The Shattered Mirror (Winter's Blight Book 4)

by M. C. Aquila

  Iain hit the ground on his back, the breath knocked from him. He grabbed his shoulder as pain radiated from it, closing his eyes. The rumbling of the Earth Magic stopped, and when he sat up, some of the faeries were watching him, waiting. Some snickered or shook their heads in disdain.

  Thinking of Lonan’s smug warning to him earlier, Iain willed himself to move. Get up. They’re expecting you to stay down or leave. Get back up… like you always do.

  With a grunt, Iain pushed himself off the ground and jumped up, fetching his sword. Then, with a nod to the staring faeries, he turned to Cai, wincing as his shoulder twinged. “Anyway,” he said, strained, “once we go on the Wild Hunt and everyone has proof, I bet Rosh—the Summer Prince will listen and help me figure something out.”

  The knight gave him an oddly superior look as he raised his eyebrows.

  “What?” Iain asked. “What’s with that face?”

  “You think you’re chummy with the Summer Prince, aye? You called him by his first name. No wonder Nikias hates you.” Cai aimed a strike at Iain’s side, which he parried.

  Iain rolled his eyes. “The Summer Prince is a lot more relaxed than some of the other Nobles. So, yeah, I like him somewhat.”

  “And one of them in particular. With ginger hair and a positive attitude.” Cai smirked. “Your mum is probably right, you know. You and Deirdre… I don’t see that working.”

  Iain was unprepared and let out a gasp as Cai smacked him hard in the shoulder with the flat of his blade. When Iain went to pay him back, lashing out with his sword recklessly, the man parried and knocked the blade from his hand. It went spinning into the dirt.

  Winded more by Cai’s words than his strikes, Iain went to retrieve the sword, but the knight got there first. He handed the weapon to Iain expectantly, who took it with some reluctance.

  “Before you start with your speeches or whatever,” Cai said in a gruff tone before Iain could open his mouth, “I want to tell you that I am speaking from my own experience here. I might have… courted a faery before. A long time ago.”

  “You courted a faery?” Iain couldn’t help but smile. “Was she a Seelie Noble?”

  Nodding, Cai said, “I was questing in Wales at the time—it had been a rash, impulsive decision, but people were being killed by an Afanc, a monstrous water creature, in the nearby lake. I was ill prepared, but I had some help. There was a Ghillie Dhu, a mountain spirit, who was just as keen as I was on protecting the lake.

  “We bested the monster together, but the Ghillie Dhu was slain in the fight. I hadn’t known at the time, but he had a faery under his protection and had acted as her guardian.” Cai’s eyes went distant and his mouth twitched at a wistful smile. “She was a Seelie faery, and she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Her name was Raisa.

  “Since her guardian had fallen in combat by my side, I decided it was right to see that Raisa was protected and cared for. I called on her from time to time, and soon we started courting.” Cai’s tone turned bitter as he added, “And after five years… we talked of marriage.”

  Iain let out a breath, his stomach sinking, wondering how this tale had ended.

  “But courting a faery like her…” Cai shook his head, laughing wryly. “It’s like courting the weather. One moment it’s pleasant and clear, warm and still—the next it’s storming. She was devoted to me, and I to her. But she was also devoted to the wildness in her spirit, to her fleeting faery whims.

  “I had a ring made for her while she was off trooping with other faeries. I was going to propose when she returned. But she didn’t return. She might as well have vanished. Without a word of notice or an explanation…”

  “Cai…,” Iain said uncertainly.

  “I know what your idealist heart is telling you, but she wasn’t dead or captured. I heard of her here and there from other faeries. When I asked for her, desperate for answers, they told me she wanted me to stay away from her.”

  Raising his head and his sword, Cai pointed his blade at Iain’s chest. His eyes were stern and serious as he warned, “This is the risk you take in courting Deirdre. She seems like a nice, endearing girl, but she is still a faery.”

  Do I really know what I’m getting myself into here? Could a Noble faery and a human ever work?

  Iain parried, striking Cai’s sword aside and then grinning in surprise. “I’m sorry about Raisa, Cai. I wish you could have gotten closure. And I am taking your warnings and Mum’s warnings to heart.”

