She’s screaming.
The memory of Mom’s shriek haunts me. She’s in pain. Being dragged through the Threshold at Central Park’s Pond.
Because of me.
Bang! Haman cackles. Wren mourns. Robyn bleeds.
Because of me.
Haman snaps his fingers. Joshua cries out in pain.
Because of me.
Ky dies. Loses the Verity. Takes on the Void.
Because of me.
Coronation guests bawl. Stormy sobs. Kuna dies.
Because of me.
“No,” I croak, a weak and wretched sound. “Stop. Take me.” Me, me, me.
I can’t continue to allow the people I love to suffer. I won’t.
Must.
Destroy.
The.
Void.
Someone laughs.
I flinch.
“You’re getting better.”
Ebony? Her voice is far away. Muted.
Grunt. I try to roll over in my hammock, but it just swings. I’m mummied in place.
“I knew you had it in you, runt.” Ebony again. But the characteristic insult that normally coats her tone is absent, replaced by . . . pride?
I sit up and my hammock makes the ceiling creak. Tide snores from the hammock to my right. Charley rests soundlessly in the one to my left, red hair spilling over the side of the canvas, making it appear as if it’s caught fire.
I rub my eyes, letting my vision adjust. What time is it?
“That’s it,” Ebony says. “You may still have your Confine, Khloe, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun with your Calling.”
My ears perk. Khloe?
“You’re a natural. We must be related.”
That does it. I’m out of my hammock and on my feet. After sliding into my shoes and tiptoeing through the crew’s sleeping quarters, I take the stairs to the deck two at a time, the rope-coiled railing scratching my palm. A hazy sky greets me, barely lit, suggesting dawn has only just broken.
A girl who couldn’t be a day over twelve stands at the deck’s center, back turned toward me. Her hair is black frizz, her skin the shade of Mom’s favorite cup of Earl Grey. Ebony is across from her, face alight in a way I’ve never witnessed. Joy adorns her eyes, her customary outfit of arrogance shed for another ensemble altogether.
She’s beautiful.
“We have a visitor.” Ebony leans to one side, peering at me past Khloe. “May I introduce our other sister.” She examines her less-than-pristine nails. “El, Khloe. Khloe, El.”
Khloe twirls. Not turns, twirls. “We’re approaching the Threshold. You might want to change.”
No “Hey, how’s it goin’?” No “Good morning, it’s nice to finally meet you, sis.” She skips right past the formal greetings and jumps into bossiness.
She’s definitely related to Ebony.
When she lists her head it’s with the grace of a prima ballerina. Her face is even younger than I expected, baby fat filling out her chin and cheeks. “Countess Ambrose would take it as a sign of disrespect if you were to enter her court looking like you just climbed out of bed.” Her words are blunt but not rude. Her smile holds a secret, maybe even a joke. She’s only eleven but she sounds years her senior.
I examine my clothes. Yesterday’s sweaty jeans and jacket combo sticks to me in odd places, cinched and twisted and stretched. Ebony pushed me to my limit, making me transform to and from a butterfly at least a dozen times. Each instance stirred a passion inside me, awakening the Verity for the first time since I was crowned.
Crowned. Verity. Could taking on the power that comes with being queen have had something to do with the Verity’s sudden silence? Was the crown what stopped the Verity from creating a calm within?
I smooth my hair. I removed the mirrorglass crown, but the Callings continue to dwindle. Still, something happened at the coronation when I became the ruler of the Second. I need to run this by Ky.
“Does she always stare off into space like that?” Khloe asks. “Are you sure she’s our sister?”
Blink. Huh? My sisters stand with arms crossed and smiles quirked. Both ogle me as one would a crazy person.
“Yeah, pretty much.” Ebony shrugs one shoulder. “You get used to it.”
Even if I could speak, what would I say? I’ve never had siblings before. It was always me and Mom. It took a good few weeks to fall into the tempo of having a best friend in Stormy, and only then because she was persistent. But sisters? That’s a whole other symphony.
“Have you come to practice with us? I’ve been ill for a few days, but I’m totally better now. Big brother always makes me stay in bed when I’m sick, even when I insist I’m fine. Ebony’s been teaching me how to project. With my Confine in place ’til I turn eighteen, my Calling has limits. Still, there are other ways I can flex my Shield muscles. Isn’t that right, Eb?”
Practice? Project? Shield muscles? Eb? This girl talks a mile a minute, launching from one topic to the next without prelude or an opportunity to get a single syllable in.
My older sister stands beside the younger. They may be opposites in appearance, but their personalities sure are in sync. “El’s not strong enough.” Ebony flips her hair. “Projecting is a whole different level of mastery.”
