The Spinner of Dreams Read online

  Dedication

  For Michael, Jonah, Liam, Ava, and Indy. You are the broken pieces of my heart made whole, my greatest dreams come to life. I wish you each the door, the meadow, and the celebration on the other side.

  (And for the dreamer reading this now under a curse by the enchantress of fate, the fact that you were led to this story means you’re on the right path. You see, the Spinner of Dreams herself slipped magic between this book’s pages to help guide you on your journey to Dreamland. Keep the magic hidden, and the book safe, and when you’re ready, watch for the cat in the top hat and monocle waiting to show you the way. I know it’s scary, but I believe in you.

  See you on the other side.)

  Epigraph

  FATE WHISPERS TO THE DREAMER, “YOU CANNOT WITHSTAND THE STORM.”

  AND THE DREAMER WHISPERS BACK, “I AM THE STORM.”

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1: The Beginning of the End

  Chapter 2: Foolish Girl, You Know Nothing Ever Works Out for You

  Chapter 3: The White Cat

  Chapter 4: Ghosts of Curses Past

  Chapter 5: A Curiously Hidden Book

  Chapter 6: Goodbye

  Chapter 7: The White Cat Returns

  Chapter 8: A Field of Fire and Wolves

  Chapter 9: The Train of Dreams and Wings

  Chapter 10: A Mysterious New Friend

  Chapter 11: Mister Edwards’s Terrible Tale

  Chapter 12: Into the Mazelands

  Chapter 13: The Fate Spinner

  Chapter 14: The First Test

  Chapter 15: Into Path Number Four

  Chapter 16: The Terrible Hunger of Dreams

  Chapter 17: A Town of Spirits

  Chapter 18: Interlude: The Poets of Hope

  Chapter 19: You’ll Never Get Out of This Maze

  Chapter 20: The Mysterious Reynard

  Chapter 21: The Spider Takes the Fox

  Chapter 22: A Feast Fit for a Queen

  Chapter 23: Annalise Battles a Dragon

  Chapter 24: From Poison and Dreams

  Chapter 25: A Secret. A Story. A Truth.

  Chapter 26: The Memory Spell of a Dead King

  Chapter 27: The Mirror of Snow

  Chapter 28: The Monster Born from a Curse

  Chapter 29: Friend or Foe?

  Chapter 30: You Must Believe

  Chapter 31: The Demon Within

  Chapter 32: The Final Battle

  Chapter 33: The Spinner in the Mirror

  Chapter 34: Gates of Wings and Gold

  Chapter 35: Dreamland

  Chapter 36: The Spinner of Dreams

  Chapter 37: Dreams Really Do Come True

  Author’s Note

  Resources

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Books by K. A. Reynolds

  Back Ad

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Once upon a time, before the War of Fates, the Mazelands had been ruled by powerful elves, twin brothers who controlled the fates and dreams of every being in all worlds: one ruled the southern half of the Mazelands, the realm of fate; the other ruled the half to the north, the realm of dreams. They kept order, gave purpose, bestowed hardships and hope, and especially loved the humans living in the world below. For centuries, all was well. Until they died in the great war, and the fates and dreams of every new creature born died with them.

  Every day, above and below the sky, children were born without purpose, without dreams, without any destiny at all. It was as if they were alive but asleep. Parents were afraid. Citizens of the Mazelands had waited centuries for the new twins of legend born with marked hands to restore fate and dreams to all worlds.

  It had been foretold. And now that day had finally come.

  Queen Saba and King Noll ruled the realm above the earth’s sky known as the Mazelands. Though they were said to be barren, they had given birth to two children—twins. They could not have been more proud of their newborn daughters, each marked with strange black-hearted birthmarks on their palms. The girls were neither elf nor faerie, yet old magic ran in their blood. The marks on their hands had sealed their fates. They were to follow in the footsteps of the ancient rulers. They were to become enchantresses.

  The Mazelands had been waiting.

