by Naomi Cyprus
If the rebels reached her mother and her father, would they execute them right then and there?
The door opened, and a boy of about ten stuck his head inside. “Felis, Masou—come and see what Ironside’s got!”
“We’re watching the prisoner, Baga.” The headscarf girl rolled her eyes.
“No, but it’s crazy,” said Baga. “Darry got caught by a guard, but he was with this girl and she melted a sword just by touching it!”
That’s ridiculous, Halan thought. That’s not how Thauma magic works. She should know—she’d had to sit through years of Lord Helavi’s lectures about it. She’d heard that one passage so many times, she remembered it verbatim: “Thauma magic is created through the process of craft, using ingredients with magical properties, closely guarded techniques, and ancient incantations.” No, she thought. Thaumas can’t just touch something and make it magical.
“That’s impossible!” said the youngest boy, echoing her thoughts. “No one has that kind of power. Darry’s always telling stories.”
“Well, there’s a girl here, and a boy foreigner, and she’s got a live bird made out of glass! Ironside’s talking to her now. I’m going,” Baga said, shrugging. “You can miss out if you like. I want to see if she can do anything else.”
Halan doubted it.
“Well, she’s probably not going anywhere, is she?” Felis said slowly, jabbing a thumb at Halan.
Halan tried not to look excited.
Yes, go. Check out that amazing magical girl. You should all go. You said I could never get out of here alone, anyway. Why not?
She tugged ineffectually on her ropes again, and it seemed to do the trick.
Felis smirked. “Sure, we can leave her here. Masou, you stay and watch her.”
The small boy looked up from where he’d been drawing in the dirt and groaned. “Awww, why me?”
“Because I said so,” said Felis, and the three older rebels left the room.
Not ideal, but it’ll do. Even though she’d never been in a fight in her whole life, Halan was pretty sure she could overpower one skinny eight-year-old boy. She just had to get out of this chair.
I’ll show them. I’m not nothing. I’m not useless while I have my wits.
“That was mean of them,” she said. “I wish I could see this girl. Melting swords, and a glass bird that flies around after her? It sounds amazing.”
“Ugh,” groaned Masou. “Don’t remind me!”
“It’s not fair. Felis should have let you go instead of her,” Halan pressed. “It’s not—” She stopped abruptly, making her eyes bulge. She started to choke, coughing and spluttering, shaking her head. She threw her weight to the side, and the chair tipped over. Halan flinched as she hit the ground, and lay there twitching, coughing as hard as she could.
“What’s the matter?” the boy exclaimed. “Oh no! Princess? Don’t die, hang on!” He ran around to the back of her chair and untied the rope. Halan’s arm was set free, and she let it fall limp and twitching across her face.
Halan felt almost guilty for how easy it was. Little Masou clearly didn’t share the same ruthlessness as the older rebels. As he was coming to untie her ankles, she brought her arm around in a wild swing, and her balled fist struck him hard in the side of the head. He reeled, and she reached up and grabbed his shirt, pulling him down to the floor so his head hit the stone with a horrifying thunk. He lay still.
“Oh god!” Halan gasped, feeling sick. She knew she had to escape, but she’d never hurt anyone before. Not intentionally. She quickly fumbled out of the rest of her ropes and then knelt at the boy’s side. She pressed her fingers to his wrist and bent over his face, and then sat back, relieved. She didn’t know anything about medicine or head injuries, but he was breathing, he had a pulse, and he wasn’t bleeding. It would have to be good enough.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to the boy’s still form. Then she staggered to her feet and out through the door.
She could hear faint voices, some distance away—she imagined it was the sound of a crowd of young people gathered around a magical metal-melting girl. She felt the tension in her chest loosen and she smiled a little, grateful to this girl, whoever she was, for the distraction.
There was a corridor that ran straight on, and one to the right. She took the right, guessing and hoping that it would lead away from the sounds.
She reached a flight of steps and scrambled up them. It was dark up here, but the air felt slightly fresher. She ran, keeping one hand on the wall and another out in front of her, uncertain what kind of a place she was in or what else the rebels might be keeping there.
