If I wasn’t in my right mind I’d chuck this blasted mirrorglass crown off the hill. What good does it do me? No one looks to me. Listens. They still think of Joshua as their leader. And can I blame them? One look at him and people think, Noble. Worthy. King.
What do they think when they look at me? Imposter? Intruder? Wannabe?
“Don’t be ridiculous, Em. This insecurity is the old you. You know better. The Verity chose—”
“Just leave me alone.” The smallest burst of Verity burns in my gut. As if it’s staging a silent protest to my words. I tug at the ends of my hair. Regret my harsh tone. None of this is Ky’s fault. “I’m sorry.”
“I know. It’s fine.” Though his words reassure, his voice in my head reveals a pinch of hurt.
Ugh. This sucks. Joshua and I are at odds—again—and now I’ve hurt Ky? Maybe. I don’t know. He’s probably not even real. Of course he’s not.
Or is he?
I’d like to scream my head off now if you don’t mind. Okay, thanks.
Anxiety revs my nerves as I enter the door leading into the kitchens. Old memories lift from storage. I take them out, dust them off, and see them anew. The frame around a not-so-long-ago scene shrouds my vision, gives me the smallest intermission between act one’s cliffhanger and the impending twist awaiting me in act two.
It’s last November and our final night in the Maple Mines. Only one day left until we reach the Haven. The other half of our group sleeps soundly a few feet away. Stormy lying on her side near the tunnel’s wall. Joshua slouched against a tree root thick as a log. Kuna and Preacher sitting back-to-back, chins digging into their chests. What happened with Gage in Wichgreen Village seems like a lifetime ago rather than days. I’m exhausted to the bone. But for some reason, whenever Ky takes the lookout shift, I can’t sleep. I don’t think he minds though.
After four days spent navigating root-infested tunnels with nothing but the undersides of maple trees on the horizon, I should be more than thrilled about the prospect of a warm bed.
Except the thought of leaving moments like these behind pinches my pulse. Sometime between Ky saving my life and now, a change occurred. We became . . . friends? He still doesn’t know Tiernan Archer, the despicable man who raised him, is my father. How can I tell him? It would ruin what we have, and I’m not willing to give that up. Not yet.
“Give me your hand,” Ky whispers. The kerosene lantern on the ground between us washes his face in amber light, causing the flecks of gold in his green eye to glimmer. His brown eye lights up, too, like a warm cup of cocoa inviting a first sip.
I eye him. “Why?” Suspicion laces my tone.
He dons a knowing look, chin tucked in and one brow quirked. “What’s the matter, Em?” He offers his hand, palm up. “Afraid I’ll bite?”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever, Edward.” I jut my fist forward, not at all sorry it pokes him in the ribs.
A huff escapes his lips. “Comparing me to sparkly vampires now? You’re losing your touch if that’s the best you can come up with.”
Ky’s pop culture fluency isn’t so surprising anymore. He did live in the Third with his adoptive mother and younger sister, Khloe—my actual younger sister—for several years. They hid from Tiernan, who had given himself over to the Void. The more I learn about Ky, the more I find we have in common. A connection both foreign and familiar. Ky takes my upturned arm, pushes my sleeve north, and runs his fingers over my skin from elbow to wrist.
All Twilight puns elude me. “What are you doing?” I draw back. Take in a breath. Finger the rose-button necklace at my collarbone. It’s only been a few days since Ky gave it to me—made it for me—but it feels as if it’s always been right here.
“I’m helping you relax.” He grasps my arm again, initiating tingles as he runs his fingers back and forth. Back and forth.
My muscles grow heavier as my fist curls open. My lips part, and I close my eyes without preamble. “Now what?” The words release on an exhale.
“Shhh. Wait. Trust me.”
Trust me. Joshua made the same request the night at the Pond in Central Park. It should be easier to trust the boy I’ve known for years rather than one I just met. But there’s something about Ky. Something causing my heart to put faith in him even when my brain warns me against it.
One deep inhale. Two. Then something small and round drops into my palm. My eyelashes lift. Gasp. “Where did you get candy?” The sugary scent alone, like maple syrup, forces my mouth to water.
“Keep your voice down. Otherwise it won’t work.”
I huff but don’t allow another question to escape. Curiosity wins. For now.
We remain motionless, our breaths plateauing. I watch the candy in my palm. Inhale. Exhale. After a while I make the mistake of meeting Ky’s gaze.
