The Mirror King

by Jodi Meadows

  Never mind. You would simply forge yours, if indeed you could even be bothered to apply. I suppose I will have to continue as I have been, suffering James’s company.

  In spite of his history of scandalous lies, he was correct about my interest in magic.

  Until I met you—in Skyvale, not as children—my stance was unwavering, as you know. But my stance did not diminish my interest in the subject, though I was forced to hide my fascination with such an unsavory topic.

  Once, the world existed on magic. Factories employed appropriately skilled radiants to produce clothes or furniture or building supplies. Farms hired them to plant crops or encourage growth, and then assist with the harvest and distribution. Shops kept employees who could spot the dishonest to prevent thievery. It seems to me that relatively not long ago—for history is long—radiants were coveted people and those who didn’t possess magic were mere second class. What a sight it must have been two hundred years ago, when radiants built Skyvale Palace and shaped the foundations of the city with just waves of their hands. The legacy of magic is feats we may never again accomplish without its aid.

  Plumbing and lighting originally installed in the palace and mansions all over the Indigo Kingdom have been made useful once again, with new technology that doesn’t require magic. That is an impressive feat of its own, and one I don’t want to diminish, but how can it compare to what once was?

  Even further, while those major magical accomplishments are certainly something to admire—under the light of the past, rather than today’s nonmagical standards—I am even more impressed when I imagine the smaller ways the lives of our ancestors were affected by magic. Imagine: pens that didn’t need to be re-inked, paper that absorbed the likeness of a person as though a master artist had painted their portrait, lights that illuminated the moment someone walked into a room. Imagine a blade that never dulled, a mask that never slipped, or a device that distorted one’s voice just enough to disguise it without making it sound unnatural.

  That world of magic and convenience is fascinating to me.

  Perhaps I was born in the wrong time. Two hundred years ago, my interests would not have been so forbidden. Indeed, I would have been able to study openly, without embarrassment. I’m not embarrassed that you know—I’m glad James told you—but I wish I’d been able to tell you myself.

  I wonder what you would have used your magic for if you’d lived two hundred years ago, too. In those days, Aecor and the Indigo Kingdom were on much more friendly terms, so no doubt we would have grown up as companions.

  With deep affection,

  Tobiah

  I moved to my desk to write back, taking my time as I selected smooth paper and glossy ink. My choice for nib was easier: I took a pointy, flexible nib that would give me wide swells on the downstrokes, and fine hairlines on the upstrokes.

  James had tasked me with continuing my search for my own handwriting, and I intended to practice until I was satisfied. Writing calmed me, and by the time the maid arrived to help me out of my gown—and tut over the ink smears on my fingers—I felt almost at ease.

  When the maid left, I changed into my Black Knife clothes and went out the window, over the roof, and onto Tobiah’s balcony.

  The lock was easy enough to pick again, and I slipped inside the dark room without resistance, pausing only a moment to let my eyes adjust. The shapes and shadows were the same as the last time I’d been here, except now there was a framed drawing of Black Knife on one wall. How scandalous.

  I slipped my letter in the corner of the frame just as the dressing room door opened. A banner of light shone over the far wall as I ducked into the shadow of a bookcase. The gas lamps flickered on, dazzling me.

  “Well,” said Tobiah, “you’re later than I expected.”

  I leaned on the wall and let my head drop back. “Someone couldn’t just get crowned king and be done with it. I had to stay for almost the whole party after.”

  He laughed as he stepped around the bookcase, clad in a loose shirt and trousers. Black, predictably.

  “Dressed for bed already?” I lifted my hand to my sword hilt. “I thought you might want to get some air.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “I was crowned king today and held a party that went on too long. Isn’t that enough for you?”

  “Being king has changed you. You never want to have fun anymore.” With a fake pout, I slipped around him and unhooked my baldric. “But I suppose I can see why you might need to rest after dealing with all those people.”