Behind her, she heard a yell. “Ironside, it’s Masou! And the princess, she’s gone!”
“Find her!” Soren shouted, an edge of desperation in his voice. “Split up and search everywhere!”
Halan burst into high speed, turned a corner, and saw light up ahead. There was a flickering torch illuminating the crumbling plaster on the walls and the cracked tiles on the floor. She sprinted toward it and swung around another bend.
“Ow!” someone yelled, as she crashed right into them. It was a girl. Halan felt herself slipping on the tiles and made a grab for anything to keep herself upright, but all her fingers found were the edges of the girl’s headscarf. The two of them went down in a heap.
A loud, glassy squawk rang out from above them, and Halan, dazed, looked up and saw a blue bird made entirely of glass giving her an angry stare from a windowsill. Maybe this is all a dream, she thought numbly, her head still spinning.
“There she is!” yelled someone else. Halan peered down the hall, and her heart sank. That torchlight she’d seen was growing brighter because torches were being carried toward her by half a dozen rebels.
She tried to get to her feet, but then she looked at the face of the girl she’d run into, and she fell back against the wall in shock.
The girl was her.
Chapter Eleven
Nalah
When you look into a mirror, who is that person you see looking back? They have your face, they wear your clothes. But are they truly you?
Your tawam is a reflection of your inner being. Some reflections are warped, others are true. They may seem very different, but always, in them, you will see some part of yourself.
From Legends of the Magi
Of all the strange things to happen since Nalah had arrived in the Magi Kingdom, this was by far the strangest.
The girl staring back at her, eyes wide with shock that probably mimicked Nalah’s own, could have been her twin. It was like looking in a mirror—a very flattering mirror. Like everything else in this world, this girl was similar, and yet so different. She and Nalah had the same eyes, the same large mouth and aquiline nose, the same thick, black hair. But this girl’s hair shone in the dim light, as though it was given a thousand strokes a day with a horsehair brush. Her skin was smooth and unmarred by glassworking scars and blemishes.
Nalah had never thought of herself as beautiful. Never looked at her own reflection very much, really—she didn’t have the time or the luxury for such things. But looking at this girl, Nalah began to wonder if she’d been looking hard enough at herself.
This is the girl from my vision, Nalah realized. The one I saw in the Transcendent Mirror. She’s wearing different clothes, but it’s definitely her. Tam had a twin in this world; maybe she’s mine. She’d never even considered the possibility until now.
After a moment of stunned silence, the girl spoke, a torrent of questions spilling from her mouth. “Who are you?” she asked. “A relation of my mother’s? Some distant cousin? How did you get here? Are you working for the rebels?”
Nalah took a deep breath. The girl’s voice was her voice. It was so eerie, hearing the words but not being the one speaking them. “Not a cousin,” Nalah answered carefully. “I think it’s a little more complicated than that.”
At that moment, the young man who the rebels called Ironside stepped between the two girl
s, looking warily back and forth between them. Darry had said that he was actually a young noble who’d been working for the rebellion undercover, supplying the rebels with inside information and weapons. Seeing Nalah without the headscarf for the first time, Ironside took in the unmistakable resemblance between her and this other girl, and his eyes widened. “Everyone go back to the hideout,” he said to the rebels. “Bring the boy and these two . . . girls with you.” He looked at Nalah meaningfully. “When we get there, I think that will be a good time for you to explain.”
As they made their way through the passage, Nalah cast a glance back at Marcus, who was surrounded by young rebels. He looked as surprised as she by the appearance of her twin, but at her questioning look, he shrugged as if to say, Go ahead. What have we got to lose?
Nalah reached up to her shoulder where Cobalt was perched, silently taking in his new surroundings. She caressed his warm, smooth glass feathers and felt just a little bit calmer.
