“I guess so.” Els wiped tears from her eyes. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you, but…” She tugged on one of her hair ribbons, pulling it out of place. “I hope it’s not my fault. That you don’t feel abandoned because I’m getting married—I mean, I know you do feel abandoned, but—”
“Els, please. It’s not your fault. It’s everything. I’ve always felt out of place. You know that. I think I need to start over somewhere, that’s all.”
“I thought someday we’d—we’d be sitting together on the porch watching my daughters play the way we used to play.” Els scrambled for a handkerchief to blow her nose. “Parsons—please be safe. I’m scared for you.”
“I’m scared too,” Parsons said.
“But—I know.” Els threw her arms around Parsons. “I hope it’s not forever. Maybe the world will be different in a few years and you can come back.”
The world will be different. That could go different ways. This world could be torn apart by the time she came back. “I hope so…maybe I can at least find a contact to send letters once we’re settled.”
They blubbered out some parting words for a time, trying to compose themselves. Parsons felt sick to leave Els, but even as they embraced one final time, she looked at the single braid trailing down Els’ back—she was styling her hair like a girl who was betrothed now—and knew that the time was coming for them to grow apart, one way or another.
And despite it all, there was a spark of excitement within her that wouldn’t die, a restlessness to move on. When she returned to Dennis’ side, he looked at her with concern. He obviously wondered if her best friend might convince her to abandon the plan.
She gave him a tiny smile, and he took her hands.
“I think it’s time to try,” she said.
His eyes flashed relief, his grip tightening slightly before he let her go and nodded.
She pulled him aside, slipping through the doors. It was not uncommon for couples to slip off for some privacy during a party. Calban’s personal parties were so wild that it was not just common to find people making love in hallways, but expected. With Calban acting as the social face of the Wodrenarune, this permissive air extended to almost every social function, even formal political gatherings.
“Slow down,” Dennis said, catching her arm. “You look guilty, trotting along like that—like you’re trying to run from something.”
“I didn’t realize—” She forced herself to stroll.
“Relax,” he said. “When I used to argue cases, I quickly learned that I was much more successful when I was relaxed.”
They made it all the way to the hallway with the green painted walls when Dennis heard someone walking down the stairs above them. This was the wrong direction to have come from the party, so maybe it was just a member of the palace staff. But she rushed Dennis to the stairs down to the portal room.
“Parsons?” Uncle Nihem was on guard once again, swigging from a flask. “What are you doing back here?”
“Me? Why are you always here?” she asked, forcing herself to sound casual. “I just wanted to show Dennis the mirrors.”
Nihem got to his feet, immediately alert. Damn. She’d been hoping they were so lucky as to find him drunk on the job, maybe letting the party atmosphere get to him. “He shouldn’t be down here. You know better than this.”
Keep your nerve. It was hard to stay calm with someone she knew. “Oh, Uncle, come on. Haven’t you heard? We’re engaged now. He just wants to see the palace.”
“There’s a lot of palace to see. I’ll have to ask you to leave. I’m sorry.”
“You’re being silly.” Parsons grabbed one of the anchor stones and showed it to Dennis. Hopefully Uncle Nihem didn’t notice how her hands were shaking. “The other night my uncle was showing me how all this works.” She added, “Dennis is fascinated by magic stuff, that’s why I wanted him to see this place.”
Dennis took the stone from her. Uncle Nihem looked suspicious, reaching in his pocket for something. A spell?
Thankfully, Dennis was on him in a flash, grabbing his arm.
“Parsons, if we’re going to go we need to do it right now before we’re intercepted,” he said. “Do you know which mirror goes to America?”
“Parsons, you can’t go!” Nihem cried. “You’re a Fanarlem! You’ll be breaking the secrecy pact—you’ll go to prison!” He struggled against Dennis’ grip but this was completely futile.
Dennis put a hand over Nihem’s mouth, muffling him. “Which one?” he demanded.
