Silver Mirrors

by A. A. Aguirre

  “Honestly,” the other woman said, her voice carrying, “if you don’t stop hovering, I won’t do any paperwork for a month. You can explain all of this. In triplicate. In writing.”

  Saskia didn’t know if all women were this way, but as she watched them, she wondered what was lacking in her—that she couldn’t evoke the same response from him. At one point, she’d loved him desperately, and even now, the feeling lingered in a lonely echo. There’s no going back, but—

  “That’s well past and done, Li’l White.” Irahi squeezed her fingers gently, breaking her train of thought and drawing her attention. His thick brows were furrowed with concern. It was beyond her to think of a time when he hadn’t been there.

  “I know. I knew the first time I saw them together. But hope makes fools of us all.”

  The late-morning light made his hazel eyes blaze gold. She managed a smile, releasing his hand to run her fingers along his smooth-shaven jaw and up into his dark hair, newly and neatly retied into a thick topknot. The move surprised him, but that wasn’t all. His eyelids flickered, and his broad chest swelled in a sudden breath. Her old friend was quiet as she struggled to make sense of his reaction: that flare of his nostrils and the pain in his furrowed brow when he registered her words.

  When he answered, his voice was soft. “I know that all too well, Alexandra Braelan.”

  She bit her bottom lip at the wistful note in his words. She looked over at him—truly looked at him, for the first time in years. There were hints of gray in his long hair; when they had first met, his leonine mane had been dark as starless night. His broad shoulders strained the thin leather of his simple tunic; he’d become thicker with age but not soft. The doctor’s bag he’d scavenged in Eldheim swung in counterpoint to the battered scabbard of his heavy cutlass—she was surprised that he’d managed to hang on to that in the chaos of the last few days, but on further reflection she remembered that he never let go of what was important to him.

  Family, friends. Me. Bronze gods, we’ve quite literally been to hell and back now, Irahi Hu. In all their long years together, she’d never been quite so aware of his strength and quiet determination.

  But then, we’ve spent far more time smuggling than fighting dragons. That sort of thing tends to change us, and how we view the world . . . and each other.

  “You’re staring, Li’l White.”

  “Just making sure you don’t fall off the side of the mountain again.” She pulled up her white scarf to try to hide the flush of her cheeks.

  Why did you never tell me?

  But deep down, she knew. First, it was her devotion to the company and later, her entanglement with Janus. How difficult it must’ve been to hold your silence all of these years. To watch me stumble, oblivious. Saskia didn’t know exactly how she felt, but warmth swept over her. Every woman should be loved like this, quietly and infinitely, a wheel without end.

  Suddenly, her eyes stung for all of the wasted years and the lost opportunities. Before she could think better of it, she rose up on her tiptoes and cupped his face in her hands. His eyes were dark, solemn, and slightly puzzled. She answered the silent question he was asking by kissing him. Irahi responded as if he needed her to live.

  When she broke free, she was dizzy, elated, confused, stunned into silence.

  “We’ll be taking a break,” the doctor called. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for almost twenty years. I’m not waiting a minute more.”

  Then he swept her up into his arms and strode toward a cluster of trees. Over his broad shoulder, Saskia glimpsed two startled faces and tipped her head back in silent laughter.

  CHAPTER 26

  TO SAY RITSUKO WAS SURPRISED WOULD BE AN UNDERSTATEMENT.

  She watched the doctor stride over the rise and out of sight, but she was smiling as she did so. It was good to see him getting what he wanted, knowing how long he had been in love with Miss Braelan. Of course, that left Mikani and herself stalled beside the worn footpath that served as a road. The horses didn’t seem to mind the break, grazing placidly beside the cart.

  “Be honest,” she said to Mikani. “Did you see that coming?”

  He frowned, looking down the road where Irahi had carried Miss Braelan. “I never thought he’d get drunk enough to try. Let alone do it sober.” He shook his head and turned back to her. “So, no.”

  Ritsuko hesitated. His expression seemed troubled, though her truth-sense indicated he’d answered honestly. “Are you all right?”

