Crown of Glass

by Isabella August

The exhibit room was dimly lit and frosted over once again, as they stepped back through the mirror. The Lord of the Looking Glass had taken on Lord Blackfrost’s form now, pacing darkly within the mirrored windows; his eyes flickered with a magnificent golden light instead of the silver that had previously infused them. But Jenna had little time to think on the implications of this, as her attention was immediately commanded by the two people at the center of the room.

  Gabe stood in front of the Lord of the Looking Glass, his back painfully straight. Facing him was an unnaturally tall female figure, swathed in black and white. A crown of eerie, phosphorescent white flames danced above her head. Black wax dripped down her pale face, obscuring her features — but a bright white light could still be seen behind it in her terrible pinprick eyes. The whole of the effect made her seem like a thin, melting candle herself.

  The feel of her mantle was something else entirely. Her very presence heated the air with a feverish agony. It came with a strange swell of triumph — a sense of fleeting invincibility. It was the perverse resignation of a falling man who knows he cannot help but hit the ground.

  “You can’t be here,” Gabe told the Lady of Mourning Glory. His voice was calm and steely, though Jenna knew he had to be utterly terrified.

  Mourning Glory’s expression did not change. The more that Jenna looked at her, the more convinced she became that her entire face was simply made of wax. “The Looking Glass is a lordless realm,” Mourning Glory observed softly. Her pale lips did not move as she spoke. “Do you claim the right to forbid my presence, child?” Her voice wasn’t at all what Jenna had expected. It was quiet, chiding — almost kind.

  “The Looking Glass has a lord,” Gabe informed her. “And you are trespassing.”

  Mourning Glory spread her hands. “In which case, he is free to make his presence known,” she said. “I would be powerless against his will here, were it so. But I am here for my rightful due. I have been patient. Though the Looking Glass bent itself against me, I allowed my candle to burn for a precious few more years. It is time.”

  “So let it burn forever,” Gabe retorted, “if your patience is so mighty.” He turned his head to look behind him. “You’re not just going to let her walk freely here, are you?” he asked the Lord of the Looking Glass.

  The faerie lord’s golden eyes were troubled. “Let her walk,” he said, in Gabe’s voice. His tone was oddly forlorn.

  Mourning Glory’s flickering eyes turned unerringly toward Jenna. “Your flame has burned its brightest,” she said gently. “You have done a great work of magic, and you should be proud. I shall end you now, before your light dims.”

  Gabe turned, his eyes wide. “What are you doing?” he demanded. “Go back! You can’t be here!”

  The crown of flame upon Mourning Glory’s head brightened, casting stark shadows upon the mirrors of the Looking Glass. The heat in Jenna’s veins intensified — the blackness at the edge of her vision returned. Valentine caught her as her knees gave out.

  Magic flared from many quarters at once.

  Light bent around Mourning Glory’s crown, warping its flames and making them flicker. Jenna felt the dreamy, disorienting power of the Looking Glass surge within Gabe, pressing against the mantle that leaned upon the room. He was powerful — far more powerful than he would have been outside of the Looking Glass, with his feet touching the source of his magic. But against a true faerie lord, Jenna knew there was no contest.

  From another of the mirrors came a darker, more vicious power, though. Cold and hungry, it ate away at the heat in the room, sucking away at that strange feeling of invincibility.

  “I’ll end you first, you wax sculpture,” Elaine’s voice hissed. Jenna felt the moment that her mentor crossed the threshold into the Looking Glass — out of the corner of her eye, she saw Elaine’s tall, furious form striding across the room. Angry frost crackled along the mirrors where her feet fell, climbing up the walls around her like vines. She settled herself a few feet away from Gabe, squarely between Jenna and the Lady of Mourning Glory.

  “God damn it, El!” Lord Blackfrost’s voice rang out, frustrated.

  Mourning Glory’s magic faltered very slightly beneath the combined force of that substantial power. The weight on Jenna’s chest lifted just enough for her to suck in a shuddering breath. She struggled to face the Lord of the Looking Glass, who still watched with those inscrutable eyes.

  “Invite Lord Blackfrost into the Looking Glass!” Jenna gasped. “That’s my favor!”