She forced herself to take a moment to remember. She didn’t know where the other mirrors went, and landing in a country where they had no currency and didn’t know the language would be a disaster. “This one goes to New York,” she said. “That one is Bethlehem.”
“Pennsylvania?”
“Maybe? Where they make steel?”
He nodded. “Someone’s coming,” Dennis said. “Check the mirror that goes to Pennsylvania. Make sure you can get through before I let him go.”
“All right.” Her voice sounded surprisingly calm. Inside, she was a churning mess. She heard footsteps approaching down the hall, but they weren’t moving fast. Whoever was coming had no idea someone was trying to breach the mirrors.
She touched her fingers to the surface of the mirror and met only the most gentle resistance, like trying to walk through a strong wind. Her hand slipped into the vague image of a dark room on the other side. She could see it through the mirror now, like it was underwater.
“It works,” she said.
“Hurry!” Dennis shouted.
He let go of Nihem, who immediately reached for his pocket again, just as a man walked through the door. And not just any man.
Lord Jherin.
The headdress of black wings, the long elegant robes…he was just like the pictures. His silhouette was so familiar, an icon burned into her brain. But his face was still veiled, just his eyes rimmed in thick black kohl gazing out at them. He was tall but seemed thin and fragile. He smelled like incense.
Parsons thought she might faint.
Lord Jherin himself—fates help me— Going through the portals as a Fanarlem must be a far greater crime than she had ever realized.
It was hopeless. If he was here, it was hopeless. He was the greatest sorcerer in the world. If the stories were true, he could tap into the deepest veins of magic. He could probably stop her with a wave of his thin, gloved hand.
Uncle Nihem had bowed low, and then straightened. “Lord Jherin…”
“Don’t call Calban,” Lord Jherin said.
Parsons had never heard his voice either. It was soft but had a weight to it. Still, he sounded like a relatively normal person, although she didn’t know what she had expected.
“I’m sorry, I’ve already done it,” Uncle Nihem said, speaking very carefully.
Lord Jherin looked over the mirrors and then approached Parsons. He walked slowly, his outer robe lightly skimming the ground, not like the cumbersome trains of the Halnari but just enough to make a sound. His robes were red and black, trimmed with gold, and looked very thick and expensive, with at least three layers. He must not be an ordinary man, or he would be dying of the heat on a day like this.
“Who are you?” he asked, meeting her eyes. “Where are you going?”
He didn’t sound angry.
A shock raced through her when he met her eyes.
It was hard to tell behind the veil, but now she saw—
His eyes were like hers. Too perfect to be real. Lord Jherin was a Fanarlem himself.
She didn’t know what to say. What did this mean? His body was too old to continue living, then… That was the obvious reason for him to become a Fanarlem. And of course, they would not want this knowledge to be public, because it would reveal that he was a mortal man after all.
“I saw your body…on the motion picture,” she said. “Is it a shape-shifted impostor? An illusion?”
Lord Jherin squinted at her li
ke he didn’t understand a word she was saying. “This is my body,” he said.
“But you’re a Fanarlem.”
He shook his head.
Her eyes widened. It’s true, then. He isn’t well at all… He doesn’t even know he’s a Fanarlem?
“Don’t get near that mirror,” Nihem said, whipping a wand from his pocket. “You can’t go to the Fallen Lands, my lord.”
Lord Jherin lifted a hand and Uncle Nihem’s body flew against the wall, slammed into it hard, and slumped. It happened so fast that the Wodrenarune barely even looked at Nihem.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” Lord Jherin said. “But he’ll recover.”
He put a hand on her head like he was giving her a blessing. His hand hardly weighed a thing. “You want to go to the Fallen Lands?” he said. “I would take you with me if I could. But you’re a doll. Your kind doesn’t exist there.”
“Don’t touch her,” Dennis snapped, and she quickly touched his arm.
“Dennis—don’t—it’s the Wodrenarune.”
“Yes, I see that.” Dennis had no fear, and no patience. But just now it made her cringe.
