Dream by the Shadows

Book 1: The Shadow Weavers Duology

by Logan Karlie

Genres: YA Dark Fantasy; Sword & Sorcery; YA Romance

Synopsis

Beauty and the Beast meets Labyrinth in this YA romantic fantasy about a deadly dream world and the shadow-cursed girl who must venture its depths to save her family, all while she falls in love with the prince of darkness.

The Kingdom of Noctis is plagued by Corruption: a curse that spreads through dreaming. The Shadow Bringer rules from his castle in the Dream Realm, stealing souls one dreamer at a time. Only an elixir, taken every night before sleeping, can ward off the dreams and halt Corruption. But for some, the allure of the Dream Realm proves too strong. Esmer Havenfall desperately wants to escape her dreadful village. When her sister, Eden, succumbs to Corruption and their elixir-dealing parents are accused of a horrific crime, Esmer’s life unravels into a nightmare. Then she dreams of the Shadow Bringer and learns that his sinister magic might be a part of her, too. Enticed by the prospect of ending her kingdom’s curse and avenging her family, Esmer follows him deeper within the Dream Realm. But the prince of darkness has a haunted past, one that might change the fate of Esmer’s kingdom–and her heart–forever.

Lush and vividly imagined, this seductive gothic fantasy is filled with magic, secrets, and dreamy shadow-haunted romance.
 

Release date: August 12, 2025

Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers

Print pages: 400

Sample

In the Kingdom of Noctis, to dream was to die.

Dreams weren’t golden reveries, decadent celebrations, or flights with soft, outstretched wings into a sea of clouds. Dreams were death, decay, rot. A wicked haze of illusion in the hands of a devil. But I, either bravely or foolishly, was unafraid of what I couldn’t see. And it was all because of him.

The Shadow Bringer.

For years, he had been a phantom in my head. A menace under the floorboards. A ghost in the cellar. A creature who haunted others, lurking in the shadows of every dream but never daring to hurt me. The Shadow Bringer and the fantasies he ruled over had been a temptation. A promise of adventure in the darkest, loneliest of nights.

Until my sister died.

“If you follow Eden’s path, you’ll become a monster, too,” my mother warned, cradling my face in her too-cold fingers. “Remember this day and what happens when the elixir isn’t taken. To dream is to die.” Her thumbnail was chipped; I tried not to flinch as it scratched my cheek. “Eden’s soul is with the Maker. Spare no tears for the demon lying in the coffin.”

The demon.

But what did a demon look like? Feeling nauseated, I peered down at Eden’s body, trying desperately to convince myself that my sister’s soul was, in fact, somewhere else. That the thin body in my sister’s coffin wasn’t actually her. There were no flowers in her tangled dark hair. They didn’t blanket her in white, nor did they try to conceal the fading shadows under her eyes. Her coffin was a crude box of splintered wood, her burial clothes dirty and torn. There was blood in places I couldn’t help staring at—under her nails, seeping from the corners of her mouth, and lining the edges of her bare feet. Her lips were upturned in the parody of a smile, her unfeeling hands clasped in the mockery of a prayer.

Villagers from Norhavellis surrounded us, eyes bright with both curiosity and condemnation.

“Corrupt,” they damned.

“The Shadow Bringer killed her,” they hissed.

“So young. Just fifteen.”

“Poor thing.”

“What a shame.”

Mother steered my little brother and me away from the growing mob, shielding us from the worst of the comments. Her face was a pale, emotionless mask, but her hand trembled atop my shoulder. Villagers often maligned her as too rigid, even heartless. But where they saw something hollow and unfeeling, I saw strength. While her tears had dried hours ago, my father’s had not. Right by Eden’s coffin, Father sank to his knees, tears streaming into his unkempt beard.

“My girl,” he wept, clawing his fingers into the ground. He tore up pieces of grass, crushed them between his hands, and threw them senselessly into the wind. “Maker save us.”

Elliot looked up at me, lower lip quivering.

“It’s going to be okay,” I whispered, giving my brother’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “I promise.”

It’s not going to be okay. It’s never going to be okay again.

Still, he nodded solemnly, believing me.

Before Eden’s coffin was lowered into the late-spring ground, the Light Legion commenced their questioning.

“When did the shadows first appear?” a sharp-tongued legionnaire asked. His golden armor, adorned with a sweeping crimson cape, was a bright mark against a lifeless sea of gray. He wore a metal mask, as the other legionnaires did, and only his eyes and close-cropped hair could be seen. “And how long was she afflicted?”

