by Page Morgan
Rushing to the loft, I threw off the quilt and tugged on my boots. As usual when I slept in the loft, I was still dressed, my breasts still bound. I pulled on my cap and grabbed my neck scarf as I returned to the ladder. The chaos unfolding became clear to me as I hurried across the meadow toward Volk’s back door.
Frederic and his warriors had arrived.
The kitchen windows were still black, but the door burst open as I reached it. Father, with his shirt unbuttoned and half-tucked in, was as blanched as the face of the moon.
“Ever!” he hissed. “No! Get back to the barn. Back in the loft. Hide!”
The huntsman appeared behind him, only slightly more put together. His shirt was nearly buttoned and tucked in, but his black curls were unruly.
“She’ll be safer in here. You have a root cellar where she can hide.”
Father turned on him with an expression of shock. She. He had said she.
“I know.” It was all the huntsman was able to say before piercing screams slowed my heart and made every last hair on my arms, legs, and neck stand on end.
“The women,” Father breathed, then grabbed fistfuls of his shaggy brown curls. “Idiot! Of course. He’s come for the women.”
The huntsman frowned at him. “Why would he come for the women?”
I didn’t understand either. Frederic had come to avenge his daughter’s murder. But Father already had my arm in his and was marching me back across the meadow.
“Stay in the loft, Ever. Hide yourself in the hay. And if you need to, make your way into the forest,” he whispered, his voice shaky from the quick pace. “Go deep. Into another empire if you must. But you cannot let Frederic or his men find you.”
We made it to the entrance of the barn. The huntsman had followed us.
“Why can’t she let Frederic find her?” he asked. What was he still doing here? He should be out setting his trap for the emperor.
“It’s none of your concern!” Father shouted before shoving me farther into the barn. The chickens clucked madly. Paired with the shrieking women and hollering men in the near distance, it felt like my eardrums might rupture.
“They’ve probably come looking for girls. Girls your age, Ever. Your mother always worried he’d come for her, and perhaps for you. She swore she’d never break, that she’d never tell Frederic our plans for where I’d hide you should he take her away…but if she did, if she was finally forced to tell him…” He trailed off and let go of my arm. “Stay hidden.”
Perhaps it was a trick of the moonlight, but as my father turned to leave the barn, I thought I saw his eyes glistening.
“I’ll protect her,” the huntsman said. Father brushed past him without a response and ran for the tavern.
“Don’t you have something more important to do?” I asked, fighting the shivers attacking my arms and legs. The very thing my father had feared for sixteen years was unfolding in the streets of Rooks Hollow.
“Why is your father so worried Frederic is here for you?” he asked as he followed me into the loft.
The huntsman was right. Father was worried. He was overreacting.
“The only reason you’re here in Rooks Hollow is for this moment,” I said. “For when Frederic will come rolling through the streets and you can get revenge for what happened to your family. Aren’t you?”
“Yes!” he said in a low whisper. “But if you’re in some kind of danger—”
“He’s here because of his daughter’s murder. My father is wrong; he’s not here for me.”
The huntsman shook his head of dark curls. “That’s what he wants everyone to believe.” He paused, closing his eyes, his long, black lashes pressed against his pale skin. “He’s not here for that reason, Ever. I don’t know why he’s here, in Klaven. I don’t know why he wants to invade. But I do know it’s not because of what happened to the princess.”
I stared at him, speechless. If Frederic wasn’t here for that reason…
“You told me your father despises the emperor. And now he’s half crazed with worry that Frederic and his warriors are here to seek you out. You,” he said. “Why?”
The sounds of splintering wood, peals of metal, bells ringing, and glass shattering joined the screaming in the village. I worried that the tavern was being ransacked. That father was in danger.
“It’s nothing I can tell you about,” I answered. “Not right now, Huntsman. Please.”
We both froze as the clinking of metal echoed through the meadow. Toward the barn.
“If Frederic isn’t here to avenge his daughter’s murder,” I whispered.
