by Sara Ella
No. It can’t be true.
“. . . your half sister.”
THIRTY-ONE
Prince Charming
I have a sister?
I have a sister.
Two sisters if Khloe is Tiernan’s biological child as well.
“You should see the look on your face, El,” Quinn—Ebony says. “It’s the same one you made that time Blake dunked your backpack in the toilet. Classic.” She approaches Ky. Places a possessive hand on his arm.
He turns his head to the side and shrugs her off.
At least we can agree on one thing. Quinn—Ebony—is no one’s friend.
Seemingly unbothered by his rejection, she meets me at the dais steps. “Let me spin a tale for you, baby sis.” She twirls a finger in the air, taps me on the nose. “One in which the only happy ending belongs to me.” Her hand flutters to her chest.
I recoil. Clamber backward up the steps. I trip, fall. My hand slips, my wrist twists—crowe, that hurts.
Hips swaying, Ebony joins Jasyn on the dais and begins, “Once upon a time . . .”
Is ne’er what it seems. You had that right, Queen Ember.
“. . . there was a little girl who loved her father very much.”
A Cinderella story, huh? Bet I can guess which of us is the ugly stepsister in this scenario.
“Her father was often away. To be a Guardian in the king’s army was a high honor. One of the most talented Shields of his generation, Tiernan Archer was not a man to be trifled with.”
So I’ve heard. I peer at Ky, still ignoring me. What kills me is that he’s not angry Tiernan is—was my dad. No, the blame falls to me alone. Because I didn’t trust him enough to share the truth.
I wish he could read my mind.
I’m sorry, Ky. I’m so, so sorry.
He twitches, swivels his head a fraction of an inch.
What the—No way he actually heard what I was thinking.
Right?
“When his wife, Isabeau, could not conceive a second child—a son to carry on the family name—Tiernan made his bed elsewhere.”
Isabeau?
Isabeau.
Her desire for Mom’s unborn child becomes clear. Mom was Tiernan’s mistress.
I think I’m going to be sick.
Drawing my attention back, Ebony struts across the dais as if it’s her personal runway. “While Isabeau was nearly thirty, Tiernan was younger. Wilder. He was twenty when he left. I was three.”
I blink, my heart softening. I almost feel bad for Ebony. If I had a mother like hers, I’d be bitter too.
“Your whore of a mother seduced my father.”
Never mind the softening part. “If anyone seduced anyone, it was Tiernan. My mom would never take another woman’s husband.” I rise and cradle my wrist, uncertainty wobbling my knees. Mom didn’t refer to this in any of her journal entries. She couldn’t have known Tiernan was married.
“He left my mother. Left me.” The steadiness in Ebony’s cool tone wavers. “When he learned your mother was with child, he hoped to gain the heir he so desired. And then you were born.” A pause. A sneer. “Funny how things work out, isn’t it?”
Jasyn watches her, glee lighting his brown eyes. Is that genuine affection I see? “For so many years I wondered what I had done to compel my Elizabeth to run.” He stands beside Ebony. They make quite the pair. His arm wraps her shoulders. “When all along it was Tiernan who scared her off, not me.”
I hate that I have no rebuttal. Mom’s journal mentioned nothing about Jasyn aside from his obsession with the Void. She never said he harmed her, or even that he tried to turn her Soulless. Tiernan truly was the reason for Mom’s disappearance.
“It did not take long for me to connect the dots,” Jasyn says. “I had no knowledge of Elizabeth’s pregnancy until Tiernan confessed a few years ago. Naturally, I planned to have him executed for treason. How dare he, a meager Guardian, touch my daughter, only sixteen at the time. However, I was not required to lift a finger. Kyaphus disposed of him for me.”
Ky bristles. The side of his face is visible, the bulge in his jaw clear. I can’t imagine how difficult it is for him to stay calm as Jasyn speaks. Are his efforts to protect Khloe? And me? The timeline falls into place. Ky defending his sister. Killing his adoptive father. How long had Ky been a rebel Guardian before Jasyn dug his claws in?
