Vynasha gasped and opened her eyes to a strange room filled with feminine furniture and the cloying, unmistakable stench of majik. She hitched a breath and dug her claws into the bedding as her blood rushed to her head. Fire and candlelight played off the shadow in which Grendall stood, yet it seemed to pass through her friend. Odym? Yes, that was his name.
At first they seemed unaware of her notice, as Odym pleaded with his master and Grendall stepped into the light. The gatekeeper stalked the old wyne with whispers of violence and sparks of golden light seeping from his skin. “How easily you forget this is your doing, and our penance, old man. Too late to alter our future.”
Odym reached for a basin and wrung a cloth. “And yet while you refused to finish the bond, she has been ripe for the taking. Do you know what the walls have been whispering about her and the guardians? Do you not see the drakkor has marked her?”
Grendall threw up his hands. “What would you have me do? I tried to give her a chance, a choice, which is far better than I ever had.”
“I would have seen her spared…” Odym turned to face her, cloth raised and words on the tip of his tongue. His nearly transparent features shifted, sorrow and relief warring in his expression.
Grendall paced the room like the caged beast that lived beneath his human skin.
“Y-your Grace?” Odym whispered.
Grendall approached. With every step, the heat built beneath her skin, and the runes changed shape, twisting over her flesh. The shadow writhed, shrinking in the light of this new menace. “She’s awake!”
Vynasha opened her mouth to speak, and a shrill scream ripped through her throat.
“Catch her before she harms herself!” Odym reached for something beyond her sight.
Grendall’s hands trapped her flailing wrists. He climbed over the bed and caged her body between his legs. “Vynasha,” he called her name, growled at her in that strange mirror tongue.
The sound pouring past her lips was agony and relief, and she could not stop it. She sucked in another breath, and another hoarse wail pushed through her as tears fell past her temples. It was the sound of the wyld mountain cats Baalor teased her for looking like, and utterly inhuman.
Grendall turned his head briefly, shouting something to Odym that she could not hear. When he turned back to her, the prince’s panic had been replaced with sorrow. “Forgive me,” he mouthed.
Odym clamped a hand about her jaw, forcing it open to pour liquid down her throat. She choked on the potion, was helpless to stop it from spilling down her neck. Her limbs seized, but Grendall held fast.
Odym brushed back her hair. “All will be well, child. Swallow, yes, there’s our girl. Drink as much as you can stomach.”
Vynasha shook her head as the liquid flushed through her system, tingling then soothing, until at last she could breathe again.
“It will be over soon.” Odym continued to whisper low to her as she came back to herself. “Forgive me for not noticing you were awake again. Hush, now, we will make it right soon.”
Grendall had never been warm in life or in their shared dreams. Yet his thighs burned through the sheets against hers, and her wrists burned with cool fire where he kept her pinned to the pillows. His chest rose and fell rapidly while her breaths slowed. No longer gray as the wyne, his skin glowed golden brown in the candlelight. His dark hair fell over his forehead, and concern bunched his brow. His eyes were so pale they appeared like ice, infused with strange inner light. For all the time they had spent together in the past, all they had endured, she could not read him now. The weight of centuries lay behind his heated gaze, unabashed for the first time since they had met. He seemed alive as he never had before.
“What’s happening to me?” Her voice was hoarse from screaming, but at least it was words forming on her tongue.
Grendall’s jaw clenched and his lips thinned, yet it was Odym who whispered behind her, “I think you should leave us, boy.”
Before, Grendall would have thrown a scathing reply at the old wyne. She waited, watched the tick of his pulse and the way his nose flared briefly. He removed himself so quickly from her that Vynasha stole a sudden breath to find him across the room. He moved like a spirit.
Fayere-kinde, the shadow in her mind supplied.
“I should remain in the passage.” Grendall spoke to Odym but did not move his gaze from her bewilderment.