“The shadows first appeared last week,” Mother answered simply. “From what we gather, she was afflicted for less than ten days.”

I bit my tongue. Eden had carried the marks for over a month. She had convinced us she wasn’t sleeping well and simply covered them with a bit of pressed powder. By the time the Light Legion arrived, the marks were ink black under eyes bright with malice.

“What crimes were committed?”

“She took a dress from the tailor.” Then Mother added, mouth in a tight line, “It was promptly returned, however.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes, that is all.”

Eden had stolen a dress, but she’d also destroyed our remaining elixir vials, slammed a pillow over my mouth while I was sleeping, wandered Norhavellis in the depths of the night, and been caught eating a rat from our cellar. She’d been imprisoned shortly after that, locked in the village’s makeshift holding cell with vermin blood still dribbling from her chin.

The legionnaire continued with more troublesome questions. Questions my mother and father stumbled over.

“You had enough supply, didn’t you? Why was she the only Corrupt in Norhavellis this season?”

Mother’s hands twisted in her lap. “I don’t know.”

“Was she not given the elixir?”

“She was given plenty,” answered Father this time, voice cracking with despair. “We gave her everything we had.”

“Well, then—”

“Will this affect our status as Absolvers?” Mother asked sharply.

“No,” the legionnaire said simply, much to the visible relief of my parents. “You will still be allowed to distribute elixir on behalf of the Light Bringer. It is clear you strove to uphold your sacred duty; you will not be punished for this tragedy.”

A deep rumble halted the legionnaire’s interrogation. A storm, quickly approaching, cast a dim shadow upon his golden armor. And as the rain began to fall, the sickening feeling in my stomach turned into something else. Something angry and foul.

Rain fell harder, seeping into our clothes and chilling our bones.

And Eden was swiftly buried in her box of splintered wood.

Later that night, I crawled into my bed and finally allowed myself to feel. I bit down on my sleeve, letting my anguish run fast and deep. It had been my idea—not Eden’s—to dream.

Only once, I had begged.

Eden had considered my request seriously, sipping from her mug of steaming apple cider as she glanced at the vial of amber liquid in my hands. “They check the vials every day,” she whispered. “They’ll know we didn’t take it.”

“We can pour it out the window.”

Eden shook her head, her smooth braids like snakes upon her nightgown. “The snow would stain,” she said, ever logical. Ever perfect. “And they’d hear the window opening.”

“Down the floorboards, then,” I insisted. “There’s that crack, over there—”

“If we missed, they’d smell it on the wood,” Eden interrupted. “Not to mention that’s a waste of perfectly good elixir.”

I rolled my eyes. “They have more. They always have more.”

A loud, drawn-out squeak from the stairs made us freeze. I swapped the vial of elixir for my own mug of cider, taking a hasty sip even as it burned my tongue.

Another squeak. Another footstep.

Eden stared at me in horror.

“Eden? Esmer?” called a soft, hopeful voice. “Are you still awake?”

“Elliot,” I said in a huff, rising to peer down the rickety stairs leading to our bedroom. Sure enough, there stood our five-year-old brother, holding a book and smiling sheepishly. His large brown eyes, a mirror in color to his messy curls, were luminous even in the dim candlelight. People always told me that I looked more like him than I did Eden. Our eyes were fiercer, our hair less tamed, our builds a bit taller and ganglier. Eden, on the other hand, was all smooth, silky hair and delicate features—something that boys from the village were starting to notice. “Go back downstairs.”

“I wanted to read some stories together,” he said with a shrug. “If you were still awake and all.”

“More Dream Weaver stories?”

He nodded, squeezing the book to his chest. “Uh-huh. Was thinking the one where Nephthys saves the sea dragon from a nightmare. Or when Lelantos teaches dreamers how to fly.”

“Those are lovely stories,” Eden chimed in. “You should—”

“Have Mother read them with you,” I finished, giving Eden a pointed look.

Elliot frowned. “She didn’t want to.”

“Father, then.”

“He’s busy.”

“Well, we were just about to go to sleep.” To make my point, I sat back in bed. Unfortunately, I moved a bit too erratically, and the cider sloshed over the edge of the cup, burning my hand. “Ouch,” I grumbled, pressing the affected skin to my mouth. “Elliot, just—okay, fine. Come here.”

