The Shattered Mirror (Winter's Blight Book 4)

by M. C. Aquila

She took it immediately. It was warm and his grip was reassuring. She shut her eyes and focused on it, and for a while they stayed still, silent but close, neither letting go.

  Eventually she let out a pent-up, shaky breath and opened her eyes, smiling genuinely at him, though it was weak. “Good night, Iain.”

  “Good night, Deirdre.”

  With a final squeeze, he stepped away and went to speak in whispers to his mother. She was beside James, who had also gotten into a hammock, his back to the room, facing the small window beside him.

  After taking off her boots and shaking out her hair, Deirdre reclined in her hammock, trying to force her tense limbs to relax and trying to will her anxious heart, beating as fast and flighty as a wounded bird, to settle down.

  As she pulled her blanket close around her, she glanced once out the porthole-like window near her. All she could see was black and gray, with flashes of white from lightning. The wind howled around them, making the tree groan, and in her hammock attached to the tree, she could feel everything sway.

  We’re helpless here, aren’t we? I’m supposed to be a Noble faery, but I can’t even protect anyone here. If this is what the realm can be like, then Oberon is right. I’m not ready. Can I… She shivered and turned away from the window, looking at the bright fire hovering above and thinking of the puny flame she’d conjured earlier and had been so proud of. How can I ever really handle this?

  Chapter Nineteen

  The storm raged throughout the night, making the earth, the sky, and the tree they were in shudder and groan, with the wind screaming like a hundred voices. But Alvey slept through most of it.

  While it had been nearly a decade since she had experienced such an onslaught from the king and queen’s anger, she knew Cardea’s skill with both Wind and Flora Magic was refined to the point that the faery was weak with the other elements. So Alvey slept securely, occasionally muttering at the howling wind like it was a neighbor’s barking dog.

  I hope it does not bother Mother.

  When Alvey woke the next morning from the sounds of everyone moving about, she immediately struck out to find her parents. However, as she was rolling out of the tree, she sensed the magic outside was still restless even though the storm had passed. So she asked James to come along, and he readily obliged, though he was still yawning sleepily.

  Outside, Dryads of all types were mending harmed trees and pruning what could not be healed. She called one of the sleepy owl Dryads to lead them to her parents.

  In reply, the faery summoned with clicks and hoots a pygmy owl, who swooped down and guided them. Alvey expected James to pester her with questions about why the owl listened to the faery, how it knew where to go, etc. But aside from some startled excitement when the owl first swooped down to them, he was silent.

  Not liking it, Alvey went ahead and told him everything about it anyway.

  Something is wrong with him, she thought as they neared her parents’ dwelling, entering into the clearing where tall, lanky Dryads with hair the color of yellow leaves and skin like birch were cleaning and mending. But what is it? It could not be just poor sleep.

  “Alvey?” James spoke up, suddenly halting her chair.

  “What?”

  “Um, the owl’s gone. And there’s something happening at your house. It’s like the Light Magic we saw a week ago, making the barrier, but it’s all in your house.”

  Alvey shivered, then snapped at James as she rolled forward, “Stay here!” The gazebo was engulfed in Light Magic. It was soft and nondestructive, but unless her mother was simply playing with her magic, this meant only one thing.

  “Lady Sybil is well, little Alvey.”

  Alvey jerked her chin up at a familiar tweeting, sensing a burst of Wind Magic as a tiny bird faery swooped down and landed in front of her. “What do you mean by ‘well’?” Alvey asked with a frown. The faery, related to phoenixes, was one of the few full-time healers in the realm. He tended to Sybil during her worst moments.

  “There is no risk of harm to herself. But”—the faery shook his scarlet feathers—“she did not know who I was.”

  Gripping her wheels so hard her hands hurt, Alvey spun herself around, heading toward James.

  “Is, um, everything all right?” he asked.

  “Nay.” Alvey hissed. “My mother is not there. We shall have breakfast elsewhere.”

