Her gaze darted to his tea, confusion coming over her when she saw his was right.
But Clevwrith wasn’t done. “Have you never wondered why you go out in the rain, and come back dry when you should be soaked to the bone? Not a drop on you?” A flicker of familiarity crossed her face, probably from when he’d pointed out the same recently. “Maybe you have not wondered. Maybe to you it seems normal. Nothing to wonder at. Nothing to even catch your attention. But I’ve noticed.”
Growing visibly uncomfortable, Despiris shifted in her chair, clearly wondering where he was going with this and wishing he would just get to the point.
“It is normal, you know. Not these things I have mentioned, but…questioning your identity, every so often. Wondering if you are on track. If this is all there is. If there is more.”
Her gaze had returned to his, but she had not returned to her tea.
“The truth is, there is. More,” he told her. “And I am not surprised you sensed that there was. That there is a side of you – hidden, lurking, yearning – that we have not yet explored.”
“What are you saying?”
Here it went. The secret he’d slowly begun to suspect over the last couple years. “You’re an elemental.”
Three heartbeats of silence passed. “What?”
“Have you truly never suspected?”
Despiris opened her mouth, but couldn’t find words. She gazed back down into her tea, swirling it experimentally around the cup.
“You control it,” Clevwrith said. “You automatically change it to whatever temperature suits you.”
Though clearly startled by the notion, Despiris composed herself, analyzing the situation the way he had taught her. “I guess I…never really thought about it. As you said.”
“Try,” Clevwrith urged. “Thinking about it. You might be surprised what you can do.”
Her dark eyes found his once more, quizzical and troubled. “How long have you suspected?”
“For a time.” Sipping his own tea, Clevwrith found it still too hot to manage. But he wasn’t much interested in tea at that moment, not really. Only Des. “I know you, Des,” he murmured almost gravely. “Sometimes better than you know yourself.” Don’t be led astray by a stranger’s ideals.
From the slight slump of her shoulders – as if letting go of her erstwhile tangent – Clevwrith suspected he had her, at least for the moment. “But enough of that for now. You’re tired. You’ve been through something.” Setting his cup down, he rose and skirted the table to perch on the edge of her oversized chair next to her. Tenderly, he touched her chin and turned her face to look into her eyes. “I thought you were just off…terrorizing the city somewhere. But you were caught? Is that where you’ve been this whole time? Trapped?” Though unfamiliar, he recognized the feeling twisting inside him as concern. And while he didn’t want to appear overly alarmed – he still wanted her to feel he had faith in her – he let a margin of it show on his face. She needed to know that he cared.
Despiris lowered her eyes in shame, but nodded reluctantly. “I made a mistake,” she confessed.
“What kind of mistake?” Clevwrith prompted gently.
“I provoked a chase during the day. I didn’t intend to – I…I just went for a walk. Donned attire to blend in with the locals. A dress. I found myself in the marketplace. The king’s men were there, patrolling. And…I provoked them.” Her voice changed slightly here – louder, the words coming quicker, as if she’d been going to say something else but changed her mind, plowing quickly on with the story to avoid questions. “You told me to test my limits, and I was so confident… But there were no shadows to disappear into. And the dress…” She shook her head. “It was so impractical. I’d never practiced courses in a dress before. Every maneuver became impossible, my legs tangling with the skirt.
“I didn’t account for the sun, either. It plays tricks I’m not accustomed to. I was running across the rooftops, and I was blinded by a bright reflection in a skylight. I stumbled. Fell. Knocked myself senseless when I hit the ground, and that’s where they caught me.”
“And took you to the palace?”
Nodding, Despiris toyed with her teacup, her thumb tracing the elegantly arched handle. Seeing the brew resting untouched in her lap, Clevwrith took it from her, setting it on the table next to his. “I was taken before the king, the nature of my capture making him curious enough to meet me before they hid me away in the dungeon. Maybe he suspected who I was – I don’t know. But if he did, I think he changed his mind. He mentioned the Master of the Shadows offhandedly. Lamented spending resources chasing ghosts and tricksters when they could be spent elsewhere.”