Elliot plopped into my bed, jabbing me with cold feet and a skinny elbow as he opened the book he was carrying. It was in quite the deplorable state, pages velvet soft and spine crumbling from years of enjoyment. My bed was too small to properly fit three, but I made room for Eden, too, cocooning us all in my least scratchy blanket. Winter always found its way into our bedroom, clawing up from under the floorboards or squeezing its frosted body through the walls. I fought against the urge to shiver, wishing that I could turn the pages of the book without stiff, clumsy fingers.

“Oh, she’s my favorite,” Eden noted, peering at an illustration of a silver-haired woman dressed in a gown of silk and starlight. “Theia, Weaver of the Future,” she said reverently, pronouncing the Weaver’s name with careful respect. “She’s beautiful.”

“I suppose,” I said with a sigh, then flipped past Xander, Weaver of the Present, to a man with long ink black hair adorned with a crown of bones. “But Somnus is far more interesting.”

Eden scoffed. “What can the Weaver of the Past do? Theia would give us dreams of our futures. That’s what counts the most.”

“Like what we’ll have for dinner tomorrow,” Elliot chimed in.

Eden’s mouth quirked up in a grin. “Or who our friends will be.”

“Or our enemies,” I added.

“Who we’ll love. Who we’ll marry,” Eden suggested.

“How we’ll die,” I countered.

The thought hung heavy between us.

But only for a moment.

Elliot made an impatient sound. “Hurry up; I want to read the stories.”

Eden laughed, the sound as clear and sweet as a silver bell. We were similar in some ways, but different in the ways that counted. Where she was graceful, I stumbled. Where she was smart, I was dull. Where she was kind, I was selfish. Her goodness came naturally, and it couldn’t be replicated. Not even by her thirteen-year-old sister.

Eden flipped to the next page. A warrior, glistening with the flames of a thousand suns at his back, stared up at us, defiant and taunting. Fenrir, the Fire Weaver. The next page held Nephthys, the Water Weaver, her dark blue hair crowned with shining jewels.

“I wonder what it’d be like to dream,” Elliot said. “Do you think I’d be able to visit Nephthys’s castle by the sea? I want to see what a purple sky looks like, too. I bet it’d be strange, and one of the Weavers could teach us, like they used to, and—”

“Is that all you want? To see castles and purple skies?” I teased, pulling the blanket tighter around our shoulders. “Think of what you could do. Or be. If we dreamed, we could learn to fly across those purple skies. Travel across the Dream Realm in a blink if we wanted.”

“That would be amazing.”

“It would be, wouldn’t it?” Eden said, thumbing her jaw. “I sometimes wonder what it would be like, too.”

I flipped the page this time, past Ceres, the Earth Weaver, in her emerald forest and Lelantos, the Air Weaver, on his mountain, to a masked man wrapped in gold, sunlight spinning from his hands. His radiance filled his page with bright, shimmering waves, washing over those who worshipped at his feet. Mithras Atrelle Tethebrum, our sovereign and holy Light Bringer.

“The Light Bringer!” Elliot exclaimed with a toothy grin.

The next page depicted the seven Dream Weavers in battle against the Shadow Bringer. It was the final confrontation before the Weavers disappeared and Corruption slid over Noctis like a black cloud, leaving the Light Bringer to carry on alone. The artwork exploded violently with shadows, blood, and demonic beings devouring dreamers’ souls. The Shadow Bringer sat hunched in the middle of the page, teeth sharp and dripping with gore as he tore apart a Weaver with his claws. Black horns sprang from his skull-like face, framing hideous red eyes.

“I don’t like this page very much,” Elliot grumbled, squirming deeper into the blanket. “What about the one where—”

A noise sounded from below, much like the heavy creak of boots on a wooden floor.

Father.

“It’s bedtime, Elliot,” Father called. “Leave your sisters be.”

Elliot sighed dramatically, plodding downstairs to the room he shared with our parents. As the door shut behind him, wind snapped against our sole window, rattling the glass. An omen, maybe. But if it was, we missed it.

Or decided to forget.

“We should go to bed,” Eden whispered, reaching for her vial of elixir. “I’m cold.”

I bit the inside of my mouth. It was now or maybe never.

“What if we didn’t take it—just once?” I made a face at the vial in her hands. “We’ll say a prayer to the Weavers. They could hear and protect us.” I barreled on, knowing if I stopped talking, I’d lose the courage to continue. “If it’s scary, we won’t do it again. We can take the elixir like we always do.”

Eden bit her thumb, considering. “Is it truly worth it, though? We could see a demon.”

“Then we will do what we’ve been taught. Run and force ourselves awake before the demon can touch us.” I threw off my blanket, a wicked plan forming. “Let’s pour the elixir in our cider. The color will hide it perfectly.”

