Grudgingly, I got up and began a modified version of my morning routine. I couldn’t take a bath—there was no suitable place by the river—so I settled for splashing my face with some of the water from my side-pouch. It helped wash away some of my frustrations, and by the time I had pulled on a fresh set of clothes I managed to force a smile. It wouldn’t help anything to start the day depressed.
Outside, I came upon the same scene I had observed for the last few mornings. Belle and Ulig stood opposite each other, trading blows back and forth. The clanging rang through the air every time their blades clashed. They repeated the same series of motions over and over again, pausing so Belle could fall back into a defensive stance in between each strike. Lok stood beside her, commenting every time she returned to position.
“You’re swinging too wide,” she said, one hand on Belle’s arm. “Blocking is about speed and efficiency of motion. Try to get your sword into the same position with the least amount of effort. You’ll move faster.”
Belle nodded, but even from a few yards away I could see lines of weariness around her eyes. She slept even worse than I did, and the extra hours she spent training each morning sapped her energy. Despite my disapproval and my fear that her determination in regards to learning this skill would endanger her in far more danger than necessary, I couldn’t help being proud of her. My eyes followed a rivulet of sweat as it ran down from her temple and across the side of her face, and my heart fluttered. Only my wife could make sweating and swinging swords about in the middle of the wilderness look attractive.
“I think that’s enough for today,” I said, noticing the wobble in Belle’s legs. “You need to be able to walk later.”
Belle looked to Lok for an opinion, and to my relief, she nodded. “You’re making improvements. Soon, we should be able to move on to forward strikes.”
My brow furrowed. “You mean you haven’t taught her anything offensive yet?”
Lok shrugged. “What’s more important? That she knows how to stab someone, or how to prevent someone from stabbing her?”
“A fair point,” I said, trying not to picture what she was describing. Between Luciana and Mogra’s army, I already had enough unpleasant images in my head to last a lifetime. Thankfully, Belle offered me a distraction. She strode over to me and I smiled. “Once again, I find myself surprised at the depths of my attraction to you,” I murmured under my breath so only she could hear. “Your clothes are already ruined, and I suspect you only put them on a few hours ago.”
Belle returned my teasing with a half-lidded look that was all seduction. “Admit it. You’re enjoying the rugged clothes and the new muscles.”
I prodded her arm with one of my fingers. I wasn’t sure if it was any bulkier, but it was certainly stiff and likely sore as well. “It takes more than a little over a week to build muscle. And the clothes have nothing to do with it at all. The woman in them, however…” I let my voice trail off with a sigh. It was a good thing we had stolen a night together at the dwellyn’s city, because I didn’t foresee any more opportunities for privacy coming our way in the near future. “I suppose you’re proud of the fact that you look like a character from one of your horrible romance novels.”
One of Belle’s arms folded around my waist, pulling me close enough to feel her lithe body against mine. “Only a little. But don’t worry. I’m no different than I was before. When this is over, it’s back to my books and library.”
The words should have comforted me, but instead, my heart sank. I hadn’t said so aloud, but part of me feared “when this is over” wouldn’t mean a happy ending. We were two foreign civilians trapped in the middle of a magical kingdom’s war, and every day brought constant reminders we were in way over our heads. Still, the best I could do was follow Belle’s example. She was fighting hard to manage despite everything, and I admired her fiercely for it.
“Neva’s still asleep,” I said after a while, although I made no move to leave the safe circle of her arms. “We should go wake her.” The rest of the dwellyn were already packing up camp, and Brahms and Corynne looked restless at the prospect of moving. They had held up better than I would have expected of racehorses, especially since they no longer needed to carry us.
“Do you want to fetch her, or shall I?” Belle asked. “She seems to have attached herself to you.”
“She’s attached herself to Jessith,” I said with a smile. Although the two of them couldn’t speak with each other, they had formed a bond. I was only a little put out that Jessith had taken to sleeping between us instead of on top of me.
