“I have tried to hear what you are saying, I have tried to be patient.” He gripped the railing with both hands now. “But I cannot abide it. I have heard this talk all my life—babble about curses and enchantments and dark magic spells warping and twisting me into some freak or monster. And so many have tried to fix me, to reshape me, to unmake me so that they can re-forge me into whichever type of man they wish me to be.” He shoved away from the railing and faced her, his eyes on fire, the silver blazing. “Until finally Iskyla came and showed me, despite the grumbling of old men who longed for the days before it, that the kingdom of Spegel is perfectly suited to snow and ice.” He spread his hands out to the sides. “And that I am the master of my own fate. I am completely fulfilled just as I am—and that when I unite with her power and am finally able to truly see myself, then any flaws I may perceive now shall be shown to be perfections.” He gave Rose a stone-cold look. “It is not my perception which is distorted, Curse-Breaker. It is yours.”
“Nikolas,” Rose shakily whispered. “Please understand. I have studied curses all my life—I understand their causes, and what they can do to people, and why people cast them. I’ve come here with no other intention but to save you—”
“I do not require you to save me!” he thundered, striking the telescope. It spun away from him, causing Rose to jump back.
“I have had enough of this discussion,” he snapped, turning back to the window. “Get out of my tower.”
Stunned, Rose stared at him, squeezing the collar of her cape.
“You…You cannot mean that,” she stammered. “I am not trying to fight with you—I would hate to fight with you—I am trying to tell you the truth—”
“I have nothing more to say,” Nikolas cut her off. “Leave before I call the guard.”
Rose stared at him, but he just bent his head and pressed his fists into the railing, gazing coldly out across the snowy mountains.
“All right,” Rose breathed, her whole body shaking. “I will go. Goodnight, Your Highness.” And, unable to look at him any more, she turned and hurried back down the stairs.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Impossible Presented Itself
Rose stood in the center of her room, slowly turning in a circle to cast her gaze across all the full-blown, colorful roses that adorned every inch of the glass ceiling. Their sweet perfume filled the air, joining in duet with the scent of the burning fire. But still the room looked oddly-bare—for all her possessions had been packed into her bag.
All except the satin box that held the golden dress.
She had not left her room all day. In the morning she had arisen and slowly paced the floor, reading and re-reading Daisy’s letter—and her masters’ command. A deep, powerful ache in her heart had increased by the hour after that, and nothing allowed it to abate. She then pulled out every book she had brought with her, and scanned through them—but none of them could answer. Nothing in her bag of remedies held the cure, and nothing in her experience could provide a ready example.
And the Queen would be here at dawn tomorrow.
Rose had no more time.
So, she had packed up everything she owned, and as the sun drifted low in the afternoon sky, she stood alone with the prince’s gift, which lay on her bed.
She stepped up to the side of the bed, reached out with both hands, and lifted off the lid. Sunlight and lamplight twinkled across the innumerable beads, once more stunning Rose speechless. Then, for the first time, she reached in, took it up by the shoulders, and drew it out of the box.
The elegant fabric cascaded down the side of the bed and on top of Rose’s feet, and as she laid it out, she could think of nothing else but that the seamstresses had somehow captured shattered sunlight, and sewn the memories of thirty seasons of summer into the seams. Beneath the dress, she found a pair of shoes in the box—likewise beaded—and a beautiful comb dotted with amber jewels.
Before she could help herself, Rose had undressed, then gingerly pulled this dress over her head and slipped it on. It fit her closely and easily, wrapping her up and snugging against every curve. She laced the stays, and ventured into the center of the room. The jewels jingled oh-so-softly as she moved, like a distant waterfall, and the skirt did not impede the movement of her feet. She crossed to the bathroom to the full-length mirror…
And let out a long, stricken breath.
With her golden curls straying all around her shoulders and down her back, she looked like a summer nymph—shining like sunlight off the water, warm as a harvest fire, twinkling as if she had captured burning embers within her skin.
For a longer time than she could know, she stood there, her heart hurting, staring up and down at her dazzling reflection.
Then, she turned, re-entered the room, found the shoes and put them on. Then, she tied some of her hair back, and situated the lovely comb amongst her tresses. Taking a deep, bracing breath, she faced the door, opened it…
And ventured out into the cold hallway toward the nearest Jetta.
Rose stepped out of the Jetta, her breath clouding around her head, trying not to shiver. She skated forward in her new shoes, which slid easily across the frost-covered floor. The deep darkness of the basement of the Ember Keep pressed in around her as she headed toward that long, narrow hallway. The one whose doors hung open again.
She finally reached the end of the hall, and peered in past those doors.
The blue fires burned low again, lighting up just the lower portion of the vast chamber filled with shattered glass. And Prince Nikolas stood in the center, arms folded, staring sightlessly down at the billion pieces.
He wore a long silver coat trimmed in white, with black trousers, white hose, and silver shoes. And he didn’t lift his head when she stepped partway inside. Rose made herself clasp her hands in front of her.
“Captain Elfrid told me where to find you,” she said into the silence. Her voice echoed through the dark emptiness. Nikolas’ jaw tightened, but he didn’t move.
