The Shattered Mirror (Winter's Blight Book 4)

by M. C. Aquila

  Roshan snapped him out of his thoughts. “It will be safer, surely, than sending a human in alone.” At the prince’s command, the owl-bear creature vanished from sight and left to scout out the camp and report back to them.

  As they drew closer still, heading into the forest beside the camp for cover, Iain spotted a lone figure sneaking away from the base into the night. He recognized the lumbering, tense gait of Boyd Prance as he broke away from the encampment.

  “I have an idea,” Iain said to Roshan, not taking his eyes off the distant figure of Boyd through the trees. “If anyone has proof enough for the king and queen, it’s General Callaghan’s right-hand soldier, Boyd Prance.”

  “’Tis a good thought, though it is unlikely we could get him alone—unlikelier still he would betray his leader.” Roshan frowned. “I thought you were more practical than that.”

  “Well, yeah,” Iain agreed, pointing to the figure. “But he’s deserting the army right now.”

  As they watched the figure clearing the camp, heading into the forest, Roshan asked, “What kind of human is Boyd Prance?”

  “Well, he helped assassinate King Eadred. And he hates me—tried to kill me the last time we met. But he’s always hated me, I guess. Used to give me a good thrashing from time to time.”

  “Why?” Roshan tilted his head, seemingly unable to fathom how someone could hate him. Iain was floored by the sentiment and gave the faery a grateful, confused half smile.

  “We kind of grew up together, when my father mentored him and his brother,” Iain said. “I was jealous before I even met them because of how my father sang their praises. But when I tried to give them a chance, Boyd threw a slur in my face. I thought it was just because Boyd was hateful or ignorant, but it was more than that. My father was pitting us against each other, trying to see who was the most loyal to him.

  “I guess Boyd won out on that count,” Iain said with a shrug. “But if he’s deserting now, maybe even Boyd can see that General Callaghan is a monster.”

  After a silent moment, Roshan said thoughtfully, “With faeries, ’tis simple to know who is a monster and who is not, based on whether they are Unseelie or are turning into one. With humans, and with the general being your father, I imagine it is not so simple.”

  “It is simple.” Iain rolled his shoulders. “He’s a monster. That’s it.”

  Silently Iain and the Summer Prince dismounted from their steeds and approached the soldier through the woods. Roshan hid himself in shadow behind Boyd at Iain’s request, his staff lit with magic flame while Iain, armed with the faery’s sword, approached Boyd from the side. Boyd’s firearm was holstered in his belt, and Iain intended for it to remain so.

  “Stop where you are,” Iain ordered as he stepped out from behind a tree, his gaze focused on Boyd. The soldier froze, going pale in the faint moonlight, but when he saw who was standing there, his coloring reddened. “It’s been a while, yeah?”

  “You—of bloody course it had to be you,” Boyd swore under his breath furiously. “You’re daft to come here alone, being wanted for treason. You’ve always been daft. When I alert the Iron Guard, they’ll probably execute you on the spot.”

  Iain raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think you’d alert the Iron Guard for anything, seeing as how you’re deserting. Makes you a traitor too, technically.” When the soldier glared at him, Iain added, “So you are deserting then. Why?”

  “Bet you’re thrilled to see me brought low, First Deserter,” Boyd said mockingly. “That’s what the lads in the garrison are calling you. Rumor’s going around about the first Iron Warden deserter and the powerful ginger faery he serves and how they’re accusing the Iron Guard of assassinating the king and framing faeries for it.” Boyd continued, his voice strained, “And how Philip… how Philip was the one who claimed it in the first place.”

  Iain’s features twitched at the mention of Philip, but when Boyd made to take a step toward him, he warned, “That’s close enough, yeah?”

  The soldier growled in response before relenting and raising his hands in surrender. “Bloody fine. But I need to know. I need to know why Philip died. I’ll bloody listen this time, all right?”

  “The rumors are true. He knew General Callaghan, and most of the Iron Guard, was responsible for the king’s death. That was one of the last things he told me.”

