepping from their various ships. I couldn’t tell who was a Weaver, who was a regular dreamer, or who was a student of Evernight. To me, they all looked the same—clothed in outrageous colors and textures and outfitted to look like kings and queens. But even in their finery, it was us they stared at. Hundreds of eyes, staring bright with envy—no, hunger —at our ship’s power and beauty.

They were staring at us, too.

“They’re staring,” I hissed. We couldn’t be seen in the last dream, but that clearly wasn’t the case in this one. “Why are they staring?”

Unbothered, the Bringer leaned back into his seat. “Because I gave them something to stare at. It’s as you demanded, remember? The ship needed to be pretty .”

“Right. Well, they look like they want to eat us.” I mimicked his posture and leaned into the silk. If he wasn’t concerned, then maybe I didn’t need to be, either. “If they attack us, I hope you’re as confident in your weapons as you are in your ship-building. It’ll be you versus a few hundred.”

“Just me? You have a habit of using the shadows, too,” he drawled, clinking the tips of his armored fingers together. “You should be perfectly capable of defending yourself. Myself versus half.”

“Taking your power by coincidence does not mean that I know how to fully use it.”

“That sounds like a personal concern.”

“Personal ? My concerns are your concerns, Bringer. We’re in this together, whether you like that or not.”

“Let’s go with the latter.”

Once our ship slid to a stop in front of Evernight, I fully expected the crowd to storm us, surround us, then climb up and over the ship’s side to attack us. But as we stepped from the ship and it sank back into the water, their eyes drifted elsewhere. As if the ship had never existed at all.

As if we had never existed at all.

“My ship wasn’t a part of the original dream, so it cannot be remembered for long,” the Bringer explained, making his way to Evernight’s main entrance. There were three passages cut into the mountainside; the left went down, the right went up, and the middle went straight. So far, none of the dreamers had approached the middle; masked gatekeepers, clothed in black with silver insignias on their chests, directed them left and right. “And we will be invisible here. Neither truly seen or fully remembered. It’s why I didn’t remember you saving me from the demon’s pit. I only knew that someone—or something—had lifted me from my darkness. And that I cared deeply for them because of it.”

I care deeply for you, his words seemed to imply.

Face burning, I noted the crowd’s excitement. They were radiant, beaming, and chattering like they were about to experience the most glorious event in all their lives. Still, I questioned whether they truly couldn’t see us. Some looked as though they were purposefully avoiding eye contact with us.

“Think of this as a frozen memory,” the Bringer continued, failing to notice the dreamers that had secretly begun to watch him. They whispered as we passed, glancing at him from the corners of their eyes. Some looked in awe or admiration, others in outright fear. “We can do whatever we wish within it.”

“His hair, what do you suppose— ”

“Perhaps it is the theme— ”

“But that look in his eyes, don’t you think— ”

And some looked at me, too. Not so much in awe or fear, but jealousy. Anger, even.

“No one has ever seen her here before— ”

“A new scholar, perhaps— ”

“He would never be— ”

“Evernight is permanently housed within the Realm, so there is never a primary dreamer,” the Bringer continued, oblivious. As we passed through the crowd, some of the bolder ones reached out to feel the edge of his cloak. “No singular Weaver in control, either.”

I swatted at a man’s too-eager hand. “Bringer—”

“Lord Erebus,” announced a gatekeeper, stepping in front of us and sweeping into a bow. He adjusted his collar as he rose, fixing me with a curious once-over. A silver mask covered most of his face, framing the top of his mustache. “You may pass, of course, but the Seven have decreed specific attire for the dreamers.”

The Shadow Bringer stared at the gatekeeper as if he had grown a second head. As if growing a second head would be more likely than him actually seeing us—and, consequently, talking to us—like we were regular dreamers and not the Shadow Bringer and his companion from five-hundred years in the future.

“I must also take your p-partner’s name,” the gatekeeper stammered, flustered by the Bringer’s silence. “She is not listed on the register—we did not know you would be bringing a guest—but I will, of course, make all suitable arrangements. How nice it is that you brought someone—”

“She is my—” the Shadow Bringer began, cutting the man off.

“It’s Esmer,” I interrupted. I tried to look as pleasant as possible, even as my name echoed in the crowd. Esmer. Esmer. Esmer. By the fourth Esmer , my name was written on a scroll that appeared from thin air. “What attire is appropriate?”

The gatekeeper straightened. “It is the Revel of Rebirth, lady. Weaver Lelantos has prepared the appropriate specifications to honor the occasion.” He pointed at the left passageway. “Evernight scholars will attire you within.”

“Thank you,” I said, trying for nonchalance. As if I knew exactly what he was talking about.

I gave the Bringer a pointed look. ‘Frozen memory’ this was definitely not . It all felt strange—wrong . Like we were intruding, wrongfully so, on a life already lived. Was it possible that the Bringer did something to skew the dream? He ran a finger along the armor at his neck, fidgeting with one of its points. I had never seen him fidget before.

The Bringer noticed me looking at him. Shadows spun slowly within his irises as he unhooked his hand from his neck.

“Have a glorious Revel, my lord,” said the gatekeeper, bowing again to the Shadow Bringer. He bowed a third time, this time to me. “As may you, Esmer.”

At once, a silver-masked girl with golden brown skin and hair braided like a crown emerged from the left passage, wearing black robes lined in silver. An Evernight scholar, I assumed, based on her intelligent, appraising eyes and the quiet, confident way she carried herself. She appeared to be my age, if not younger, and I found myself wondering what Weaver she had pledged herself to. Ceres? Theia? I bit the inside of my cheek, unsure. I had no way of knowing what her gifts were, so guessing would be useless.

“Welcome to Evernight, dreamer. My name is Aris,” she said, regarding me with polite curiosity. It was different from the curiosity of the gatekeeper—or the judgmental crowd. “Please, follow me. I can escort you personally.” She nodded to the Shadow Bringer, as if her escorting me was a personal favor. “Have a glorious Revel, Lord Erebus. Ceveon and Sorren are inside.”

The Bringer’s face twisted into cold indifference. “Of course they would be.”

And maybe he would have said more, but Aris gently touched my arm, cuing me forward. Evernight gleamed overhead, beckoning me to experience something that was only available through the pages of a storybook, but I still hesitated.

I should be excited, I told myself. Elliot would be excited.

Eden would have been, too.

I looked at the Shadow Bringer one final time, perhaps seeking his approval or reassurance, but he didn’t notice. He was too busy glaring at Evernight like it was a foe to be conquered, killed, or strangled with his bare hands.

I turned back to the passage, frustrated.

Maybe I was right to be worried after all.