Sisters of Glass

by Naomi Cyprus

  Nalah frowned. “Home? What home?” And Nalah finally asked herself the question she should have asked the moment she watched Tam and her father vanish through the mirror: What was on the other side? “Is the mirror just a passage to another part of the world?” Nalah suddenly remembered the way the other Tam was dressed—that he reminded her of a prince from one of her bedtime stories. Tales of a magic kingdom, far, far away. “Or . . . could it be something else?” she wondered. Her heart filled with dread.

  “Does it matter?” Marcus asked.

  After a moment, Nalah shook her head. “No. It doesn’t matter what’s on the other side—I’m going.”

  They resumed their search, with even more vigor now. Illuminating as her vision had been, it hadn’t helped her figure out how to open the mirror for herself. As she scanned the desk, something caught her eye. “In the past, everything on this desk was arranged just the same,” she noted. “Except for this.” She picked up a book from the top of a pile.

  It looked ancient, its spine broken and its pages singed. When she turned back the cover, the book fell open to a certain page marked by a thin, rectangular piece of glass.

  The words were handwritten in purple ink, in letters so small Nalah almost had to press her nose to the page to read them. There were notes scrawled in the margins; little diagrams and things that looked like scraps of Thauma recipes. And on the right side of the page, she saw a series of strange symbols. They looked almost like someone got bored and was just doodling little squiggles on the page. Nalah’s eyes almost passed right over them, but for some reason she felt like she’d seen these designs before. Curious, she lifted a finger and began tracing one of the little squiggles in the air.

  Suddenly she realized why they looked so familiar. She’d seen Tam drawing those same designs on the surface of the mirror.

  “I think I’ve found it!” she said, squinting at the words beside the symbols. “Tam must have needed to research how to activate the mirror too—he knew I’d find the answer because he left it right here! It says: Way of light . . . kingdom of many sands. This is definitely the incantation!”

  She grabbed a sheet of paper and a pen and began to scribble the words and symbols down carefully. Then she gestured to Marcus, and they made their way discreetly out of the mansion, narrowly avoiding the two servants, who were finishing up the cleaning. But as they went, something was niggling at Nalah. It made sense that Tam needed the mirror to get back to wherever he came from—but why did he come here in the first place? What was the purpose of old Tam’s murder?

  Nalah tried to clear from her mind the dozens of questions that tugged at her. None of that mattered now. Only one thing did. Focus, Nalah. Focus. She began whispering three words, over and over again, like a mantra.

  “I’m coming, Papa.”

  An hour later, Nalah stood before the Transcendent Mirror, which gleamed in the light of the sunset filtering in through her father’s workshop window.

  Nalah felt as prepared as she thought she ever would. Her hair was tied up in a messy braid, and Great-Grandpa Xerxes’s eyeglass was in her left pocket, while she’d slipped her cobalt-blue falcon into the right. She found herself running her gloved fingers over and over the place where her father had fixed the crack in its chest. If ever she needed a little luck, it was right now.

  She’d thought of bringing some kind of weapon, but the most she had was a kitchen knife, and something about Tam’s gem-studded golden turban and the cold pleasure in his eyes as he killed his twin told her that a simple kitchen knife wouldn’t do much good against someone like that.

  Will I ever make it back here? She looked around the little workshop and swallowed hard. The old chair, the little side table, the walls hiding their smoke stains beneath so many layers of whitewash. She was leaving it all behind.

  She turned to Marcus and swallowed. “Marcus, thanks for helping me,” she said. “If anyone asks where Papa and I have gone . . . well, you know what they say when a Thauma goes missing. Invent us a relative in the Anong Provinces or something.”

  “Excuse me?” Marcus folded his arms, as if she’d said something shocking. “You think I’m going to let you vanish into a potentially magical mirror world without me?”

  “What?” Nalah exclaimed. Helping her break the law was one thing, but would he really leave behind everything he knew to help her find her father?