“Only once?”

“Only once,” I agreed. “Think of what we’ll see in the Dream Realm, what we’ll do.”

But once became a word forgotten.

At first the dreams were beautiful, bursting with adventure and wonder. The visions made us feel alive, as if we had a purpose beyond our desolate village in the middle of the woods. They gave us nights to cherish after dull, chore-filled days and our mother’s tedious rules. But one day, for Eden, the dreams weren’t any of those things. They weren’t beautiful, lovely, or safe. They became what we were warned against: dark and festering with the Shadow Bringer’s demons.

Her Corruption came quickly.

Too quickly to prevent.

Alone after her funeral, I stifled a scream into my pillow, sobs racking my chest. I was selfish. Horrible. Unforgivable. The Shadow Bringer hadn’t been real—not truly—until he was.

And by then it was too late.

Five Years Later

As a child, I thought Norhavellis felt like home.

The moment our daily chores were finished, Eden and I would run, flush faced and laughing, through the shadows of the Visstill Forest and into the friendly and predictably safe arms of our village. We’d lay a blanket in the grass under some tree or another, fresh bread with a dollop of honey in hand, and simply watch for travelers on their way to Noctis’s seaside capital of Istralla.

We didn’t often have visitors, but those we encountered were always interesting. Merchants with their goods—we liked to imagine they carried treasure fit for the Light Bringer himself—tucked away in heavy trunks; legionnaires with their profiles—we liked to imagine they were handsome—covered by their golden masks; or even the rare traveling troupe on its way to perform at Istralla’s theater. It was a feast for our imaginations. We’d lie back on our elbows and daydream, wondering what it would be like to travel the kingdom ourselves. Sometimes this mental exercise proved difficult; what opportunities, if any, truly awaited us? But we fantasized, anyway.

In my memories, Norhavellis is sweet smelling and gentle, not harsh and cloying like a dead thing left to molder in the rain. But that memory faded, and I was left with only the weight of the present.

I pulled my cloak tighter, the dark red velvet heavy on my shoulders despite its tattered edges. The hood hung low, casting shadows on my face and shielding me from the chill in the air, but it couldn’t protect me from the foul stench that enveloped Norhavellis. It was more than just a scent; it was decay of the mind, body, and spirit. My village was filled with filthy buildings, broken people, and the threat of Corruption that loomed like a storm, ready to burst and drown us all.

A grim transformation, indeed.

I knocked on the chipped door of a small cottage, careful to make as little sound as possible.

“I don’t think she’s home,” Elliot whispered, shifting on his feet and narrowly avoiding the thin string of bells staked low to the ground. It was early evening, so his boyish face was more shadowed than usual. “Maybe we should just come back tomorrow morning. It’s getting dark.”

I thumbed the vials of elixir in my pocket, reassuring myself that they were still there. Elliot and I wore full-length cloaks that partially hid our hair and faces. If we were recognized while distributing the final dregs of elixir on behalf of our Absolver parents, we’d be swarmed by demon-fearing Norhavellians. Typically, the villagers would accept the elixir that we held, bartering their animals, their crop, and their services for extra vials. But lately, they demanded more. Questioned more.

Because Corruption was spreading in droves, regardless of how much elixir was consumed.

“Let’s give her a minute,” I whispered back. “Maybe she’s just—”

Behind the door came the sound of sliding chains and a rattling lock. The door creaked back on its hinges, revealing a blond woman, eyes sunken and thin hair brittle, and her two young children. She was Margaret, the blacksmith’s wife, but it took a moment for the recognition to set in. Never before had she looked so miserable or disheveled.

“You came,” Margaret squeaked, aimlessly caressing both her skirt and her children’s misshapen hair. The twins were young—perhaps only three or four. “I didn’t know if you’d come. The village can be a dangerous place at night.”

I swallowed uncomfortably. Of course it was. Locks on doors, warning bells threaded, dogs on guard, and hollow-faced men and women sitting on their dark porches with crossbows in hand. Anything to keep their last elixir vials from being stolen.

“What do you think—aren’t the twins getting so big?” Margaret asked, peering down at her children. “Say hello, Matthew. Say hello, Isabelle.” Matthew’s face was a blank slate as he looked up at his mother; his lips mouthed hello, but the sound didn’t come. Isabelle simply buried her face within her mother’s skirts, whimpering softly. Elliot mouthed hello, too, and gave a little wave, but the children didn’t react. Margaret straightened, smiling nervously. “We were just on our way to the holding cells.”