  Lord Blackfrost’s reflection paused, his eyes burning into hers.

  Very slowly, he shook his head.

  “You son of a bitch!” Jenna yelled. “You said anything within your power! You swore it!”

  “Anything within it,” the Lord of the Looking Glass whispered in Jenna’s voice. “Swore it.” There was a strangely helpless look in his eyes.

  “Do something, please!” Gabe begged. The Looking Glass blurred around him, leaning in upon his body. He seemed to be holding onto the power he currently wielded only by his fingertips. “Anything you can do!”

  The figure in the mirror blurred.

  Lord Blackfrost’s form — tall, imposing, and refined — became instead a smaller, more delicate woman, dressed in a borrowed shirt and jeans. Jenna stared into her own eyes, burning with golden light.

  The other Jenna doubled over with a soundless gasp, clawing at her throat. The weight lifted abruptly from Jenna’s shoulders, and she stared, uncomprehending, as the Jenna in the mirror writhed in agony.

  “Stop!” she pleaded, pressing her hand to the mirror. “Oh my god, you don’t have to do this! Just invite him in, for god’s sake!”

  I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of this. The Lord of the Looking Glass won’t invite Lord Blackfrost inside, but she’ll die for me instead?

  Valentine’s hands tightened on Jenna. “You don’t… you don’t believe that’s th’ Lord of th’ Looking Glass?” she rasped. “Haven’t you ever looked at that thing wi’ Witchsight? It hasn’t got a mantle, you fool. It’s just a normal faerie.”

  Jenna’s mind went blank.

  That’s not… that’s not possible, she thought.

  “But this is her,” she whispered. “She’s the one who turned Gabe into a warlock.”

  “You don’t ‘ave to be a faerie lord to make a warlock,” Valentine told her grimly. “Any sufficiently powerful spirit can do it.”

  Jenna pressed her hand helplessly against the glass, where her image thrashed on the floor. “Mourning Glory is right, then?” she choked. “This is a lordless realm? No one’s coming to help?”

  Valentine smiled sharply. “I wouldn’t say that.” She raised her voice. “Hey, Your Frostiness! She’s right, it is a lordless realm — you don’t need an invitation!”

  In the space of an eyeblink, the room plunged into darkness.

  If Jenna had thought Lord Blackfrost’s mantle was oppressive when he was standing across the border of the Looking Glass, it was downright crushing now. He stalked past the exhibits with a dangerous look in his cold blue eyes. Shadows surged around him, jerking and writhing with a strange violence.

  He grabbed Elaine by the arm, shoving her safely behind him. The shadows around Mourning Glory’s crown closed in further. Her waxen expression didn’t change, but there was a dim confusion in her manner.

  “I still despise that nickname,” Lord Blackfrost observed to Valentine in a cool, annoyed tone. He kept his eyes fixed upon Mourning Glory as he spoke.

  “Th’ Drowned Lord used to stitch my lips shut wi’ seaweed when I said somethin’ he didn’t like,” Valentine observed. “You ‘aven’t even given me frostbite.”

  “Are you really implying I should do you bodily harm just so I can squeeze a better nickname from you?” Lord Blackfrost demanded.

  The Lady of Mourning Glory considered the gathering before her. Her mantle pressed against that of Blackfrost; the two tangled together in a quiet stalemate. The Jenna in t
he mirror breathed out silently in relief, struggling wearily back to her knees.

  Gabe breathed out raggedly. The power he’d gathered around himself slackened, as he leaned back heavily against the mirror behind him.

  “And what now, Lord Blackfrost?” Mourning Glory asked softly. “Will you place yourself between me and my rightful payment for all of eternity? For how long shall we stand like this in the Looking Glass, confounding one another?”

  Lord Blackfrost’s face lost what little humor it had. “I haven’t given this a terrible amount of thought,” he said acidly. “If you want to offer a suggestion, I’d be happy to hear it. Otherwise, you’ll have to wait more than a few seconds for me to gather my thoughts.”

  “I don’t know why you’re willing to help,” Gabe addressed Lord Blackfrost shakily, straightening himself with effort. “But I won’t complain.” He looked toward Mourning Glory. “You’ve traded a life for a life already. If that’s what you’re looking for, I’ll give mine up instead.”