  Boyd narrowed his eyes, jabbed a finger at him. “What else did he say? What’d he say to you—you, of all people—that he couldn’t say to his own blood? Huh?”

  “He told me General Callaghan needed to be stopped.” Iain’s tense shoulders slackened, and his voice softened as he said, “And he told me he hadn’t given up on you. That he would never give up on you. He knew my father was manipulating you. Both of us.”

  Boyd opened his mouth instantly to retort, but he stopped himself. “I guess you’ll be happy to know General Callaghan has completely lost his head. And all our plans…”

  After what his father had done to Deirdre, Iain wanted to harden his heart against any familiarity with the man. He asked in a level, distant voice, “What’s happening to the general? It’s the dark magic he has, isn’t it?”

  “He’s working with the Fae, using damn faery magic, and it’s destroying him from the inside out. His hand—” Boyd broke off a moment, shuddering. “He’s as good as dead already, not even human anymore.”

  Iain clenched his fists at his sides, willing himself not to feel anything, hardening his heart toward his father.

  “He absorbed whatever magic was in that machine. I saw it happen. I dunno if he’s even on humanity’s side anymore,” Boyd said, dragging his fingers over his face. “How could he be, with faery magic consuming him?”

  That’s what happened. That’s why Roshan couldn’t sense anything in the truck or the machine. Because the magic is with General Callaghan, and it’s masked by him somehow.

  Reaching into his breast pocket, Boyd produced a fragment of dark crystal and held it out to Iain. “This piece fell off him as the magic started to take him over.”

  Iain took the fragment of crystal. The moment he touched it, the amulet around his neck glinted and grew cold in warning. He quickly placed the heavy fragment in his jacket pocket where it chilled him like ice. It would be evidence for Titania and Oberon.

  “Boyd,” Iain ordered, “you’re going to inform General Windsor of what’s going on. He needs to know what General Callaghan has done and that Deirdre and the Seelies are innocent of treason.” Boyd was already shaking his head, but Iain went on, determined and confident. “If you offer General Windsor information regarding the king’s assassination, he’ll likely pardon you for providing it, or at least lighten your sentence. You’ve got to do it, Boyd.”

  His old childhood enemy stared him down, but Iain gazed back levelly. “We can still accomplish what Philip set out to do, Boyd. This war doesn’t have to happen.”

  After a moment, Boyd’s features twitching, his fists curling and unclenching again, the Irish soldier nodded. “All right. For Philip.” He looked at Iain one last time before he left, then said, pointing, “Is that a sword? You’re still a bloody nerd after all this time, Callaghan.”

  By the time Iain and Roshan rejoined the hunt in the sky, Iain was exhausted while the faeries were still keen to continue well into the night. When the Summer Prince caught Iain jolting himself awake for the third time, the faery laughed and told him he could rest.

  “You have more than proved yourself, Iain Callaghan,” he said brightly. “And you can rest easy, knowing you have helped ensure Deirdre’s victory as well. She will get the chance to belong to the realm now.”

  Warm pride filled his chest. Nodding, Iain allowed the horse to take him to the back of the hunt again, and he pressed his face to the horse’s mane, closing his eyes briefly as the hunt caught up to him.

  The scenery raced by him in a blur of mist and moonlight, the sounds of the Fae and the wind like a roar of thunder. The amulet glowed at his chest, soothing
against his skin, and as he looked to the side, his vision foggy, he caught a glimpse of wild red hair.

  A faery was astride a galloping white horse, flying past him. At first he thought he only imagined he had seen Deirdre riding with them on the Wild Hunt—just as much a powerful, graceful force of nature as the rest of the Noble faeries.

  But when he looked again, it was unmistakable. She was there, but she was not there. The amulet grounded him, and he knew the vision he was having was not real. Yet it felt that way as she rode with them, her hair flying in the wind, her joyful, free laughter rising—just as goofy, kind, and unique as she’d always been but carrying the same power inside her as the rest of her kind. Confident and whole in her magic.

  She was a true Noble faery.

