by Sara Ella
I choke on the last lyric. This must be why my Mirror Calling didn’t vanish when I took on the Verity. Because my song is still needed, and maybe the Verity knew. But why isn’t it working? Why isn’t Kuna’s state changing? Healing?
“What’s happening?” Stormy’s face is trailed with tears. “Why isn’t your power saving him?”
I don’t have an answer for her. Because when Kuna’s eyes stare off into space, it seems surreal. Because when he stills I feel as if I’m watching the shocker ending to my favorite TV series. I can’t believe it, but there it is.
And there’s nothing I can do to change it.
Joshua crouches beside me then. He drags a dagger over his palm, and pure Ever blood drip, drip, drips onto Kuna’s open wound.
I’m longing for Kuna to gasp, to blink, to flinch—anything to indicate the Ever blood is taking effect. Ten seconds. Thirty. A minute. Then five. Nothing. We’re too late. Kuna is gone.
THREE
What Has Been Lost
When I was ten, my hamster died. I don’t even recall the stupid thing’s name. I just remember standing there, watching through the plastic pane of its cage, waiting for its furry belly to rise and fall. Rise and fall.
Rise. And. Fall.
As I stare at Kuna’s motionless middle, all I can think about is my childhood pet and how, if I had done something more—different—maybe it—he—would’ve survived. Despite the screaming and the clambering and the shattered glass reflecting the ruins of my heart, I experience a moment of unequivocal clarity. Time is nonexistent. It’s as if I’m standing behind a window, just like with my dead hamster, removed but here. I see but don’t feel. I know but can’t believe.
Kuna is really dead. And he’s not coming back.
Stormy lies crumpled beside him. She pulls her knees to her chest, and she hugs Kuna’s arm as if it’s a life preserver.
I stroke her short hair, smoothing the fringed locks between my fingers. My chest constricts, and I have to bite my lip to keep my own emotions from surfacing. We all loved Kuna, but no one will be as affected as the Guardian lying beside me, resembling a helpless toddler more than the fearless warrior she is.
Joshua places his palm on Kuna’s forehead, then sweeps his hand over Kuna’s eyelids. The big lug could be sleeping. I half expect him to sit up, slap his knee the way he does, and laugh, “Gotcha!” Stormy would be furious, and they wouldn’t speak for days. But they’d make up eventually. This horrific event would be forgotten.
This can’t be the end for him—them.
It is.
I glance at Joshua. Any second he’ll snap out of his trance, tell me what to do. I’m the Verity’s vessel for crying out loud, yet even I couldn’t bring Kuna back. It doesn’t make sense. First me, and now Joshua’s Ever blood? Why here? Why now?
Why Kuna?
“If someone is already meant to die, if it’s their time, nothing can change that. Not a touch from a Physic or a drop of Ever blood. Death is a Calling all its own.”
Ky’s words come screaming back to me. The explanation is so close, so fresh, it’s almost as if I hear him speaking aloud. This happens sometimes. When I miss him or feel particularly worried about the burden he carries. That’s when his voice calls to me—like a voice in a dream.
“Leave. Now.”
It’s what Ky said to Gage the night he tried to kidnap me at Wichgreen Village. It’s what he’d say now if he were here.
Panic wells as the memory melts away the numbness, giving way to pain and fear. We have to get out. Whoever did this didn’t go to such lengths to kill Kuna alone. We need to move. I need to find Mom and Robyn and everyone else I love.
“Joshua, help me get Stormy.” I try to unwind her arm from Kuna’s, but the attempt only causes her to wail louder.
Joshua doesn’t respond.
I touch his knee. “Joshua—”
He pounds the floor with his fist. Tears at Kuna’s extra-large shirt, ripping it open. Buttons fly. Joshua cuts his hand again, deeper.
Bile rises into my throat, burns, but I can’t look away. I’ve never seen him so—gulp—afraid.
Blood smears Kuna’s chest. The rusty scent forces me to cup my hand over my mouth and nose. When Joshua presses his bloody palm onto the wound, his arm shakes and his bicep flexes. He knows as well as I do Kuna is gone. But, just like Stormy, he can’t let go.
