The Shattered Mirror (Winter's Blight Book 4)

by M. C. Aquila

  “I don’t care!” The words tore through his throat, making it raw. “I don’t care what happens to me. I want this to be over!”

  It would be easy to take that last step, to not have to run anymore. He wouldn’t have to face Deirdre or Lonan or the rest of the Court or face what he had done. It wouldn’t matter anymore that Mum had left, that Cecil had used and manipulated him. None of it would matter.

  “Alvey…” Cardea didn’t move, but her eyes flew to the girl. In reply, Alvey held up a hand to silence her.

  “Please listen to me, James.” The girl’s tone and posture contained none of its usual prim detachment as she brushed fresh tears from her face. “If you do not care about your own well-being, then at least have a care for mine. I cannot handle more sorrow today. Think of your mother and Deirdre—and your brother—think of how guilty Iain would feel.”

  “Don’t—” He faltered, his arm shaking as he held the lead over the rapids.

  “I will not abandon you to face this alone, James. Do you understand?” She reached out to him again. “If you trust me, James, then step back from there.”

  When he didn’t move, Cardea and the other Noble advanced. He stumbled back, nearly losing his footing, and Alvey shouted for them to halt.

  Looking between Alvey and the Noble faeries, James closed his eyes and stepped into the stream, into the Time Rapids. He imagined it would be like sinking gently into water, not like the endless plummeting he felt now with nothing to break his fall.

  He was thrown across the ground with a gust of wind, the breath knocked from his lungs as he landed hard on his side, blown to the other side of the river. Before he blacked out, he glimpsed the faces of the Noble faeries looking down at him and heard Alvey’s broken cry.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Kallista had heard shuffling outside the truck—something pacing around, circling, and snorting in the dirt. Sweat beaded on her neck as she stared at the truck doors as the lurking thing outside drew close and pawed at the metal. When it did not budge, the creature outside let out a barking whine—it was one of the Unseelie hounds.

  Thinking quickly, Kallista scoured the area for anything to use as a weapon. There was nothing in her cell but the wedding ring. Swearing under her breath, she scooped up the gold-and-red trinket and placed it in the pocket of her jacket, then bent down and slipped off her boots, grabbing one and readying to use the hard heel.

  “Ah, damn.” Kallista hissed and clutched her hand to her chest as rivulets of icy pain ran through it, bringing flashes of the crystals growing, piercing, and whispering.

  There was a sharp yelp outside like a hound being struck. She managed to stay on her feet but wobbled as a tall figure opened the door. She brandished one of her boots like a weapon in her good hand as Alan—or the Unseelie magic taking him over—strode toward the prison, throwing the door open. His face was unreadable through her blurred vision, his clawed, decayed hand hanging at his side.

  “We’re leaving now. I’m taking you somewhere safe.” He reached out, his voice rough and strained.

  When he grabbed her arm, his towering shadow enveloping her, she struck out with the heel of her boot as furiously as she could. He grunted in alarm and let go for a moment, and she struck him solidly in the chest and then on his shoulder.

  “Kallista, stop.” He took her wrists in his strong grasp. She shuddered at the inhuman, unnatural sharpness of the Unseelie claws against her bare flesh. But when she forced herself to look into his green eyes, there was a spark of recognition, as well as sheer bewilderment.

  “You hit me with your shoe,” he stated, looking at the boot still in her hand.

  “Yes, I did.” Kallista let out a jagged breath, eyeing the terrible claws. She could not stand to feel the icy, dead touch a moment longer in comparison to the human warmth of his callused hand encircling her wrist. “Let go of me,” she said, her words choked.

  Alan released his grip on her like she’d burned him, his face twitching. Pointing to the door, he said, “This area is no longer safe. The Winter Court’s forces have turned on the Iron Guard. I need to get you out of the range of the battle.”

  Kallista’s panic faded as she processed his words. “What? They turned on—?” She folded her arms across her chest. “Oh, the horrible, evil monsters betrayed you, yes? Who could have predicted that?”