  “But?”

  “But I’m just focusing on being Deirdre’s champion and her friend first. That’s all.”

  Cai raised his eyebrows, clearly skeptical.

  “Anyway, you never answered my question. Can you hold your breath for nine days?”

  “Maybe if you can knock this sword from my hand one day, I’ll tell you about it.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Vera sat on the floor with her back to the hearth in the parlor of the manor, her fiddle tucked under her chin and her bow poised to the strings. Cecil was draped across his favorite claw-footed chair, scowling at the silver goblet in his hands. As he lifted the cup to his lips, he asked in a whine, “Would you play me a tune to help me drain the last dregs of this… vile concoction?”

  “Are you preparing to absorb more magic?” Vera nodded to the goblet.

  “I’ll need to take on as much magic as I can in the coming days,” Cecil replied, sighing. “I will need lots of rest and pampering too. Only small spells for now. After all, the Winter King expects me to be in the thick of the battle at the barrier.”

  The liquid sloshed in the goblet as Cecil swished it like wine, and it released a bitter, herby, metallic scent into the air that made Vera shudder. The sedative draught, when carefully directed with Cecil’s intent, subdued the Cait Sidhe’s magic inside him momentarily without putting himself to sleep, allowing him to absorb more magic. The Cait Sidhe’s magic needed to rest during the process, or Cecil could not focus on keeping the Moorland Beast in check.

  “A lullaby then? Sleep, little kitten…” Vera played a slow, melancholy tune on her fiddle. She sang the words low and soft, drawing out the notes, lacing them with a sense of ease, and hoped to release the tension and conflict coiled in the room.

  “Gods, what kind of lullaby is that?” Cecil asked after taking another sip, sitting upright. “It sounds more like a bloody funeral march.”

  “It is old. Russian.”

  “Ah.” After a pause, Cecil said, “Well, we had some dark and dour nursery rhymes in my day in England as well. There was one we used to sing to… to our brother…”

  When Cecil trailed off, his gold eyes dulling as they focused on the dancing flames in the hearth, Vera picked up on the sorrow in the air and threaded it into the song, the magic in the fiddle feeding off of it and amplifying it. Then she prompted coyly, “You spoke to James again this morning, didn’t you? I heard you talking in your room. I didn’t even barge in this time.”

  “Yes.” Cecil’s smile was lopsided, wistful. “He wants to be my friend. We’re good chums, Vera.”

  Sitting up a little, he said, breathless, “I cannot wait to show him everything. Imagine the look on his face when he sees the library or the laboratory or the rooms and rooms of magical items. Gods, I’ll be absolutely bombarded with questions, won’t I? I’ll have to be patient with him.”

  “Then he is coming here soon?” Vera asked eagerly, and the rhythm of the song picked up, a new note adding a little excitement to it.

  “Not yet. He isn’t ready yet.” Cecil’s voice lowered, and his gaze narrowed on the goblet. “There is an errand I need for him to do for me first. Rather, the Winter King needs him to do it. The Winter King requires me to—”

  After breaking off his words, Cecil took a deep breath and another swig of his drink before continuing. Vera sensed unshed grief perched in his chest, and she coaxed it to escape with a few more sad, grim notes from her fiddle.

  Cecil said slowly, his voice th
ick, “I knew the boy would be desperate to prove himself, to shine, to learn. But I did not anticipate how desperately abandoned he feels. It comes off him in waves, like something about to shatter. And when he does shatter, I don’t think he’ll be the same. I almost wonder if I don’t want to see that happen even if that is what it takes to bring him home.”

  Something gleamed on Cecil’s face in the flickering light, and he reached up with hesitant fingers, confused, to brush a tear from his cheek. Jolting, like waking from a trance, he sat up fully, the golden eyes sharp and alert as they fixed on her. “What are you doing, Vera?” he snapped.

  The fiddler stopped her playing and leaped to her feet, dancing backward. “Nothing!” she said, tucking the fiddle and bow behind her back. “Nothing at all.”