Clevwrith tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Des. If there is a cause that means something to you, you need only say so. We choose our objective.”
A sheepish look came over her. “Of course we do. I’m sorry, I…”
“You took a blow to the head,” Clevwrith stressed, as if she were silly for looking for an excuse. “And not to say His Majesty doesn’t harbor a good idea now and again. The people love him for a reason. But maybe remember not to be so impressionable around every stranger with new ideas. You must think for yourself. Learn to read between the lines. Things are not always black and white. There is much gray in the world.”
Nodding slightly, Despiris still seemed to cling to a shred of her morose mood.
Clevwrith held up a finger. “I have just the thing. I will show you where I go, when I need to be reminded who I am.”
Des frowned. “You need to be reminded who you are?”
“‘Need’ is a strong word. But reminding myself frequently is what keeps it so sharp, so centered. So uncontested.”
He drew her to her feet and, intrigued, she followed him from the lounge. Down to the ground floor and then to the underworld beyond, they spiraled into the catacombs under the city. Navigating the darkness by memory, Clevwrith stopped at their destination, a keen bit of mischief coming to him. “Wait here,” he said mysteriously, and forsook her hand as he slipped away into the darkness.
*
A long minute passed before Despiris allowed her uncertainty to get the best of her. “Clev?” she called. Silence met her voice.
Where was he?
Then, suddenly, light from an unknown source sizzled to life. What might have been a cavern was illuminated, but it was hard to tell, really, because it was chock full of mirrors.
A maze of mirrors, throwing her reflection back at her from countless different angles.
Despiris looked around in surprise. She’d never seen this chamber before. How many secrets did the Master of the Shadows keep?
Turning a slow circle, she marveled at the way the crowd of replicas kaleidoscoped around her. It was a particularly striking effect given the luxurious crimson gown that cascaded down her form.
“What is this place?” she called, knowing Clev would be close enough to hear.
“The maze of mirrors,” came his matter-of-fact reply.
She turned toward the sound, but couldn’t place him. “Why have I never been here before?”
“I like keeping a few surprises up my sleeve.”
Allowing herself to relax, Despiris admired the intricate maze and its mind-boggling display of illusion. “What was it used for? Or did you do this yourself?”
“It was a tool for Shadhi training, the simple task of navigating the maze from start to finish a challenge to test your wits. You must control your mind, deny what your eyes are telling you and depend on your other senses. Even experienced Shadhi used it to keep their trained senses sharp. But never mind all that. That is not why we are here. Relax. Open your eyes to yourself. It may feel silly at first, but…just look at yourself. Look into yourself. Don’t be shy.”
Sighing slightly, Despiris straightened her shoulders and did as he bade, raising her eyes to meet her gaze in the nearest pane.
It was uncomfortable at first, seeing herself everywhere. She felt at once sel
f-conscious and vain. “Are you sure it wasn’t just the work of a narcissist?”
“Well,” Clevwrith said, and then, wryly, “perhaps.”
Conditioned to follow his every instruction, Despiris forsook chatter and focused in on her reflection.
“Now,” Clevwrith said. “Tell me of your escape. How you slipped through the fingers of the king of Cerf Daine.”
The smug feeling trickled back, and she eagerly filled him in on the details of her escape. By the time she was finished, her neck and face were flushed with excitement, her pulse racing as she re-lived the heist. She’d gone absent-minded in memory, her awareness returning to the scene of the crime as she spoke, and as she came back into her body, she caught herself gazing at her reflection with a starry-eyed smirk, almost as if smitten with her own likeness.
“I did something else as well,” she murmured, a little uncertain how he would respond to this bit but proud of it nevertheless. “I added a twist to the game.”
“Oh?”