  “The hell you will!” Jenna snarled, her eyes widening. “Don’t you dare do that to me, Gabe! I’ll— I’ll murder you myself!”

  Gabe laughed weakly. “You’re kind of defeating your own point,” he said.

  Mourning Glory regarded Gabe seriously, as a line of black wax dripped slowly down her face. “You cannot barter what you do not own,” she observed. “You have already sold yourself, warlock.”

  Jenna relaxed in minute relief. Thank god, she thought. At least there’s that.

  The Jenna in the mirror pressed her hand against the glass. Her mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.

  Jenna leaned in, her heart beating a bit faster. “You know something?” she whispered, keeping her voice low.

  “Know something,” her reflection whispered back weakly. Her golden eyes flicked to the side. She twitched her head minutely, drawing Jenna’s attention to something behind her.

  The glass throne still stood. As Jenna had hoped, it was no longer on the verge of shattering… but it wasn’t exactly whole, either. A complex web of golden lines criss-crossed the glass, as though someone had filled them all in with metal. Those golden lines extended across the glass of the mirror, glowing with a dull brilliance.

  “I don’t understand,” Jenna whispered. “Why is there a throne at all? Why have a throne if there’s no lord?”

  “There’s a throne,” her voice said softly. “There’s a lord. There’s no lord.”

  Jenna’s eyes widened.

  We’ve had it all backward this whole time, haven’t we?

  “You’ve never given Gabe a single command,” Jenna said hoarsely. “You… you’ve always done what he says, haven’t you?”

  The other Jenna nodded urgently, her fingers curling against the glass.

  This place keeps changing because of Gabe, Jenna thought wildly. He’s that deeply connected to it. There’s no way some random faerie’s warlock should have had the power to break the Looking Glass just by losing his mind.

  Jenna struggled back to her feet. “Gabe?” she mumbled. He was there in a moment, helping her up, holding her close. The smell of his soap tickled into her nose, instantly reassuring, and she wondered how she hadn’t understood before. He’s too familiar, she thought. He’s just… him. Of course it wouldn’t occur to me.

  “I’m not just going to let this happen,” Gabe said. His eyes were starting to glaze with panic, but she saw him fight it back. “We’ll figure something out, Jen—”

  “We have figured something out,” Jenna interrupted him breathlessly. “Gabe, listen to me. You didn’t make a pact with that faerie. You made a pact with the Looking Glass. It gave you your power. It made you a mantle.”

  Gabe knitted his brow, blinking quickly. “What?” he said. “I don’t… what?”

  “You never sealed the deal,” Jenna told him frantically. “You lost your mind, and shattered the mantle! But it’s back together now, and you can take it!”

  Mourning Glory must have heard something of the conversation. Her pinprick eyes flared with warning. She made as though to step toward one of the mirrors at her back — but Valentine plucked an ivory charm from the bracelet at her wrist, and threw it lazily toward the melting faerie lord’s feet.

  Black hands rose from the floor of the museum, grasping at Mourning Glory’s shredded gown, dragging her downward. She tugged away from them, her crown burning away at the darkness in violent swaths.

  Elaine pulled out a handful of seeds from her pocket, scattering them across the floor. Great vines of ice and stone crawled their way around the faerie lord, snatching at her body. Each time a black hand burned away, there was a wicked, barbed vine ready to replace it.

  It wasn’t enough to stop her. But it was just enough to slow her.

  Gabe turned for the mirror, his eyes locked upon the throne. He pressed his hand against the gold-threaded glass — his eyes flared. The mirror fell away to his touch, as though it had been waiting.

  The Lady of Mourning Glory tore at black hands and stone roses, leaving bits of black and white wax in her wake. She reached the mirror back to the Hedge… but she was only an instant too late.

  Gabe reached the mended throne, clasping his hands against its arms. A luminous golden light flared to life, flooding through the museum.

  “I am the Lord of the Looking Glass!” he called out. His voice echoed with impossible clarity, whispering back and forth against the mirrors of the shifting world. “And this realm is mine!”

  Chapter 15

  The museum exploded into a hundred thousand reflections.

