Dream by the Shadows (Shadow Weaver Duology Book 1)

The moment I stepped over the threshold and into Evernight, a warm breeze licked my boots, curled around my legs, and skimmed my back. Then it cupped my face, examining me, before whisking through my hair and away to something else.

“What was that?”

Aris squeezed my elbow. “It’s Evernight. It does that to dreamers—skims their bodies and reads their minds. Like a thorough guard. Or nosy grandmother.”

“Bizarre,” I breathed, wondering what Evernight saw when it examined me. Did it know that I was from a different time? Did it even care? I glanced around, half-expecting to see eyes on the walls.

“When it first happened to me, I thought it similar to the attentions of a dog,” she said, chuckling softly. “But don’t be alarmed—it happens to all of us. Some, every time. Others, once and never again.”

“What does it do if it doesn’t like what it finds?”

Aris shrugged. “That depends. Evernight could deny you entry or throw you out. Or it might hold your secrets and deliver them straight to one of the Seven.”

I did not like the sound of that.

“So did I pass, then?”

“Possibly. But sometimes Evernight chooses to do nothing, even if it questions your origins or intent.”

I definitely did not like the sound of that.

Before I could ask more questions, the passage opened into an excessively opulent chamber. My eyes burned from the brightness of it, just as my nose burned from the smell. Jasmine, lemon, rose, pear, vanilla. Other things that I couldn’t name. Things I had never smelled before, but wanted to. Mirrors lined the walls, each with its own golden chair, and botanical arrangements in glass vases sat between each mirror, growing so long and so wild that they trailed to the floor, eventually crossing stems and growing into intricate shapes, whorls, and paths.

Aris stood by me as I stepped to the side, watching as women in an array of colorful dresses, each more gaudy and more intricate than the next, filed in. They chatted excitedly amongst themselves, taking their seats in front of the mirrors. Once seated, male and female scholars, dressed in black with the silver insignia of Evernight on their robes, began at once assessing and changing the women’s appearances. It was a kind of magic that only a dream could produce—instant changes of hair color, makeup, adornments, clothing—and I couldn’t help but stare. It was fascinating, and most scholars only needed a minute to work their magic.

One minute of concentration and anything was possible.

Hair of all colors, textures, and lengths were shaped into elegant styles without a single pin. Dresses were shortened, fabric loosened, colors lightened into ivory, rose, peach. Masks were added last. And while the dresses, makeup, and hair varied from woman to woman, every mask was the same ornate design: carved ivory, inlaid feathers, and rows of delicate beadwork lining the edges. But even masked, as the women left the chamber, they looked lighter—unburdened.

Well, most of them.

“Hideous. This color doesn’t suit me at all,” a woman at the mirror complained. She pinched her skin as she examined her eyes, lips, and cheeks. Her scowl deepened the longer she looked. “Sorren always used a shade darker—less plum, more berry.” The attending scholar brushed a hand over the woman’s face, delicate as a breeze, and the makeup changed. I had thought it looked fine before. But the woman smiled, pleased. “There. I look beautiful now, don’t I?”

The scholar nodded, bowed quickly, then promptly moved on to the next dreamer.

“He probably thinks he’s too good for this work anymore,” another woman remarked. A scholar was in the middle of fixing her hair into a loose braid atop her head. “You saw how he looked at us the last time. Pride is such a sin.”

The first woman rolled her eyes, adjusting her flowing skirts as she rose. “And a houseless is still a houseless, no matter what friends they keep. One would think Sorren understood that by now.”

“One would think,” the second woman echoed. Her attendant finished her hair, and she beamed at herself in the mirror. “Lovely.” To the first woman, she said sweetly, “Have a glorious Revel.”

The woman returned her saccharine smile. “And a glorious Revel to you, too.”

Aris gestured at a chair to my left.

“May I?” she asked, waiting for a nod before setting her hands on my head. Her fingers meandered through the strands, gently lifting them from my scalp. “Your hair is a fine color—and quite full. It needs little else.” She let the strands fall; at once they became untangled, glossy, and loosely curled. “Unless you’d prefer something more eye-catching?”

Aris gave a subtle nod toward the woman at my right.

The woman was in the middle of admiring her hair, which didn’t look that different from a large bird’s nest. Even for a Realm style, I imagined it must feel heavy and awkward, but the woman seemed pleased with herself, ignoring her attending scholar’s suggestions.

I winced. “Definitely not.”

“Good. And besides, you don’t need the distraction,” Aris agreed, turning her attention to my face. She brushed a hand over my cheeks, my nose, my eyebrows. Lightly pinched my chin. Took the edge of her nail and lightly traced the shape of a half-moon on my forehead. “I think I will accentuate your eyes, add amber flecks to catch the light, and use a darker rose for your lips. What do you think?”

I looked at myself in the mirror. Tried—and failed—to envision what she was planning. My eyes, lashes, and brows were already dark. My natural lip color was muted. Unremarkable. I didn’t know what dark rose lips would look like or what ‘amber flecks’ were and why they needed to ‘catch the light’.