“I think he’s sick…”
“Good! Maybe he’s too sick to stop us. Come on, go.”
Parsons forced herself to tear her eyes away from the strange sight of the Wodrenarune. She was moving on; it didn’t matter what he was or what he wanted. But the mystery of all of this…
She suddenly realized why this room was under guard, even in the middle of the night, when Uncle Nihem’s story didn’t make sense. He wasn’t watching out for humans.
He was there to prevent Lord Jherin from going through the portals.
Calban dashed through the doorway, his boots skidding on the floor. “My lord!” he boomed. “What are you doing?” He looked behind him, as if for guards. “You need to go back to your room.”
Lord Jherin lifted a hand slowly. “Calban, I know you’re just trying to protect me, but I will not be stopped. The Fallen Lands is my prize.”
Calban noticed Dennis and Parsons but said nothing—yet. “You can’t go,” he said, edging toward Lord Jherin, slowly reaching for his arm. “We need you here.”
Lord Jherin gripped Calban’s arm. Sparks of magic sprayed from his hand like fireworks. Calban’s breath was strained. He cringed back, holding up his free hand, dispelling Lord Jherin’s magic as best he could.
“My lord, please.” His voice was ragged. “You have to stay here in your palace. This place is hollow without you, and if something happened to you in the Fallen Lands, you wouldn’t be here to guide us in the war against the Miralem. What do you really want? Is it to go to the Fallen Lands? Or to destroy the Miralem?”
Calban seemed—actually—quite nervous.
All the suspicions are true, Parsons thought. Lord Jherin’s body had failed him, and so, it seemed, had his mind. Immortality remained an impossible dream, and Calban was racing against his own clock to find a way to keep them all alive.
Why not just let Lord Jherin die?
But she knew the answer to that, too. Lord Jherin had cast the Ten Thousand Man Sacrifice spell, led the Daramons to victory in the War of Crystals, secured the alliance with the Halnari, and discovered the Fallen Lands. No one could deny that he was the most brilliant Wodrenarune, the most powerful leader the Daramons had ever had. The mystique around him had built up so much, that if he died…
Dennis nudged her toward the mirror. Obviously, he wasn’t thinking about all of this. He just wanted to get out of here.
“I can do both,” Lord Jherin said.
Dennis was right. They had to go while Calban was distracted. There was no way out of this room but through. Parsons ducked her head to travel through the mirror, and Calban snapped his fingers at her. A lance of pain shot down her spine. Parsons, unused to pain, let out a shrill scream.
“Where are you going?” Calban snapped.
“Home. And you're not going to stop me, you liar.” Dennis shoved her through the mirror.
The mirror’s cool surface passed over her. She stepped into what looked like the messy interior of a wooden shed.
She glanced behind her, and indeed there was no sign of the mirror.
Dennis was supposed to be right behind her. He had just shoved her.
And he had the anchor stone.
“Dennis?” She waved her hands in the air where she had appeared, trying to find some tear in the fabric of dimensional space. “Dennis?”
He must have gotten caught up in a fight. Against Lord Jherin and Calban? He stood no chance.
Someone would probably come for her in a moment. But it wasn’t going to be good when they did.
She took a step back, stumbling a little on the uneven planks of the floor. She glanced out the window, seeing a farmhouse in the distance. The illusion spell was still in her pockets, but…
Light came through one window, squares of sun falling on a table parked underneath the sill. There was a book open on the table with something handwritten inside—in her own language.
Please proceed to the house for instructions and money. In case of portal emergency breach, lock this book shut and throw it at the wall where you arrived. This will shut the portal.
If she shut the portal, Dennis couldn’t get through either. And she would be stuck here. Maybe whoever lived in the farmhouse would know what to do, but if they were a part of the travel network, they would also probably just hold her until Calban reestablished the connection.