  They ate bread from the ovens of a Noble faery who had a strange, consistent taste for baked goods. While this made him something of a misfit, no one minded when he baked every morning in his stone ovens and made plenty to spare.

  After breakfasting, during which Alvey kept the topic on how faeries used their magic for everyday tasks like cooking and cleaning, they retreated to a small, stony bank by a river. The magic there was not very strong or lively, nearly placid. As other faeries often avoided it in favor of other rivers with more interesting, lively magic, Alvey often came here to be alone.

  There was a strange thrill in sharing her alone space with James. Even if they were working.

  “What do you think are in these, exactly?” James asked, putting down the rocks he’d found the previous night on a long stone slab several yards from the river.

  “Some Earth Magic, some Air, normal things,” she replied with a wave of her hand.

  “I meant the types of minerals or things like that.”

  “I do not know. Why is that important?”

  “Can I use one of your Fire Crystals?”

  Fishing one out for him, Alvey asked, “Are you going to blow them up and see what shall happen? That hardly sounds enlightening.”

  James laughed a bit weakly as she dropped a few crystals into his hand. “Um, no. I want to see what’s inside, see what I can, um, learn. I mean”—he stepped back toward the slab—“your charm is brilliant, of course.”

  “Of course,” Alvey said with a grin, threading her fingers through her necklace.

  “But what if, um, this could completely deter or even control Time Magic somehow?”

  “Controlling Time Magic is not possible, James.”

  “We’ll see.” He took the smallest crystal and, after aiming a couple of times, threw it down.

  There was a small explosion, followed by the sound of James exclaiming happily. Then he sat down on the wide stone and sorted through the broken pieces.

  Alvey wheeled over, frowning. “It feels as if you are splitting it asunder.”

  “Yeah, I’m trying to separate the different components in it so we can test and see which one was the part that deterred the Time Magic.”

  “But that effect could have been caused by the combination of elements.”

  “Maybe. But we won’t know unless we try, right?”

  “I suppose.” Alvey blew a stray lock of hair out of her face. “Pray tell, is there anything interesting?”

  In response, he placed a rock fragment in her hand. It was cold and hard but not dirty or crumbly. It clearly had some Air Magic in it.

  “I’m pretty sure that’s fluorite,” he said.

  Alvey ran her fingers over the crystals. “My mother was fond of these. I once made her a necklace with them, but she lost it recently. She…” She trailed off, sighing as she lowered her hands to her lap. “She did not even realize it was gone. Or that she even had it.”

  For a moment there was silence, then James spoke up. “I know it’s not easy, seeing someone you care about like that.”

  “You know.” Alvey held back a scoff and settled for crossing her arms tightly. “How could you know what it is like to see your mother suddenly become a different person? Suddenly not act like herself, not care about you, not even see you? Fie! She’s supposed to be taking care of me, not the other way around. I know she’s better than this! I…” She hung her head, gulping down a sob.

  “I don’t know what it’s like to see your mother like that, fine.” James’s voice was low but steady, though muffled, as though he was looking down as he went on, “But I—seeing someone become
a different person, not act like himself or care or see you—” He let out a shuddering breath. “I know about all that.”

  She tilted her head. “How so?”

  After a few moments, he replied in an even lower voice that demanded secrecy, “For a while, years after Mum left, Iain was addicted to Pan. It got bad to the point that… he wasn’t himself anymore. Even when he was there… he wasn’t really there.”

  Alvey’s mouth fell open, and for once she was at a loss for words.

  “It got better, of course. But for a while there…” James’s voice shook. “I didn’t know if things would ever change, and it almost killed him.”

  “I—” She fiddled with the crystals in her hand, suddenly uncomfortable. “I did not know. I apologize. My father and everyone else are so hopeful and accepting of it. I do not want to accept it. I want to think she can get better too.” She hurriedly wiped her eyes, adding, “Also, I am not crying!”

  Sensing (and feeling embarrassed by) James’s attention, she quickly asked with a sniff, “How old were you when this happened?”

  “Eleven.”