  Alan raised his eyebrows at her and said in a dry tone, “Your sarcasm was always more effective than your fists.” Then he clarified seriously, “We’ve turned our fire on them. They are simply the greater threat at the moment, from a strategic viewpoint.

  “The Unseelie monsters are vicious but chaotic. There is no one to stop them from coming this way if they sense… you.”

  “Because I am human and a thrall?”

  “That, and you…” He paused and flexed his clawed hand as the crystals shuddered in response. “For some reason the Unseelies cannot stand your presence. There’s something about you that infuriates or weakens them. Like shining a light.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The magic in this crystal knows you’re my weakness, and it’s trying to destroy me for coming back for you.”

  Kallista’s mouth parted. She hadn’t realized how long she’d been standing there until he gestured for her to follow, avoiding touching her. “We need to move,” he said. “I’ve already contacted the Master. But we need to get you somewhere safe.”

  “The… the Master?” Kallista put on her boots and walked out of the truck. He handed her his iron baton and drew his handgun. “Why would you—?”

  He held up his clawed hand to silence her, and she seethed. It had always irritated her when he shushed her.

  “The encampment is safe,” Alan said. “We will have to cut through the forest to avoid the battlegrounds.”

  Kallista adjusted her scarf, feeling the fabric under her fingers and thinking of her sons. Nodding, swallowing hard, she followed the familiar yet unfamiliar man into the woods, not knowing for certain if following a heartless monster was more dangerous than staying where more monsters could find her.

  Her mother had always warned Kallista about forests. Fairy tales seldom took place elsewhere—and no one walked out of them the same as they had come in. As she walked through the woods, she did not doubt the truth of it now.

  The woods were cold, wild, and dark, as the remains of daylight were fading fast. Cradling her hand to her chest, her other one gripping the baton, Kallista could not catch herself as she stumbled over a root in her path, but before she fell, Alan grabbed her around her shoulders, steadying her before promptly letting go.

  She felt phantom claws across her back long after it happened, shivers racking her bones. When Alan focused on the path ahead, Kallista chanced a glance at his unreadable face. So many conflicting thoughts spilled on the floor of her mind—trying to sort through them felt as hopeless as Cinderella sorting through the lentils and peas in the ashes of the hearth.

  She wished she could loathe Alan again as she had while working as a thrall for the Master. That would be simpler than what she was feeling—disgust, despair, and weak, desperate longing for the man he used to be. She had missed him as if he were dead.

  How could I—? Kallista bit her lip furiously. Perhaps the only good that came from taking James’s place is that I’ve connected the deal to myself instead. I could never stand to forgive Alan for sacrificing my son—but I can forgive my life being traded. There is an odd sort of grace that I made the choices I did.

  “Alan”—Kallista braced herself—“you said before that you contacted the Master. Why?”

  “I’m going to break our deal,” he said evenly. “The deal for your life.”

  While Kallista could only gape, Alan halted, holding out his arm to stop her again. “Unseelie hounds,” he whispered, his blackened hand curling into a fist. “They’re following us, waiting to attack.”

  “What?” Kallista whipped her head around and scanned the woods.

&nb
sp; When Alan reached out with his deformed hand and focused, shadows leaped from the surrounding forest like a curtain, revealing Unseelie hounds lurking behind trees—five of them, the closest being only a yard behind them.

  Kallista did not protest or even dare to breathe as Alan grabbed her shoulders and said, “There are ruins in the forest, less than a mile ahead and to the right. The Unseelie magic is whispering for the hounds to avoid it. You have to run there. I will follow you and hold them back.”

  Before she could reply, Alan turned and raised his firearm to aim at the hounds. Breaking into a run, Kallista did not look as the sound of gunfire pierced the silence of the forest. There was a wolfish yelp as a hound was struck, then a rustling of leaves, a struggle—another guttural whimper of pain as a blow struck true.

  Stone ruins of a church lay ahead, tucked in the woods. The arch of the doorway was still standing, the crumbled, moss-laden walls visible inside, sunlight streaming through. As she neared it, something bounded up from the forest to her left, and a rush of hot air hit her ankle right before a lone hound’s jaws closed around it. She screamed, dragged to the ground, the fiery pain and pressure blinding.