  Cecil dug his fingers like claws into the armrests of his chair, his voice like a knife. “You know I am vulnerable to your tricks when I am preparing like this. I told you never to use your magic on me again.”

  “How else am I supposed to know what you are thinking, what you have planned?” Vera stomped her foot. “You won’t tell me anything! You keep me in the darkness, and you hog James’s time to yourself—”

  Though he had finished the sedative, the lithe fierceness of the Cait Sidhe was still evident in her brother’s bones as he vaulted from the chair and stood in front of her in a flash.

  As she backed up against the hearth, letting out a nervous laugh, Vera’s elbow knocked against a loose stone. It fell out and onto the floor, revealing the hole inside where Kallista’s trinkets and letters were still stored. Cecil bent to examine the objects, a small smile forming on his face as he snatched one of Kallista’s letters from the floor. He crumpled it in his fist, then turned to her again.

  “Are you mad because I almost figured out your plans?” she asked, giggling nervously again. “Or are you mad because I saw you cry?”

  Cecil rolled his eyes. “I did not cry.”

  “Yes you did!” Vera stuck out her lips in a pout and traced her index finger down her face, mimicking the still visible track on her brother’s face. “I coaxed out what was already there.”

  He scrubbed his face with his sleeve and asked her with forced brightness, “Do you really want to know what I’m planning? I think James needs a little nudge, a helpful push. I think I know now what that is, and you will aid me. You want to be a part of this, don’t you, pet?”

  Vera’s expression flickered, her mouth twitching at a reluctant smile. She did not know if the spark in her brother’s eye was a good sign or not but still replied, “Yes, I do!”

  “Wonderful.” He held out his free hand to her. “Get your skeleton key, and we will make a quick stop to the gardens. I need a few ingredients from the shed for a little spell. It should not deplete my energy too much.”

  Reaching into the pocket of her dress, she held up the ornate key. Cecil scraped it from her hand, placing it in the breast pocket of his loose white shirt. Then they made their way to the side door, toward the dying hedge maze in the back garden, and toward the shed.

  After unlocking the shed and stepping inside, Cecil did not hesitate or even glance at the array of objects, trinkets, and spell ingredients before striding directly to the wooden stand across from the door and snatching something up. When he turned around, he held a red velvet pouch. It was shaped and sized like a human heart, and it pulsed faintly in his grip.

  Alan Callaghan’s heart.

  Vera’s smile faded. “What are you doing with that?”

  Ignoring her, he slammed the letter down on the table, smoothing it out with his hands, and let out a breathy chuckle as he plucked a single long, dark, wavy strand of hair from the parchment—Kallista’s hair.

  He promised he wouldn’t hurt Mother. He promised… didn’t he?

  With his hands on both items, Cecil focused, and the energy of his magic filled the room, dazzling, loud, and demanding attention. His will was strong and his intent powerful.

  He hissed out the words. “Take the threads of this faery pact and fate, this sacrifice, and tighten the bonds that hold them like a noose…”

  “Cecil?” Vera started. “Brother, what are you—?”

  “Take these two souls, separated by distance and time,” he continued, unhearing, “and let them be as one. One in pain alone. What one suffers let the other suffer twofold. Let it not end until the pact binding them is broken.”

  Letting out a breath, she felt the magic leave the room and go into the items in her brother’s grasp. Cecil spun around, chuckling, and said with a smile, “Truly, I missed my calling as a poet. That was almost romantic.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kallista awoke from a fitful sleep at dawn to find herself alone in the camp. She shuffled around the clearing, her hands on her hips, and scoffed upon realizing she had no idea where her sons were—or Deirdre and Cai, for that matter. Searching for something to do to occupy her restless mind, she tidied up what was left of their items at the camp.

  As she aimlessly walked about, picking things up only to set them down again, she practiced what she might say to her son about the Cait Sidhe. She imagined James listening intently, those large, bright green eyes of his focused on her and him asking too many questions as usual.