“Come on,” Joshua whispers through clenched teeth. “Come on.”
“Joshua.” I reach out and brush his hand with my fingertips.
He rejects my touch, flicking it away like a pest.
Now I know something’s off. It’s as if we’ve switched places. The calm that surfaces isn’t the same cloaking warmth of the Verity I’ve grown so fond of, but it’s enough to make me act. We’re running out of time and I seem to be the only one here coherent enough to see it.
I don’t have to worry about Mom. Makai would’ve made her his first priority.
The Guardians have things under control. The people are well cared for. No question.
The best thing I can do now is protect myself—protect the Verity.
Joshua hangs his head, grabs a fistful of Kuna’s newly dyed shirt. Everything in me pleads to comfort him. I can see he’s holding back the emotion threatening to break and curl over him like a tumultuous tidal wave. But Joshua doesn’t drown. He’s a survivor and he won’t give in.
Eyes rimmed in red, he faces me. “El, you have to take Stormy.” His voice is choked but firm, reiterating what I said only moments ago, as if it were his idea.
I nod, thankful he’s returned to the present. The noise surrounding us, warbled before as if we were underwater, pulses against my skull. Guardians bark orders. So much pandemonium. It’s hard to tell who’s friend and who’s foe at the core of it all.
But where are the attackers? People bleed. Cry out. Take cover. Popping and shooting sounds resound. Yet there’s no one aside from the guests and the Guardians and staff. The Maple Mine Fairies have abandoned their lantern havens, probably returned to the safety of the mines. I know Makai can become invisible, but a whole group of villains? Or maybe there’s just one. No way to tell.
Joshua rises and helps me pry Stormy from her husband. Together we bring her to a hunched stand. Pain skewers my arm. When I notice the blood seeping from the space beneath my torn sleeve, I draw in a sharp breath through my nose. I’d almost forgotten I was injured.
Joshua reaches his bloody palm toward my cut.
I shake my head. “I’m fine.” As a Mirror I contain all the Callings, so I heal quickly. But even if I’d lost my Calling, the way I should’ve when the Verity chose me, it wouldn’t matter. My connection to Joshua acts as an automatic repair. Because he gave me a Kiss of Infinity, his life replaces mine. And his Ever Calling takes it one step beyond. It’s almost as if his blood runs through my veins, healing me from the inside out.
Joshua knows all of this, yet he presses his skin to mine anyway. But the ache does not subside. We exchange a frown. Kuna was one thing, but now Joshua’s blood can’t even heal a small cut? My temples pulse against my crown. This is bad.
Stormy slumps into my side as our trio hobbles toward the dais. We climb the steps, skirt the upended table, trip over chairs with legs akimbo, and stand before the wall concealing the passageway where Mom has no doubt already escaped with my uncle-slash-new dad. The tapestry decorating the wall is torn, folding down on itself like a droopy eyelid.
Joshua taps a ten-digit code into the keypad to the tapestry’s left. He faces me as the wall grates open. “Once you’re inside punch in the code to close the wall. You know it?”
I nod. The code is changed weekly, and only a handful of castle residents are trusted with the information.
“Good.” He removes Stormy’s arms from around his shoulder, transferring her full weight to me.
I’m stronger now than I used to be, but with Stormy hanging on to me alone, I realize I’m still weak. When this day ends I’ll ha
ve to work harder. The people now count on me to protect them. My Calling and the fact I’m the Verity’s vessel aren’t enough. I need to stop relying on these things as a fail-safe and find my own strength.
With one last kiss to my temple, Joshua hurries us through the opening and stands back. I set Stormy down with as much care as I’m able and rush to the interior keypad. It consists of letters, numbers, and symbols.
Five. B. Handprint. Eight. Moon. Four. A. T . . .
When the final piece of the code is in, I train my eyes on Joshua. He stands just past the opening, watching until we’re secure. The wall revolves inward, scraping closer, closer, closer. It takes everything in me not to pull him back here with us. Just as I’m about to lose sight of him, my gaze falls to his bloody palm, the one he sliced deep in an effort to save Kuna. I turn my own hand over and trace my fingers across the unharmed space.
