Dream by the Shadows (Shadow Weaver Duology Book 1)

I sat up in a panic, kicking at the tangled blankets around my legs. They felt like arms, legs, fingers . Barely suppressing a scream, I stumbled to my dresser, hands trembling as I lit a candle.

I was Corrupt.

This time I had to be.

Breath lodged in my throat as I examined my fingers, too terrified to begin with my face. Delaying the inevitable was pointless; the earliest sign of Corruption was bruised skin under the eyes. Still, I searched every finger for purple skin clinging to my nails. Then my wrists, the inner crook of my elbows, and the sore skin of my neck.

Nothing, nothing, nothing .

I should be relieved, but what if my face looked like Thomas’s, feral and distraught? I would need to conceal my skin. Mask it with paste and powder.

I gripped the edge of the dresser, shuddering as I imagined being haunted by the dream demon’s sagging, grey face for the rest of my short life. No longer would I sleep and sink into the comfort of darkness. From now on, even if I took the elixir, I would dream of the demon who had found me.

I finally forced myself to meet the eyes in my reflection.

I saw dark hair winding into messy curls, arched eyebrows framing bloodshot eyes, and lips raw and red from biting them in my sleep.

And the skin under my eyes was clear.

Clear .

I crumbled, knees hitting the floorboards.

But wait—

The elixir .

I took it before I slept, but not from our personal supply. No, our supply was empty, so I had taken a vial from the village’s. I took the vial from my nightstand and examined it by the candlelight. It didn’t taste, smell, or look any different, but how else was I able to dream so vividly? I clutched my throat, the ghost of Thomas’s fingertips bruising my skin.

“You’ve damned us all ,” Thomas growled against my ear. His curved, feverish body loomed over me. “You lied to us. You made us believe. ”

“Esmer?” Elliot ventured, sitting up from his pile of blankets. I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sudden movement. “What’s wrong?”

“Just feeling a little sick to my stomach,” I offered weakly.

Elliot stared back, considering. What did he see when he looked at me? How much did my eyes reveal? “Please don’t lie to me. I know somethin’ ain’t right.”

I hesitated a second too long, unable to wield the right words to deny the question.

“That’s—” he began, squinting at the vial in my hands, “ Village-marked.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “I didn’t have a choice.”

Footsteps echoed from the stairwell, jolting us both to attention. I tossed the vial under my pillow just as Father entered to wake us, bringing with him the scent of smoke and soil. His rough skin, burnt dark from years in the sun, was wet.

Tears? Sweat? Blood?

The dancing shadows, cast by the candlelight, made it difficult to tell.

The morning was mild as we rode through the Visstill.

Sunlight spilled over the trees, casting a milky glow through the branches. It spread over roaming, coarse-haired animals slinking back into their dens, over leaves lifted into the air by an early morning wind, and over my father and mother.

Father, hair clean and combed, wore newly oiled boots, a dark wool tunic, and a crossbow strapped to his back. Mother rode beside him, holding the reins of her mare with precision and grace. She had chosen a patterned dress with ruffled sleeves that skimmed the top of her gloves. It was something I hadn’t seen her wear in years.

Mother and Father, the possible reason behind an entire village’s Corruption, dressed in their finest.

You’ve damned us all . You lied to us. You made us believe.

“Why’s your face look all scary, ‘smer?”

My hands flew to my eyes. I must have overlooked the markings of Corruption. He knew, he could see—

“What’re you doin’ now?” Elliot gave me an even more perplexed look. “Spider fall on your head?”

“Wh—what?”

“Spider? Fall? On? Your? Head?” He puffed out each word dramatically.

“No,” I said, forcing myself to roll my eyes and stretch my arms. “Just lost in thought. And you just happened to scare me.”

“Hmm. Doubtful.” When I didn’t respond, Elliot rode closer and tapped my shoulder. “Sleep on a rock? Forget to pack your favorite dress?” He frowned, chewing on his cheek. “Though I guess you only have two or three, huh? So it’s not so much to worry about, really. Unless you didn’t pack any ‘sides the old one you’re wearin’.”

“Definitely not worried about that,” I replied, aiming to sound as nonchalant as possible. “There will be plenty of fancy dress shops in Istralla to replace all my old dresses. I’ll be looking like a queen before long.”