“Then he’s here searching for something else,” he finished.
Ice crackled through my veins. Father might have been right after all.
The clinking metal—armor, I realized—grew louder. The huntsman took my hand and pulled me to the stack of hay in the eaves of the loft. The stack I used for bedding, the one I used to hide the silver mirror. He hurried to part the loose hay with both of his arms, though I knew it was heavy and must have been straining his injury.
I bent down to help him create a crevice to crawl into. It was like a small burrow as I wiggled my way in. He started to cover back up the opening, but I grasped his hand.
“No! You’re of Morvansk. Your marking. If these warriors find you…you’ve abandoned them. They’ll kill you.” I tugged at his arm. “Hide with me.”
Hiding wasn’t something he wanted to do. I saw it in the wounded pride flashing over his expression. He was disgusted by the mere thought of it. But he stared at my fingers, gripped tightly around his. With the muscles in his jaw jumping, he lifted the loose mound of hay some more and climbed into the burrow with me.
Heavy footfalls of armored feet clattered on the floorboards of the barn. Hilda snorted a nasty greeting, and the hens were unrelenting in their abuse. We tangled arms and smacked wrists as we worked to fill the opening in the hay. It was pitch black inside the mound when the ladder leading to the loft rattled. There were no voices. No one shouting orders. I wondered if only one warrior had entered the barn.
The huntsman positioned his body on top of mine, my face buried in his neck. His skin smelled of sweet hay and sweat. His chest was solid, his arms a cage around me, his legs bracketing mine. It was as if he wanted to bear the brunt of an attack should the warrior spear the hay with a pitchfork or sword. I tried to pay attention to the sounds of the armored warrior lifting himself into the loft, but with the huntsman’s body adhered to mine, it was impossible. The rapid beat of his heart slammed out of rhythm with my own. I stopped breathing as the scrape of metal and the warrior’s aggravated breaths penetrated the oppressive hay piled atop of us. Every muscle in the huntsman’s body constricted, pinning me tighter. Holding me closer.
Something like fire erupted in the pit of my stomach and spread to the lowest spaces between my hips. I closed my eyes and listened as the warrior approached the haystack. Any moment now, I expected the tines of a pitchfork, or the point of a blade, to come stabbing through, our shield as flimsy as a breath of wind.
The warrior lingered, the floorboards creaking beneath his weight. I lay rigid beneath the huntsman, his hot, even breaths warming the side of my head. He was so silent. So calm.
At long last, the warrior’s footsteps retreated to the ladder. The huntsman’s muscles relaxed as the warrior jumped off the last rung and crashed to the barn floor. I began to breathe again when the sounds of armor faded, but my breaths were short and fast.
“Wait another moment,” he whispered, his lips close to mine. I pictured them vividly; the two sharp crests of his upper lip, the fullness of his lower lip.
The tips of our noses met. Neither of us drew back, or apologized. We stayed there like that, breathing into each other, as the chaos in the streets began to recede. Or perhaps my ears were only tricking me. It felt like the world was shrinking, molding itself around us as we hid there in the hay.
“You’re safe, Ever,” he said, our lips lightly touchin
g.
“I didn’t say I was afraid.”
“You didn’t have to. Your heart is racing.”
“You can feel my heartbeat?”
“Yes.” And then, for an excruciating, thrilling moment, he held his mouth against mine. It wasn’t a kiss; just pressure, just touch. Until his lips moved, nudging and parting. A cautious flick of his tongue against my own sent bolts of heat straight to my stomach, and light flared at the undersides of my eyelids. The huntsman edged my lips apart with another nudge, and I answered it with one of my own.
Soft and tentative, the kiss happened slowly, like a feather drifting a languid path to the floor. It nearly felt like a dream, like it couldn’t truly be happening. But I could feel him everywhere, the hard planes of his body sealed to mine, his mouth and tongue scorching and mesmerizing. No dream had ever felt so real or wonderful. Or dangerous.