  She brought down the baton against the hound’s muzzle, making it yelp and let go. Something ran up behind her, and she swung around with a cry, turning as Alan blocked the blow from the weapon with his hand. Swiftly he struck the hound hard with his clawed hand, sending it flying.

  One hound was still in pursuit behind Alan. He scooped Kallista in his arms and staggered across the threshold of the ruins. They were falling as he stumbled over a stone in their path, but he rolled, protecting her and landing on his back.

  The moment they entered the ruins, the pursuing hound turned and ran away whimpering. In her dazed vision, Kallista watched as the lone hound who had bitten her rose back up, pacing and snarling a moment before leaping into the ruins after them. The moment the Unseelie creature’s front paws touched the ground inside, it froze as if turned to stone, back legs midair.

  Then the creature disintegrated into dust, scattering to the floor, and was gone.

  Kallista squirmed out of Alan’s arms, checking her damaged ankle, finding it bloody but not broken. Alan was staring, pale and sweating, at the place where the hound had once been like he could not believe it.

  “We’re on church ground—holy ground,” Kallista whispered. “Monsters and undead cannot cross it.” She looked up at her husband, at both his human and his monstrous, skeletal arm around her and realized with a jolt—

  But you are here.

  There was silence as Alan helped her clean her wound, wrap her ankle, and stop the bleeding. As they finished, he said with a shake of his head, “In all my years of service, I’ve known that Unseelies avoided church grounds. But I have never seen what happens when they disregard their rules like that. How is there… that much power or magic in these old buildings?”

  “It’s not magic,” Kallista said, looking him in the eye. “It is far more powerful than magic could ever be.”

  Alan was silent, mulling over her words with a frown and hunched shoulders. Kallista looked at the ruins around them and chuckled. It was pained and slightly hysterical.

  “You’re laughing,” Alan pointed out, his brow creasing.

  Kallista let out a snort. “I-I am sorry. It is just that the last time I managed to drag you into a church, it was Christmas Eve, and we were there for Iain’s choir recital. And he spit up all over us in the front pew.” She laughed harder, wiping at her teary eyes.

  His glazed, dull eyes sparked with slight recognition. “Yes,” he said distantly, yet with his familiar dry humor. “That about sums up my experience with religion. Up until this point.”

  A few moments later, a cawing birdcall sounded in the forest. In a flash of white, blue, and black, the Master’s magpie familiar flapped into sight, landing clumsily on the forest floor outside the doorway. The creature tilted his head at them, blinking its dark, beady eyes.

  “I hate that stupid bird,” Kallista said.

  At the same time, Alan muttered, “That bloody magpie.”

  The bird waited, summoned by Alan’s command to speak with the Master. Standing, Alan faced the creature and said, “I am breaking my pact with the Master and with the Winter King. Our deal is finished.”

  “He knows,” the familiar said, cawing. “He has sent me to fetch you. There are some complications with your request.”

  When they stepped out of the doorway, Kallista and Alan exchanged a brief glance before a gust of strong, dark magic enveloped them like a crashing wave of icy water and whisked them away from the forest. When the shadows parted, the gray skies and howling winds of the moorlands greeted them.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  A frigid, brisk late-autumn wind swept against Deirdre, making her shiver and pull her himation tighter around her as she waited beside Alvey for the funeral to begin. Dawn was pale and gray in the sky above, clouds remaining.

  The faeries had driven out the monsters and had mended the barrier as much as possible in the absence of Sybil’s skill and magic. Lonan, who had been fighting alongside the king, fell silent upon seeing his wife’s corpse arranged neatly in the gazebo. He hadn’t spoken since then, though he had made comforting gestures toward both Alvey and Deirdre, holding his younger daughter more than once when she cried. Now he stopped to give both girls a brief embrace before stepping toward the grove of ancient, silvery pines where the bodies of the fallen were being gently laid.