After a few minutes, they came to a small, shabby sitting room with a few moldy cushions and a cold fireplace. There, Nalah told them the truth. Not everything, not about Tam—but she told them how she and Marcus came through the mirror from another world. A world created when the Great Weapon was used. A world with almost no magic.
When she finished, everyone in the room fell silent. Nalah only had eyes for her twin, who had listened intently to her story. Nalah noticed that the rebels were still holding the girl’s arms as one would a prisoner’s, though they left Nalah alone. Looking at the ground, Nalah noticed a pile of loose ropes around a chair that had fallen on its side. Were those for her? What was going on here?
“I’ve told you who I am,” Nalah finally said to Ironside. “Now it’s your turn to answer some questions. Who is she? Why are you holding her here against her will?”
Ironside smiled. “Of course you wouldn’t know,” he said. “This is Her Highness, Princess Halan. And we are holding her in order to demand the release of our people from the king’s dungeons.”
Just then, a tall boy with a scar down one side of his neck spoke up. “Ironside,” he said, “I need to speak to you for a minute. I have an idea.”
Ironside nodded and, followed by several other rebels, went into the next room. Marcus stayed to talk with the others, showing off his shadow cloak. With everyone otherwise occupied, Nalah turned to the princess.
“Are you all right?” she asked quietly. “Did they hurt you or anything?”
Halan shook her head. “No. You?”
“No. I’m not a prisoner. At least . . . I don’t think I am,” she added, her heart sinking.
“Hah. Well, I didn’t start out as one, either. I’d keep an eye on Soren—er, Ironside—if I were you.” Halan met Nalah’s eyes. “I didn’t believe it, when they said someone bent a sword with their bare hands,” she breathed. “Did you actually do it?”
Nalah nodded. “Yes. Although I’m not sure how,” she admitted.
“And this story about another world. It’s really true?” Halan looked her up and down, as if trying to understand how it could be possible.
Nalah nodded again. “Things are very different there, though,” she added quickly. “I’m not a princess like you. I’m not anybody important at all. I mean, I’m a Thauma—a glassworker. But that’s not considered a good thing, where I’m from.”
The princess’s expression changed. Her eyes widened and she suddenly looked slightly sad. “You . . . you’re a Thauma, you have powers?”
“Well, yes,” Nalah said. “I made Cobalt! Well, he was just a glass figurine when I made him—infused with a little bit of luck. But when I came through the mirror, he came to life.” Hearing his name, Cobalt rubbed his head against Nalah’s cheek and chirruped.
Halan looked at the glass falcon with wonder in her eyes. “Can I touch him?”
“Sure, if he doesn’t mind.”
Wondering how he would react, Nalah watched Cobalt carefully as Halan reached up to touch him. He was hers, and her father’s. They were all linked. So, would he like Halan as much as he liked Nalah? And if he didn’t, if he screeched or pecked at Halan, would that be a clue that Halan was a bad person?
But Cobalt preened happily as Halan’s fingers stroked the smooth feathers at his neck. He leaned in to her touch and closed his eyes, trusting and blissful.
“He’s so beautiful,” said Halan, looking back at Nalah with a wistful expression. “I still don’t understand, though. Even if you are from another world, why do you look just like me?”
Nalah thought about everything she’d heard, everything she’d learned, and one word stuck out in her mind.
Tawam.
She whispered it to herself, and the princess heard. “Did you say ‘tawam’?” she asked, her eyes lighting up.
“Yes!” Nalah answered. “Why? Do you know what it means?”
Halan nodded. “I guess Lord Helavi’s lessons aren’t so useless, after all. There’s an urban legend that says everyone has a twin who lives on the other side of mirrors—I’ve heard that if you look in a mirror too long, you might be replaced by your tawam. Or if you meet your tawam on the street, you should pretend not to have seen her in case she, well—kills you.” She paused. “Those parts are probably just superstition, but the mirror thing makes sense, doesn’t it?”
Nalah nodded agreement, though she couldn’t help thinking of Tam and the knife he had plunged into Zachary’s back. Some of those stories are truer than you think.
“Do you think everyone in this world has a tawam in mine?” Nalah asked.