Odym grunted affirmation, following his master and locking the door in place behind him. As he turned, she caught sight of a familiar silver-wooden key. She tried to reach for the place about her neck, where the same key had long rested. Only her limbs refused to obey. Her strength had fled with her madness, leaving only a numbing pain in its wake.
Odym returned to her side and lay her key on the bedside table, near the potion that preserved her sanity. Vynasha eyed the wyne, the soldier who had dared love a queen. He leaned forward and rubbed a hand over his nearly transparent face. But there was life yet in his pale eyes and sadness as he spoke. “I hoped you were the one to break the spell. I did not breathe a word to the walls, for fear she might be listening.” He touched the key with a soft smile. “Soraya was so lost by the end, all my love could see was her vengeance. And, I fear, that is all that lingers in this place.”
Vynasha understood all too well. The memory of Soraya had punished her in Grendall’s dreams. She didn’t know how to feel about Grendall. Gatekeeper, dungeon master, the one who bound and betrayed her. Now he was her jailor, just as his mother had been imprisoned by his father.
Odym touched her clawed hand, the pressure firm as though he were yet whole. “Forgive us, dear child, for what we have done. For all we have asked of you. I know this is not the path you would have chosen for yourself. Forgive me for my part in my master’s deception.”
Vynasha glared back at him. She wanted to throw his words in his face, to rail against him like she had imagined in her mind. Odym had made her give in to the curse, made her believe she could change things for good. He held her gaze and did not flinch. She could have taken her anger out on him. Instead she said, “What’s wrong with me?”
Odym squeezed her hand and gently lifted her arm up into the candlelight to study the shifting runes. “You have been marked by shadow. The spell is ancient yet not unprecedented. In all my long life, I have never witnessed the mark, but this… It is a promise and a sign to all others to keep away.”
“Away?” Vynasha blurted, stunned. “But—she tried to kill me.”
“Tell me…” Odym lowered her arm, and his brows drew together. “What or who have you encountered in the lands beyond our reach?”
Since Grendall sent me away, he means.
“Don’t you already know?” She dared him to speak otherwise. She was done pretending.
Odym grimaced. “I was not certain who remained after all this time.” He touched the black runes. “The creature that marked you, once, her kind and yours were not so different.”
Phurie, the shadow whispered.
Vynasha shivered, and Odym pulled the covers over her bare arms. She allowed him to fuss over her. “Your people hunted them down, one by one, didn’t they?”
His hands froze over her covers, trembling. He drew his fists back to his sides. “I—am not proud of the atrocities I partook in, Vynasha. I had hoped Soraya might change it all. But…”
“That’s a poor excuse, isn’t it?” she snarled. “Not everything is solved by majik. Soraya may have been one of the mirror folk, but she was just as power hungry as the Bitterhelms. You are blinded by your love.” She blinked back tears and ignored the guilt she felt at seeing Odym’s stricken face.
He released a shuddering breath through his open mouth, but there was no fight in him. This was made worse by his reply. “All of us are capable of great light and great darkness, milady. You have seen thus in my master and the beasts who pursued you. After so long in darkness, can you truly blame us for seeking your light?”
She had no answer for this, but she had not forgotten the
long road that had brought her back here. “Did I ever really have a choice?”
Odym reached for the glass vial and studied the equally translucent object. “We are all given a choice. You chose to bring your nephew here, just as you accepted the curse in the end. Grendall chose to give you time in return.” His smile did not touch the sorrow in his pale eyes. “Still, we are all but pawns to forces beyond us. Can you condemn Soraya for seeking the power to change our fates?”
Vynasha closed her eyes, unwilling to hear more.
“I should refill this,” he began. He stood, his tread soundless over the carpet. Yet he hesitated by the door. “Shall I allow him back inside? He has been most distraught since he found you, milady.”
She heard the pleading behind his words and all he would not say where Grendall might overhear. Vynasha dug her claws into her palms. “I am—grateful he saved my life. But I don’t want to see him, not unless I have no choice.”