  “Speaking of all those people, what did my uncle say?”

  I stopped short of laying the baldric and sheathed sword on his desk. “Nothing interesting.” My things dropped to the desk with a heavy thunk.

  “Unfortunately, my uncle is rarely uninteresting.”

  I shrugged and made sure my mask was on straight. “He made a request, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve already decided what to do about it.”

  “And?”

  “I’m going to do the worst thing one can to a man like him: ignore him. Show him that he’s nothing.” Even if I thought he’d actually release Aecor to me, betrayal was yet another method I wouldn’t use to take it back. I needed to do it honestly. “What about you? I heard a tense discussion with James. Are you all right?”

  “Eavesdropping is rude.”

  “And yet it’s a way of life for some of us.”

  He gave an exasperated smile. “James wants to know how he healed. I’m looking into it, but mostly I’m grateful he’s still with us. Losing him would break me.”

  “I feel the same about Melanie.” I shifted my weight toward him and put on my best mock-serious tone. “Did you know snake-lizard venom eats the edges of swords?”

  “Wil!” He threw his hands in the air. “Consider that my final gift to you. You haven’t even had it a week and you’ve already ruined it.”

  “You must have a low opinion of me, Your Majesty. I took very good care of the gown.”

  “The gown?”

  “Silver, with ospreys clutching swords embroidered across the bodice. They looked just like these boots, so I know you’re responsible for it.” I propped my foot up on the edge of the desk chair. Black ospreys soared around my calf, just below my knee. “Tell me, Your Highness, do you embroider?”

  “Ah, that gown.” His smile faltered and memory fogged across his eyes. “The one you wore to my father’s . . .”

  My breath hitched. His father’s birthday ball, when he’d argued with King Terrell about marrying Meredith, and later we’d kissed in the breezeway, maybe at the same moment Patrick was sneaking into the king’s sleeping chambers.

  Tobiah slumped toward the edge of his bed and sat. His fingers clutched vaguely at his heart, as though he could rip out the pain. But it wouldn’t go away. Not ever.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to bring that up.” I was thoughtless.

  He lifted his eyes to me. “No, it’s part of my life now.” Understandably, he’d think of his father now, when only hours ago he’d taken his father’s place. “I didn’t accept your help after the Inundation. It was foolish. I’d like to accept your help now, if you’re still offering,” he said.

  “Of course.” Haltingly, I crossed the room and stood before him. “Of course I’m still offering.”

  He reached for me, arms lifted up like hope, and suddenly we were holding each other so tight. His fingertips dug into my shoulder blades. I hated myself for ever thinking he was spoiled, having ten extra years with his father. It hurt fiercely, no matter when it happened, and there was no pain compared to that of seeing one’s father die, or finding his body.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whispered into his hair. Neither of us could have prevented our parents’ murders, but the pain and what-if were undeniable.

  I’d been a child when it happened. Innocent. Terrified. Forever changed because of what I’d seen.

  He was older. Less innocent, but still terrified, because he was expected to be a kin
g now.

  Get married. Win a war. Stop the wraith from destroying everything.

  He spent so much time being everything for everyone else: a son, a prince, a hero.

  “I should have protected him,” he whispered, drawing back. He looked so devastated. “I should have spent more time with him and been there when Patrick came. I thought the city needed me, but it was my family I’d neglected all along.”

  “You were doing something good. Your father would have been proud if he’d known.” I bit my lip and met his eyes. “I didn’t get to know him well.”

  “I know.”

  “During the breakfast I shared with him, he only wanted to talk about you. His regrets. But I think he would have been proud that you’d taken the initiative to venture into the city, how you fought to help your people in a way most kings or princes would never dream. The night of his birthday ball, he said he hadn’t put his family first. It was always his kingdom that got his attention. That might be the price of ruling. That was a lesson you learned from him, and one you put into action when you put on your mask. So yes, I think he’d be proud of you for becoming the king he’d trained you to be.”