I want to ask what projecting is, to inquire why these two seem so close. Ebony—a.k.a. Bones—mentioned she was the one who transported Khloe to the Fourth upon Jasyn’s orders. Could they have bonded then?
“Oh.” Khloe bounces on her toes. “I’m supposed to tell you my brother wants to see you. He sent me to fetch you, but then I found Ebony and got excited to practice and totally forgot.” She talks with her hands, all flails and flaps.
I nod a silent thanks as I head for the captain’s cabin. I need to speak to Ky as well and am grateful for the chance to do so alone. When I reach the upper deck, however, I pause. Observe my sisters for another moment. They laugh and chat, Ebony leaning in to tell Khloe something or other and Khloe nodding. Unprecedented jealousy lances my chest.
When Ky first told me of Khloe, a surge of hope swelled. Could Khloe and I become friends—sisters? Watching her with Ebony now, I have to wonder if the sister ship has sailed. They’re so easy with each other. Might I have a chance with baby Evan, if I ever get to meet him? Will anything in my life ever be normal?
Once I reach the captain’s cabin, I touch the doorknob and give it a quarter turn. Wait. What am I doing? My hand lifts and knock, knock, knocks.
“Come in,” Ky calls.
Okay. Breathe. We haven’t been alone since my first night here. But I can do this, I can—
I freeze in my tracks. Ky stands across the room, shirtless. His jeans hang low over his hips, belt undone. Morning’s cool light filters through the curved window, softens his winter-worn features. I almost don’t notice he has more than just the one new scar on his face.
Except my eyes adjust and I do notice. I see the burned flesh, pink and potholed and shiny, on his right pec—the place where his Guardian tattoo used to be. Inward gasp. The tip of the sword is still visible, the slightest curve of the crown. But the arrow is gone, as is the Guardian oath. It appears as if someone scorched the image clean off his skin. And then there are the yellowed bruises. The raised lines of healing scars.
The first day of the year screeches back to me like tires on black ice. Joshua about to propose—again. Me, falling to my knees in dire agony. Joshua following suit. It was Ky’s pain we felt.
Who did this to you? I squeeze my eyes shut. The hurt—nauseating and suffocating—is too much. My throat constricts.
“C’mon, Em,” he says, brushing away my serious thoughts. His belt jangles. “You’ve seen me shirtless before.” His voice is muffled, probably from the shirt he’s lifting over his head, thank the Verity. “I don’t mind if you look.”
Why does he avoid my question? I know he heard me. I can’t help but believe this is somehow my fault as well. That Ky was tortured . . .
Because. Of. Me.
No one is safe. Everyone I get close to ends up hurt—or dead. Will nothing ever change?
Footsteps across the cabin. Shuffle, creak.
I will myself to hear his thoughts. To search his mind for the secrets he keeps.
Nada.
I peek beneath my eyelids.
Ky is clothed now, wearing a V-neck sweater, crisp white T-shirt beneath. Dark jeans. Black dress shoes. Cocky, twisted smile. His gaze is intense, leaving nothing to question. Must he make his feelings for me so obvious?
I step back. Ky . . . Look down. Who . . . ? Swallow. The scars. The bruises? Who did this? Look up.
The space between his brows creases. “Some came from Jasyn’s Soulless.”
And the burn?
His eyes shift. Narrow. He works his jaw before he says, “Next question.”
Again I attempt to listen for his thoughts but hear nothing.
Move on. Get that lopsided grin back. Khloe said you wanted to see me. Is everything okay?
“Quite.” His focus finds mine again, the tension in his expression melting. He wiggles his eyebrows. Lists his head. “Can’t I simply want to look at you without everyone watching?”
My heart hits the door behind me. Joshua can’t see my mirrormark, so he’s always seen me as beautiful. But Ky? What does he see?
“Em . . .” He slides forward an inch, smelling of soap and brine. “You. Are. Beautiful. Every part. Every line and scar and flaw. Every blemish. I love it all. Maybe David is blind to your mark, but that’s where I count myself fortunate. He sees the you he wants to see. The you he thinks he can make you. I see you as you are.”
My walls vanish. All the tautness between us dissipates.
“And you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Ky is so close now I’m positive he’ll touch me. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t have to.
Because I feel it, the invisible thread connecting us. It’s more tangible than ever. Like a force I can’t war against. Silence settles, the magnetism present but not as strong.
“Better hurry up.” He reaches past me to open the door, ending the moment. “We’ll be crossing the Threshold soon.”
Wait, I think. I remembered something.
“Oh?” He quirks a brow. “Do tell.”
I share about the Verity and the mirrorglass crown. Watch his mind work behind his shifting eyes.
“Mirrorglass, you said?”
I nod.
His lips flatten. “I think this bit of information will prove useful when we speak with Countess Ambrose. Especially the part regarding mirrorglass.”