  “Marcus, this whole thing is incredibly dangerous!” she said. “You’ve still got family here—what about your parents, your grandmother?”

  Marcus shrugged, but his eyes didn’t leave hers. “We’ll be back soon, won’t we? Besides, we’re Thaumas, we have to stick together.”

  She met his eyes, and they stared at each other for a long moment before Marcus looked away. “Anyway,” he added, the smug tone returning to his voice, “you’d probably get yourself killed over there. That’s why I’ve got to go, to keep you out of trouble.”

  Nalah rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh,” she grumbled. Same old Marcus. She unfolded the piece of paper where she’d copied out the magical symbols and the incantation. “I guess I’m never going to get rid of you, am I?” she said, her mouth betraying her with a smile.

  Marcus shook his head. “Face it, Bardak,” he said, flipping a lock of blond hair from his eyes. “You need me.”

  “I need you like a camel needs fleas,” she replied with a huff.

  But inside, she was glad.

  Nalah took several deep, steadying breaths, pulled off her glove, and raised her hand to trace the symbols onto the glass, going slowly so that her hand wouldn’t shake. Each of the symbols glowed and sank into the mirror like a stone into deep water.

  This is it.

  “Way of light,” she intoned, and she could feel the chiming harmonics of the glass, singing the words along with her. “Open the door to the kingdom of many sands. Let me cross over the void.”

  The surface of the mirror rippled and glowed, and the warm golden light fell on Nalah’s face. The wind stirred her hair and she could smell the sweet Thauma smoke again, and something like the scent of old books. She reached back for Marcus, and he took her hand.

  No going back now.

  And, taking one last deep breath, she stepped forward and into another world.

  Chapter Eight

  Halan

  We will rise.

  We will not, cannot, be controlled through fear or hatred, for we have hope. Those who greedily hoard their power will find it slips through their fingers like sand.

  We are free. We are wild. We will rise.

  —Ironside

  Revolutionary pamphlet, confiscated on the streets of Magi City

  Halan felt like one of the honeybees in her mother’s garden, weaving happily from flower to flower. She was drunk on the atmosphere of the city, going from one stall to another through the bazaar, enchanted by everything. She allowed the noise and the color and the music of the world around her to drown out the worried little voice in her head.

  She was probably just being foolish, anyway. Did she really think that everything in the city would be perfect? It was naive. She needed to stop being so paranoid and enjoy the fruits of her labor. After all, who knew when she’d be able to do this again?

  Soren trailed after her with a watchful eye, occasionally steering her away from rough spots in the crowd, but more often simply looking on with an indulgent smile.

  “Oh, these are lovely!” Halan exclaimed as she came to a stall where silver jewelry was draped on deep blue velvet cushions. Each piece was unique, inlaid with colored glass—a twisting emerald palm tree here, a leaping golden cheetah there.

  “You have beautiful eyes, lady,” said the jewelry maker. Halan felt both flattered and self-conscious. She was often complimented at the palace—but this was different. How could she ever know if a servant or noble was telling the truth, or just trying to appease the future queen? This man might only be trying to sell her something, but at least he wasn’t obliged to be ni
ce to her.

  The jeweler held out a brooch. “I believe that this piece would complement their color perfectly.”

  The brooch was a piece of dark amber carved into the shape of a rose and accented by a thorned bronze stem. It felt warm to the touch, as if sun-kissed. There was something about its delicate simplicity that was so charming—it wasn’t at all like the flashy, expensive pieces that filled her jewelry boxes back at the palace.

  “It’s beautiful,” Halan said, and fingered the coins she’d “borrowed” from Lady Amalia that were in the sack tied at her hip. She’d return the unused portion tomorrow—her governess would never be the wiser. She felt thrilled at the prospect of using them—for all her royal baubles, she’d never once bought something for herself. “How much?” Halan asked the jeweler.

  “For such a lovely lady as you,” he said, “only twenty coppers.”

  Halan was surprised. “Are you certain?” she asked. “It must be worth much more than that.”