He’s staring at me, his regard so intense I can’t tear my eyes away. He inches closer, bumps the lantern with one knee. Using his knuckles he strokes my arm again, only adding to the heat building between us. This time his touch doesn’t relax me. It kindles something. His fingers are matches.
And my skin is on fire.
Gulp.
Flit. Flicker. My head whips right. “What was that?”
Ky touches a finger to his lips.
Another flash, this time to my left. An insect? Firefly, perhaps?
A tap against my palm. More candy?
I look down. Oh my chronicles—definitely not candy.
A stubbly cheeked boy Fairy no taller than my thumb stands next to the treat, chiseling at it with the smallest pickax I’ve ever beheld. Grimy overalls hug his miniature frame. He removes a handkerchief from one pocket and wipes his brow. He could almost be human if not for the gray, mothlike wings, twitching every so often, protruding from his back.
This Reflection continues to astonish me. A beautiful Troll. A hulking merman. A childlike leviathan. I’d always imagined Fairies as tinkling little women with topknots on their heads and pom-poms on their shoes. Wrong again.
When I glance up at Ky, he’s beaming. We don’t move, barely breathe. Just watch the Fairy excavate chunks off the candy and drop them into a sack at his hip. It’s like this is our little secret. The knowledge invites an intimacy I’m not sure I’m ready for. Not with Ky, anyway.
Once the Fairy’s bag bulges to the brim, he takes flight. His wing tips light up, glow orange like an airplane on a dark runway.
Just as abruptly as he arrived, he’s gone.
“Ain’t ya gonna eat, darlin’?” a voice asks from behind.
“Huh?” I stop in my tracks. Blink. Too skittish to retire to my suite, I’ve been pacing the stone hallway outside the kitchen for at least half an hour. I hold the Verity, yet here I am.
Useless. Unneeded. Invisible.
I haven’t told anyone about my trouble with the Verity since the coronation. How its calming presence has nearly vanished, only a blip here or a flicker there to grasp on to. In its place sits a coldness centering around my chest. It does feel similar to an actual cold with my sore throat and itchy eyes. Maybe I am just sick. I’ll get better and things will return to normal.
Who am I kidding? I’m not fooling anyone. A measly illness wouldn’t harm the Verity, the most powerful entity in the Seven Reflections.
But something must be hurting it. If only I could figure out what.
In an attempt to occupy my overloaded brain, I try to think on things other than the here and now. The mixture of aromas wafting from the kitchen through the archway to my right sent my thoughts to a place I didn’t want to venture. Rosemary. Cinnamon. Nutmeg. Maple. Maple Mines. Ky and candy and Fairies.
I touch four fingers to my chest. The treble clef–heart necklace Joshua gave me is there, resting outside my blouse for all to see. But it’s not what I’m looking for. I feel around until I find it, the button charm hidden beneath my clothes. Sigh. Ky’s gift remains, resting against my heart. I haven’t been able to let it go.
I haven’t been able to let him go.
I shake my head. No. Focus. I’m queen whether the people think of me as such or not. And Ky? He’s my past. My future lies here, with the Second and Joshua. One kiss doesn’t dictate who I spend my life with. I choose Joshua.
“Wrong. You already chose me. I’m your past and your future. I’m both.”
I whirl at Ky’s voice, trip over a sack of potatoes, and nearly collide with Reggie.
She steadies me with her flour-dusted hands. “Everyone else has already gone to bed, but I’ll make whatever you fancy. Maybe one of those cheese sandwiches you’re so fond of, hmm?” Her southern accent, all fried chicken and country gravy, warms my bones.
I finger-comb my bangs to one side and roll my shoulders. “Sure, Reg. Thanks.”
“Comin’ right up.” She smiles and tucks a wisp of graying black hair into the bandanna covering her head. Since she was raised in the Third like me, being near Reggie is sort of like going home. She may be from Georgia, but her carefree manner and Third Reflection knowledge make her the closest thing to a neighbor I have. Plus, she’s my greatest connection to Mom while she’s gone. Regina “Reggie” Reeves practically raised Mom. Her stories about Mom’s childhood—before Jasyn took on the Void, of course—always make me feel better when I’m down.
As she meanders through the kitchen archway her hips sway, and I swear it’s a Dolly Parton tune she’s humming.
Pacing once more, I will my mind not to wander into forbidden territory. Sacks of flour and grain lie piled against the walls on either side of me like sandbags damming a flood. They make the hallway seem narrower than it is, and a bout of claustrophobia revs my apprehension. This is the same hallway Ky and I passed through when he rescued me from the dungeons. I didn’t admit it then, but that was the night I first began to trust him.