“Sure ya will,” he said, grinning. We both knew I didn’t have money for things like pretty dresses, but it was fun to indulge in the possibility. Pretty dresses, a comfortable home by Istralla’s equally glorious sea, delicious food, bottles of elixir—it was an unreachable dream. A beautiful, unreachable dream. “It’s excitin’, huh?”

I returned his smile, doing my best to take long, even breaths, and relaxed into the rhythm of my horse. The motion lulled my senses into something mimicking peace, and I forced my wandering thoughts to settle. Surely I was just overthinking things. With the rot of Norhavellis behind, there was only hope and possibility left.

“We should prepare for our entrance into Istralla,” Father remarked suddenly, breaking the silence we had settled under. “I imagine we will be escorted to take audience with the Light Bringer.”

Elliot yelped. “The Light Bringer!”

“Well, if we can—”

“An’ then what?” Elliot broke in. “What’s Istralla like?”

Mother laughed, a soft, delighted sound. “Be at ease, Elliot. You’ll find out soon enough.”

“But Esmer an’ I don’t know a whole lot about Istralla,” Elliot trailed off, looking hopeful. “I just thought we could talk about it.”

“All right, all right. I can tell you a bit about Istralla first. But only if it will quicken your pace,” Father said, looking oddly pleased. It was as though he wanted to tell us more. “Istralla is the City of Dreams. And, as legends tell, where the Weavers and their disciples once held court.”

“Uh-huh,” Elliot confirmed. “I knew that.”

Father gave Elliot a sidelong glance. “But do you know that the Weavers are still there, locked in their tombs beneath the city?”

Elliot’s mouth gaped open. “No way. I thought they were lost.”

“Could be a rumor, for all I know. But think about it.” His eyes began to take on a strange light. “All those Weavers, defenseless underground.”

I contemplated that word: defenseless.

Dark thoughts rose again as I looked at Father, likely giving him an expression he wasn’t used to seeing from me. I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, demanding answers to unimaginable questions.

What are you hiding from us?

Why did I dream of demons after taking elixir meant for the village?

My horse yanked against the reins, jerking its head to the side. He snorted loudly, pawing at the ground until he was nearly horizontal on the path. I clutched the reins, attempting to right our path, but the gentle creature didn’t—or couldn’t—obey. My parents’ horses were in a similar state of nervousness, entirely unresponsive to their commands, tender or otherwise. Elliot’s horse, a gelding old and hard of hearing, just stared ahead in the direction we were originally traveling in.

“Quiet ,” Father hissed. “Right your horses. Come on, now.” His eyes were wide and wild, mirroring those of the creature below him.

Despite the glow of the morning sun, shadows thickened and curled from the Visstill’s depths. I strained to hear what the horses could hear, but all I could make out was the rasp of leaves against the branches that held them. Just silence and the sun beating persistently against my neck. It reminded me of my dream—of being surrounded by an unknowable enemy intent on evil.

A single rider emerged from the shadows.

His clothing was immaculate, interwoven with layers of white and gold, and his cloak, as brightly hued as his horse’s white hide, swept across his back in a brilliant drape. A gilded mask partially hid his face, leaving only his tan jaw and golden hair exposed.

“Hold,” the rider commanded, voice threading powerfully through the trees.

Father cursed. It was a wretched, defeated sound. “We hold. Please don’t hurt us.”

As the rider drew nearer, he began circling, studying each of us in turn.

“Dismount.”

We did as we were told, moving so that our shoulders pressed together. Elliot grabbed onto my cloak, the faded maroon cloth quivering underneath his fingers.

“What is the meaning of this?” Mother demanded, stepping forward to face the rider. “You dare harass an innocent family on their way to the capital?”

The man assessed her, lips failing to reveal any slip of emotion. He then swept an arm into the air, uncurling his fist so that each of the fingers on his gloved hand was upright.

“You are not being harassed.”

The forest rustled in unison around us.

“You are not innocent.”

Men and women in golden armor, masked like their leader, trickled out from the shadows as if they were waiting for us all along.

The Light Legion.

I flinched at the recognition, fear jolting down my spine.

The Light Legion were famed across the kingdom for hunting Corrupt. They would not be here without reason. They were never in Norhavellis without reason.

“You are hereby charged with high larceny against your kingdom and sovereign, unlawful escape from your crimes, and the murder of the innocent people under your care.” The man continued as his voice, now enveloped in violence, rose in strength and volume. “Surrender, Galena and Elena Havenfall, or die like the worms you are from where you stand.”