  That was, possibly, a laughable question, given that she was wearing a robe borrowed from the landlord’s wife. The burns didn’t permit her to wear normal clothing yet, and the pain was a constant blaze on her skin. At first glance, anyone comparing the two of them would say that Mikani was in far better shape. He just had the normal scrapes and bruises.

  Looks like business as usual for him.

  He looked back toward the hill. “I’m happy for Hu, I think. Saskia’s a handful, but she’ll be good for him. And bronze gods know, he’ll be good for her.” Mikani patted the horse’s flank, finally turning back to her. He smiled faintly. “To answer your question, yes. I believe I am.”

  The note was fainter this time, but not discordant; though she was still learning the nuances of her gift, she felt relatively certain that he was being mostly truthful. Ritsuko pondered the implications. Does that mean part of him is sorry it didn’t work out between them? There seemed to be a thousand unspoken questions hanging in the air between them, but she lacked the courage to pluck one of them down and learn the answer.

  So instead, she said, “Well, it seems we’re having a rest. We should enjoy lunch as I’m sure we’ll be traveling late tonight to make up for it.”

  “We could always spend some time admiring the view and taking the scenic route. But I’m bloody tired of this mountain.” He tethered the horses to a low-hanging branch and rummaged in the saddlebags of Miss Braelan’s horse for bread and cheese. “And the sooner we get to Northport and let them know what happened, the sooner that someone can start sorting out the mess. Hopefully, without us.” He ambled toward her, juggling three bundles and a bottle of white wine.

  “Everything may be without us. I suspect we could end up on the penal farms for this.” She didn’t like to consider the consequences, but it was hard not to imagine everything she’d worked toward burning to ash before her eyes.

  Mikani unwrapped some rye bread and broke off a piece; he offered it with a hunk of cheese. She fiddled with the two, pressing the white into dark and spreading it with her fingers. That was a nervous habit, one she wasn’t sure if he’d registered. At last, she took a bite, hearing all sorts of things in his silence.

  Finally, he spoke as he uncorked the wine. “Well, the northern farms aren’t horrible. It had to be done, partner. All of it. And I’m hoping someone on the Council has wit enough to see that.” She didn’t need the discordant chime to know he was lying. “And if they’re not, we’ll find a way. Hells and Winter, Ritsuko. We’ve survived meetings with ancient Ferishers, an army of raiders, and a dragon. What’s a bunch of angry nobles after all that?”

  “They’re the ones with all the power. After this, I’m afraid we can’t simply return to work. How can they allow it?”

  He offered her the wine. Ritsuko pulled directly from the bottle, reckoning it was better to numb the dread. Never in her life had she known this exact combination of fear, exhaustion, and foreboding. There were so many potential snarls and complications, so few people she felt they could trust. Will Gunwood have our backs after this? The risks were especially great for her, as her promotion hadn’t been a popular decision.

  Mikani reached out and took her hand. His callused fingers squeezed hers. “I don’t know what will happen, Ritsuko. Bronze gods, I barely know what I’ll be doing when I wake up each morning. We saved a lot of lives. I have to believe that will count for something, with someone. Otherwise, what the hells have we been working for the last few years?” He took the bottle wi
th his free hand, not breaking eye contact as he took a deep swallow. “Besides, if any of them tries to lay a hand on you, I’ll shoot them.”

  Truth.

  She was surprised into silence. He wasn’t usually so . . . earnest. There was no levity in his expression, none of his customary insouciance. She didn’t know how to handle this Mikani. Ritsuko studied the shape of his fingers wrapped around hers, listening to the increased thump of her own heart. His knuckles were scarred from countless fights; she’d watched him thump walls in frustration and anger, but years ago, she’d never imagined that he could make her feel this way with the touch of his hand.

  It wasn’t a decision she made as much as an irresistible impulse. She traced the ridges of his knuckles, valleys between his fingers, and back up to the tips. He was a topography of unspeakable beauty and mystery, and it was awful to feel such a wicked twist of longing when she’d watched his love affairs catch fire, time and again.