“In that case, we won’t keep you. Here,” I said, offering her one of the slim vials in my pocket. “It will be enough for one week, even when shared. Just a small mouthful is fine.”

One week. Just enough to last them until the Light Legion came with their seasonal redistribution, which would be any day now. I smiled politely before turning around, intending to step off her porch as quickly as possible and return home for dinner. Elliot and I had been rushing around Norhavellis all afternoon, and our stomachs were pathetically empty.

But the woman grabbed my sleeve, holding me back.

“One more vial,” Margaret pleaded. “I know you have more. Just one more.”

“You have enough elixir to last until the restock,” I said slowly. “The rest of the vials belong to other Norhavellian children.” She knew this. Everyone knew this. “There will be more in just a few days’ time.”

“Maybe even earlier,” Elliot added brightly. “The Light Legion will be here any day now.”

“The extra vial isn’t for us,” Margaret snapped. “It’s for my husband.”

Isaac, her blacksmith husband, had been discovered to be Corrupt last month after bludgeoning his friend to death with an iron rod. The poor man’s face had been unrecognizable afterward.

“Wasn’t Isaac found to be…” I let the statement trail off, uneasy with where the conversation was headed.

“Corrupt, yes,” Margaret answered coolly, letting go of my sleeve and waving her hand as if the implication were a pesky insect at her throat. “I know what he’s done. What he looks like. But what if more elixir can reverse his condition? Maybe it can stop his dreams as it does ours.”

“We don’t give elixir to the Corrupt,” I said flatly. What she was asking was impossible. Corruption had no cure; it would be a waste of a vial.

“If you won’t grant me an extra vial, I will give Isaac ours,” she threatened. Her children shuffled their feet, peering up at us fearfully. “He needs it more than we do.”

Her demand was clearly a threat, but one we couldn’t appease without drawing attention to ourselves. Not to mention that her children would be at risk for Corruption if she gave away their vial.

“You may give him one-half of a standard vial,” I finally said, hoping that I sounded authoritative. “No more. And you must keep the first vial for you and your children.” I wiped my hands on the sides of my skirt, irritated at their growing clamminess. Margaret tapped her foot, eager for me to hand her the extra vial, but I made no move to give it to her. “We’ll also accompany you to the holding cells to ensure you’re following protocol.”

Margaret agreed to this, and she hastily bundled her children in soft woolen sweaters to ward against the late-summer air before we all headed out to see Isaac.

The holding cells were in a quiet part of the village, near the very woods that wrapped around our property. The cells used to be in the center of town, but as Corruption worsened, it was quickly discovered that no one wanted to hear their demon-infested loved ones screaming for release. The new structure was built on the outskirts, surrounded by thick, gnarled trees and stationed with an ever-rotating patrol of guards. And then, every season, the Light Legion would come to purify the Corrupt and bury them in simple graves.

I put what I hoped was a reassuring hand on Elliot’s shoulder, knowing that the contents of the holding cells were never pleasant. A few years ago, there had been only one cell. Now there were at least two dozen.

And tonight they were full.

We followed the guards—a small handful of men—down a dimly lit hallway. The Corrupt either slept in unnatural angles, stood stock-still with violence in their eyes, or appeared eerily calm both in character and countenance. All had shadows under their lashes; all seemed distinctly other. Isaac was in the last cell, and when we reached him, the guards left us alone.

Isaac was chained to the wall, but he had enough leeway to slowly slide to the bars. Margaret greeted him warmly, brushing the ratty, sweat-slicked hair from his forehead. As though he was still her husband and not a demon. A cloudy substance dripped from Isaac’s eyes, mingling with a thick, fleshy fixative that covered the upper half of his face, making the skin appear fractured in several places.

“I try to conceal the shadows so that he doesn’t scare the children,” Margaret whispered, pulling a brush and a small tincture of flesh-colored putty from her skirt pockets. Concealment, because elixir would be futile. Corruption had no cure, just as the shadows on his face couldn’t be scrubbed off. “Would you mind keeping the twins company until I’m done?”

Elliot immediately sat with the children, entertaining them with a tale of Lelantos, the Air Weaver. It was a delightful story, but it twisted an unseen knife in some soft, vulnerable part of me. Before Eden’s death five years ago, I had enjoyed reading about the Weavers. It had seemed possible that they would one day return from their centuries-long absence, making everything right and true. That they’d save the world from Corruption and rid us of the Shadow Bringer and his demons.

It was difficult not to flinch as Elliot finished the story.

