Master of One

by Jaida Jones

  Rags took the lead, shepherding them down the same path he’d taken before, while Shining Talon stayed at the rear, to protect them from the odd servant or Queensguard on nighttime patrol.

  He’s angry, Two commented. Inis didn’t need to ask, could tell from the distaste in his voice that he meant Morien. The Queen wouldn’t allow shards in her sons, and this is what came of it. Ooh, he blames her, but he’s too scared to say it.

  Good, Inis replied. Let him taste fear for a change.

  Clanky guard friends, Two added.

  Rags must have heard them.

  He’d pulled Somhairle into a corner, throwing up the red cloth to further obscure them in shadow. Inis and Shining Talon ducked into an alcove opposite them and waited for the metallic stamping of the patrol to pass. Fat lot of good it’d do them to be caught huddling together under a sheet in an ill-used hallway, but waiting was torment. Every moment that passed was precious time squandered.

  The Queen had chosen to protect her princes from mirrorcraft. That meant she still cared for them, in her own way, and there was a chance Laisrean hadn’t been executed. Yet. Inis’s heart soared, but she pushed the feeling away for later, once her surprise at the reaction had registered.

  Deeming it safe to move on, Rags motioned for them to continue, then set off down the hall. Inis had an inkling Morien would know soon that something was wrong. They’d hidden from him for too long.

  But preserving that secret no longer mattered. Nothing mattered, except for freeing the trapped fae children.

  Inis knew what it was like to be driven by a single purpose. Ivy had been her lone focus this long year in exile. Now she had Tomman’s memory to lead her forward, Tomman’s cause to champion. She’d finish what he’d started, what he’d died for.

  You’re not alone anymore. Not even in your headstrong pursuits, Two reminded her.

  He was right, for better or worse. Not only was she linked to Two, a piece of her she’d always missed, but she was tied to the other masters of the fragments, too. Somhairle and Cab. One her old friend, one her old enemy.

  Fate laughing at yet another Ever-Loyal.

  Rags led them to the path of hands, black bones set into the tiles, fingers outstretched. Pointing, or pleading? They set the hairs on Inis’s arms on end, but she followed them.

  Once, Shining Talon disappeared from the rear of their group, returned after subduing a Queensguard or a servant who’d been unlucky enough to stumble into the wrong place at the wrong time.

  Inis was fairly sure he hadn’t killed them. The bleak look on his face made it difficult to be certain. The blindfold around her chest made it difficult to breathe.

  With Shining Talon as their rear guard, they passed through the secret compartment in the window seat one at a time. In the dark beneath the Hill, Inis reached for Somhairle’s hand, so she wouldn’t feel as though the Queen’s castle was swallowing her.

  Then her vision shifted. She saw with Two’s eyes, forms taking shape in shadows she shouldn’t be able to see. Carvings on the walls that were supposed to glow, but their power had been drained, no magic left to light the way. They made her sad—or made Two sad, and Inis by extension—then stoked her anger.

  Down, down. Two smelled something that Inis couldn’t name, a foreign taste on her lips: black bones and blood that ran silver.

  The fae children.

  Inis and Two began to move faster, until they rounded a sharp corner and came into the chamber Rags had described.

  It was worse than she’d imagined. She tumbled out into a room filled with mirrors, angled against each other, reflecting and capturing the natural light that shone from the imprisoned fae, who rested on white stone slabs. Eyes open but empty.

  Unlike in the scene Rags had described, they weren’t alone.

  Of course the Queensguard had been sent to secure the place—Inis and the others had expected as much. Except they’d anticipated a smaller contingent they could overpower, relieve of their weapons. Not this many.

  Not this.

  Not possible to count how many Queensguard filled the room. Light on armor, reflected hundreds of times in hundreds of panes of polished, silver-backed glass. How many Queensguard were real, and how many were mirror images? All of them raised their swords in unison. Inis yelled a wordless challenge, and Rags ducked behind the nearest high slab of white stone that was a fae bed. Somhairle braced himself, while Two, Three, and Shining Talon leaped forward at the same time.