  “Deirdre!” Half-dazed and laughing, he marveled at her. She marveled back at him, beaming. Some of the faeries snickered and pointed at the silly human who was clearly looking at something that was not there. They whispered that the hunt had gotten to his head and he was hallucinating. But Iain knew better.

  The amulet… it’s showing this vision to me. But why?

  Deirdre, even as a Noble faery, far beyond what a normal human could be, still looked at him with the same joy and adoration in her eyes. The same way he looked at her. And he would do anything in his power to make sure she became who she was meant to be.

  He could not imagine anything more wonderful.

  As they passed over the encampment on their way back to the realm, the faery prince raised his staff and sent out a small pulse of Earth Magic to signal the Earth spirit to return from scouting.

  They entered the realm, the Wild Hunt ceasing at last. Iain struggled at first to get down from his horse, saddle sore. The faeries around him chuckled to see him groaning in surprise, stretching awkwardly. However, the amusement was short-lived.

  When Roshan called for the Earth spirit again and it did not arrive, he sent out a jolt of magic like a vine to retrieve him.

  “Iron!” The prince gasped. “I sense iron—”

  The magic did not drag back a living creature but a dead body. Roshan leaped off his stag, falling to his knees in front of the corpse. His face stricken, Roshan looked younger and less experienced than ever, like he’d never witnessed the death of an ally before.

  While the other faeries whispered and gasped, Iain knelt uncertainly beside the prince and looked over the dead faery’s body and the wounds. “They’ve shot him with iron studs in addition to bullets,” he said, clenching his fists. “They must have been able to sense his magic somehow. The Iron Architects are inventing and testing new tech all the time. I’m sorry, Roshan.”

  A breeze swept past them, and the faery prince straightened, grim-faced, as Cardea stormed in their direction, her expression one of agony.

  “Cardea, I didn’t know—”

  She swept past him and, with her magic, lifted the creature’s body into her arms, saying softly, “I will be taking him back to his den. His kin must be informed.” Then she headed into the forest.

  Nikias did not stay as quiet as his sister. The warrior strode toward them, pointing to Roshan, his voice like thunder. “Prince Roshan, you have disobeyed—”

  The prince leaped to his feet, looking helpless. “I did not know, Nikias! I had no idea the humans could sense and hold a faery with powers like that.”

  “Alas, none of us knew it! However, if you had taken your advisor with you, I might have taken precautions that would have spared the creature this terrible fate. But you have little regard for tradition or authority!”

  With a twirl of his staff, the prince snuffed out the flame and placed the weapon on his back. He marched toward Nikias, coming to face him, and said calmly, “Speak plainly, Nikias. Clearly you have more of an issue with me than this instance alone.”

  “You are not a fit leader,” Nikias said, raising his chin. “You are too young and inexperienced, and your disregard for our rules is apparent.”

  Iain looked between them, knowing it was not his place to get involved but wanting to speak up on behalf of the prince. But Nikias was also not to blame here.

  Instead, he reached inside his pocket and produced the fragment of crystal. “We were able to retrieve this crystal. It has Unseelie magic in it,” he said. “We also discovered that my father, General Callaghan, has used this Unseelie magic to absorb the energy from the machine. That’s why you didn’t sense it during the Wild Hunt. But we have to assume it could still bring the barrier down.”

  The warrior took the crystal from him but did not hold it in his hand; instead, he levitated it with Wind Magic so it hovered over his palm. “’Tis as you say,” he said, scowling.

  “I’ve proven my claims.” Iain stood tall, folding his arms across his chest. “That means Deirdre gets her chance to prove herself with her test.”

  With a sigh, Nikias said, “Aye. It does.”

  Afterward, Nikias, though he looked pinched like he had much more to say he was holding back, asked Roshan to open the barrier—he and a few gathering warriors were going to make certain the army were not responding to the incident in the encampment.

  Before he left, Nikias jabbed a finger at Iain and said in a stern voice as if doling out a prison sentence, “You and the knight will meet with me later to discuss a strategy against the Iron Guard. That is an order.”

  Iain let out a breath once the Noble faery left with his soldiers.