The stone wall closes with a finalizing thunder. I clench my fists and swallow back the tears over what has been lost. This confirms the fear I’ve had for two months.
Because Joshua cut himself.
And I didn’t feel a thing.
FOUR
Joshua
The expression on El’s face before the wall closed was all the proof I required. And now I know the truth about what transpired between us.
Something dies inside me, but I grieve the loss and move on. Even if she didn’t bestow a Kiss of Infinity, even if she can’t feel my pain the way I feel hers, it doesn’t mean she never will. This knowledge only gives me greater determination to fight for her and rid her heart of the pest known as Kyaphus. He and I may share the Void, and he may have the upper hand with a Kiss of Infinity from her to his name, but the better man will win.
And I have something he lacks, as he is gone and won’t be returning.
I peel off my tux jacket and toss it aside, then check both shirtsleeves to confirm they’re still intact. Concealing the Void on my right arm has been a breeze these winter months, but come summer I’ll have to figure out a reason for staying covered.
I command the dais and take in the scene, scanning each detail and committing it to memory. This is Guardian Training 101—think first, act second. Who would do this? Who would have motive? Who might own the gift of invisibility? An unknown relative of Makai’s?
I run the list of possible suspects through my head. My biggest suspicion would be Jonathan Gage, traitor to the Guardians and the Verity. But he is nowhere to be seen, and even if he is involved, he couldn’t have done this alone. This unseen attack is some sort of sorcery. I have never witnessed anything like it. People dropping left and right. Bleeding. Dying. Where are the weapons, the arrows, the bullets? Whoever planned this planned well. As chaotic as this seems, my gut tells me that is precisely how it is meant to appear. A sleight of hand. A trick on the eyes. This is merely a framework waiting for concrete to be poured.
As if in response to my questioning, the room shakes and shudders. Several gasps and whimpers resound, and the oak doors beyond the top of the grand staircase bang open. I reach to draw my sword and clench my fists. I’m not wearing it. Excellent, or as my adoptive father Nathaniel Archer would say in his Third Reflection accent, “Brilliant.”
Of all the days to let down my guard.
Outside, the wind howls. The people cower on either side of the room, but I stand my ground as we watch the doorway in anticipation. I narrow my eyes and crouch, picking up an oversized glass shard before rising once more. It may not be my sword, but it’ll do.
Several Guardians are absent, having evacuated who they could through the tunnels. Those who remain act as medics or consolers. When they notice me they come forward, forming a barricade at the bottom of the dais stairs before me.
A rich cackle echoes just as a figure taller than the grand doors ducks beneath their frame. When the figure straightens to full height—eight feet tall at least—I no longer question the motive of the attack.
The Troll glides forward and down the grand stairs, her Mask form commanding the room. Her scaly dress reveals too much of her leathery golden skin, and I have to force myself not to look away and gag. She’s wearing a cape made of hawk feathers that trails behind her, and I feel for whatever poor animal induced the woman’s wrath. The staff she carries is topped with shards of steel, making it double as a spear.
Not that she needs a weapon. The curling ram’s horns protruding from her head are the sole defense she needs. When I interrogated Ebony Archer two months ago, I discovered her mother, Isabeau, only appears as a Troll when she’s on the warpath. This can’t be good.
Isabeau halts ten paces from the Guardian barricade and twiddles her dragon-like fingernails against her steel-shard staff. “My, my, what an odd way to greet a coronation guest. I was only an hour late, after all.” She sneers, black eyes shifting east and west. Then she palms her chest and throws her head back, giving off another sickly sweet cackle. “Oh, that’s right.” She levels her gaze at me. “I wasn’t invited.”
I grip the glass shard tighter, and blood trickles from my hand onto the floor. I do not hiss or clench my teeth despite the relief my Ever blood fails to provide. I’m accustomed to pain. Still, I’ll need to be more careful until my Calling is functional again. It’s not about what I can endure, but about the strength I’ll need to face whatever comes next.
With a hefty breath I ask, “What is your business here, Troll?”