“I wanted to…to say goodbye,” Rose managed. “And to show you my dress one time before I return it to you.”
Nikolas’ head came up, and he found her. His attention flicked up and down her form—but then he shook his head once.
“I cannot see it properly,” he murmured.
“May I…light the lights?” Rose asked. Nikolas said nothing for a moment—then nodded once.
Rose came in a bit further, her shoes clicking against the shards of glass, and scanned the room. There—so many sconces along the walls, and dozens of hanging crystal chandeliers.
Waiting.
Rose took a deep breath and raised her hands.
“Get out,” she said.
Her calm words reverberated like the sound of a shot against every surface.
The floor beneath her feet vibrated.
Ice crackled all around them—it splintered and fell from the chandeliers, raining down to the floor. It split from the ceilings and the walls, coming loose in large fragments, then bursting into clouds of steam.
Deep fog suddenly swirled around the chandeliers and the lamps, beginning to pulse from within with a deep, golden light.
Then, with a sudden flash, the clouds broke free—
And blazing yellow flamelight consumed the hundreds of candles crowning each chandelier, and burst to life within the lamps and sconces.
Rose gasped.
For, that instant, the room revealed itself.
The towering Byzantine ceilings and curved walls had been covered with billions of mirror mosaics—mirror tinted with gold. The room exploded with ecstatic light as warmth flooded it from floor to ceiling. Everywhere Rose turned her head, sharp golden sparkles splintered from every surface, and leaped across the room, only to be caught by more and more mirrors so that the surrounding, enveloping light almost hummed.
Rose wrenched her attention down from the heavenly ceiling to find Nikolas…
Only to see he was looking nowhere but at her.
Her face immediately heated. She tried to smile—but he didn’t answer it.
“I was right,” he murmured. “It does suit your hair.”
Rose dipped a small curtsey.
“I thank you again for thinking of me,” she said. “I regret that I must return it to you.”
“You don’t have to,” he answered faintly. “No one else in the realm would ever be able to wear it as well as you do.”
Unable to speak, Rose watched him for a moment, then just gave him another smile.
Nikolas took another deep breath—as if it hurt him—and straightened up.
“You’ve come to take your leave of me, then?”
“Yes,” Rose said softly, her smile fading. “And to ask you if you still intend to fix this mirror.”
He put his hands in his trousers pockets, and then pushed at a shard with his toe.
“No matter what I intend,” he said. “I cannot fix it. It’s impossible.”
He looked up and gave her a mirthless smile which soon disappeared—and his gaze lingered on her. Then, he turned, and started toward the door.
Rose stared at the place where he had just been.
Stricken to her core.
Impossible…
Decide to do…the impossible.
“Wait!”
She threw up her hand, and the cry leaped from her mouth before she knew what she was saying. Nikolas stopped.
“What?” he demanded.
“I…I think I…” she stammered, closing her eyes and pressing her fingers to her forehead. “I recall something my masters said. That the glass of Spegel is unbreakable except by magic. Is that true?” She opened her eyes. He frowned at her, but nodded.
“Yes, that is true.”
“And they also said that the magic of the realm may be trying to reach you through dreams,” Rose realized, stepping toward him. “What if…What if we can fix this mirror?”
Nikolas took half a step toward her.
“How?”
Rose bit her lip, casting around the room…
“What would you suppose this room was used for, in your father’s day?” she asked.
“Judging by the elaborate decoration and the chandeliers,” Nikolas said, glancing around. “I would say a grand ballroom.”
“That’s it…” Rose whispered, her heart hammering—then turned and faced the prince. “We need to dance.”
“Dance? Across broken sheets of glass?” Nikolas asked, looking at her sideways.
“Yes,” Rose nodded. “This entire castle was built with magic, each piece with a deliberate purpose. We must…We must remind the room of its original intent. The reason it was made.”
Nikolas studied her, his gaze half wild, half captivated.
“And I must dance with you to achieve this?” he asked.
“I think that…” Rose said, trying to catch her breath as her head spun. “I think that I can channel the magic that lives inside you because you are the heir to this kingdom. And you will fix the mirror.”
For a long moment, Nikolas said nothing.
Then, his aspect settled. He strode across the distance between them, stopped before her, clasped his hands behind his back, and looked directly down into her eyes.
Rose stopped breathing.
“Madam,” Nikolas said quietly. “May I have the honor of a dance?”
Her legs going weak, unable to pry her gaze from his, Rose bent a knee in a small curtsey.
“I would be delighted, Your Highness.”
Then, Nikolas stepped in, and slid his right hand around her waist.
Rose’s heart staggered. Her fluttering hand found his shoulder—and with his left, he took up her right hand. He held it lightly, softly, in his fingers, with the firm, gentle touch of a master.
She had never stood so close to him—and now her chest brushed his. She could feel his breath. He smelled of cinnamon.
He moved.
With effortless strength, he turned her and suddenly swept her into a striding waltz step. The chips of glass jangled beneath their feet like a broken music box, kicking against their shoes and skittering across their fellows. Rose, blushing hard, frantically tried to remember her dance lessons from long ago…
Until she felt heat pulsing through Nikolas’ hands.
