Page 61 of A Deal with the Shadow King

He’s not wearing his hood, his shorter hair all disheveled, and I can’t help but stare at the intricate web of tattoos that lick the back of his right ear. They are identical to One’s, down to the faintest swirl that disappears under his hairline.

My plan for today is simple. I’ll be a good student, stroke his ego, and get him to like me before I ask about Morrigan.

“Nightmare hunts might sound dangerous and exciting, but it’s the Dreaming that truly powers this realm and its magic. The Shadow Court couldn’t survive without it, and we all swore a sacred oath to protect it,” he says on our way down a round staircase similar to the one I found during my first trial.

“Dreams are clearly better than nightmares,” I answer with a quick smile.

He pauses and observes me for a moment. “What’s with you today?”

“Mm?”

“You’re awfully…nice. I told you before, you’re not going to sweet-talk me into switching you back.”

I consider him for a moment. Two might be in love with himself, but he’s no fool, and maybe sucking up to him isn’t the right approach. “I have questions.”

He squints, and the hard line of his mouth eases. “So do I.”

We pass through a vaguely familiar corridor before we emerge into the same mirror-covered vault where I had to strip for the Shadow King. The memories from that night turn my legs to lead, the spring in my step gone, my mood careening over a sullen edge.

Oblivious to my current state of mind, Two snaps his fingers to light the candles and shakes out his wrists before he rummages through the paint brushes on the altar.

I inch toward the shadow pool and stare at its oily surface, goosebumps riddling my arms. The dim light of the candles plays tricks with my mind, the curl of my lips so off in my reflection that it makes me look wicked—even cruel.

“Are you up for a plunge?” Two whispers in my ear.

His sudden closeness spooks me, and I spin around to face him with my hands tucked behind my back. The sudden move almost causes me to topple over and fall into the liquid shadows, but his hand shoots out to grab my upper arm, steadying me.

His mask reflects back my surprised face, and I reel at how similar to One he looks in this moment. Under the soft glow of the candles, in this mystical room full of treacherous reflections, he’s a faithful copy of the man I’ve come to obsess about.

“You okay, Old World? You look about to pass out,” Two says, finally jolting me back to reality.

“Yes. Sorry.”

He’s not One. And yet…it’s like my body can’t quite grasp the concept.

Two walks back to the altar, dips a small brush in an ink pot, and twirls it around a few times. “The sceawere connect us to our most sacred realm, but only the Shadow King and his most trusted hunters can access it without leaving their bodies at the door. You can’t bring someone along into the Dreaming. Visitors have to find their way there for themselves, or in your case, with a little help.” With a brow raised high, he holds his brush in mid air between us. “Arm out.”

I flip over my wrist to offer him better access to the underside of my lower arm. The wet tip of the brush sends a shiver to my core as Two paints a series of runes over the sensitive skin. It tickles a bit, but I study his confident strokes, recognizing “Faerie,” “tree,” and “soul” as well as a fourth one I’ve never seen before, the intricate lines no doubt incredibly difficult to reproduce. The ink glistens on my flesh, as dark and ominous as the shadow pool behind me.

I consider the mirror, cold sweat gathering at my brow at the prospect of entering it alone. “Wait. What happens if I get lost?”

Two considers me with more seriousness than I thought possible. “If you get lost…” he pats my shoulders as though we’re old friends. “Then it was nice to know you, Old World. I’ll miss yah.”

His insincere, satisfied grin is enough to convince me that he’s not worried enough to actually entertain the question, and I throw caution to the uneven winds of the sceawere. My heart whispers: if you get lost, One will find you.

I step forward, and the frosty sting of the sceawere is not as jarring as it used to be. A quiet, steady string of glass waits for me on the other side. The maze of colors and shapes is distracting, but I concentrate on the task at hand. My heart beating in my throat, I raise a tentative hand to the supple, translucent strings hanging between the glass panes.

Quickly, a path paved in glass eclipses all others. The runes on my arms fade to a light shade of gold, and a sense of peace engulfs me. I walk to the “address” Two drew on my arm without too much difficulty and find him waiting for me there.

“Welcome to the Dreaming, Old World.”

The familiarity of the misty forest scenery is oddly comforting, and I fall into step with my new mentor.

“Everyone that falls asleep outside of Faerie visits the Dreaming once in a while. Some come every night, others more sparingly. When you dream, you leave behind your body, your magic—everything but your soul. It travels here alone and feeds our kingdom in exchange for the entertainment we procure,” he explains.

Like I thought…the Fae do not pray on their own.

“And who decides what we dream about? You?”

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