  Clasping her hands in front of her, holding her chin high and tossing her hair behind her shoulders with a shake of her head, Kallista said to the open air firmly, “James, there is something we need to discuss. Your friend Deirdre told me last night that you met with the Cait Sidhe. I am not angry with you…”

  She groaned and rubbed her forehead, whispering to herself in irritation, “Well, then do not sound angry, Kalli. You sound just like Papa—or Delphina, heaven forbid!”

  There was a faint rustling sound in the forest to her left by the hammocks, and soon the slight figure of her youngest son darted into sight. He glanced around, smiling as he saw her and approached.

  “Where have you been this morning?” she asked. “I woke up and everyone was gone.”

  “Nowhere.” James reddened as he said in a rush, “Well, um, actually… I was with Alvey. But—but not just with her, alone. I had breakfast with Alvey and her mother.”

  Kallista raised her eyebrows, not quite sure what to make of his rambling explanation. “Oh,” she said. “Well, that is very kind of Alvey and her mother to invite you. I will have to thank them myself, yes?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Do you know where your brother is?”

  The boy’s features slackened, and he shrugged his thin shoulders, lowering his head. “I dunno. Probably training with Cai.”

  “Well, do you know where Deirdre is?”

  At that innocent question, James’s countenance darkened and turned stony, and she could practically see the boy building up a wall behind his eyes to keep her out.

  When he went over to the hammock to sit, shrugging off his pack, Kallista took a deep breath, steeling herself, and joined him. “James, there is something we need to discuss. Your friend Deirdre told me last night—”

  “She’s, um, not my friend.”

  Kallista flinched. “What? James, why would you say that?” When he offered no response but to hunch his posture and glower, she said, “Regardless, Deirdre told me you met the Cait Sidhe at the festival, when you were looking for me.

  “I am not angry with you, but I do not think you know the danger you were in.” She exhaled, closing her eyes for a moment. “You asked me once what it was like, living at the Cait Sidhe’s manor. I wanted to protect you from the truth, but I think you should know what… evil that creature is capable of.”

  After fidgeting a moment, he said, “Okay. I want to know the truth.”

  Kallista placed her hand on his shoulder. “This is not easy for me. I would rather forget, but forgetting is exactly what he made me do. He would enthrall me to forget where and who I was, who you were. And then when I remembered again, and all of that… pain came rushing back, he took cruel pleasure in my sufferi
ng.”

  The boy shivered under her touch, and she rubbed soothing circles against his back. “I know this is difficult to hear, but I endured this for your sake—”

  “Don’t.” James looked up, his face drawn as he forced the words out. “Don’t say it was my—don’t say you left because of me, when Delphina told us you knew I was protected by my third name. She told you to go home. Why didn’t you?”

  Kallista could only stare for a moment, her mouth parting. “It was not an easy choice, Jal,” she explained. “I could not sit and wait for the Cait Sidhe to come to try to claim you—I had to do something. I needed to know who had made the deal and why. And then I thought my deal with the Master would save you, so I—”

  The wounded look in James’s eyes halted her. “Mum,” he said, “when you left, everything fell apart. I don’t know what Marko told you in his letters, but he wasn’t even there. I was— We were on our own.” His eyes grew wide, distantly horrified. “I know Iain tried, but… but it was too much for him, and—we missed you so much.”

  Covering her mouth, Kallista was unable to speak as regret hit her like she had plunged into icy waters and all the air was knocked from her chest.

  “It was just us and Dad—the person who sold me as a thrall. And he was…” He trailed off, sucking in a breath. “Dad was cruel. He didn’t care at all, and he wouldn’t even let us mention you because of the faery deal.”

  “What… what do you—?” She inhaled sharply. “The deal to destroy the Summer Court? What do you mean?”

  “The Cait Sidhe took his heart.”

  The words were clear, but she could not process what they meant in reality. It sounded like a cruel fairy tale, yet it relit a flicker of hope she had snuffed out years ago.

  She remembered doubling over while the Master smirked at her misfortune when she had found out her husband had traded her son’s life. What did you do to him? she had spat. Did you curse him?

  The Master had snickered at her faith, her loyalty to her husband, and her hope. From that point on, she had hardened her spirits in response to simply survive. There was no room for hope beyond her hurt after that moment.