  The day after the twin daughters were born, Mogul, the wisest sage in the land and the grandest forest troll in existence, paid the new parents a visit in the castle. Mogul had skin as tough as bark, beady eyes, and a bulbous nose enormous enough to cast shade. He’d arrived in earth-colored robes draped to his hairy algae-coated feet and tied at his great waist with rope. Mogul’s beard of moss, twigs, nests, and flittering, fluttering birds ran so long it trailed him like a train. The wise troll ducked through the nursery door, hunched over the twins’ cradle, and drenched the girls in shadow from the encumbrance of his precipitous nose.

  “With the birth of your twin daughters, a new age of order, balance, love, and necessity has dawned, dearest Saba and Noll.” Mogul’s eyes crinkled as he brushed the crying babes’ cheeks. They both stopped fussing immediately and cooed at the troll. “Behold, the Enchantresses of Being are born.”

  “Enchantresses of . . . ?” The king, dark-skinned and handsome in white-feathered robes, bubbled over with wide-eyed joy. “Truly? These are the enchantresses—from the old stories?”

  “Indeed they are,” replied Mogul in his deep, resonant voice. “The daughters for which the Mazelands have been waiting these many long years: the Spinners of Fate and Dreams.”

  The giant gazed lovingly upon the twin girls. With gravity, he splayed the right hand of the babe with dark skin and black hair. Marked on her palm was a solid black heart like those on playing cards.

  Mogul declared, “This child shall be loved by all and rule the realm of dreams known to all as Dreamland. Her name shall be Reverie.”

  He observed the other child with skin as pale as her hair, crying once more. Marked on this child’s left palm was a crumbling black heart.

  “This child shall be loathed by those who love her sister. She shall be known as Kismet and rule the realm of fate, including the abandoned labyrinth.”

  The parents gasped at the marks, unbelieving. Saba twisted her large silver heart-shaped locket. She wished to protest—to cry out and fight this declaration—but held her tongue. Nobody, not even the queen, disagreed with Mogul. Noll tapped the silver dagger at his side four times, as he did when anxious thoughts came, yet he remained silent.

  “From this moment on,” Mogul continued, “the lives of all living beings shall bend to their will. The sisters shall work in direct opposition to each other, and though they may try, they shall never be friends.” He stroked his beard and regarded Saba and Noll. “The old magic of the twin elven kings runs through your daughters’ veins. And like them, Kismet and Reverie will not be able to enter a mortal’s home, forcibly take a mortal’s life, or trick them into the Mazelands or Dreamland against their will. It is important you hold them to this. For if either Spinner ever tries, she will instantly crumble to dust. This is the law, and so ever shall it be.”

  Their parents hated that one of their precious girls, who they loved with their entirety, should be loathed. It pained them to hear that their twin daughters would never be close. But they accepted the terms and rejoiced nonetheless in their daughters’ exalted births.

  Perhaps, Noll and Saba hoped, time might change Kismet’s fate.

  The wise representative of the Mazelands slapped his massive hand on the king’s back and spoke with the timbre of middle earth tearing in two. “They may not both be
loved by their people, but they will have you to watch over them.” A shadow passed over the forest troll’s granite-gray eyes, darkening them to the shade of wet stone. “Having the love of one’s people isn’t everything, old friends. Often it’s the hard necessities that make us who we are and give us the tools we need to find our way to our greatest dreams. Your darling Kismet can give that gift to all. And, if her heart remains true, perhaps, one day, your Kismet can give that gift to itself.”

  After Mogul dragged his heft and his scent of damp earth from their bedchamber, the king and queen cuddled their daughters dearly. They whispered words of love to each, not knowing that over the next eleven years, Kismet, currently holding her father’s finger and smiling up at him, would grow into a jealous and cruelhearted child. One who would hurt her sister when no one was looking. One who would lie, cheat, and manipulate to get her own way. One who would lock herself in the tallest tower of her ruby palace in fits of rage, unable to understand why her people detested her yet pledged their lives to her sister. And why her parents and Mogul did nothing to change her fate.

  King Noll and Queen Saba did not know their darling Kismet would become a monster. Yet, even if they had, they would have been powerless to stop her.