“I made the king believe that…I am the Master of the Shadows.” A spike of anxiety went through her as she revealed her treachery. Would Clevwrith feel cheated? That she had taken over his role, taken credit for his life’s work?
But a moment later, he spoke, and she could hear the pride in his voice. “That’s my girl.”
Relief doused the anxiety. Of course he wouldn’t be angry with her. She’d only done what he had taught her.
“Now tell me, trickster,” Clevwrith urged, voice sultry and devilish. “Who do you see before you? Who is the girl in the mirror who claims to be the Master of the Shadows?”
And Despiris knew the answer. “She is Shadhi.” He was right. She lived for the thrill of this life. Fed off the rush the same way most people drew air to breathe. She could never give this up. Be it her destiny or an addiction, it seduced her very soul. And she couldn’t deny that she was gifted, bestowed a gods-given talent that would be a sin – or at the very least a tragedy – to squander. She would never belong anywhere more than she belonged here. Did she really think she would be more fulfilled ladling slop into bowls three hundred times a day in some soup kitchen? She would go mad from the monotony, her aptitude gone straight to waste.
And if all this time there had been something even greater lurking inside her… The powers of an elemental… And Clevwrith had seen it when she hadn’t even noticed it about herself…
She had no business striking off and pretending she knew anything about the world, others, and her place among them.
To think she’d contrived to school the king, when she didn’t even know who she was.
She had much to learn yet.
Suddenly Clevwrith’s reflection joined hers, his familiar silhouette materializing behind her. Despiris glanced over her shoulder, but only found an endless array of herself turning a hundred different directions, and Clevwrith’s silhouette behind her still in every pane.
Confused, she turned again. Now she stood facing Clevwrith, his silhouette framed by some disjointed hallway. He slunk slowly toward her down the broken corridor.
“You know the truth, not so very deep down,” he said. His voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. “You are the Night Queen. The Dark Angel of Fairoway.”
Narrowing her eyes, Despiris lifted a finger to the space before her, finding a pane of glass not even an arm’s length from her body. Determined to make sense of the maze, she shifted again, seeking some glimmer, some clue, that would help her distinguish between illusion and reality, between glass and flesh.
Clevwrith’s voice continued to tease her senses, drawing her around again. “You know once you are taken by the darkness, you can never go back. It marks you. Follows you. Possesses you. Becomes you. You can no sooner find your place among the lives of ordinary men than the stars can shine their light in the day. Your power fades in the day. Your nature is to come out at night.”
The Shadowmaster was everywhere, teasing her, taunting her. She dizzied herself trying to find him – the real him – tracking his ever-shifting reflection, following his elusive voice, twirling on a hunch then turning at a draft of air, pressed now against a mirror she could have sworn was empty space behind her and slipping now into space she took for a pane.
It was a playground of madness. A riddle not even she could crack. The SFH, she thought, could have used this as a prison. A prison with no doors, that even the cleverest of men could not soon escape.
“You are my marauding moonchild,” Clevwrith said, his image warping as it flowed from one pane to another. “My tantalizing trickster.” Suddenly, he stepped from the sidelines into her path, directly in front of her. Startled, she stopped, gazing up at him. At the hyper-real texture of his clothes, his skin, his eyes.
This. This was him. She would bet on it.
“Des.”
The breath on the back of her neck told her otherwise.
She turned one last time, not knowing what to believe anymore. How could she not sense him? This was probably not him either. Just another illusion. Another clever projection.
But the figure reached up. The warmth of his fingers touched her cheek. “My midnight rose,” he finished, his touch drifting across her cheek, through her hair to the back of her neck. His other hand came up to mimic the first. Cupping her face, he gazed into her eyes.
There was something deeper in his stare than Despiris had ever found there. Deeper and…more dangerous, somehow. Warmth flooded her being, her heart fluttering.
Clevwrith leaned in, pressing his lips to hers.