I didn’t want to hear a tale from our kingdom’s perfect past. Not when the present was dark, twisted, and haunted by the ghost of what it used to be. What it was meant to be.

“And then the mountain bursts like an egg,” Elliot continued, throwing his arms open dramatically. “Lelantos flies from the rock, reborn with wings, and saves the dreamers!” He jumped to his feet and pretended to fly around the cramped hall. Once he’d made a few passes, he knelt in front of the twins, an intense expression on his face. “The end.”

The children broke into giggles, forcing a dry, rattling laugh to crawl out of Isaac’s throat. I smiled politely, struggling to focus on the twins’ joy and not the shadows marking lines into their father’s skin. And who was laughing? Isaac, or the demon within him? Margaret worked quickly, blending the concealment onto his face until the shadows were hidden, but the effort felt futile. The concealment would last just long enough to uphold part of his dignity before the Light Legion purified his soul, and that was perhaps the cruelest part of all. Although Isaac’s soul would be saved by the Light Bringer, his Corrupt body, like Eden’s, would still need to be sacrificed. He was destined to die.

Because once a demon claimed its victim, nothing could be done. It would feed on its host, slowly and delightedly, one dream after another, until the afflicted mind rotted and its body bore signs of decay. It might take months if one was strong enough to resist, but few ever did. Most fell into Corruption within a week.

Once Margaret was done, she motioned her children over to their father. They shared a few quick words and an embrace through the bars—one that made my stomach churn with discomfort—and Isaac was handed the half vial of elixir. He rolled it in his rough fingers, sniffed the substance, and recoiled violently.

He won’t drink it. Waste of a vial.

Isaac leveled his gaze at me. As if the demon inside him heard.

Afterward, when we were safely outside the holding cells, Margaret gave Elliot’s and my hands a meaningful squeeze. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. She shot a nervous glance behind us, adding conspiratorially, “I have hope for Isaac’s soul. I have hope for my children’s, too.”

Night descended at a crawl.

Dinner was fragrant and hearty: rosemary, butter, and goat cheese melting around a stew of rabbit and potatoes. It was a sickening contrast to the bile churning in my stomach. There were simply too many villagers with the beginnings of shadows leaking into their cheeks and fingernails.

“How was your visit to the village?” Father asked, reaching into his bowl to pluck out a stray rabbit bone.

“It went as expected,” I responded politely, ever striving to be the dutiful daughter. Elliot frowned, chewing the inside of his cheek. It had gone as expected, except for Isaac. Waste of a vial. “We distributed the rest of the vials. Will there be more to give tomorrow?”

Father snorted at this. “Yes, but the supply is nearly empty. Scarcely a week’s worth, if that.” He gnawed on the bone absentmindedly, snapping it in two and using the pointy end to clean his teeth. His dark brown beard nearly covered his mouth, so the steady flash of teeth, bone, and rabbit sinew was more unsettling than it should have been. “Our own supply is dwindling, too. Be mindful with your rations tonight.”

I closed my eyes, momentarily losing myself. Isaac, along with the other Norhavellian Corrupt, would soon be cleansed and buried by the Light Bringer. Their souls would be saved from wandering eternally in the dark, unable to find their way back to the Maker’s light.

I clenched my hands together. Thumbed away imaginary dirt.

The Light Bringer was exalted across the kingdom for his ability to purify souls, but it only worked if the Corrupt was alive. If a Corrupt died before they were cleansed, their human soul would perish, and the demon would be free to be reborn in the dreams and skin of another.

Wind rustled through the house, forcing the old wood to creak and groan, and I couldn’t help picturing a demon leering at us through the kitchen windows. It would probably crawl in, sink its claws into my shoulders, and smile, knowing I was as monstrous and revolting as it was. Forcing Eden to dream was an unforgivable mistake. One I’d never escape.

“When will the Light Bringer come?” Elliot asked, stuffing his face with a heaping spoonful of stew. “This is very good, Mother. Thank you.”

“Shouldn’t be long. And you’re very welcome, Elliot,” Mother said, adding a pinch of salt and a handful of dried plums to the remaining mixture. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her long hair, so dark it almost looked black, was scraped back into a bun. My hair was almost identical to hers, except I preferred to wear mine loose and unbound. “Why aren’t you eating, Esmer? Have some bread.”

I took her offering wordlessly, but I didn’t have the stomach to eat it.

“We have a surprise for you both,” Mother continued, lowering herself into the chair next to mine.

Elliot and I shared an uneasy glance.. . .