“Stop,” I gasped, tearing my mouth from his.
The huntsman went rigid. I pushed against his chest and he broke through the hay. A new shade of purplish black was waking in the sky, hinting at the sun. It was freezing, the hay and the press of his body having been a buffer from the cold. I sat up in the burrow and stared at him. He crouched at the foot of the hay pile, staring back at me. He then looked out the open loft door.
“The village is still occupied. The warriors won’t move on so quickly.”
I’d expected him to say something about the kiss. Then again, I didn’t know what to say about it either.
“No, probably not,” I replied. Especially if they were searching for a magical girl able to command mirrors.
But what about my mother? What had happened to her? Frederic had taken her as a slave all those years ago. She’d been his magic mirror. Why would he need to invade Klaven to find his mirror’s daughter? Unless something had happened to her. I pushed aside that thought.
“You said the emperor doesn’t want to avenge his daughter’s murder. Why?” I asked. The huntsman stood, rustling the hay that had concealed us, and countered my question.
“Why is your father convinced Frederic is here for you?”
I wouldn’t get my answer until he got his. That much was clear. But to confess about the mirror, about my ability…to confide in him… What if he decided I was a witch? What if he ran away, seeing me as a freak?
But I needed to know what was happening. Frederic had never been this close; I was desperate.
“I’ll answer your question,” I said. “If you’ll answer mine.”
Silence. Even my heart paused, waiting.
“Agreed,” he answered. “You first.”
Of course. I stayed seated in the ruined mound of hay, my legs trembling. Taking a long breath, I started to speak.
“I was born in a village in Morvansk. My parents, they were happy. My father loved my mother. He didn’t care that she was…different.”
The huntsman’s brows pulled closer in concentration, but he didn’t stop me to ask questions.
“She had a talent. An ability. I don’t know how, but Frederic knew about it. He wanted her for it. And so when I was just a baby, he sent his warriors to take her.”
He stayed quiet, his forehead still furrowed.
“My father and I were left behind, and he took me away from Morvansk. He said my mother knew we’d be safe here in Klaven. They’d planned to go themselves when she was able to travel, when they’d saved enough money… It was sealed to Morvansk, and there would be no chance of Frederic finding me.”
The huntsman crouched at the base of the hay pile. “Why would the emperor want you?”
I looked away from him. “If my mother had lost her ability. If she…” I breathed deeply. “If she died and he needed to replace her.”
Had she died? My mother, a woman I’d never known, and had only seen a few times in a pencil sketch my father kept hidden in his room, might be dead. I didn’t know how to feel about that.
“And her ability,” he said. “What is it?”
I squeezed my eyes shut. Telling him with mere words would be inadequate. He’d never believe me. If I was going to reveal the secret I’d worked so hard to keep, the secret my father had sacrificed everything for, I didn’t think I’d be able to stand the huntsman’s expression of doubt, or worse, amusement. I couldn’t simply tell him.
I needed to show him.
18
Tobin
Ever got to her feet and brushed hay from her trousers and shoulders. Her cap was somewhere in the haystack.
“Do I have your word,” she began, “that you won’t speak of this to anyone? Because what I’m about to do puts not only me at risk, but my father, too.”
Ever felt for her cap on her head, but her fingers just ran through hair. She turned to search for it, muttering under her breath. “What am I doing? I can’t…you’re from Morvansk!” She found the cap and tugged it on. “What if you’re a spy?”
She faced me, two points of color on her cheeks. “What if I’m walking right into a trap?”
Pink splotches bloomed on her skin; she was panicking. Before Ever could back up and run away, I grabbed hold of her arms.
“I wasn’t a spy for Frederic. I’m not a spy for him now. This isn’t a trap, Ever.”
“But your name,” she said, her voice small. “It’s not just Huntsman. You’re hiding behind it.”
I released her. I was about to tell her the truth anyhow. “My name is Tobin. Tobin Ivanov. I didn’t use my real name in case Frederic was searching the empires for me.”