“As you wish, milady.” Odym hesitated, yet she didn’t open her eyes. At last he turned the lock and closed the door behind him.
Blessedly alone, Vynasha let her tears fall. She could do little else but accept the numbing influence of the potion. In the distance, a single beast howled until her tears ran dry and she fell into the embrace of her shadow.
THE CLICK OF the door opening awoke her.
“Master, I must insist you be patient…” Odym whispered.
“I have been patient enough,” came Grendall’s grating reply. He ignored Odym’s attempt to soften his tone. “It has been seven days, old man. You cannot keep her from me forever.”
Odym sighed. “Would you go against her wishes again? After all that has befallen you both, do you think it wise to break her trust?”
Silence. Vynasha opened her eyes a hair and caught the blur of shapes against the door, the gleaming candlelight pouring through behind Grendall’s tall frame. He shifted a moment, then leaned against the doorframe.
“I am going mad.” His voice cracked. She felt his pain in a forgotten corner of her heart. “Lyttia says we are running low on ingredients for the potion,” he added, “but perhaps if I were here to help…”
“No, milord. It is too risky. For all we know, your bond could be what is causing the mark to attack her.”
Grendall’s laugh was dry and familiar, the bitter gatekeeper she remembered. “Of course. I finally have her back, and now my presence is harmful.”
Vynasha jumped as his fist thudded against the wall. Odym did not flinch. The old wyne pushed the door further, hiding Grendall. “You must allow her body to recover, to grow accustomed to the majik of this place. Should you force her now, there is no hope, and you know it.”
Grendall sighed. “How long must I wait? I have waited over five hundred years…”
Odym reached through the door. “Only a little longer. For now, you must continue your vigilance over these passages. They shall not wait forever, either.”
“I would kill them all before I allowed them near her.” The cool manner in which Grendall replied was worse than if he’d snarled.
Odym’s words sounded strained, faded to a whisper. “You would condemn them to death when their salvation lies so near?”
Grendall straightened. “If that is what it takes.”
“Perhaps we should wait for her to decide their fates, Master.” Odym firmly shut the door and seemed to waver in place, as though he were having trouble keeping his shape.
Vynasha closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. Was it too much to hope the old wyne would leave her be today?
Apparently so.
Odym must have gathered himself enough, for she heard him moving quietly about his morning duties. The rustle of bandages and linens, just in case she cut herself during a fit, as they had learned the hard way. The majik was too sweet about the room, but Odym always brought the smell of the kitchens and freshly washed clothes with him. It made her considerably less irritable toward him in spite of her mistrust.
And he spoke of losing my trust, as though I had given it back.
Odym settled the potion Grendall had delivered at her bedside table. The chair lightly scuffed against carpet as he settled beside her. Vynasha counted in her head, spacing each breath in an even pattern, and tried not to think about the reeking potion between them.
Odym chuckled, and she knew somehow she had given herself away again. “My apologies, milady, but your face… I know how you detest the substance.”
Vynasha opened her eyes and didn’t bother hiding her sneer. “I’m not convinced Lyttia isn’t poisoning me. I knew she’d be upset when I didn’t break the curse.”
Odym chuckled yet made no move to pull the stopper and force the foul mess down her throat…not yet. “In truth, their relief upon your return was so great that you could not have suspected their ire.”
Once, she might have smiled along with him. Before she knew the ugly truth behind the curse and what the wyne were. How they had hunted down mirror folk for sport.
Odym apologized again as he pulled her free of the sheets and helped her relieve herself in the nearby pan. Seven days later and Vynasha had long lost her embarrassment. What she hated was the way he was forced to carry her like a child to and from the bed and the way he fussed over her as though she were already a princess. She hadn’t felt this helpless before, not even after the fire had stolen her family. She and Wyll had been scarred by the fire but she’d had her strength, and her will to live.