  The jeweler’s eyes twinkled. “Perhaps one day you can repay me with some other kindness.” He handed Halan the brooch.

  Halan hardly knew what to say. “Thank you, sir,” she managed, and pulled out the correct number of coins. “I’ll treasure it.”

  As she walked away from the stall with Soren at her side, Halan looked down at the amber rose and felt happier than she had in her whole life. She felt as if her kingdom was opening up to her, embracing her as its future queen. One day she would return as herself, and tell them all about this night, and they would love her for walking among them as an equal—

  And then, in a split second, the rose was gone. She spun around and saw a little boy with a mop of black hair and big dark eyes dancing away from her.

  She flushed, appalled that a child would do something so criminal. “Give that back!” she commanded, but the boy just shook his head and ran.

  “Stop, you little thief!” Halan yelled. Her heart pounded in her chest—she’d never raised her voice like that in her life! Adrenaline raced through her. She wasn’t going to let him get away with her brooch, the symbol of her freedom, the only proof of her adventure!

  The next thing she knew, she had taken off after the boy, her feet slapping the flagstones in their borrowed black sandals. She heard Soren at her heels, urging her to stop, but she didn’t look back.

  The boy was heading deeper into the city, away from the bazaar. Bad idea, she thought smugly, putting on a burst of speed. She’d watched the servant children playing from her window for so long that she’d learned a thing or two about chasing someone. You should’ve run into the crowd!

  She zigzagged after him, through ever-smaller side streets. She was out of breath now, her legs burning with the effort, but every inch of her focused on not losing the thief. But the boy was too far ahead. She wasn’t going to catch him.

  Then a figure stepped out from a doorway and grabbed the boy by the collar. It was a guard, wearing a steel helmet and a black leather breastplate much like the one Halan had on under her cloak.

  Aha! Halan thought triumphantly. Serves you right. You’ll have to give my brooch back now.

  But when the boy turned and saw who’d caught him, he let out a howl of terror. Halan stopped dead, the sound chilling her to the bone. She didn’t know much about little boys, but she knew real fear when she heard it.

  “Please, let me go,” the boy whimpered.

  “What’s that in your hand, boy?” the guard growled.

  “I’m sorry I stole it,” the boy begged. “I’ve got two baby sisters and they need milk. My mother’s sick. Please, don’t—!” he broke off, cringing as the guard raised a fist in the air.

  Hearing those words, Halan felt her anger dissolve. She could tell from his face that the boy wasn’t lying.

  “This is unacceptable,” Halan said, and started forward. She pulled her cloak tight around her and drew her scarf up around her face like a veil.

  “My lady,” Soren muttered, rushing to stay at her side. “This is extremely unwise.”

  “Just follow my lead,” Halan hissed back. “This guard is out of line and you know it. Excuse me!” she called out to the guard.

  The guard looked up and an expression of deep confusion passed over his face. “My . . . lady?” he hazarded. His gaze fell on Soren, with his noble’s bearing and fashionable robes, and he seemed to think, Yes, these are nobles. He straightened up, still holding the boy in an iron grip. “My lady. Your lordship. What can I do for you?”

  “You can tell me what will be done with the boy,” Halan said. “That’s my brooch. As far as I’m concerned, once it’s returned, I have no further business with him.”

  “In that case, he will be sternly reprimanded and sent home to his parents, my lady,” said the guard smoothly.

  Halan nodded, but then she met the boy’s eyes. They were brimming with tears. He shook his head, very slightly.

  What does he mean? Halan hesitated, frowning up at the guard. She was about to say more, but then she felt Soren take her elbow. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “If you return our property to us, we will leave you to discharge your duties and return this child to his home.”

  “Here you are, my lady,” said the guard, taking the brooch from the unresisting hand of the boy and giving it back to Halan.