Her wide eyes slanted a bit. “He’s searching for you? Why?”
I cleared my throat softly. “We had a deal. You first.”
How was I going to tell her? I knew exactly how she’d react—with a sneer of disgust. Lael had worn that expression plenty of times, her eyes brimming with fear. Mara had once looked at me that way as well, when she believed I was going to assassinate Prince Orin. Still, she’d somehow seen past my duty to the emperor. Trusted me. If Ever couldn’t do that…well, at least I’d already have her secret.
Her feet kicked at the hay, and Ever made a path to the sheet of canvas beside the haystack. She tore back the sheet, revealing the silver framed mirror I’d noticed before. Something about it, perhaps the way the canvas covered the glass, had reminded me of the massive mirror in Frederic’s chambers draped in black velvet; of the steps leading to the golden dais, where the emperor would have stood, practically nose-to-nose with the mirror’s surface.
The canvas rumpled to the floor, and Ever stood motionless, her arms by her side, her hands clenching and relaxing. She stood close to this mirror as well, her back rising with deep breaths. I could see her reflection, and she stared at me, looking so frightened I almost told her to stop, that she didn’t need to tell me what had made her mother so desirable to the emperor.
“Mirror,” Ever said before I could act on the impulse, “show me my father.”
I cocked my head. Had she just commanded the mirror to show her Ben? I stepped closer. The shivering surface of the mirror stopped me. It rippled like silver waves of water. Rings of red and gold, purple and blue, green and orange swirled along the outer edges. The rings increased in number and speed, until the shivering surface and the colorful rings melted into a new image. Not Ever’s face. Not mine.
Ben Volk was prostrate on the floor of his tavern’s kitchen. His moans reached through the mirror and filled the dark loft. Blood and dirt coated the visible side of his face. I stared at him, my mouth going dry.
“How…how are we able to see this?” I asked, but Ever uttered a small gasp.
“Clear!” she said, and then turned to rush past me. I grabbed her arm.
“He’s just injured,” I told her, but she shook off my hand.
“He needs help!”
I caught her at the ladder and winged her away from it. There was more muscle behind the motion than I’d planned, and Ever skidded on her knees along the loft floor. Her eyes were as sharp as the blades in my boots as
she glared at me.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.” I held out my hand to help her up. “But you can’t go to him. He told you to stay hidden.”
Ever slapped my hand away and got to her feet. She turned her back to me, facing the mirror that now showed us, and not Ben Volk. Clear. She’d commanded the mirror, and it had obeyed.
“So what, you just ask the mirror to show you something, and it does it?” I asked.
She kept her back to me. “Yes.”
It was too bizarre. I wanted to see it happen again. Magic. Ever had magic. Her mother had possessed the same magic, and Frederic had stolen it. Stolen her. I shook my head. It felt light, and yet it teemed with questions.
“Ever, what exactly can the mirror show you?”
She lifted her shoulder. “Anything I ask,” she answered, but then added, “Except the future and the past. I can’t see what has already happened, or what hasn’t happened yet.”
I paced the loft, my fingers clenched into fists as the value of Ever’s mother’s power—Ever’s power—came clear. Frederic had reined this power in, all for himself. For his empire. With Ever’s mother he’d most likely watched his enemies from a new, undetectable closeness. He’d been able to hear them. Ever’s mother had been his greatest strategic tool; she’d been his best protection from other empires, and from adversaries inside his own. So what had happened to her? Why had he needed to invade Klaven and track down Ever? I recalled something he’d said to me the night he’d ordered me to kill Mara: “Recently, Morvansk suffered a great blow to its internal defense.” Somehow, he’d lost Ever’s mother.
“How does Frederic even know you exist?” I asked.
“I told you,” she answered, still prickly from being kept from her father’s side and thrown to the loft floor. “I was a baby when they took her. The warriors who stormed my parent’s home in Morvansk pried me from her arms. They should have taken me as well, but they didn’t. They probably didn’t know to.”