  Glass shattered. Someone screamed. Inis ducked a falling blade with instincts that weren’t hers. Two in her blood, in her head, behind her eyes.

  They moved together, Two’s strength behind her, feeding her. Her palm connected with a metal breastplate, sent the Queensguard who’d attacked her sprawling. When he dropped his sword, she picked it up with little idea what to do with it, letting Two guide her. As Two’s tail swiped another Queensguard off his feet, Inis swung her stolen blade in the same motion, catching a third Queensguard in the flank. He stumbled but didn’t go down, and Inis braced herself, blocked him when he lunged again.

  She was grinning, showing all her teeth.

  What of Somhairle? Was that golden blur in the corner of her vision Shining Talon, racing from Queensguard to Queensguard, breaking mirrors along the way?

  Tell that to superstitious fools who thought breaking a mirror heralded bad luck.

  Movement by the nearest fae. Rags was trying to pull the child’s unmoving body off the white stone slab and having some difficulty.

  No more taking stock. Three Queensguard rushed Inis at the same time, seeming to materialize out of nowhere—no, out of the mirrors—and Inis would have gone down if Two hadn’t been at her side.

  Let me in, Two said.

  Inis didn’t know what he meant. A fist caught her in the chest, slammed her against a mirror. It broke against her elbows, hurt like fire. Let you in where?

  No time to explain. Have to get it done. Trust me.

  A heavy weight crashed into Inis from the side. She almost thought it was another Queensguard tackling her, until the weight disappeared and warmth surrounded her, numbing her the instant she acknowledged it. When she looked down, she saw silver coating her hands, her arms, creeping across her chest to coat her entirely. She nearly dropped the stolen sword but lifted her arm to block a lunging Queensguard.

  His steel glanced off her wrist.

  All of a sudden, she felt like she could breathe again, even under Morien’s blindfold. Her outside finally reflected her insides. Cold. Hard. Implacable. A newfound strength flooded her. She heard Rags swear. Inis kicked the fallen Queensguard, tore off his helmet, and punched him in the face with her steel fist. She grabbed his sword next.

  One blade in each hand, she snarled—or maybe it was Two, or both of them together—and leaped into the fray beside Shining Talon.

  Side by side, they were silver and gold.

  Inis knew there were too many Queensguard. For every one she took down, two more appeared in their place. Some had to be mere reflections. She threw one Queensguard into a mirror; it smashed like a rush of joy. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Somhairle struggling to help Rags, Rags struggling to help the fae children. Lifting and dragging them off their slabs and away, out of the direct and reflected gazes of the mirrors—to a place behind them, by the farthest wall.

  Inis had to protect them. That was her role.

  Four Queensguard faced her. Where were they coming from?

  A stutter of fear entered her heart. She couldn’t lose here.

  Shining Talon dove low, kicking a Queensguard from where he was about to strike. Inis swung both her blades, cutting down the one next to him. With Two in her veins, her muscles didn’t have to strain. He was a constant flow of strength where once she might have been weak.

  She knew it couldn’t last forever.

  Someone struck her between the shoulders. Two yowled and she spun, slamming her elbow into the helmet of the Queensguard who’d hit her.
She left a dent in the Queensguard’s faceplate, had enough time to register the impact before Shining Talon slashed at him, knocking him down with a borrowed sword.

  Behind the fallen Queensguard stood Lord Faolan Ever-Learning.

  He wore no helmet, his black hair braided over one shoulder and shot through with gold. Inis would have recognized the quill crest on his breastplate even if his face had been covered. He squinted, fighting to make sense of the scene before him.

  Inis didn’t know what she looked like with Two draped over her, coating her, a living armor that covered every feature.

  Inis stepped toward Faolan over a fallen Queensguard.

  “You shouldn’t have come.” He hefted his weapon: a lean silver long sword. Inis wondered if it, like so much of the silver they’d come across, had been crafted from destroyed fae relics. “You shouldn’t have done this. I rather liked you, Inis Fraoch Ever-Loyal.”