  “You are so quiet,” Alvey said to Deirdre in a low voice, with a weak attempt at a smile. “’Tis expected of Father, but from you, ’tis a bit frightening.”

  Deirdre shrugged, not wanting to say anything that might upset the younger girl. But Alvey lightly elbowed her, prompting her to go on.

  “I just never got to know her, and…” She trailed off. For the past several hours, she’d been replaying Sybil’s final words and actions in her mind. There was a woman with a personality, deep and layered, that Deirdre would simply never get to know.

  “I am sorry for that.” Alvey quickly wiped her nose, continuing in a rush, “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about them being your parents earlier, but I was scared—scared of what would happen when she saw you, and I was scared of losing her and… and I was selfish.”

  Deirdre wrapped an arm around her and gave her a comforting squeeze. “I forgive you.”

  “Truly?” Alvey let out a weak laugh. “Just like that?”

  “What else am I supposed to do? We’re sisters. Aren’t we?”

  In response, Alvey burst into tears, prompting Iain, who was standing a few yards away, to give her Deirdre’s handkerchief (even though he flinched slightly as Alvey noisily blew her nose loudly right onto the embroidery).

  The funeral was simple—relatives or close friends of the faeries opened holes between the roots and the earth, lowered the bodies slowly, and then closed up the holes seamlessly. They were buried in a circle around a tree in the grove. Then Titania stepped forward and, using magic, created memorial plaques for each faery into the side of the tree, carving them and then covering them with amber.

  As she did, Lonan returned to his daughters, standing between them, making Deirdre start in surprise when he finally spoke. “Whenever you wish, please ask me to tell you about her and her life. I would like for you to know of your mother as much as possible, even though…” He trailed off, falling silent as Titania carved Sybil’s plaque.

  Gulping, Deirdre looked up at him, asking, “I’ve been wondering—what happens to faeries after death? We do have souls, right?”

  “Aye. Like humans, we have immortal souls. But we…” Lonan raised his head, his voice clearing as he went on, “We were made for magic, and it was made for us. In a sense, we’re lower than humans, as we have no greater destiny. After death, our souls stay in this world.”

  “Like ghosts?”

  He sighed, shaking his head in frustration. “It is too much to explain n
ow. But know this: all Seelie faeries and neutral faeries shall eventually be reunited in clarity of mind and in the flesh once again after the world has ended.”

  Deirdre took his hand. “So we will meet her again?”

  “Aye.” Some light returned to his eyes. “Already looking so far ahead… You still think like a human sometimes.”

  Her first instinct was to apologize or go quiet, but instead she said, “I’m happy for it. I don’t think I’ll ever be just like everyone else. But I don’t mind anymore—it won’t make me any less who and what I am. No matter what, I’m still your and Sybil’s daughter. And no matter what, I do belong here, with Alvey and you, Dad.” When Lonan gaped, she quickly asked, “Is it okay if I don’t call you Father like Alvey does? It’s just too stiff for me.”

  Letting out a short but happy chuckle, he squeezed her hand. “Truly, I always preferred Dad and Mum over Father and Mother. Do not tell Alvey though.”

  Alvey let out a small groan. “I heard that, and I am still not going to call you Dad. It sounds silly.”

  Faeries did not feast after funerals—there would be a celebration in honor of the fallen the night of the next full moon. So after the funeral was concluded, the faeries remained in their small, somber groups, mourning the dead or dispersing to visit the wounded, who were in the healing house Deirdre had spent her first night in.

  Lonan sat with his daughters in front of Sybil’s grave. Despite his silence earlier, he was willing and even happy to recall stories of Sybil when they asked, telling some of the more adventurous or humorous ones with animated gestures, even eventually standing up to act moments out.

  That brightened Alvey’s spirits to no end, though as he shared the first story, Deirdre felt oddly lonely. She glanced around to see Iain was still nearby, finishing a chat with Roshan. When Iain glanced her way, Deirdre smiled, waving him over. When he hesitated, Lonan paused in telling his story to also beckon him as well, though he resumed the story immediately afterward. Iain came and sat beside her, happily surprised when she leaned her head on his shoulder as they listened together.