  Alvey wiped her eyes one last time, asking, “How do you feel about it now? Is it…?” She sucked in her breath, afraid to hear the answer, as if it could determine her own future. “Is it something you can let go of?”

  “Um, well…” James shifted uneasily. “Not until recently. I do want to forgive him and let it go. Still working on it. But yeah, I think you can. It won’t be easy, but I think it’s worth it.”

  Turning the fluorite between her fingers, Alvey realized aloud, “I truly know nothing about Iain.”

  James just grunted, turning away.

  “I hardly know anything about you either.” Alvey rolled her chair over and scooted onto the stone next to him. She held back a smile as she sensed him tense and fidget. “Where were you born? In the city?”

  He chuckled on a high pitch and coughed, inching away from her so their arms weren’t touching. “I, uh, yeah…”

  Scooting closer, she pressed, “Did you live there your entire life, until you left recently?” She tilted her head. “What was it like? What on earth do people do in those cities? Is there any greenery whatsoever?”

  Chuckling, he replied, “Who’s firing off loads of questions at once now?”

  With a giggle, she lightly elbowed him, beginning to believe this morning could be perfectly fine after all.

  * * *

  Cecil had left the door to his room open for Vera that morning. As the thralls went about their duties around the estate, the makeshift siblings sat on the hardwood floor in front of the uncovered full-length mirror, waiting for James to contact them. Vera had a storybook open on her lap and was alternately reading aloud and painting Cecil’s fingernails.

  Some of the cheer had faded from her accented voice, and Cecil thought she must still be cross with him for punishing Kallista. His sister did not yet understand why it was necessary or why he found it so fitting.

  “You know, Vera,” Cecil said, examining the drying black paint on his nails, “I was wrong to critique modern fashions so harshly. Most of it is dull and far too casual, but I grew quite fond of the nail polish when I wore it to the festival. It reminds me fondly of my claws.”

  “It makes me feel like a haggard old witch!” Vera nodded, giggling. She had already painted her own nails. “But it suits you better, brother, though I have heard mostly women wear it.”

  Rolling his eyes, he protested, “Nail polish is gender neutral. And so is the term ‘witch,’ by the way. I should know, as I am a witch. Men, women—we were hanged and burned in equal numbers in my day.”

  “Oh, did I bring up a sore subject, brother? I did not even have to play my fiddle this time.” She poked him in his skinny side until he winced. He gave her a little shove, making her cackle with laughter as her brush smeared polish across his fingers.

  “You’re quite lucky that did not get on my shirt,” Cecil warned her, still grinning. “Or I could have easily enthralled you to do my laundry forever as repayment. And you would do so happily!”

  Her smile waned as she scooted back from him. He realized his mistake and clarified quickly, “You know I am teasing you. I would never do such a thing. I promised.”

  “You say the most awful things sometimes, Cecil.” She shook her head, her gold-brown ringlets bouncing around her face. “Why do you say such… horrible things?”

  Lamenting his half-finished nails, he leaned back on his elbows and sighed, lolling his head back dramatically. “Sometimes I just blurt out nonsense for the hell of it. Or sometimes I like to provoke a reaction. I often say words without meaning them at all.”

  “But why?”

  “For fun.” He sprawled languidly across the floor. “I know the world still holds much sincerity and whimsy for you, darling. But as a mortal man who has lived so long, I suppose most words and things and people simply hold no real meaning after a while.”

  Vera leaned over him after a moment, a knowing look in her bright blue eyes. “That is not what my fiddle told me the other night when it enchanted you,” she said in a singsong voice. “Our family still holds a little meaning.”

  He tugged on one of her ringlets like a bell pull. Then they both sat up as a familiar hesitant, softly mumbling voice came through the mirror. “Hello? Cecil, are… are you, um, there?”

  “James!” Cecil and Vera said at once.

  The boy looked quite alarmed at their enthusiasm behind the mirror, and he quickly ducked his head, scratching at his hair. His normally warm brown complexion was a little pale, and he looked chilled despite the sunny forest around him.