  Not him. Why does it have to be him?

  Her voice was husky when she replied. “I’m not sure shooting people would solve any of our problems.”

  Not what she wanted to say—it was what came out. But she didn’t pull her hand back.

  Mikani set the bottle carefully down next to her. He was close enough that she felt his warmth against her side; he frowned at her bandaged legs. She suspected he felt responsible for those injuries, though she’d suffered them of her own volition.

  He spoke in a low voice, pauses making it seem as if he weighed every word. “I know. I could mow them all down, and it wouldn’t matter. But I won’t just stand by, Ritsuko . . . Celeste.” He met her gaze once more with shadowed blue eyes that held more than a hint of the vicious streak she knew all too well. “I have no idea how, but we will be all right. We saved the bloody Architect’s daughter. If we hadn’t stopped that madman, every city and town in Hy Breasil would have fared worse than Eldheim by now. They owe us, and I’ll be damned if we will let them forget it.”

  Ritsuko slipped her hand from his and laid it on his chest, feeling how his heart thundered. He tensed at her touch, though she wasn’t sure why. She wished she could be as certain as he was; his fierce conviction was almost sufficient to quell her anxiety. He needs me to believe that we’ll be fine. Bronze gods, I want to. She was a realist, but she trusted him enough to permit the reassurance.

  “Things will work out, one way or another.”

  Mikani let out a long breath as he relaxed under her palm. His face was tired and impossibly dear, new lines etched beside eyes and mouth. The quick washup at the inn hadn’t altered his perpetually scruffy appearance, though she didn’t look much better. Ritsuko couldn’t remember the last time she’d had her hair cut. It must be a shaggy mop by now.

  He set his hand over hers, trapping it against his chest. “I’m sorry. I get carried away. This should be the easy part, heading home to a hero’s welcome after defeating the monsters.”

  “That part troubles me,” she said softly. “Who are the monsters in this scenario? The elementals, for burning our homes, or us, for using them without their consent?”

  “There are no innocents in this mess, partner. Our ignorance is no excuse for their enslavement; the massacre the elementals wanted is hardly any better, though.”

  She nodded, comforted by the steady thump of his heart. Probably she should move her hand away, but for once, she couldn’t make herself do the smart, prudent thing. Ritsuko wished she could be as brave as Irahi; she’d lived her life defined by rules and boundaries, working as hard as she could. It was somewhat astonishing to realize that sometimes, making all the right choices might not matter.

  Quietly aching, Ritsuko slipped her hand out from under Mikani’s and pressed her palm to his cheek, reveling in the prickle of his whiskers. “If we’re not fired, it’s quite likely they’ll separate us. I’ll be demoted and reassigned. What will you do without me?”

  • • •

  WHAT WOULD I do without her? Hells and Winter . . . I have no idea.

  He leaned into her touch instinctively. Her fingers were warm and soft against his jaw; he slowly rubbed against her hand, seeking the contact. Her thumb skimmed downward, over his cheek, toward his jaw, narrowly missing his mouth. I’m having a hard time even drawing away; I can’t begin to imagine life without her.

  Somehow, he managed to reply, “I don’t think Gunwood’ll be too keen to keep me on without you. Hells, he’s been looking for an excuse to get rid of me for years. I may well give him an early holiday present and walk out.”

  The thought of leaving the CID had never seriously crossed his mind, despite Gunwood’s constant threats and complaints. Until now. With Ritsuko gone, I’m sure I’d end up back at the docks or worse, in no time. Over the years, she’d become his trusted partner, able to shield him from the repercussions of using his gift. Now, though, he couldn’t think of the right word for her. “Partner” no longer seemed deep or wide enough.

  “Somehow, I doubt the choice will be left up to you. I’m debating just how severe our punishment will be.” With a faint sigh, Ritsuko shook her head. “But there’s no point in speculating. Let’s talk about something else.”

  It was hard to step away from her touch, more difficult than it should’ve been.