“Once I found Elizabeth,” Jasyn continues, “she confirmed what I could only speculate. Strong willed, your mother. It was much more difficult to extract information from her than it had been with Tiernan. She had many years of practice, of course, defending her mind against my façades. But I was able to draw it from her eventually.”
So Jasyn isn’t as all-powerful as he appears. The stronger the mind, the harder it is for him to fool his victims. I file the note away, storing it for later. Poor Mom. No wonder she didn’t know what to believe when I rescued her. Jasyn had been playing with her head.
“She believed Tiernan would kill you, so she fled, sought a man named Nathaniel Archer. Does the name ring a bell?”
I clench my jaw. I solemnly swear to tell nothing, and nothing but nothing.
“Unfortunately, that is where her trail ended. Try as I might, I could not breach the wall surrounding her memory after that. Even I am no match for a Kiss of Accord.”
Mom made a promise sealed with a kiss? To whom? “I don’t understand. How did you find us in the first place?”
“Have you not figured it out yet?”
Duh.
“As providence would have it, Elizabeth’s photo turned up in a newspaper a few months back. What is it called, my dear?” He flashes a sweet smile at Ebony.
She flips her hair over one shoulder, a classic Quinn move. “The New York Times.”
“Ah yes.” Jasyn beams. “That is the one.”
No. All those years Mom insisted on privacy. Her no-photo policy. Her rule I stay off social media. It was all because, “The picture for the art contest. That’s how you found us.”
“Indeed,” Jasyn says. “It was easy to trace her whereabouts then. A few simple phone calls made by my darling assistant”—he squeezes Ebony’s shoulder—“and Elizabeth’s coordinates were made known. I did not act right away, of course. Delicate situations require patience. It was not until two months later that I finally brought Elizabeth home. Meanwhile, Ebony watched over you both.”
Quinn was his assistant. No wonder he knew—knows so much about me. The constant questions from Quinn when we met. I thought she was trying to get close to me. Because that’s what friends do. I was so blind.
“However, there was another surprise waiting for me. I knew of your existence but had no idea just how valuable you would turn out to be.”
I touch my marked cheek. I might as well have “I’m connected to the Verity’s vessel” written in neon across my face. My head spins. I press the heels of my palms to my eyes. This is all my fault. If I hadn’t entered Mom in that contest, maybe none of this would have happened. We’d be in New York. Joshua and I might not have this chasm between us.
Except, even if I hadn’t been dragged here kicking and screaming, the rebels would still be trapped, waiting for their hero to swoop in and save the day. If Jasyn never discovered us, my birthday would have passed without a hitch, but then I never would have known another world—another Reflection—existed. I never would have met Ky. My life would be normal, but it would also be a lie.
And Joshua. After my birthday he’d have no reason to stay in New York and guard me. What then? I’d spend my life wondering why he left, what had become of him. At least here I know he’s okay. Even if he doesn’t love me, that’s enough.
I drag my hands down the sides of my face, let them rest at my thighs. The pain in my injured wrist becomes more pronounced by the minute. I don’t care. My left hand opens, rotates toward the wall. Come here, you stupid blade. The words form a melody in my head.
“I always wondered”—Jasyn straightens his tie—
“what was the Verity’s vessel waiting for exactly? Why allow me to unleash the Void and rule all this time? But when Ebony described your mark to me, I thought to myself, ah”—he lifts one finger—“here is the reason.” Extends a palm to me.
Scrape. Is it working? Is the knife moving?
“Ironic how these things work out.” My grandfather descends the steps, crosses to the marble column, and scoops up Ky’s knife. “Aidan and Ember have been dead these twenty-one years. If Aidan lived, I never would have been able to release the Void from its prison. He was the one keeping the Void at bay, you see.” He holds the weapon up to the light.
They died? So the king and queen aren’t locked away. They really did vanish. Which means . . .
“Once I understood your importance, I also knew precisely where the Verity’s new vessel had gone.” He strides to me, stands so close I can smell his hoity-toity cologne. “I merely had to bide my time.” He places the hilt in my open palm. What kind of game is this? “According to Ebony, the vessel hardly let you out of his sight. I had to wonder then if he would ever confront me.”