As if speaking her name had summoned her, Jessith came bolting out of the cave a split second later, tail raised high. She darted straight for us, and Belle let out a short laugh of surprise. "What in the world has gotten into that cat? She's running like she has pack of dogs on her heels."
I was not amused. Despite being a cat, Jessith wasn't easily startled. Something had frightened her, and badly. When she reached us, she launched herself at my feet with wide, terrified eyes. "Ellie, come quick," she yowled. "Something’s wrong with Neva!"
"What?" I gasped, but Jessith didn't wait for me. She streaked back toward the mouth of the cave, moving so fast she became a blur. I ran after her, and Belle followed.
When we burst into the cave, Neva was still lying on her pallet, but she no longer looked peaceful. Her head lolled to one side, sending her dark hair spilling across the ground, and her face was pale as death. I stared at her chest, but there was no steady rise and fall. "Neva? Neva! Oh Saints, she isn’t breathing! What happened?" I knelt beside her, pulling back the blanket. She didn't even twitch.
"I don't know," Jessith said. "I was half asleep when she came in."
"Who?" I pressed my fingers to Neva's throat, feeling for a pulse. Her heartbeat was faint, but still there.
Jessith's tail lashed. "The old woman. I opened my eyes and saw her hovering over Neva’s head."
My eyes flicked back up to Neva's face, and this time, I noticed something else abnormal. Her hair hadn't simply washed to the side on its own. The teeth of a dark, gleaming comb were snared in her locks, digging into her scalp. I had been so concerned for her I hadn't even noticed, but as soon as I saw it, the warm hum of magic washed over me. Whatever had happened to her, this was the cause.
I tried to rip the comb away, but as soon as I touched it, fire throbbed in my palm. My vision began to swim, and the biting scent of magic flooded my nose. I tore the comb free, but not before my hand was cracked and aching as if I had been burned, and my head felt like it wanted to split in half. Darkness crept in around the edges of my eyes, and I bent forward, bracing my good palm against the ground as my heart thudded sluggishly.
"Ellie?" I recognized the sound of Belle's voice, but it was muffled and fuzzy, like someone shouting underwater. "Ellie, are you all right?"
"Neva," I said, struggling to lift my head. My lips moved, but forming any other words was too much effort. They would have been drowned out by the loud hum echoing through my head.
A warm hand stroked worried circles between my shoulder blades, and I sagged further under the touch. "Neva's awake. She's getting up. See?"
I tried once more to look up, and this time, I managed to raise my eyes a few inches. The wave of magic had begun to wear off, its vibrations a softer warmth rather than a searing burn, and Neva was stirring at last. She yawned and stretched as if she had been woken from a deep, restful sleep. “Good morning,” she said, giving us a cheerful smile. “Is it time to get up yet?”
I used my returning strength to pull her into a tight hug. Seeing her sleeping like the dead had terrified me, and I trembled as I embraced her. Thankfully, Belle steadied us both. Without her arm around my waist, I might have fallen over again.
Neva allowed herself to be held for a moment, but soon grew uncomfortable. She squirmed away from me, a furrow forming in her brow. “What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?” As I drew back, she caught sight of my inju
red hand. “What happened to your palm? It’s all blistered.”
I stared down at my hand in surprise. It still seared and ached, but I wasn't expecting the raw mess I found. My vision began to blur again at the awful sight, and Belle helped me lie down on Neva's pallet. "Stay there and don't move," she ordered. "I'm going for help."
As it turned out, she didn't have to. The dwellyn were already crowded at the entrance to the cave, and Lok and Ulig hurried inside. "There's magic here," Lok said as soon as she reached us. "I can sense it. What happened?"
I pointed at the comb with my good hand. It had skidded a short distance across the cave floor, but I could feel where it had gone. Lok's tiny, beetle-black eyes flashed when she saw it, and a serious expression crossed her face. "Whoever enchanted that is a powerful Ariada. How did it get here?"
"Mogra," I told her, absolutely certain. Surely there couldn't be two evil, cape-wearing witches hunting us through the forest. "Jessith saw an old woman hovering over Neva while she slept. When we came in, she was barely breathing."