  “Let’s go, Amalia. Father will be looking for us,” said Soren, steering Halan gently but firmly away. Halan thought of digging in her heels, refusing to go until she knew for certain that the boy would be released. But Soren threw her a serious look, and she let him lead her back the way they had come. “Your Highness, what were you thinking? Do you want to get caught?” he whispered fiercely, once they were around the corner and out of earshot of the guard.

  “I’m worried about that boy,” Halan said honestly, turning the brooch between her fingers. “Do you—do you think he’ll really be sent home?”

  Soren hesitated, looking down at her with a frown that seemed strangely calculating. “You’re the princess. Do you?”

  Halan felt stung by his question. Was she supposed to know how criminals were punished in her kingdom? It had never come up in her lessons—but then again, useful things often didn’t. Perhaps she’d have to bring it up with Lord Helavi. If she was going to be queen, she’d need to know everything. But for now, she had to admit that maybe Soren knew more than she did.

  Swallowing her pride, she asked, “How will he be punished, Soren?”

  “Princess,” said Soren, with a creeping weariness that looked very wrong on his youthful, handsome face. “Tell me something—do you really want to know?”

  Halan felt her skin prickle. She felt that if she went down this road, she might not be able to turn back. “Yes,” she said, barreling on. “I do.”

  “Sometimes, Your Highness, the world is not as pretty as it looks from your palace window,” Soren went on. For the first time that night, she felt something other than affection radiating from him. This was something . . . colder. Something sharper-edged.

  Then he sighed, and his expression softened. He tried to smile. “C’mon, let’s forget about all this. I wouldn’t want to end your first visit to the city on such a sour note.”

  “Yes . . . Yes, you’re right,” said Halan. He was right. What did she expect, for the whole world to be as well mannered and safe as the palace? And as for the punishment, she assured herself that whatever it was would be equal to the crime. The boy had stolen from her, and he would have to face the consequences. Her kingdom was just, her father had made certain of that. Doubting the king’s guard, she admonished herself, was akin to doubting the king himself.

  Halan comforted herself with these thoughts, and then turned her attention back to the city around her.

  By the time they came back to the bazaar, it was closing down for the night. The square was nearly empty. The crowds of customers had moved on. As Halan surveyed the stalls and tents, the only people left seemed to be guards, exhausted merchants packing up their wares, and a fe
w rowdy, argumentative drunks. The guards moved from group to group, hurrying people along. The drunks put up some token resistance and then stumbled away.

  At the sight of the guards, Halan put up her hood and drew the cloak tight around her again. She was glad she had seen her city, but now she was beginning to tire, and she found herself imagining what would happen in the palace if she was found missing—her mother’s fury, her father’s panic. What if Pedram and Ester somehow got in trouble for it?

  What would happen to them?

  She lifted her chin and turned to Soren. “It’s late. We should go back.”

  Soren gave a curt nod. “Of course, Your Highness. But if you’ll permit me, there is one more thing I’d like to show you.”

  Halan frowned. “Will it take long? I’m getting tired.”

  Soren smiled at her with the same slow, mischievous smile that had every young lady at court clamoring to dance with him. “That doesn’t sound like the girl who escaped the castle and nearly told off a city guard,” he teased her. “You know as well as I do, my lady, that we nobles hardly ever get to have any fun.”

  Halan laughed. “Oh, it’s like that, is it? Fine, then. Lead on, my lord!”

  She offered him her arm, and he took it with a chuckle.

  He led her past the bazaar, farther away from the post where he’d tied up his horse. They followed the wide road for a little while, passing large houses with Thauma lamps burning bright under the archways, lighting up the brilliantly colored mosaics that depicted figures and animals moving as if alive. Halan looked, but not too long—these were probably the houses of nobles and rich merchants, and if she was unlucky one might emerge and recognize her.

  Then Soren turned off that road and they walked on. The sounds of the bazaar had long died away, and most of the buildings were now dark and silent. Their way was lit by the stars and the moon, which seemed brighter than Halan had ever seen them before. She could almost have believed that they were what Soren had brought her here to see—but he simply smiled when she looked up at them, and kept walking.