Odym adjusted the pillows behind her head, and Vynasha wrinkled her nose, turning her focus to the bed’s canopy. She had memorized the pattern of winged fayere after the first day. There was only so much she could do without use of her limbs.
“Shall we begin where we left off?” Odym said, drawing Vynasha’s glare.
“Is there any point?” Her bitterness had shocked him in the beginning. Today, he favored her with a patient smile.
“Are you willing to remain in this bed the rest of your life, milady?”
Vynasha growled but did not argue as Odym removed the blanket.
“Your fingers first, if you please.”
She lifted her pinky first then the others, one by one.
“Well done! You lifted them higher today,” Odym cheered.
She hated his approval.
“Arms next, level to your chin?”
This was harder. Vynasha clenched her teeth, curling her hands into fists as she lifted her left arm first. It was trembling by the time she reached her chin.
“Yes, hold it there,” Odym said. “This time, raise the other as well.”
Her breath came in sharp puffs as she raised her right arm. It was weaker. She could not make them level. Vynasha glared at the offending limb with its swirling patterns and inwardly cursed her shadow.
What good is your protection if it leaves me helpless?
Her strength gave out, and Vynasha turned before she could see her arms fall. The first time this had happened had been a painful shock, an obvious reminder her body had made her a prisoner as surely as the wyne.
Odym was quick today, reaching to catch and then cradle her arms before replacing them on the bed. Vynasha didn’t know she was holding her breath until she turned to face him.
“No more,” she growled.
Odym’s brows drew together as he blinked. Could the wyne shed tears? “Milady, you must continue if you are to get well,” he began.
“I’m not going to get well, Odym!” The strength behind her voice startled them both, but she was too furious to stop. “I can’t use majik, because this damned mark is protecting me. The only solution I see is to either finish breaking the bloody curse or kill me the way he wants to kill my beasts.”
Odym gasped, sputtering out useless words, “Milady, you must not despair…”
“I can’t!” She turned away and closed her eyes before he saw her weakness. “I can’t live like this.”
Odym squeezed her fist, the pressure firmer today than it had been yesterday
. “Milady, you have already done so much simply by returning. Only a little longer and you shall be strong enough to finish this.”
“I did not want to come back,” she hissed. “I could have come here sooner and faced him. I could have fought him harder when he compelled me to leave, but I was too weak. I’ve always been too damned weak!” She flailed angrily, helpless. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks, and she glared at the pattern of her canopy curtains, the wings.
A small part of her, the human soul hidden in her beastly shell, hated her cruelty. Grolthox, the false prince, had called her cruel before. She hadn’t believed him until now.
Odym released her and moved with a whisper of fabric and the sound of falling snow. “If you will excuse me, I shall return with your food tray shortly.” He lifted the pan from its corner and returned to the door without a backward glance.
“Do not give up, little Phurie,” the walls whispered.
Vynasha opened her eyes and stared at the tapestry of that other land of rolling emerald hills and crystal lakes and winged fayere—the mirror world, stitched and faded with time. The whispers of the walls were familiar. What was one more voice in her head at this point? They had often kept her company in Odym’s absence.
“I shouldn’t have left the village,” she told the walls. The whispers overlapped, spirits arguing with one another, perhaps.
Vynasha turned from the wall and watched the dancing flames in the hearth. She couldn’t use majik, or at least not their shared majik. Odym believed the mark was protecting her from the curse, from giving up her light. “It would have been nice if you had asked before giving me a mark I didn’t want,” she told her shadow. What lingered of the Changeling’s presence kept its thoughts to itself.
She couldn’t wipe her tears away, couldn’t do anything to escape this nightmare. She wished the changeling had taken the rest of her light. She wished Luanor had ended her life in the snow, before Wolfsbane could betray her.
Vynasha growled and dragged her arm back until she could lean on her elbow. The effort caused sweat to trickle down her brow. She concentrated on her exposed feet and growled, “Move.”
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