  “Yet I still disappointed him. The last words we exchanged were in anger.”

  I touched his face, my gloves ink against the parchment of his skin. “That would never stop him from loving you. You’re his son.”

  He tilted his face so the curve of his cheek fit in the cup of my palm. His hair tangled around the tips of my fingers and his breath warmed a sliver of skin showing between my glove and sleeve. “You are a mystery, Wilhelmina. You won’t accept anything that even resembles assistance or comfort, but you offer both so freely.”

  The mask hid my tired smile.

  Cautiously, like I might run, he leaned forward and kissed me. Silk clung between our lips for a heartbeat, and he pulled back to search my eyes. Only the mask prevented more, and his expression was a question of hope and yearning.

  My heart thundered as I shifted toward him, chin tilted upward.

  His fingers slid beneath the mask, cool against my throat. Slowly, the silk slipped up and off my mouth and nose and eyes, then dropped to the bed as Tobiah moved close. There was a long, hesitating moment with fire surging through me. All the places we touched were bright and sharp and sensitive. More than anything, I wanted this part to linger—this aching and wanting, with his fingertips glancing off my jaw, when anything was possible. We might still make the right choice.

  But what was one more mistake?

  A soft groan escaped as I pushed toward him, and he pulled me in, and then I sat astride his lap, kissing him. Our mouths, touching. Our breaths, gasping. Our hands, grasping. The silk of his shirt slid across his skin where I caressed. His shoulders and arms were strong and toned, and the muscles flexed when he pulled the tie off the end of my braid and combed his fingers through my hair. His palm pressed flat against my spine and lit fires at the small of my back. His free hand rested on my hip, holding me in place.

  He whispered my name between kisses, moving from my lips to my cheeks to my jaw to my throat. He made me feel alive.

  This felt right. It felt like being back in the breezeway with the night around us, and our bodies pressed close together. When I’d explored his face with my fingers, not knowing his true identity. I’d never wanted someone like that. Loved someone like that.

  Reluctantly, I pulled away, pieces of me at a time. My arms from around his shoulders. My chest from his chest. My legs from his lap.

  “Wilhelmina.” His eyes were still closed. Time stretched like distance between us, and finally he looked at me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  “It’s my fault, too.” My eyes cut to the balcony where I should have gone as soon as he’d declined to go out tonight. “And I’m sorry.”

  He pushed up from his bed and took my mask. “I wish we didn’t have to say that.” He ran the mask between his fingers for a moment, expression unreadable when he looked at it. Then he handed it to me and nodded toward the frame. “Thank you for the letter.”

  A strange sort of tension formed between us, palpable and ugly. Once, we’d known each other as enemies, and now I could still feel the shape of him in my arms. Now we were our own enemies. “I’d better go.”

  On the balcony, wind picked at my loose hair, but I pulled on my mask and turned my eyes to the diamond-dark sky, listening for the cadence of patrol footfalls and voices.

  Through the chilly night, I ran as far and fast from Tobiah as I could.

  SEVENTEEN

  THE FOLLOWING DAY, an invitation card arrived:

  Princess Wilhelmina,

  Please join me in the ladies’ solar at ten. I have been throughout the palace collecting donations for the poor, but I need assistance sorting. Bring your friends. All hands are helpful hands.

  Very best,

  Meredith Corcoran

  The reverse had a gold unicorn embossed on the heavy paper.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised it was Meredith who stepped forward to help. She’d also been the one to initiate sewing time in the ladies’ solar, creating works of art to send to soldiers.

  Groggily, I found blankets and clothes from the suite to add to the boxes, and then fetched the Ospreys.

  When we arrived in the solar, the duchess was surrounded by baskets and crates overflowing with donations.

  “Oh, thank saints!” she cried. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  It wasn’t the usual reaction to my arrival, but I hazarded a smile. “We brought a few items.” Which was silly, perhaps. All these things had been given to us by King Terrell or Tobiah. None of it was ours to give.