  Behind her, Shining Talon smashed another mirror. Armored footsteps marching in time broke through Inis’s fractured thoughts. More soldiers. Faolan’s personal Queensguard, perhaps, in addition to those stationed at the palace. Inis’s side couldn’t withstand a wave of reinforcements. They hadn’t secured the area, were simply buying time—

  “Not too late to change sides,” Inis told Faolan.

  He smiled. A strange expression. It wasn’t happy. It was downright bleak.

  “My heart isn’t so easily swayed these days.” Faolan lifted his free hand to tap against his chest. “I believe you know what that’s like.”

  Implying he’d been Morien’s unwilling puppet in this all along.

  Blinding pain erupted beneath Inis’s ribs. She dropped to her knees in time to glimpse Morien stepping through one of the unbroken mirrors. Two snapped back into his old form, wrenched forcibly free. It felt like her skin was being flayed from her bones. She wasn’t alone, but they were separated again.

  Inis was sure she was dying, except she continued to draw breath.

  “Someone’s learned a new trick,” Morien commented.

  “I could say the same for you.” Inis struggled to get the words out, her voice thin. “A hound putting the leash on his master. You must be very proud.”

  “He is, actually,” Faolan said. His arm shook, but he kept his sword up and trained on Inis. She noticed he took a step away from the sorcerer, kept a wary eye on him at all times.

  Morien’s hands moved in the air between them. He was drawing the signs he needed to call on his mirrorcraft and stop Inis’s heart. The next breath she drew would be her last, and she couldn’t even savor it. Rags cried out, feeling the same torture. Only Somhairle and Shining Talon were unaffected. Somhairle could continue helping the fae, continue dragging them one by one to safety, while Shining Talon continued to break the mirrors that held them captive.

  Had they managed to free them all?

  Where would the fae children go now that they were free? Would they even get to leave this horrible room?

  Look after the children, Inis thought, not sure if Two could hear her. And don’t stay connected to me when the Lying One kills me. Don’t let him hurt you. Tear out his throat the moment you can.

  No answer from Two. Inis did the only thing she could: she braced herself, faced Morien, drew in a breath, and spat on his boots. If this was the end, she wanted the sorcerer to know her exact estimation of his character.

  But the end didn’t come.

  She drew a second breath, which hurt like every inch of her was screaming, but alive, alive, you couldn’t ache this badly when you were dead. Then a third. Morien’s hands worked faster, fingers twisting, turning, drawing lines and glyphs and sigils too quickly for Inis to keep track, and with each one, a new flash of incapacitating pain shocked Inis’s body, branching outward from her chest. Pain, but not death.

  Morien’s eyes glittered. Inis couldn’t see his mouth under the swaths of red fabric, but she guessed he was frowning, gritting his teeth, on the verge of cursing.

  It had to be the little scrap of blindfold standing between them that kept him from killing her.

  Granted, if this kept up much longer, she’d tear the blindfold off herself, would die rather than suffer more of this impossible agony.

  With a grunt, Morien threw one gesture toward Faolan instead, and he started forward with a lurch, sword raised. The first time he hadn’t been graceful in their presence. The first sign he was completely under Morien’s control. “Sorry it came to this. Nothing personal. Although it’s incredibly unfair that you’re able to resist him when I can’t, eh?”

  His long sword slashed, beautiful and precise and unstoppable, through the air. Inis’s arms hurt so badly that she couldn’t lift them to serve as shield between her throat and Faolan’s blade.

  Morien didn’t need to have full control of her heart in order to kill her. All he had to do was bring her to her knees, unable to move, and have one of his other pets finish her off.

  A blaze of gold streaked between her and the weapon. Someone grunted. Inis looked up into shadow to see the fall of Shining Talon’s dark hair over one shoulder, the single shock of white.

  He’d taken the blow for her on his forearm. The blade had sliced so deeply into his flesh that Inis saw a flash of black bone beneath golden skin.

  Faolan stumbled backward from the impact. Shining Talon didn’t seem to register his own pain. Or he felt it and didn’t care. He twisted his arm around, catching the long sword in the crook of his elbow. Wrenched it back, out of Faolan’s grip. Raised it high, blood-drenched, and turned it on Morien.