Lok's expression grew terrified, and Neva hastened to reassure her before she could be pulled into another concerned hug. "I'm all right, but I don't remember anything about a woman."
"She didn't respond when I shook her, but then I noticed the comb in her hair," I continued. "I tried to pull it out."
Lok clicked her tongue. "You should have found one of us right away." She turned to the other dwellyn, rattling something off in her own language. Three of them headed back for the mouth of the cave, drawing their weapons and heading out into the forest. "My people will look for Mogra, but why don’t you show me that comb? Dwellyn know how to deal with enchanted objects."
"How?" Belle asked. "Your people don't have Ariada."
"That doesn't mean we don't know how magic works. Many named weapons carry magic. Dwellyn have worked with human enchanters for centuries." Lok headed over to the place where the comb had fallen and held out her hand to Ulig, muttering something else I couldn’t understand.
Ulig nodded his blocky head and reached behind his back, withdrawing his sword from its scabbard. He passed it to Lok, who dropped to her knees and raised the blade above her head. When it came crashing down, I felt a heavy jolt rush through the air. The singed smell of magic burned in my nose again, and then suddenly, the faint hum was gone. I gasped and tried to sit up for a better look.
"Don't," Belle said, placing a hand on my chest. She urged me to lie back down, and I obeyed grudgingly. "Lok, we need some kind of healer. Ellie almost passed out, and she hurt her hand when she tried to touch the comb."
Lok nodded, turning back toward the cave. "Gurn?"
One of the other dwellyn scuttled forward. He knelt beside the cot as well, pushing back his hood to look at me. When he saw my hand, the fuzzy wrinkles around his eyes grew deeper. He said something I assumed was sympathetic as he reached into the deep pockets of his robes and started rummaging around.
"Can you help her?" Belle asked, watching him.
"Gurn help," Ulig said. "Sun-hair fine."
The words did little to reassure her, and she continued hovering over me while Gurn dressed and bandaged my hand. Jessith offered comfort by curling up on my legs, and Neva sat by my shoulder, as silent and worried as I had ever seen her. "Are you all right?" I asked. "The comb didn't hurt you, did it?"
Neva shook her head. "I don't feel any different." She fell silent for a long moment, and her lips trembled. "You got hurt because she's trying to capture me again. This is my fault."
"Of course it isn't," I insisted. "Mogra was the one who did this."
"No, not Mogra," Neva whispered. "My stepmother. She's the one who wants me dead."
Belle circled around to my other side and placed a reassuring hand on Neva's shoulder. "That still doesn't make any of this your fault. If your stepmother ordered Mogra to do this, then she's the one who hurt Ellie. Do you understand?"
Neva nodded, but she still didn't look convinced. “Maybe if I wasn’t Kira’baas, she wouldn’t need me so much. She might have just let me run away without chasing me.”
Although I knew little of the Queen’s motivations, it sounded plausible. I had only witnessed Neva’s powers for myself once, but I had to admit that they were remarkable. Surely if it had been a simple matter of taking the white throne, the Queen wouldn’t have troubled to send Mogra after us. She wanted something else with Neva, something we did not yet understand.
“Neva,” I said, not wanting to ask, but knowing I had to. I had tried not to pry into her past, sensing it carried a great deal of pain, but with Mogra’s involvement, the situation had grown more urgent. “What do you think the Queen wants with you? Why is she trying so hard to find you?”
Neva’s eyes fell into her lap. “I don’t know. I’m not even fully trained yet. I can tell small groups of undead what to do if I concentrate hard, but she has a whole army. She doesn’t need me to control them.”
“Well, hopefully we won’t find out,” I said. Gurn had finished bandaging my hand, and I looked down at his handiwork. It didn't hurt nearly as much. "Thank you," I told him, and he seemed to understand.
"You should be thanking me, too," Jessith said from my lap. "I was the one who rescued Neva, after all."