  Roshan shuffled around the clearing after the faeries had gone, the usual cheer in his demeanor snuffed out as he said, “I can stand Nikias being cross with me—he is cross with everyone. But Cardea…” He trailed off, sighing.

  “She’ll forgive you, Roshan,” Iain said, awkwardly hovering beside him. “What a team you two make, yeah?”

  “Aye.” Roshan nodded. “We are a team. The same as you and Deirdre.”

  Iain shrugged, as if to shake off the compliment and the hope it made him feel. “Everyone tells me it won’t work out, but…”

  “Your case could be different. Deirdre is a rather human faery, unlike any that has existed before. And you”—the prince chuckled faintly—“are an extremely strange human.”

  “Yeah?” Iain laughed, suddenly aware of the Unseelie hound blood no doubt splattered across his face and how wild he must look after surviving the hunt.

  “Clearly Deirdre is fond of you,” Roshan said. “Perhaps there is a slim chance you two can make it where others have failed.”

  Thinking of the vision the amulet had given him, Iain smiled, dazed. “I hope so.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  When the Wild Hunt returned with a roar of wind in the forest, Kallista, who had dozed off with her back against a tree, jumped to her feet. The bonfire had nearly died, and the sky was fully dark. For several minutes, there was no other sound, and she began to pace.

  She glanced to Cai, who was sleeping by the fading flames. After the hunt had left, he had asked the few remaining faeries and discovered which bonfire Roshan had started, lighting it with a flame from his torch. After those faeries departed, Cai had fussed about the fire like an old man with too much time on his hands, poking the wood and grumbling. Though he denied doing so, Kallista spotted him throw something small into the flames more than once, keeping it in there for longer and longer intervals until the fire had finally died down.

  Just as she decided to wake Cai and go search for Iain with him, her son walked unsteadily through the tree line. The sight of him spattered with blood made Kallista gasp, but he was smiling.

  “Mum.” Iain closed the distance between them, embracing her tightly and carrying the scents of wind and grass, sea and blood. “It was amazing, Mum.”

  “Are you injured?” Kallista pulled back to study her son, her hands on his arms. He was warm but not feverish, and his embrace was strong. Though he looked exhausted, there was color in his face, and his brown eyes were bright with a wild energy.

  “My legs are so sore I can barely move them,” Iain sai
d, laughing hoarsely.

  “Saddle sore.” Kallista chuckled, and then she asked, her expression serious, “You did accomplish what you set out to do, yes? The king and queen will have the evidence they need to act?”

  “Yes, we have proof of what the Iron Guard is doing. And we did some good out there. We got rid of those Unseelie hounds.”

  “Good. But now you must rest.”

  “Well, I did rest for a bit on the hunt. I woke up a few times… I think?” After glancing around, Iain asked, “Where’s Deirdre? I guess she’s training with her father, yeah?”

  Kallista nudged him toward the edge of the forest, wanting him to wash the blood from his face in the river before he slept, but Iain was not cooperating. “Mum,” Iain protested, “I need to talk to Deirdre. What I need to say—it can’t wait until morning. I just— I want to tell her what I saw, how I feel.”

  “Iain, sweetheart,” Kallista said in a gentle tone, “you are tired and a little… disoriented. You should wait until you are clearheaded to speak to anyone. You will thank me in the morning. I promise.”

  “Yeah?” Iain sighed, then, after a final look toward the woods, he collapsed into the closest hammock and fell asleep instantly.

  * * *

  The last time Deirdre had stayed awake all night, fueling her body and mind through a connection with magic, she had felt well rested and energetic, ready to face the day.

  But now, as she bade her father goodbye after a full night of training and trudged into the misty meadow where Cai, Kallista, Iain, and James made camp near the bonfires last night, she wanted nothing other than to go to bed.

  Cai and Iain were up by a small cooking fire, making breakfast, warming tea, and talking. Deirdre beamed upon seeing them and said brightly, “You didn’t die!”

  Iain looked up, mirroring her expression. “I didn’t die!”