  The agony in Inis’s chest dulled with Morien’s surprise.

  The reprieve didn’t last long.

  Morien flickered before them, one moment with the tip of the long sword at his throat, the next reappearing deeper in the chamber. Light on the unbroken mirrors blinded Inis, forced her to blink. In that instant, Morien was again elsewhere.

  He held a shard from another mirror in one hand, his other arm snaked tight around one of the fae children. He pressed the shard to the fae’s cheek, slicing through skin as if it were paper.

  Shining Talon cried out, would have lunged if something, someone, hadn’t jumped on him to hold him back. Rags’s skinny arms, his tangle of dark hair, his skin clammy and his knuckles white.

  “What now, princeling?” Again, Inis didn’t have to see the sorcerer’s mouth to know he was grinning, an ugly twist of the scarves across his jaw.

  Shining Talon strained against Rags’s arms, not because Rags was strong enough to prevent him from doing anything he wished, but because for whatever stubborn reason, he respected Rags’s will.

  “I’ve loosed six of them from their bonds.” Somhairle spoke in a whisper at Inis’s back, breathing heavily. Inis turned slowly, saw the streak of blood cutting across the prince’s jaw, the bruise blooming on his brow, the split in his lip. He shook his head, don’t worry about me, then continued, “Tried to wake another, but she won’t—”

  Faolan lunged a second time, weaponless, hopeless. Inis saw only despair in his eyes. He was frightened, didn’t think he’d manage to do anything except sacrifice himself, but he moved because he had no choice. Morien was pulling the strings.

  He met Shining Talon’s arm with a crack. Shining Talon swept him away as though he were an irritating fly. He slammed into the wall, rattled it with the force of Shining Talon’s blow. Slid down the stone. Crumpled.

  Didn’t get up.

  Morien still had a vulnerable hostage, the upper hand. “We’re at an impasse. One step closer to me, and I spill this child’s blood on the stones.”

  “You wouldn’t.” Rags, wheezing as he spat out the words. “You need them, don’t you? They keep you powerful. Help you do the nasty, fuck-everyone-else bullshit you love so much.”

  “I only need their blood,” Morien replied simply. “I don’t need all of them alive.”

  Rags faltered, half laughed. “You’re a fucking nightmare, you know that?”

&nbs
p; Morien’s eyes flashed, reflecting Rags not as he was at the moment but as the sorcerer wanted him. Dead. Torn to ribbons, bones crunched by wolves, flesh pecked and plundered and carried off by crows.

  To his credit, Rags didn’t flinch. “You think that scares me, asshole? So many people want me dead, you’d better take your place in the back of the line.”

  Three and Somhairle have come up with a plan. The suddenness of Two’s voice made Inis twitch. Morien was so busy with Rags that he didn’t notice. In fact, I’m jealous. It gives Three all the glory. If she pulls it off, she’ll never let me live it down.

  Inis kept her gaze level on Morien. He’d cut the fae’s cheek deeper, glass disappearing into flesh. Inis could barely get enough breath into her lungs, past the living wound he’d made of her. Better get it done, then. And quick.

  Somhairle’s hand fell on her shoulder, pulled her back against his chest. Three swept forward, wings battering the air. They grew as she flew, slicing through mirrors, sending shards sparking and glittering over their heads, taking Morien by surprise, knocking the injured fae from his arms.

  Shining Talon and Rags caught the girl before she hit the floor, dragging her away from harm.

  We have to run, Two said. While he’s distracted. While Three buys us time.

  We can’t—

  No. But we have to.

  Somhairle winced, so close to Inis that it rocked her. Two was right, as much as it wasn’t what they’d wanted. Only six freed fae—seven, including the one Morien had further injured—and Three distracting Morien, keeping his hands busy long enough for them to run. How many were left to save? Too many. Inis rose, leaning against Somhairle to draw as much support from him as he drew from her.

  This way. Two bounded off, herding the rescued fae children at the same time. Leave Shining Talon to the mouthy thief.

  Breaking glass. Mirror shards falling all around. Three still growing and growing, lashing out at Morien with talons and sharpened feathers, shrieking as she fought.