Desperate times call for desperate measures.
The Third Reflection saying haunts me as I leave Rafaj behind. I am simply doing what I must to ensure the Verity is not destroyed by El’s temporary confusion. She has no idea the reason she has feelings for Kyaphus is because of his connection to me. But all will be well soon. Two ingredients? The Unbinding Elixir requires but two ingredients? Obtaining them will be easier than a walk through the Haven. Unfortunately, I must seek the assistance of a traitor in order to secure the first.
As I said, desperate times.
A long-ago memory ascends as I venture deeper into the dungeons, the memory of the day I first saw her. The day my link to her soul became more than a mere complication.
I stood on the back porch of the brownstone beside hers, frowning at the walls and concrete that seemed to spring from every direction. Who would live in such a trap by choice? The Third, from what I had seen so far, was a jungle, but not the kind I had become accustomed to. Trees were present, but appeared artificial, as if included in the landscape for decoration. I enjoy structure, revel in it, but this was too much. Where was the freedom? The pure abandon I felt back home in the Second?
I stooped, collecting a new lightbulb from a low round table. After unscrewing the burst bulb above the rear door, I reached to insert the fresh one in its place, and that’s when I heard her.
Her voice came to me as if out of a dream.
The lyrics were dejected and despondent, crushing my heart, not because of what they meant, but because of who I knew they poured from. It was her, the girl I had felt the entirety of my existence but had never laid eyes upon, not since I was a toddler. Makai urged me to wait until he was present to stage a meeting. It would seem like chance, when in truth everything was set in place. But how could I ignore the heartbreak that was my own? I had to see her. I could not delay any longer.
The bulb slipped from my fingers and crashed to the porch. Her song ceased and my heart raced. No turning back. She knew I had been listening. What could it hurt to greet her?
I moved to the wall between our yards and peered over. And there she was, making a run for her back door. She was short, soft, and pale. Her hair was not dark enough to be considered black, but not quite light enough to be a simple brown. Everything about her was in between. Her voice was too beautiful to be singing such a wretched song, her insecurity out of place among such loveliness.
When I hopped the fence and saw her face at last, I was a goner. As much as I made every effort to hide it, there would never be anyone else.
Which is exactly why I must not turn back.
I turn my attention to the task at hand, shoving away the memory and storing it for safekeeping. When I reach the lowest part of the dungeon, determination drives each step. Past the façade to the white-doored cell beside Ebony’s empty glass one. I don’t even give it another thought before I unlock the door and enter.
My boots scrape smooth cement as I slide into the windowless, white-walled room. It smells of sanitizer and bleach. I blink away the burn and stare at the prisoner lying strapped to a makeshift medical table.
Jonathan Gage’s eyes remain closed. Hard to believe I once considered him a friend and ally. His strapped arms and legs twitch, but otherwise he gives no indication he’s aware an intruder lurks nearby. His bare chest climbs and descends, and a scar slashes his torso from shoulder to hip. His Guardian tattoo remains stamped on his right breast, a crown encircling a crossed sword and arrow. “To the Crown until Death,” it reads. My fists clench. If I could rip the farce off his naked chest, I would.
Kuna was my friend, unlike this wretched swine. And yet Kuna has passed and Gage lives on. In what Reflection is this right or just? I was powerless to stop what happened. If in some way my actions now make up for my past failures, I will forever thank the Verity for the chance to set things right.
I glare at Gage. What does one say to a murderer?
The fluorescent light overhead buzzes as I approach the man who killed Kuna. For a moment I see the man I served beside. The one who helped Makai train me. The one I would have given my life for had it become necessary, as is the Guardian way.
But that man is dead, and I doubt he will ever return.
I lean forward and brace against the table’s edge. “I know you are awake, Jonathan.”
A menacing grin slithers over his mouth. “To what do I owe this pleasure, David?”
“It is ‘sir’ to you, traitor.”
“Ah, how the tables have turned.” His eyes remain closed. “Was it only last autumn I said the same about Kyaphus?” He tsk, tsk, tsks. “Tell me, if I am a traitor, why have you come? Surely you have not ventured all the way down here to catch up on old times.”
My fingers press harder into the table. “I am here to strike a bargain. Your life in exchange for what I seek.”
“And what is it you seek?”
“You know the whereabouts of Isabeau Archer.”
“I do.”
“Take me to her.”
“And why would I do such a thing?”
“Because, should you refuse, I will kill you.” My words are blunt and simple. True.
He laughs. “You don’t have it in you, David.”
The sound of metal sliding against leather echoes around the small space as I draw my sword. In one swift move I wield the weapon, which is more like a third arm, and press it to his neck.
His eyelids flash open, but his gaze remains fearless. Calling or none, he was always good at masking his emotions. A well-oiled machine made to protect and defend.
And kill.
“I see you have come a long way since your wooden sword training days,” he rasps, stretching his neck. “What do you want with Isabeau anyway?”
“She possesses an item I require.”
“Ha. And what makes you so sure she will give it to you?”
My grip on the hilt tightens. I press just enough to draw a trickle of blood. “She is in the business of trading, is she not? I have a hunch she will be more than willing to exchange what I seek for her servant boy.”
Gage winces.
I’ve cut his ego. Good.
“You will need to trade more than me to procure what you desire.” His head turns half an inch and my blade slices, blood oozing onto its edge. Hands clenched and biceps bulging against their restraints, he says, “Might I ask what is important enough for you to enlist the help of a lowly traitor?”
If I was not being extremely gracious tonight, I might give him another gash for sarcasm alone. I lift the sword away and wipe the blood onto his pant leg. “I am in search of a bottle.”
Gage breathes easier now. “A bottle, huh? Just a bottle? I don’t buy it. If you want me to take you to Isabeau, I’m afraid specificity is required.”
“I need a bottle fashioned from mirrorglass.” I shove my sword in its sheath and lean over him, my face directly above his. Even if Isabeau doesn’t possess the item, if she is on good terms with the so-called Fairy Queen, the Troll will have a way to obtain it. “Do we have a deal?”
“Why, yes,” Gage hisses. “I suppose we do.”