Dark Consort by Amber R. Duell

Author:Amber R. Duell [Duell, Amber R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: PublishDrive

When I saw another fissure waiting for me in my slumber, I hesitated. They had only given me more questions so far, and I didn’t have the energy for that tonight. There were enough unanswered things in my life. Why was Kail helping me? How long until this was over? Did Rowan really have no idea where this safe house was? Real issues. Not something that I already had a general answer to. The Sandman and the Weaver survived whatever they were running from the first time, and I knew all too well how the Weaver’s binding ended.

But, as they say—whoever they are—curiosity killed the cat. So I looked anyway.

A woman with long, crimped hair stood with her back to me, surrounded by thick metal bars. The breeze blew a snow-white shift around her body as she hummed.

“A new tune, Mare?” the Weaver asked.

Mare. Wasn’t that what the Sandman called Mara? And, true enough, when the woman turned to gaze at the Weaver, it was with the same horizontal pupils as the nightmare in my bedroom. Her knobby knees were visible through the shift, though she stood tall. Nearly eight feet, I would guess, which was extreme compared to the posture I was familiar with.

“Weaver,” Mara crooned. “Come again, have you?”

“Tell us how you escaped the Ever Safe,” the Weaver demanded.

Mara wrapped her hands around the bars, iron dipped nails clinking against them. “Ask Baku. He followed.”

“Baku doesn’t speak, and the path is too dark for his dreams to reveal anything useful.”

She sneered. “And yet, he is out there while I am in here.”

“Because he doesn’t want to rip the world out from beneath our feet,” the Weaver said with an edge of impatience.

“Weak-minded,” she spat.

“Smart,” the Weaver corrected.

The breeze around Mara ceased, her clothes and hair utterly still as if she commanded it. Her eyes, on the other hand, were a tempest. “I am caged because I let you cage me.” To prove her point, she pried the bars apart and stepped through the opening. “I think, dear one, I will no longer allow it.”

The Weaver ran then, screaming for the Sandman, before the memory snapped shut. My sleep was pitch black again, and I let out an aggravated huff. Every time. Each memory stopped just before anything important happened. But maybe I’d seen what I had to. Mara as the Sandman knew her.

Mara as Mare.

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