  Vera crawled closer to the mirror, tilting her head as she studied him. “Something happened last night, didn’t it? Something bad. What was it?”

  Leaning forward, Cecil listened intently. He wondered if his curse had taken effect already and if the boy was coming to him for help.

  “How, um, did you know that?” James’s expression slackened. “There was a terrible storm last night. Anyway, this field was one of the few places I could find with a well that wasn’t… destroyed at all.”

  Cecil and Vera exchanged surprised glances, the former asking, “A storm? Is that all that troubles you?”

  Straightening, the boy stuck out his chin and said seriously, “It wasn’t just any storm. It was all kinds of magic clashing at once. Titania and Oberon were fighting, and… and they nearly destroyed us with everything else. The only reason they didn’t was because of Cardea—she’s this Noble faery—and her Wind and Tree Magic.

  “Deirdre wasn’t skilled enough in her magic yet to help. And the only magic I had to defend us were these”—the boy scoffed, gesturing to his open pack beside him—“glowing mushrooms I found. They served as a light at least.”

  After a pause, his green eyes bright with determination, James said, “I-I was, um, hoping you could start teaching me how to absorb magic, like you said. Like, uh, Wind and Tree Magic. Something that could help in a situation like last night.”

  Cecil wanted to order James to speak with conviction, to command attention and respect, but bit his tongue. What the boy desperately needed first was a little confidence in himself.

  Standing, Cecil walked closer to the mirror and rested his chin on his hand. “And how would you begin to find those types of magic in the wild? How would a researcher begin, James?”

  “With observation.” The boy’s grin was a little cheeky as he pointed to the grove behind him. “This morning after breakfast, I walked around areas of the forest just, um, observing. And that’s when I noticed this grove. It’s warm and dry here, like it was shielded from the rain and wind, and not a single tree was downed or even damaged in this grove.”

  “And why is that?”

  “It’s because these trees are ebony wood. On their own they’re some of the strongest trees on the planet. But these must have been imbued with some kind of magic to make them resistant to magical storms!” James stopp
ed to swallow and take a breath before asking excitedly, “Am I right?”

  Cecil let out a mirthful laugh. “You’ve learned so much already, and you’ve only been in the realm a few days. It is true, this grove is imbued with powerful magic. Specifically, Flora Magic. That kind of magic, with the right intent, could indeed subdue Earth, Wind, and Water Magic, which is how it remained untouched by the storm.”

  The boy pumped his fist in the air automatically, then, as if embarrassed by his own enthusiasm, raised his other arm and tried to pass it off as a stretch. “So,” he said, “do you think I could try to absorb some of the magic from this grove?”

  The surface of the mirror rippled with the water as a small breeze floated into the grove. The trees did not shake at all nor did their leaves. The trees were tall and sturdy, looking as if they were made of roping branches or many trees melded together. If one was to cut through the outer brown bark, he would find tough ebony wood inside, along with ancient Flora Magic.

  Magic like that would take such skill and finesse to wield… Even for me, it would be difficult. It would be easy for magic like that to smother any weak intent.

  But James… Cecil glanced down at the boy, who was looking at him and waiting for his answer. In the reflection of the mirror, they were side by side. He deserves a chance to prove himself, to gain some confidence. He won’t be able to absorb much Flora Magic, but he’ll know when to stop. That is a good lesson to learn.

  “All right.” Cecil clapped his hands together and then gestured to the mirror. “To imbue magic into yourself is much the same as imbuing it into a crystal—as I showed you with the spark of flame before. It is all about intent and control. Control of the self.” He caught his own golden eyes glittering in the reflection and said, “Do you feel as if you have control, James?”

  The boy hesitated, fidgeting, before saying, “Yes.”

  Cecil instructed him to try to find where the Flora Magic was most concentrated. After a while of searching out of Cecil’s line of sight, the boy wandered back into view of the well and found a strong tree root coming up from the ground. Then Cecil guided him through focusing on the magic he felt inside of it and pulling it to himself.