  Careful to not jostle her legs, he hopped onto the cart next to her, the bottle of wine between them. “Agreed. We’ll have plenty of time to fret once we’re back home. How’s Higgins? I don’t remember seeing him around headquarters recently.” He was the man who worked in the morgue and paid altogether too much attention to Ritsuko.

  Ritsuko raised a brow at him. “That’s an extremely odd question, Mikani.”

  He met her gaze. “Is it? It was the first thing that came to mind.”

  Her expression seemed to be a mix of two emotions, bewilderment and curiosity. “Then . . . he’s well, so far as I know. I believe he requested some personal time to take care of his ailing mother. I pop around now and then to bring pastries. She’s fond of apple tarts.”

  He was genuinely puzzled. The complexities of social interaction had never been of interest to him; the ability to sense the underlying emotions and little lies in everyday exchanges made it difficult to keep up the pretense properly. It’s part of why I became an inspector; I get paid to find out the truth, not to play nice.

  “You visit his mother? You’re quite . . . surprising, sometimes, partner.”

  “In what way?”

  “I just didn’t think you knew them that well.”

  She aimed a sly little smile his way. “I see. I also read to orphaned children on Sundays. Did you know that?”

  “No. Wait, really?”

  “No. But you should see your expression. It’s priceless.”

  “When I first met you, I didn’t think you had any sense of humor at all.”

  “And I thought you were an obnoxious dullard.”

  “I hope I’ve improved upon acquaintance, to just obnoxious.”

  The amusement faded from her brown eyes, leaving a steady, if slightly unnerving regard. Mikani had the feeling she could see straight through him. Actually she can, what with the truth-sense and all. But she’d always been better at reading his moods than most.

  “There’s no one I care about more in the world,” she said softly.

  The weight of her sincerity caught him off guard; he took another drink of wine in a bid for time as words failed him. The feeling’s mutual, Celeste. What do I say? How do I say it? Their relationship had grown complicated and fraught, no longer as simple as it once was but even more important for the knots and tangles.

  If I thought there was a chance—

  “You’re quiet. Was that too much?”

  “No. It’s just . . . I’m not good. With the talking. At least, about this.” That seemed to work, as she could decide what he meant by “this.” And he was ever aware that if he spoken in evasions or half-truths, she’d know.

  I don’t want to hurt her.

&nbs
p; “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Her tone was apologetic. “But maybe that’s part of why I’m always hearing stories about women who left, hm?”

  He considered that for a moment. “They get tired of giving, yes. Sharing parts of themselves and their feelings.” He waved a hand in front of his face. “When they’re being honest, when they share the truth? The emotion seeps through the words. I have to shut them out, so I don’t feel like I’m prying beyond what they want to share. And when they lie? That stays with me.” He frowned. Bloody hell; I’ve never tried to explain this. I’m not sure that I can. “At the best of times, I’m keeping a tight rein on myself, Ritsuko. Not just my gift, everything. It’s what kept me sane, yes? It’s . . . difficult . . . to let that slip.”

  “Not quite what I expected. But . . . understandable. And it’s a bit of a question, isn’t it? How anyone could ever love someone who knows when you lie.” She tipped her head forward so that her hair veiled the curve of her cheek; only the tip of her nose and chin were visible.

  The realization was quick. Hells. He reached out, a fingertip to her chin, tilting her face up gently so he could seek her eyes.

  “You need to really trust someone. Or it all goes to pieces with the first word.”

  “I’ve been listening to the same half-truths and social lies for a while now. No emotions, but the minute and infinite deceptions are enough. I know that Gunwood lies when he says he’s pleased with his decision to promote me. I know that the man who sells me my tea wishes I hadn’t left the Mountain District.”

  “Well. For what it may be worth, I’m glad you got promoted and stuck with me. And if you’d not left the Mountain District, I would never have had the chance to know you. Their lies don’t make them right, and you know that.”

  “But each one is a little cut I didn’t feel before. I understand why you’ve isolated yourself, at least to some degree. I’m tempted to find some remote location and become a scholar of obscure lore, so I don’t have to talk to people.”