  Chapter 1

  The Beginning of the End

  The day Annalise Meriwether was born, charred black hearts rained down from the sky. The crisp, crumbly things descended through a crack in the heavens like burnt leaves from a dying world. They blew west on the tail of foul winds, blotting out the sun. Neighbors watched the dark storm propel to the Meriwethers’ front door as the babe released her first cry. Strange wolves howled. The land blackened and died. A legion of white crows gathered on the Meriwethers’ roof and stayed. Frightened townsfolk bolted locks and shut windows—but that would not be enough to deliver them from their ill fate.

  A plague of darkness and ruin descended, and everyone knew who to blame.

  “What’s wrong with her?” the girl’s parents asked the doctor. Their gazes fixed on their baby’s left hand—twice the size of her right. When the grim doctor splayed the child’s clenched fist to reveal a birthmark resembling a shattered black heart—the mark of the Fate Spinner herself—a wisp of black smoke rose from its center and danced away like a thing with wings.

  The doctor scowled at the infant and answered, “Everything.”

  From that day forward, the folks of Carriwitchet blamed their bad fortune on the marked girl. Every storm, drought, sickness, and death, natural or otherwise, was considered Annalise’s fault. The townsfolk faulted her for breaking their sky and stealing their sunlight, which never did return to their town. They loathed her for their dead crops, increasing poverty, and unsellable lands—even for her odd, blackberry-colored hair and plum eyes (“the color of dark magic, they are!”). They were certain that the girl cursed by the Fate Spinner had doomed them all. And no matter how kind the girl was, or how much she loved or tried or gave, the world spat Annalise Meriwether out.

  At least it did—until the Fate Spinner, watching Annalise from above, made a terrible mistake.

  Chapter 2

  Foolish Girl, You Know Nothing Ever Works Out for You

  The big day had finally arrived.

  Annalise sat at the desk in her bedroom at the peak of her small crooked house—shaped like a scrunched witch’s hat—trying hard not to panic. Given that the sun had not shone over her town of Carriwitchet since her birth, Annalise brushed her long blackberry hair by candlelight in comforting rounds of four. She gazed at the dark morning sky out her diamond-shaped window, past the bars of the giant iron cage surrounding her home (built by her dad to keep the vicious townsfolk and night wolves at bay). And, beyond the fence circling her mom’s garden of deadly nightshades, Annalise watched the petrified forest, more anxious than ever.

  After last night, how could she be anything else?

  Brush-brush-brush-brush.

  One-two-three-four.

  Countless white crows blinked at her from the craggy trees, as they had since her birthday, eleven years past. Night wolves howled from the vast dead field past the garden, hunting anything that moved. Annalise brushed her hair harder and counted louder inside her head, trying to drown her worry. Her insides flipped and flopped anyway. Her head still whirred like a worry-thought-making machine. Annalise clenched her big fist tighter around her hairbrush, trying to ignore the pain slicing into her marked palm.

  What horrible thing might happen today if her dark mark decided to act up?

  Who would she hurt next?

  Stomach sour, the sharp pain in her hand getting worse, Annalise set down her hairbrush. She straightened her severely cut bangs, parted a section of hair above her right ear, and placed a braid near the crown of her head. As always, she tied four black silk ribbons at the top of her braid—one for each of her deceased grandparents, dead because of her curse. Finally, while inhaling four cavernous breaths, Annalise cleared the worry-thought cobwebs from her mind and focused on the unbelievable, impossible possibility of today:

  In a few hours, one of her most desperate dreams might come true.

  For years, Annalise had asked her parents for a cat. Yet despite her mom working at an animal shelter, her answer was always the same: “You know your dad has fur allergies. He gets all sneezy and snotty—and just so wet. As it is, I need to change all my clothes after work before I can even walk through the door.” Her mom, a tiny, stylish woman with wild, sometimes green, other times blue, but right now brown chin-length hair, would shake her head with a sad sigh. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. A cat just isn’t in the cards.”

  Her father, the goofball that he was, would raise his dark eyebrows and chime in after her with something like, “How about a snake or a turtle—or an iguana?”

  But snakes, turtles, and iguanas, as nice as they were, didn’t purr or meow or have whiskers and fluffy little dagger-like feet, and the thought of cuddling them didn’t feel quite the same. So always, Annalise would smile sadly and reply, “No, thank you.” The discussion over, she’d slink away, cursing her left hand as it flared with pain, thinking what a cruel mistress the Fate Spinner could be.