My fingers curl around the weapon, but I can’t bring myself to raise it. Impossible to breathe.
“So I decided to test a theory.” Jasyn extends a hand toward the grand staircase.
I turn to find Long John Silver taking the steps one by one as if performing a dance. But he isn’t alone, a slumped Makai at his side. He lugs my uncle, who surpasses the skinny pirate in both height and weight, step after painstaking step. Heave, rest. Heave, rest. When they reach the dais, Haman drops him, brushing his hands in rhythm with my uncle’s achy groan.
“Makai,” I croak, moving toward him.
Ky stops me where I step. Hand on my shoulder, he still won’t look at me.
Jasyn clears his throat. “Along with Ebony, I assigned the task to Haman. I wanted to see exactly what the vessel would do, how he would react to the events surrounding you. First came your mother’s fabricated death. It seemed the pain you bore belonged to him. It was obvious in the way he looked at you.”
“How could you possibly know that?” Remain calm. He’s trying to get to me.
“I told him.”
I whip toward the dais at the sound of Lincoln Cooper’s lurid falsetto. Apparently, Ebony not only can skip from form to form at the bat of her fake eyelashes but she can change her clothes as well. I would never know it was her in Lincoln’s salmon-colored shirt, skinny jeans, and oak blazer.
My entire body jerks. “What are you, a Mask?”
“Shield actually.” Well, that explains a lot. Why Ky won’t—can’t harm her. “I take after our dear departed father.” I wouldn’t brag about that. “Masks have two forms, three at the most, and they can only change their own matter. I, on the other hand, have the unique ability to camouflage myself. I’m limited to the human alias, of course, but you don’t see me complaining.”
“That’s why you weren’t at Mom’s funeral. You came as Lincoln.” No wonder I always thought the guy was such an insensitive jerk. “I don’t get it. Why go through so much trouble to sell Mom’s paintings?”
“All part of my cover.” Ebony reverts to herself. Her manicured hand hovers over a yawn. “I needed to keep an eye on her. On both of you, until His Sovereignty decided his next move.”
His Sovereignty? Gag me.
Haman glides by, dragging a bow-and-arrow-free Makai along. Captain Creepy drops my uncle at the foot of the dais and climbs the steps. He stands beside the tapestry. Pulls a cord.
Like a curtain, the atlas whooshes aside, fanning my face and revealing a stone wall.
I leave Ky and kneel beside my uncle. He waves me away. Says nothing.
“As I was saying . . .” Retreating, Jasyn joins his team, taking center stage. “The vessel’s reaction was exactly as I predicted. He cared for your safety, but there was something else too. A sense of caution. And fear. When I allowed Elizabeth to escape the night of your kidnapping, my suspicions were all the more confirmed. He would go the distance to keep you from me. When Haman killed him, I had my answer.” Jasyn waves his hand as if brandishing a wand.
Haman types a code into a small keypad, and the wall beyond the throne revolves. Stone grates against stone as the opposite side emerges, ushering with it three very familiar figures—two Soulless supporting a beaten and battered man.
“May I present the hero of our tale.” Sweeping an arm toward the trio, Jasyn croons, “Prince Charming himself.”
My heart palpitates as if separate from my chest. The blade clatters to the floor. I’m not going anywhere.
Joshua. Is. Here.
ACT IV
For Good
THIRTY-TWO
Limited
The day I met Joshua is one I’ve relived a thousand times.
I burst through the front door. Slam it behind me. The light fixture rocks and rattles above our foyer.
“Mom?” I call up the stairs.
No answer.
I toss my backpack on the sunroom couch as I move toward the kitchen. I lean over the bar. “Mom?”
Silence. What day is it? Tuesday. Mom’s drawing caricatures in Central Park.
I cut across the kitchen and exit through the back door. Backyards in Manhattan are a rare enigma. Too small to be considered a yard, but too large to be called a porch. We have lovingly dubbed it the “rear sidewalk.”
September stinks. Do I really have to endure three more years of this? Of the homework and grades. The whispers and taunting. Stinkin’ prep kids and their high-and-mighty attitudes. Stinkin’ Blake and his band of brainless oafs. Name-calling is so third grade. What a bunch of juveniles.