Pulsing through his hands, and entering her.
Understanding instantly washed through her mind—attunement to his body, his movements, what he was about to do—
He pulled her into a tight spin—they reeled like a top in the very center of the room, dizzying her in a swirl of light. He gripped her tight to his chest, her skirt blazing out behind her like a banner of fire. Her whole body flooded with warmth—warmth that came from him…
And a vibration began within the walls of the room.
A deep, bass pulse, like a dragon’s heart. It trembled through the very air, coursing through Rose’s bones…
Only it beat with a strong one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three…
Nikolas led her into a whirling set of waltzing spins, coursing round the edge of the room, their shattered reflections splashing across the surface of the walls. And as they brushed past, the bass pulse was joined by mysterious higher tones—tones like a thousand violins, like two hundred voices…
And before Rose could fully comprehend what had happened, the whole chamber filled with soaring music. Music that plunged through the depths of the castle and swirled around the highest chandelier—music that swam round and round the two of them, pulling them tighter together, unifying their steps. A terrifying, wonderous, heart-pounding waltz surely composed at the Source itself—a waltz like the thunder of a waterfall, the cannon of war drums and a full chorus of angels.
And Rose could look nowhere but back up into Nikolas’ vivid blue eyes, all shining with reflected golden light, his face ruddy, his curls rich with gold. He tightened his grip on her and whirled her back toward the center of the room…
And the glass upon the floor lifted into the air.
All of it—every single broken piece—rose up from the ground and floated like feathers. Nikolas turned Rose with strong, purposeful steps, and the glass began slowly spinning round and round. Lifting higher and higher…
Rose finally tilted her head back, raising her eyes to the chamber all around her, even as the billions of chips of glass, each like a flying ember, suspended in waves to catch the lamplight.
And she could not help it—she grinned like a fool.
And when she looked at Nikolas—he grinned back at her.
Then—in one breathless movement—he flung her out from him in a dizzying spin.
The entire room turned to a tornado of light. Her dress flared like a mountain sunrise, and she twirled with giddy violence, only to be caught full in his arms again—her nose brushed his.
Her heart bashed into her breastbone. Her fingertips touched his collar.
And as the music launched into a roaring crescendo, the two of them blazed round the room in a commanding waltz circle as every broken piece danced in a unified, shimmering spiral along with them.
Round and round they danced, the bits of glass revolving faster and faster, tighter and tighter, until the two dancers spun upon a single spot in the very center of the room, bound in each other’s arms, and the glass circled them in a swift, delighted storm, dazzling with captured candlelight.
Nikolas slowed their steps. They turned like figures on a music box, fixed on each other’s eyes, as the shimmering sound of the glass all around them coalesced with the music. The music that suddenly took a note of wistful, aching longing and bittersweetness.
Nikolas stopped. Rose stopped with him.
A deep noise, like a sigh, issued from everywhere at once—and the pieces of glass rained to the floor.
The instant each piece struck, it turned to a mercurial liquid and splashed, melding with all the others, swimming across the surface of the ballroom…
The liquid surface stille
d beneath their feet. Hardened.
And the Great Mirror stood at last as one immense, shining, flawless floor.
Nikolas and Rose stood motionless, their exact images reflected back up at them in wholeness from below, and in thousands of variations upon the mosaiced walls, all illuminated a million times over. Rose breathed unsteadily, that deep, knowing ache returning to her chest as she gazed up at him who looked back at her. Striving to memorize his every feature—and finding that she already had.
His hand moved against her back. He brought their hands closer to him, even as his eyebrows knitted together. She felt it through her whole frame when he took a breath.
“Why do you call me dearest?” he whispered.
Rose’s mouth opened, but she said nothing. Her thumb wandered across the back of his collar. Nikolas searched her face. Rose’s heart beat jaggedly.
And—though she knew it was for nothing—she decided.
She leaned up, pressed her lips to his, and kissed him.
He went utterly still. His hand fell free of her waist.
She let go of his fingers, and took his head in her hands.
He did not kiss her back. He did not lean toward her. She did not expect him to.
She gentled her mouth against his, stroking his forehead with her fingertips, lacing her fingers through his curls. For the briefest, sweetest, bitterest moment, she tasted cinnamon.
Then, as the pain built sharply inside her, she broke the kiss and slowly settled back onto her feet.
Nikolas opened his eyes.
Rose tried to smile. She couldn’t. Tilting her head as she gazed at him, she reached up with both hands again and caressed his face—touching her thumbs to his cheekbones, and brushing them against his soft lips.
“Because I love you,” she said.
Then, she lowered her head, turned and ripped herself away from him.
And without looking back, she left the Great Mirror Room, and Prince Nikolas, behind her.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Tear Fell
Prince Nikolas stood in the center of the Great Mirror room for time uncounting, his fists locked, staring at the vacant doorway. The firelight had dimmed and the night outside had deepened. Silence filled every corner of the palace, penetrating him to the marrow. His heart hammered nonsensically against his ribs. And his lips burned.
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