Suddenly Lord Jherin and Dennis tumbled through the portal together. It looked like Lord Jherin had battled his way through and Dennis was behind him, taking advantage of an opportunity. Lord Jherin immediately rushed to the window, although he also stumbled on the floor, throwing his hands out toward the table to catch himself from falling.
Dennis leapt from the portal to Parsons’ side. “Calban’s down,” he told her. “But for how long, I don’t know.” He looked over at the window, the farmhouse in the distance, and then the book, keeping his distance from the bright late afternoon sun of the window.
“The Fallen Lands,” Lord Jherin said, with deep satisfaction. He looked at them. “Do you know how long I tried to find this place? All of my life, I was searching, but when Pel finally found it, Calban and Lisandra said I couldn’t go.”
“You can’t go,” Dennis said. “You’re a Fanarlem.”
“No, we can’t let a Fanarlem go to the Fallen Lands,” Lord Jherin said. “That is true. You have to go back.” He looked at Parsons.
“I don’t really understand,” Parsons said. “Lord Jherin, you’re a Fanarlem too. Take off your gloves and look at your hands.”
He pulled off one of his gloves and studied his fingers for a moment. Then he pulled off the other glove and rubbed his palms together.
“Something is wrong,” he said. “But I can’t be a Fanarlem. I have a body. I saw it just the other day.”
“Were you in it at the time?” Dennis asked.
Lord Jherin rubbed his head, rumpling the veil that covered his face. “I feel so confused these days…” He smoothed it down again and placed his hand on the table, as if he felt unsteady. Fanarlem weren’t supposed to be so tall, Parsons knew that much. And she would guess, by the way he moved, that his skeleton was still made of wood.
“Are you…under an enchantment?” she asked, considering another possibility. “Do you remember?”
Dennis gripped her shoulder. “We can’t help him,” he said. He forced the anchor stone on Lord Jherin. “Take this.”
“Dennis, no,” Parsons said. “That’s our way home!”
“Yeah, and when they come for Lord Jherin, they’ll come for us too.”
“Fates,” she cried, realizing what this meant and what she had to do. “You’re right. Lord Jherin…activate the stone.”
“It will send me home?” His dark eyes widened with anger.
“No—no, it will make your body look human, so you can go out unnoticed in the Fal
len Lands. It’s an illusion stone.”
“I think you’re lying to me.”
Dennis stepped up to him. “It’s an illusion stone,” he said. “I swear to you.” Keeping his eyes on Lord Jherin’s, he placed his hands on the sorcerer’s hands, cupping them around the stone.
Lord Jherin started to twist the stone within his palm. Apparently even he was not immune to Dennis’ compelling gaze. But Parsons felt sure now that something had happened to him, and she wasn’t sure if it was insanity or if he was being controlled against his will.
A glow came from the stone, leaking out between Lord Jherin’s fingers. Dennis took a step back.
A strange sound rent the air as his body vanished in the space of a second, the outline of the mirror briefly appearing behind him before he was gone. Now there was only an empty shed, plank walls, tools propped in the corner. It reminded her of the gardener’s shed where she and Els used to play.
Parsons forced her body to move. She slammed the book shut, clicked the metal lock into place, and threw it at the wall.
The book vanished too.
“The portal’s shut.” She clutched his arms. “I don’t know how long until Calban could open it again.”
“It’s all right, darling. Don’t panic.”
She nodded, although she certainly was panicked. A Fanarlem girl standing on American soil with no way home—and she’d just lied to the Wodrenarune.
He spoke to her in English. “It smells like home here.”
“It does smell like…adventure,” she said. The air was warm, redolent of wood, leather, dirt, smoke, and forest, all sort of stirred up together.
“It will be an adventure,” he said. “And I’ll make sure it’s a good one. When we were in your world, there was only so much I could do with telepaths and sorcerers at every turn, and me a foreigner who hardly knows what to expect. But here it’s another story.”
She took out her bottle of illusion spell, terrified it wouldn’t work, but she didn’t voice her trepidations.
The Vampire's Doll (The Heiress and the Vampire Book 1) Page 24