I plod down the metal steps, klunk, klunk, klunk, and drop onto the glider swing. Tuck one foot under my thigh and let the other dangle free. My toe pushes off the ground, keeping the swing in motion.
Buzz. I draw my phone from my pocket. Text message from Mom. Tap, zoom.
I’ll be home soon. Do you want pizza from Caesar’s?
Even in a text, Mom doesn’t lax on spelling and grammar.
I tap out a hasty reply.
sure. c u soon. <3
Music. I need music. It’ll get my mind off a rotten first day. Scroll, tap. Scroll, tap.
I sing a duet with Christina Perri about being “human.” I let my head loll back against the swing cushion as words that could be my melodic memoir emerge. Fake smiles. Forced laughs. Falling apart. This, pathetically, is me. I sing past the heartache. My soul bleeds the lyrics. Is this it? Will anything ever change?
Crash!
I nearly crack my head on cement as I tumble forward. Cause of almost-death? Induced heart attack. I crane my neck, searching for the interruption’s source.
A guy peeks over the western wall of my yard—er, rear sidewalk. He’s older. Seventeen, eighteen maybe. Short stubble shades his strong jaw, and those eyes, a piercing cerulean blue.
I scramble to my feet, lurch for the stairs. Please don’t let him see my face. I can’t suffer further humiliation today. If only invisibility was an option.
“Wait!” His fetching tenor stops me midescape.
My pulse tap-dances on my eardrums.
Blue Eyes swings over the wall in an Olympic-worthy move. Pretty bold to enter a stranger’s yard uninvited. This is New York. I could be a serial killer for all he knows. For all I know, so could he.
I smooth my hair. Study my charcoal Chuck Taylors. Maybe he won’t notice the birthmark.
Ha. Good one.
“Please don’t stop. That was . . . you have the most beautiful voice.”
Beautiful? Nice try, Prince Eric. The only person who’s ever linked that term to me is Mom, and she doesn’t count.
“Thanks.” I can’t bring myself to make eye contact. I’m not ready for him to run away screaming yet.
“With a voice like that you could do anything.” Does he realize how close he’s standing? He smells different from other boys. Natural. Axe spray not required.
<
br /> I lift my head gradually. Here it comes . . .
He flashes a crooked smile. “I’m Joshua David.”
Why doesn’t he look shocked or appalled? Is he blind?
“Um . . . Eliyana? Ember.” Genius. Now he’s going to think I’m—what’s the word Blake uses?—“special.”
“I just moved in next door. I’m sorry I startled you. I was trying to replace the bulb on my porch light. Then I heard your voice and . . .” Joshua scratches the back of his dark-haired head and shrugs. “I guess you know what happened next. Anyway, I just started at Columbia. One of my professors is letting me live here practically rent-free as long as I fix the place up.”
Weird. I’ve never actually seen the guy who lives next door. He’s kind of a hermit. It might be nice to have a friendly neighbor for a change.
“Pays to be the teacher’s favorite, I guess.” His smile evens.
I wouldn’t know. “Cool.”
He’s going to leave now. His politeness meter is maxed out.
So why is he still standing here? No, not just standing here. He’s acting as if he doesn’t want to leave.
He rocks back on his heels. “So you like music. Do you play any instruments?”
“Yeah.” What was the question?
“Which ones?”
“Which ones what?” Deer in the headlights. That’s me.
“Instruments.” He laughs, but for some reason I don’t feel as if he’s laughing at me. He just seems . . . happy.
“Oh.” I twist a split-ended lock around my finger. “Um, piano?” Really? I’m asking this gorgeous guy if I play piano? Bury me now. “But I always wanted to learn how to play guitar.”
“Wait here.” He winks. “I’ll be right back.” He’s over the wall and out of sight before I can give a coherent response.
He’s kind of weird.
I like him.
When he returns, he lifts a beautiful, Ibanez electric-acoustic over the wall. I take it while he boosts himself back over. “I’ll show you some chords if you want.”