Why’s that?
“Because.” His Adam’s apple bobs at the precise moment his lashes lower. “The Fourth Reflection is where mirrorglass was first discovered.”
I’d always assumed the ship’s captain steered or drove or whatever. Wrong. A guy named Flint is the pilot, in charge of navigation and steering. He wears a shark-tooth necklace and a stoic expression, unblinking eyes focused beyond the ship’s bow.
Ky braces against the upper-deck railing five feet away, elbows locked, regard fixed on the sea. His gaze darts back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. He doesn’t even glance in my direction when I emerge from the captain’s cabin. What’s he looking for?
Flint tilts the wheel left an inch. Right two. I shuffle past him, careful not to disturb his concentration. His expression hovers between serious and afraid.
My stomach flips. Great. Now I’m worried. Is there something about the Fourth’s Threshold they’re not telling me?
When I reach the steps leading to the main deck, I pause and cast a sidelong glance at Ky. Creased lines edge his eyes, span his forehead. I want to reach out and smooth those lines with my fingertips. The urge is so strong I have to keep moving.
On the main deck, the crew works in uniform silence, their miens reflecting the captain’s. Streak readies the lifeboats, the cords of his neck rigid. A guy named Sam, but referred to as Gunner, stocks his person with knives, a sword, a pistol. Charley marches past me, a quiver of arrows attached to her hip, a bow made of redwood to match her hair clutched in her left hand.
I clutch Dimitri’s journal in my right hand and move to the railing. Fog engulfs us, floating across and around and through. It’s like dry-ice smoke but thinner. A ghost’s shadow. Does Flint bear a unique Calling that allows him to find his way blindly? What category would such a gift fall under?
Everyone seems to be dressed in their best. Not gala fancy, more business casual. Collared shirts, slacks, a few ties. Apparently Countess Ambrose is someone to impress. Even Tide, who stocks packs with sandwiches and canteens, has swapped his trademark board shorts for khakis and a polo shirt.
I glance down. Frown. I dug through the trunk containing my things and found the sundress I wore to my eighth-grade graduation. It’s a little too tight, pinching my underarms, the middle buckling in places. But at least it falls past my knees. I dressed it up with a cardigan, leggings, and flats. It’ll have to do.
Not sure what else to do, I open the journal and turn to the place I left off. But then I change my mind and flip forward several chapters. I know it’s here somewhere. I made a mental note of it back in Joshua’s study. I lick my thumb, flip one, two, three—aha! I knew it. Perfect.
Twenty-Eighth Day, Tenth Month, Tenth Year of Count VonKemp
Perhaps the most interesting discovery I have made upon my return to the Fourth Reflection is a substance I am respectively terming “mirrorglass.”
Yes!
I have not been here since I was a boy, and the Fourth’s beaches are teeming with it. Where did it come from? Was it here when I was a child? The residents have not paid it much mind. I took it upon myself to ask Count VonKemp if I might be at liberty to study the stuff. He allowed it and I have been cooped up in this cramped room for a number of months, examining the substance’s properties. While my original intention was to merely pass through the Fourth, as this is my place of birth, and head straight to the Fifth, I am fascinated by my newfound discovery and cannot yet bring myself to move on.
Sounds like Mom when she was working on a difficult painting. Once she put her mind to it, there was no getting her away from her studio. I had to practically pry her brush out of her hand to get her into the sun once.
Findings:
Lightweight but strong. Looks like glass, but upon testing proves to be extremely durable and difficult to break.
Will not melt when put through mortal fire. (Note for future study: Might Dragon fire have a different effect?)
Appears to have a reverse effect of some sort. When sharp pieces were used to cut the surface of skin, the wound immediately healed upon drawback.
I sigh my frustration and turn a page. I know all of this already. Surely there must be something new—
The ship shudders, drawing my gaze level. Streak, Tide, and Gunner lower the anchor as one. Flint skirts the wheel and stands beside Ky. They exchange a cryptic look I can’t decipher.
“There it is.” Khloe stands to my left. She looks like a doll in her cornflower-blue pinafore dress and Mary Janes.
I knit my brows and snap the journal closed.
“Look closer.” She gestures out to sea. Toward nothing.
I squint in the direction of her extended finger. Nothing. Nothing. Noth—Wait. There. Beyond the gray. Something . . . Is that . . . ?
What appears to be a stone arch juts from the middle of the ocean. Jagged rocks loom just beyond, blocking our path. But then the fog parts. Yes. I see it now. The arch leads to something else. It’s a gateway. Those aren’t just rocks.
They’re stairs.
Tide flanks my right. He and Khloe exchange grins. Together they say, “Welcome to the Bermuda Triangle.”