“I don’t usually wear makeup,” I admitted, trying not to fidget under Aris’s scrutiny.

“Oh, this is far better than makeup. Promise. Now, let me see…”

And before I let out my next breath, my face changed.

It was as she had promised. Deep browns and simmering golds to highlight my eyes. My features darkened—became more defined and commanding—and the color on my lips made them appear fuller. Tempting, even. And at my temples, brushed artfully into my hair, were shimmering amber flecks. I had worried she would make me unrecognizable, but I still looked like myself. Polished and perhaps even beautiful, but myself.

Aris gave an approving nod. “You look lovely, Esmer. Lord Erebus will surely think so, too.”

I blushed. Actually blushed . Over a simple compliment.

Aris must think I am incredibly vain. Someone easily swayed by pretty words—just like all the other women here.

“It is not wrong to acknowledge or appreciate your beauty,” Aris remarked, as if guessing exactly what I was thinking. “In fact, I think it is a rather honorable thing to recognize beauty in yourself. No matter which form it may take.”

She was sincere. But I had already looked away from the mirror.

“I…thank you,” I managed. “Truly.”

“Of course. Now, for your attire,” Aris took a step back, assessing. “You will want to match Lord Erebus, I presume. He does enjoy his black, but this Revel requires a lighter touch.”

I bristled. “I don’t have to match him.”

She gave me a peculiar look. “You are his guest, are you not? It is tradition to honor your Realm host.”

“And I would honor him by matching him?”

I pictured the Bringer and I entering the ball together. Envisioned the hundreds of eyes as they swiveled to stare, fixating on our matching dramatic capes, devilish armor, and pointed boots. What a pair we’d make. A very obvious, not-blending-in-at-all pair.

“Yes,” she said with a smile. “But your attire would not be identical to his, if that is what you are imagining.”

“It wasn’t.” It was .

Soft grey fabric cocooned itself over my old clothes, squeezing, shaping, and stretching them into something new. As the cocoon unfurled, it revealed floating layers of dove grey fabric, delicate sleeves that fell from my shoulders, and a wide, somewhat revealing neckline. Soft slippers cushioned my feet, molded to me as if I had worn them my entire life. Lastly, a mask nestled itself to my face, curving elegantly over my nose and eyes. It was grey—not ivory, like the others—and a simple, flattering shape that matched the rest of my dress.

My breath caught as I studied myself.

I had imagined, once, what I might look like in a princess’s gown. Eden and I shared many of these daydreams as girls, describing what we’d purchase when we could finally visit a proper dress shop. What we’d wear to balls or garden strolls with wealthy lords and handsome princes. What we’d wear to our own weddings, even. In truth, we had little understanding of what people wore outside of Norhavellis. What colors were popular or what quality satin or velvet felt like. All we had were storybooks and the imagination of children. Still, even with all my daydreams, never in my life had I imagined wearing something so magnificent.

“Go on, take a twirl. I know you want to,” Aris said, grinning. “This may be my best work yet. Come on—” She guided me into a spin, making a sound of approval as my dress gently floated behind me.

“How long have you been a student here? You’re very talented.”

We completed a second spin. “I was recruited at thirteen with my twin brother.”

“Are you assigned to a Weaver, then? I’ve always been curious as to what that is like.”

At once, she dropped my hands. “I should escort you to the Revel. I’ve taken enough of your time.”

Wait, no—

“If I said something wrong, I’m sorry,” I said quickly, stiffening at the disgust and irritation in her tone. What unspoken line had I crossed? If I had already blundered this severely, I wouldn’t last five minutes at the Revel. “Erebus has told me some things about Evernight, but he tends to be a little cryptic. My question wasn’t intended to hurt you, but I apologize if it did.”

She held my stare, challenging me. Finally, she let loose a sigh. The fight in her weakened. Snuffed itself out like a dying flame. “No, I overreacted. You clearly weren’t intending harm, but I took it as such. To answer your question, I have no house. I have yet to be selected by a Weaver.”

“Why not?”

“It is…unclear. But I have yet to show significant potential in any of the Seven’s specialties.” She added, voice lowering, “If I’m not selected by eighteen, I’ll become houseless and either work to maintain Evernight until the end of my mortal days or be banished from the Realm forever. I’ll never be able to join a Weaver in their domain or do anything of any true purpose or importance.” She squeezed her hands together. “My brother and I turn eighteen at the end of this year.”

I shook my head, contemplating the reality of that fate. “And your brother? Is he facing the same future as you?”

She nodded, eyes downcast. “And if he isn’t chosen, it will devastate him. We’ve both trained years for this, but he’s the one it will hurt the most.” Aris coughed, straightening her black skirts with a flourish. “I’m sorry for rambling. I should get you to the Revel before Lord Erebus hunts you down himself.”

Before we left, I caught my reflection a final time. I almost stumbled, noting something different in my eyes.

There were shadows in my irises, swirling and vibrant.

Just like the Shadow Bringer’s.