  But if we didn’t want it or need it and there was a better use . . .

  “How kind of you.” Meredith cleared a place on the floor for our boxes. She flitted about the room, placing large, empty crates along one wall. “We’ll fill these for shelters in the Flags. Try to put an even number of every type of item in each crate. There are lists for which shelters are requesting specific items; some we might be able to accommodate, but most are requesting everything.”

  “Sounds simple.” I waved for Theresa and the boys to begin. They rushed through the room, each of them taking charge of a group of crates.

  “I’m so glad you came,” Meredith repeated, watching the Ospreys work. “I invited a dozen ladies. I don’t know why they aren’t here. They all said they wanted to help.”

  “Did they know I’d be here?”

  She hesitated, almost like she wanted to lie, but she was incapable of dishonesty. Her shoulders dropped. “I mentioned I’d sent you an invitation.”

  “We don’t have to stay if it will affect your time with your friends.”

  Meredith waved that away. “It was their decision to put their personal feelings above the needs of our people. I would like you to stay.”

  I eyed her askance, searching for hidden agendas, but she appeared genuine.

  “It is human nature to avoid what makes us uncomfortable.” Meredith took a pair of slightly worn dancing slippers and placed them in a nearby crate, though what use those would be in the Flags, I wasn’t sure.

  “And Chey?” I asked. “What about her?”

  Meredith pressed her mouth into a line, thoughtful. “Her absence isn’t surprising, and not entirely without justification. You gave her hope that her friend was alive. You attempted to deceive her, along with the rest of palace society. But she wasn’t honorable, either. She should have confronted you directly, rather than allow the deception to continue. She shouldn’t have tried to humiliate you.”

  I’d probably have done the same thing in Chey’s place.

  “The others likely followed her lead. That’s something she and I and the others will have to work on later. For now, we have boxes to fill.”

  King Terrell had been correct: Meredith was exactly what this kingdom needed.

  Heart heavy with guilt, I worked with her for three hours, taking o
nly a short break for lunch.

  Carl and Connor held an eating race, both trying to impress Meredith by how quickly they could shovel food down their throats without chewing. Theresa tried to hide a vaguely sick, embarrassed look, and Kevin made fun of the younger boys in a way designed to make Meredith laugh. Of course, she didn’t.

  “Where will your wedding be held?” Theresa asked as we finished with the last of the day’s work. “Since the cathedral is”—she glanced at me—“gone.”

  I pushed away the memory of last night: Tobiah’s hands on my back, his mouth on mine. . . .

  That couldn’t happen again.

  “The palace has a lovely chapel.” Meredith didn’t miss a beat as she pulled a lid onto a full crate. “We’ll use that. I prefer a smaller, more intimate wedding anyway. My parents are paying for much of the ceremony, feast, and ball, but with the kingdom in such a state, I don’t think an extravagant wedding would be appropriate.”

  “Oh, of course not.” Theresa shot me a look asking how that wasn’t extravagant.

  The clock chimed thirteen, and Meredith turned to me. “His Majesty’s first audience is going to start soon. I thought we should be there to offer a pair of friendly faces.”

  “Good idea.” I turned to Theresa and the boys. “Lessons or audience? It’s your choice.”

  “Lessons.” Kevin had the gleam of infatuation in his eyes. “Audience will be boring. Just a lot of problems and people talking.”

  Grudgingly, Carl and Connor agreed, and I sent the three of them back to their apartments with a guard.

  “I hope you don’t mind me coming with you,” Theresa said. “Their company gets exhausting sometimes.”

  “Saints, I’m sure.” Meredith hooked her arm with Theresa’s. “I’ve never seen sweeter, more hardworking boys, but they do require constant supervision, don’t they?”

  We walked to the throne room, Theresa and Meredith chatting the whole way.