  Jenna staggered backward, hit by a wash of vertigo. Everywhere she looked, she saw a different kaleidoscope — worlds within worlds spun around her, though they were all just images of the same exhibit room.

  She saw Valentine’s dark figure kneeling on the floor, her blind eyes distant and confused. However strange and disorienting things were for the rest of them, it had to be a hundred times worse for Valentine, who was almost certainly seeing it all through the lens of her Witchsight. Somehow, the small woman managed to keep her head up though, and Jenna knew that her pride wouldn’t allow her to look away.

  Elaine was there within the madness, her aquamarine eyes wide with surprise. Lord Blackfrost held her tightly — he’d drawn her carefully close, as though he could somehow shield her from the confusion that currently reigned. The crown of flickering black shadows upon his brow had all but died, however, and Jenna was surprised to see that his eyes had dulled to a quite normal blue. The Looking Glass had gained a lord… which meant that he was now standing within forbidden territory. As the mantle of Blackfrost fell away from him, he looked less like a terrifying figure of legend and more like the wry young man that Jenna had met in Elaine’s garden shop.

  Those spinning images were not meant for them, however. All of them conspired only to close in upon the Lady of Mourning Glory, whose candle-like crown had now banked to mere glowing embers. Free of the constraints that had previously bound her, she was nonetheless still trapped. The waxen faerie lord twisted and turned, reaching uselessly for a mirror that had once been only inches away, but was now just one of an endless array of mirrors that surrounded her.

  There was only one person within the Looking Glass who had no spare reflection. Gabe stood before the mended throne, his silver hair shining, his eyes aglow with righteous golden light. A crown of broken, shifting glass hovered above his head, casting light in every direction. For the first time, Jenna managed to shed her preconceptions of him to see him as he was — resplendent, unearthly, and utterly beautiful.

  “Hey lady,” Gabe said, spoiling the effect with his wry New York accent. “Looks like you’re in my house now.”

  Mourning Glory froze in place. All pretense of power had fled her at once. She bent her head, clasping her hands before her ragged gown. “You are correct, Lord of the Looking Glass,” she said softly. “Indeed, you even warned me as much. I have no excuse.”

  “I
feel like we ought to discuss a few things,” Gabe said. “While I’ve got your undivided attention.”

  “You have two other faerie lords trapped and at your mercy,” said the Lady of Mourning Glory. “What need have you to discuss?”

  Gabe glanced toward Lord Blackfrost — no, Liam — who still shielded Elaine within his arms. He blinked. “Oh, I didn’t expect that,” Gabe admitted. “I guess I should invite you in now?”

  Liam shook his head slowly. “It’s been a while since Blackfrost felt so remote from me,” he said. His voice was soft, without the ever-present hard edge that Jenna had come to expect. “I would rather be myself, and be uninvited.”

  The images that swam around them calmed and slowly collapsed, until there was only one museum left. The Lady of Mourning Glory still stood apart, surrounded by her own reflections.

  Liam slowly released Elaine from his arms. Elaine reached out to Valentine quickly, helping the other woman up to her feet. “If you kill Mourning Glory,” Liam said to Gabe, “her bargains will all be nullified.”

  Gabe hesitated. His golden eyes faltered. “I don’t want to kill anyone,” he said quietly. “I don’t… know if I could.”

  Jenna wanted to touch him, to reassure him — but she found herself unable to move, caught in the overwhelming glare of his new mantle.

  “I can,” Liam said wearily. “Give me back my power, and I’ll do it for you.”

  Mourning Glory did not speak. She waited instead, trapped by her own images and resigned to her fate.

  “…no,” Gabe said finally. He ran his fingers back through his silvery hair. He addressed Mourning Glory then, quietly. “You’re just a pattern,” he said. “You barely even understand what you’re doing or why. I can’t make you understand. But maybe I can make you into a better pattern.”

  The Lady of Mourning Glory tilted her head at him. “You are correct,” she said. “I do not understand your meaning.” The black wax on her face had ceased to melt, frozen mid-drip.

  “I’ll trade you for your freedom,” Gabe told her. “But it’s going to cost you. You will release every life that you currently have in your possession. That’s the very least of it. I can’t let you go if I know I’ve condemned someone else to die in the process.”