Despiris caught her breath, more startled than she should have been, Part of her had known it was coming, and yet…there was no way to prepare yourself for being kissed by the Master of the Shadows. She had spent years being seduced by him, without even knowing it. Waited for this moment, without knowing it. But never dared to imagine it, not really, because he was inherently unavailable. Unattainable. Married to the night. The man who couldn’t be seen, the man who couldn’t be touched, the man who wasn’t a man at all. And he seduced thousands. Who was she to flatter herself imagining the illustrious demigod of night fancied her? That he had feelings at all?
But if there was any doubt the Shadowmaster was a man, it was put to rest there in the maze of mirrors, his desire and vulnerability on full display as an infinite multitude of reflections caught him in his human act.
His lips were warm, soft, probing. He tasted of licorice and mint. Gentle but needing, he pulled her closer, his kiss deepening as one arm slid around her waist, cinching her into his embrace.
Despiris felt her knees go watery, her hand alighting on his arm to catch herself. She thought herself well versed in the art of chasing thrills, but there was no rush that rivaled this. Liquid fire flooded her body, like molten metal poured into her veins. Butterflies ravaged her stomach, the usual flutter a primal swarm. Her heart thudded erratically in her chest – an effect she could usually temper, mastering so as to keep her focus in the heat of the moment. But she couldn’t seem to get a grapple on it, couldn’t seem to curb the rampant sensation, both wonderful and terrifying, as the Master of the Shadows kissed her.
Yet it was that very wonder – that sense of new discovery, of freefalling, of being out of control – that made her falter. Amidst a potential identity crisis, already confused by what the king had made her think and feel, yet another deviant influence was the last thing she needed to sort out her spinning head.
She stiffened, pulling away. Immediately Clevwrith released her, but it took a moment for the euphoria to dissipate from his gaze. In its place lodged concern, as if he thought he might have hurt her. Then, seeing her discomfort, her avoidance of his gaze, concern turned to disappointment.
The fire went out of him in an instant. He stepped back, giving her space. All around her she saw their flushed faces, the awkward space between them.
Who would speak first?
She didn’t know what to say.
Of course it was Clevwri
th, always able to find his composure. But he didn’t meet her eyes, an unheard-of sense of embarrassment evident in his demeanor as he said, “You belong here, Des. And yet, I… would be remiss not to acknowledge… It has been left to me, up to this point, to teach you everything there is to know about the world. But perhaps…there are things…you would wish to learn from another.”
Clearly disheartened, he turned before she could take pity on him, dispersing into the kaleidoscope of replicas.
“Clev–” she started, a pang of guilt ringing through her. But he was determined to make his escape. The warmth released with his affection evaporated, the cold image of his back walking away from her in a dozen different directions. All too soon he vanished completely, leaving her lost at the center of the maze.
A perfect metaphor for the crisis within, her confused, frightened face haunted her everywhere she looked.
16
The Secret Weapon
“And so it is hereby decreed that the practice of magic shall be forbidden throughout the kingdom of Cerf Daine, and whosoever contrives to engage in the forbidden mystical arts shall be subject to incarceration, sanctification, and execution at the discretion of the law.” – Declaration of Purification instated during King Tataunus’ reign.
*
“Now, Crow,” said the king pointedly. “Are you quite ready to come out of there?”
Glowering from where he sat in his cell, Lord Mosscrow barely kept himself from making a flippant retort. “Yes,” he managed instead. “I am.”
“Very good.” Isavor nodded to the warden, who stepped forward to open the cell. Shamefaced, Mosscrow shuffled out. A second nod from the king sent the warden on his way, and then it was just Crow and the king. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Isavor inquired, his tone of authority forcing Crow’s eyes up from the dingy ground.
“Must we do this here, your Majesty?”
“Would you prefer to grovel in the palace halls, for the courtiers and servants to see?”
“I was hoping, perhaps, your private chambers might do.”
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