I sigh and wander into the kitchen. The guests were fed hours ago and the aftermath of dishes and trays, goblets and mugs, lies piled in the farmhouse-style sink straight ahead. Makai decided it would be dangerous for the guests to travel back to their various provinces in the dark, especially considering recent events. He, at least, was straight with me. Whether it’s because he actually respects me as his queen or just feels obligated to me as his new daughter, I don’t know. And I don’t care. All information is good information, no matter the reason given.
“The Threshold at Dawn Lake is draining.” He reloaded his quiver as he spoke. “We have not yet determined the cause or the source. But rest assured, we will.”
I watched from my perch on the courtyard fountain as he made his way back down the hill and toward the Threshold. While everyone was inside eating their fill and chattering about what happened, I remained outside. Away from the gossip and stares. Away from the questioning glances and awkward half smiles.
Is this to be my life? Never living up to their expectations? Failing before I’ve even begun?
Stormy came and sat with me in silence for a while, neither of us knowing what to say to the other. She gave my hand a squeeze before heading to bed. On any other day she’d be among the Guardians on duty. She even attempted to join them after we led the guests back to the castle. But Joshua sent her away, insisting she take the night off.
Joshua. Where is Joshua?
He hasn’t come to find me and no one has seen him. When I asked Makai where he’d gone, he avoided an answer. Uneasiness pinpricks my brain. He wouldn’t just leave. Joshua does nothing without purpose.
“Sandwich is ready, sugar,” Reggie calls from the island to my left. “You can eat by the hearth. Nothing like a little warmth to soothe what’s ailin’ ya. I’ll let Saul know you’re staying down here for a spell.” She turns and strolls down the hall toward the stairwell leading into the west wing. Reggie’s one of the few people who calls Preacher by his first name. He pokes his head around the bend, and they speak in hushed, non-eavesdroppable tones. If I didn’t know any better I’d say Reg is . . . flirting with him?
I head toward the hearth at the far end of the kitchen and grab my food off the island as I pass by. I don’t bother taking a seat at the table where the staff eat their meals. Instead I plop onto the soot-infested rug, cradle my plate between my crossed legs, and stretch my hands forward. Clench, flex, clench, flex. Mm. Cinderella got it right. Coziest spot in the castle.
I pick up the sandwich and bite. The sharp, yeasty taste sends another sigh through my lips. This is food. Not fancy or special. Just good. Comforting.
“The first meal I made for you was a cheese sandwich.”
I swallow. “Don’t you think I know that, Ky?”
“Irritated?”
I return the half-eaten sandwich to my plate. Rub my throbbing knee. The Illusoden I took earlier is wearing off too fast as usual. “Not at you.”
“Tell me.”
I open my mouth, but Reggie returns and I snap it closed. She bustles around the kitchen, carrying about her work as if I’m not here. She whistles a happy tune Snow White would be proud of, and I’m half tempted to cover my ears. She means well, but I can’t focus this way.
And then I hear it, the song from my dreams, the one I played on accident at the coronation. It’s slow and graceful. Deep. Almost sad. Reggie’s chirpiness fades into the background, and all I hear is this. This haunting melody that seems as if it were written just for me.
The fire’s heat dries my eyes and I allow my lashes to descend. My scattered thoughts organize. The ambush at the coronation. How secretive everyone’s been. My lack of song. Today’s incident. They line up, but one image stands out among the rest—the expression on Joshua’s face. Fear. But not of the mysteriously broken ice.
Joshua was afraid of me.
It’s all connected. To me. But how? I need answers, but no one seems willing to give them. If Mom were here, she would. But she’s not. She said to trust Reggie, but how would she know anything about any of this? I love her, but she’s just a cook, spent her whole life in this castle. I need someone who’s been places, who’s seen what others haven’t.
I seethe in silence, allow loneliness to weigh but never surface. I’m ice shards on the floor, each piece of me melting into the rug until all that’s left is damp ash.
Is there no one I can rely on?
The invisible piano crescendos and I find myself rocking back and forth, back and forth. Like Ky’s fingers on my arm, the motion is soothing. Relaxing. My shoulders sag and a shaky sob releases. I’m burnt out. Exhausted to my core. Who do I turn to for help? It’d have to be someone who doesn’t care about protecting me. Someone who’d be willing to make a trade. Someone with nothing to lose.
My head snaps up in sync with a crackle of the fire. The song dies. Mom has always said sometimes the answer is right in front of you.
Close, Mom. This time it’s right beneath me.