“My business?” Isabeau paces in a circle. Several guests recoil deeper beneath the tree-stump tables. “Why, to offer the mother of our new ruler my congratulations, of course. Where is dear Elizabeth?” She makes a show of glancing around. “The woman has acquired everything she has ever wanted, has she not? First my husband, and now his brother? I hear they are expecting a child.” She faces me again. “What. Delightful. News.”
I am not oblivious to the Troll’s story, as I heard Ebony go on about it while I was restrained behind the dais wall eleven months previous. Tiernan Archer wanted a son and left Isabeau when she could only give him a daughter. Her grudge against El’s mother runs deep. Because Elizabeth has everything Isabeau doesn’t.
I open my mouth to command the Guardians to seize her, but someone speaks before I have the opportunity.
“You are not welcome here, Troll.” Preacher steps forward, always the first to break formation. “But you’ve done us a favor.” His weapon of choice is a bow and arrows, but today he carries a battle-ax. He raises it high as if about to strike. “We’ve spent months searching for you. Now you’ve come to us”—he snorts—“you’ve made our job a crowe of a lot easier.”
I’m forced to stifle a snort at the Second Reflection slang. I suppose even with Jasyn Crowe dead, his name will live on in the form of a curse.
Isabeau approaches Preacher. He’s the shortest of the Guardians, but his gruff demeanor makes up for his deficient stature. I’m thankful for the distraction, which I know is exactly what Preacher intends it to be. It gives me ample time to form a strategy for capture. With at least a dozen Guardians missing and so many injured subjects present, the feat will be difficult but not impossible. I only need to decipher how to take Isabeau down without harming anyone else.
“What is your name?” Isabeau glares down at Preacher.
“What’s it to you?”
I spot Wade Song beneath one of the tables on the room’s west end. His wife, Lark, has transformed into her owl state, perched on his shoulder like a sentinel. Her brown and white feathers ruffle, a sign she’s prepared to take flight. Their daughter Robyn shields them both, her Bengal tiger coming out to play. She may not be eighteen yet, her Confine still in place, but even with flat teeth and no claws her bite is as ferocious as her growl.
I shift my gaze down and to the left. Wade’s other daughter, Wren, stands as one of a handful of female Guardians in my barricade. Tougher than any other woman I’ve met, Wren is not someone to be trifled with. Her griffin form towers above the Guardians on either side of her.
El’s Mirror song along with my Ever blood failed Kuna, but the Mask Calling, at least, seems to be intact.
I catch Wade’s eye, listing my head and blinking twice. Wade is a Physic, not a Guardian, but being a father of one I am certain he knows the Silent Code. His brow furrows and for an instant I wonder if perhaps he did not understand. I make the signal again and this time he nods.
As Wade begins to tap people on the shoulder, soundlessly directing them to move as far back in the room as they are able, I return my attention to Isabeau and Preacher.
“You’re nothing more than a bully dressed in Troll’s clothing.” Preacher spits on Isabeau’s bare toes. “No wonder Tiernan left you. No man in his right mind would live in a house with that stench.” He pinches his nose and leans away. “Oh, excuse me, you don’t live in a house, do you? I meant no man would live beneath a bridge with that stench.”
Sweat beads at my temples and I’m positive Preacher has gone too far. But the man does not back down, not even when Isabeau raises her hand and claws him square across his bearded chin.
Ah, so her weakness is confirmed. Talk of Tiernan gets to her. I must remember to give my regards to Preacher for his strategy when all is said and done.
“How dare you, a mere peasant, speak to me in this manner.” She brandishes her staff and aims it straight at the Guardian’s chest. “I ought to rip out your heart for such disrespect.” She takes a breath, then steps away, a sunshine smile spreading across her face. Collected once again, she addresses me. “But that is not the reason I have come.”
“Then why have you come?” My words are for her but my peripheral vision attends the people. Most have made their way to the far corners. I exhale.
“To collect payment. Haman—”
“—is no longer of this Reflection,” I finish for her. “I am well aware of his vow to you.” El filled me in, terrified Isabeau would expect her reward despite Haman’s death. “But as you and I both know, a Kiss of Accord is no longer binding if one of the parties passes on.”