Halan thought for a moment and then shook her head. “I doubt it. A lot of people died during the Year of Storms. So even if both worlds started out with the same people, not all of them survived in ours.”
Nalah nodded. It made sense. Once the two histories diverged, people in the two worlds would have gone on to have totally different lives, different relationships, different children. “So I guess it must be pretty rare to have a tawam,” she said.
“I guess so,” Halan replied. The princess was studying her with interest, almost smiling. “It’s like finding out you have a sister you never knew about,” she said. “I bet you’d fit in all of my clothes.”
Despite herself, Nalah smiled back. After her mother died, she’d spent many nights wishing she had a sibling to keep her company. Never once did she think that it would happen. And certainly not like this.
But she couldn’t deny this feeling in her heart when she looked at the princess. It was like meeting someone for the first time, and after just a few minutes, knowing that they would always be a part of your life.
Their conversation was interrupted by Ironside, returning with the tall boy with the scar. “Change of plans, everyone,” he said. “Princess Halan stays here, as backup. But now that we have our own princess—and a Thauma one at that—we can send her back to the palace in Halan’s place. Except she’ll be working for us.”
“Hang on,” Nalah said, holding up her hands. “I’m not yours and I’m no princess! I’m not interested in becoming part of your rebellion. All I want is to get my father back.”
“I know that,” said Ironside quickly. “But, Nalah, please—you have to understand, we rebels stand against the terror that King Tam has inflicted on his citizens. Many of our friends and families are being held in the palace dungeons, probably right alongside your father. We were going to hold Halan hostage and use her as a bargaining chip, to persuade the king to set them free. But now, you can help us instead. You can help us free them all!”
Nalah bit her lip. It sounded reasonable, and Ironside’s face was very sincere. She could get into the palace dungeons and free her father—and wasn’t that what she wanted, more than anything?
Still, she couldn’t help but feel like she was being manipulated. This plan sounded very convenient for Ironside, but was it something she could do?
I don’t know half of what’s going on here. I can’t pretend to be a princess. Can I?
The real princess interrupted her thoughts. “Nalah, don’t listen to him,” she said. “He’s a liar! He hasn’t tried to fix this the right way. I can get my father to listen, if they’d just—”
Your father?
A prickle of fear crawled across the back of Nalah’s neck. She had been so caught up with talking to her twin, her tawam, she hadn’t put two and two together.
If she’s the princess, her father is the king. King Tam, the man who kidnapped my father. The murderer.
That realization was upsetting enough. But then another thought came to her. If she and the princess were tawams, wouldn’t that mean their fathers were tawams too? After all, how could they have ended up looking exactly the same if they didn’t have the same parents? But her father wasn’t the king’s tawam. . . . Zachary Tam was.
Zachary Tam, who my father never liked. Who had been such close friends with my mother . . . Nalah suddenly felt ill. But she was jolted off that disturbing train of thought as Halan threw herself forward. Nalah yelped and dived aside. What was she doing?
Then she realized that the princess was aiming for a gap between the rebels. They were caught off guard, and she might have made it—but at the last minute, a tall girl grabbed her shirt and swung her back around into the room.
“Not so fast, Princess!” the girl said. “We’re not finished with you yet.”
“Unhand me!” Halan yelled. “You don’t know what you’re doing! None of this needs to happen!”
Nalah couldn’t help being impressed by the princess’s determination. Even in a room full of armed rebels, she was just waiting for her moment to try to escape.
The boy with the scar shook his head. “I told you, Soren. You wouldn’t listen. She’s more trouble than she’s worth. Now that we’ve got Nalah, what do we need the real princess for? She’ll only make trouble if we let her live.”
Suddenly there was a knife glinting in his hand.
Nalah felt an icy panic well up inside her, as visceral and intense as if the boy were pointing the knife at her. Without thinking about it, she leaped in front of Halan and heard her own voice shouting: “If you kill her you’ll have to kill me too. Then you won’t have any princesses!”