  But yesterday, as if by some divine miracle, a hypoallergenic Siberian cat—one that wouldn’t make her dad puff up into a six-foot-four stuffed pastry that sneezed gooey filling—arrived at her mom’s shelter. She’d come home so excited with the good news, the three of them danced around the kitchen laughing with joy. Overwhelmed with happiness that one of her dreams might be realized, Annalise had forgotten to contain her big hand, which proved a horrible mistake.

  Because sometimes, when she got too excited, panicked, or afraid—and sometimes for no reason at all—if her cursed hand wasn’t clenched into a fist and hidden in the dark—and occasionally even when it was—the shattered black heart on her palm would smolder. And then it would burn.

  Like last night. Sparks and fiery ash burst from the black mark and blew into the air as they’d danced. The curtains caught fire. The cheerful happiness stopped. Annalise’s spiral of panic had begun. Despite her mom and dad shouting, “It’s okay! It isn’t your fault!” with forced smiles while battling the rising flames.

  Annalise had run and hid in her bedroom anyway, pinching her big, cursed hand for doing this to her again. Upstairs, she’d crouched in the corner, squeezed in the grips of a full-blown panic attack. Heart pounding like a million hooves on the plain of her chest, her throat closed. Her soul writhed. The air in her lungs turned to stone as she gasped for a breath—any breath—and her mind buzzed with ever-darkening thoughts. And all Annalise could do was stroke her hair and count things to four until she could breathe again. And when she’d caught her breath, she hugged her shaking legs to her chest and cried. With each four she counted, she wished that she was uncursed and had a normal left hand. Wished that the Fate Spinner had left her and her family alone.

  Later, when her mom and dad came upstairs to say good night, again they’d told Annalise no
t to worry, that everything was fine. “We love you,” they’d said. “And don’t worry. Come morning, your new cat will love you, too.”

  Annalise had nodded, wanting to please them because they were so good. But what if her hand did something bad to the cat? What would they think of her then? Would they loathe her like the rest of the town?

  Would they wish to get rid of her, too?

  Now the day of the dream cat had arrived. Annalise should’ve been excited, thrilled even, yet a terrible dread soaked her through and whispered in the hollows of her mind: This dream will be snatched away like each of your dreams before.

  “Annalise,” her mom called. “Breakfast!”

  One-two-three-four.

  Balancing on noodley legs, Annalise changed out of her black fox pajamas with the hole in the knee and put on her nicest outfit. Her mom had scrimped and saved for this outfit at every chance she could: leggings inscribed with famously tragic poetry—in dark plum, to match her eyes; a knee-length black skirt; a button-down black top with a white collar that stood tall at her neck; fake leather black boots worn to maximum comfortability; and a hooded dark plum cloak. This last item was essential to Annalise’s ensemble. The cloak, which once belonged to her mom, was well worn and big enough to hide her cursed hand; Annalise rarely went anywhere without it. Last and most important, she gathered what little courage she could find and tucked it into her pocket. Then, while clenching her big fist in a knot beneath her cloak, Annalise hurried toward her fate.

  The scent of coffee and dried-apple biscuits drizzled with butter called to her from the kitchen. On her way through the dim living room, their ancient black-and-white television, the cord held to the wall by a patchwork of tape, flicked on as she passed. Her cursed mark had that effect on electronic devices, which Annalise disliked immensely, especially when it came to the TV. They only got one channel: the local Carriwitchet news, much of which revolved around her.

  “Good morning, good people of Carriwitchet,” said newsperson Penny Fabius. A squat woman with short red hair—not a nice natural red, orange, or auburn, but extreme fire-truck red—a sharp chin, and cold blue eyes. “Today the skies will be dark and broken, the weather chill and reeking of death.” The newscaster held up the familiar talisman draped around her neck and sneered at the TV screen, as if speaking directly to Annalise. “No thanks to the accursed child marked by the Fate Spinner—the devil-spawn, Annalise Meriwether, who blighted our town—say true, say evil, say curse!”