I rolled my eyes, but I had to admit she was right. "Thank you, Jessith," I said, reaching down to scratch beneath her chin with my good hand. "You saved Neva's life."
That brought a smile to Neva's face. She crawled forward and pulled Jessith into her lap, cradling her like a baby. It was a position Jessith usually wouldn't have allowed anyone but me to hold her in, but this time, she looked almost pleased with herself as Neva kissed her head. "Good kitty."
"It's true," she purred, eyes narrowing to slits. "I am a very good cat."
Chapter Three
Taken from the letters of Cathelin Raybrook, edited by Lady Eleanor Kingsclere
PALE FINGERTIPS STROKE THE flickering surface of the mirror, stirring the swirling mist within. It gathers like storm clouds, growing larger and darker. Through the fog, a pale reflection shines, the Queen, her golden crown on her head, ruby lips pulled into a chilling smile.
"Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Who in this land is fairest of all?"
The mirror pulses and the hum of magic grows louder.
"You, my queen, are fair; it's true.
But the princess beyond the plains
Is still a thousand times fairer than you."
The Queen's smile vanishes. Her long fingers clench, bleaching the spikes of her knuckles as her blood-red nails dig into her palm. A shriek of rage fills the dark hall, and she slams her fist against the glass. "What? Show me!"
Light flashes, and the mist solidifies. The thin, dark-haired girl takes shape, but this time, she is fast asleep. Her face is peaceful, and a blanket is tucked under her shoulder. A shadow swishes above her. The ragged edge of a cape flutters. A gnarled hand reaches out, threading the sharp teeth of a comb through her hair.
Slitted yellow eyes pierce the darkness, and the yowl of an angry cat makes the hand falter. The shadow vanishes, and voices float through the mirror from far away. "Neva? Neva! Oh Saints, she isn't breathing! What happened?"
The voice cuts off, and the image vanishes. Only the Queen's reflection remains, pulled stiff with a cold sort of rage. "So, the princess has a pet?" she says, caressing the mirror's gleaming frame. "Well, so do I. And if the witch can't take care of her, my other pet will."
The mirror flares again, and someone else appears from within the dark clouds: a familiar face of peeling flesh, sweet rot, and stitched-shut eyes.
I jerked back to reality, gasping for breath and blinking to banish Luciana's image from my mind. Whether my eyes were open or shut, her face still lingered behind them, flickering between dead and alive. “Ellie,” I muttered, sucking in air through my teeth. My lungs ached even though I was breathing at double speed. “The Queen is sending Luciana after—”
“Cate,
are you all right?”
I suddenly realized I was not alone. I had fallen to the ground right outside my tent, and Raisa was crouched beside me, her brow knitted. The worry on her face helped reestablish my connection with my body. My leg started to ache beneath me, and I suspected I would carry several bruises. Gingerly, I pushed myself up into a sitting position, brushing away dust and dead leaves. “It’s not myself I’m worried about,” I said while Raisa stared. “I had another vision. Where is Ailynn?”
Raisa’s eyes widened. “Ailynn? I thought you’d want Larna. That fall looked painful.”
I hesitated. I did want my mate’s comfort, but the visions had become more bearable over the past several weeks. They were trying to impart a message, and it was my duty to deliver it.
“No, Ailynn,” I insisted, still fighting the shivers coursing through my body. “I know where her mother is.”
Raisa rose at once, although she stroked my arm as she stood. “I’ll be right back. Try not to move until I bring help. Do you promise?”
"I'm fine," I lied, sitting up straighter. "The fall didn't hurt."
"All right." Raisa was far from convinced, but she went to fetch Ailynn as I had asked. I watched her go, breathing deep to regain some of my strength and stop my trembling. My leg still throbbed with pain, and the vision had left me dizzy, but a few bruises were the least of my problems. My Sight hadn't been this physically demanding in a long time. Since studying with Kalwyn, my visions rarely carried me away from my body without my consent, especially in the middle of the day while in a public place. Their frequency and intensity was disturbing, and some part of me knew they wouldn't stop until the mirror was gone.
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