“…Jehannah from Grumbling Man. Jehannah, meet Zamara and Niobe, from Cauldron and Cinders.”
Sabra’s careless introduction left Leah unsure which girl was which. She nodded, barely keeping herself from curtsying. “A pleasure to meet you.”
They murmured the same.
“They’re cousins,” Sabra added, sneering again.
Leah could see a resemblance. Both girls were petite, dark-skinned, and dark-haired. “What are you studying?” she asked.
“The Three-Year Feud,” one of the cousins said. “We’ll discuss it at supper.”
Leah felt a stab of panic. “What’s the Three-Year Feud?” She’d never heard of it.
“It started sixty years ago when Poison Cloud’s duke kidnapped Yelena—”
“He didn’t kidnap her. They eloped,” the other girl interrupted.
Sabra rolled her eyes as the two bickered in a friendly way over the cause of the long-ago feud. “I have to finish showing Jehannah around. We’ll see you later.” She dragged Leah back down the hall.
“What’s upstairs?” Leah dared ask, as they passed the steep steps.
“Qeturah’s chambers and the Mirrorhall.”
Mirrorhall?
“You’ll see that tomorrow.” Sabra smiled maliciously. “Qeturah takes every new girl to be tested.”
Leah’s nerves jangled an alarm. “Tested on what?” Qeturah mustn’t find out she was an impostor.
But Sabra only laughed. “You’ll find out. But if I were you, I wouldn’t fail.”
…
Leah slept poorly that night, afraid of tumbling off her narrow bunk.
Her whole life had become rife with danger. It was almost a relief when Sabra reeled off a list of chores for her the next morning. At least they were simple and familiar: changing the bed linens, brushing the mud from clothes, braiding hair. Things she could do.
Acting like a noble daughter daunted her. And yet, Leah had found last night’s supper discussion of the Three-Year Feud exhilarating, though she wasn’t sure she agreed with Qeturah’s conclusion that Yelena had used the feud to manipulate both sides.
Tonight Leah would be expected to take part in a new debate. A daring thought occurred to her. Maybe instead of trying to pretend to be nobility, Leah could use this time to actually learn to be one of them.
If Sabra didn’t betray her.
Sabra drifted over. “And one more thing, empty out the chamber pot every morning.” She kept her voice low so Zamara and Niobe didn’t hear.
Leah gave a tiny nod to show that she understood.
Sabra’s eyes gleamed with triumph, and Leah realized she’d made a mistake. Sabra was the type to push and push. Leah should have argued first, before acquiescing. Better yet, she needed to discover a secret of Sabra’s to hold over her head and ensure her silence.
After breakfast, Qeturah had them all take turns bleeding into the kitchen hypocaust to check for messages. “In case there were any dragon attacks overnight.”
Most hypocausts produced only a flow of warm air unless someone with hot blood Called flame, but the vent connecting Thunderhead to the kitchen must have run close to a magma flow, because Sabra’s blood hissed and burned as soon as it hit the blackened bottom.
When her turn came, Leah’s stomach tightened—what if Duke Ruben had sent a private message to her?—but no messages arrived for anyone. Niobe, the more talkative of the two cousins, exhaled noisily in relief.
“Jehannah, you will spend the morning with me,” Qeturah announced. “You girls read another chapter.”
“May I come?” Sabra asked sweetly. “I could help—”
“Not this morning.” Qeturah swept out of the room, leaving Sabra smoldering.
Leah followed helplessly, certain Sabra would take her temper out on Leah when she returned. Her anxiety sharpened when she remembered that Sabra had said Qeturah tested each new girl—a test Leah dared not fail or she would risk giving herself away.
The steps leading up to the Tower’s second level were steep. Leah was breathing heavily when her head popped out of the hole in the floor. She scrambled through on her knees—then stared in wonder.
“This is my Mirrorhall.” Qeturah gestured grandly.
The Mirrorhall was a large diamond-shaped gallery full of mirrors. Qeturah must have been collecting them for years. They lined the cave walls and festooned the two stone pillars supporting the ceiling.
As if drawn by a lodestone, Leah approached a group of burnished copper mirrors. She studied her reflection: her dark hair bound back with a scarf, her pointed chin and sad dark eyes.
She did look like Duke Ruben. Leah had never seen the resemblance before, perhaps because she’d only glimpsed her reflection in buckets of water, never anything this clear.
Turning, she discovered a collection of silver mirrors. Their clarity was even better, though three of them had tarnished edges.
Large oval mirrors, square mirrors, small mirrors capable of reflecting only part of a face, mirrors of obsidian, mirrors of steel and bronze and every metal imaginable. Leah drank them all in.
Qeturah said nothing.
Made uneasy by this uncharacteristic silence, Leah tore her gaze away. “Beg pardon, they’re just so…”
“Expensive?”
“Fascinating,” Leah said truthfully.
Qeturah smiled in approval. “It’s good that you find them so. Before we get started, has anyone ever told you the story of the Mirror Worlds?”
Leah briefly considered lying—was this story something all nobles were told?—but didn’t want to risk Qeturah asking her for details. She shook her head.
“Once upon a time, before there was a world, any world, there existed two gods. The first, Aesok, delighted in making things: he crushed stars together and then spun them out again like wool, he constructed mountains and waterfalls and forests, and when he finished, he unmade them and began anew every morning. Until one day he created something so beautiful he wanted to preserve it. Over the days that followed, he added to it, making it ever more complex. This was the first world, the True World.”
Leah frowned. The only deity she’d ever heard of was the goddess who was the Volcano Lords’ lady mother and dwelled below the earth in a lake of fire.
“One day, Aesok’s younger brother, Besok, wandered by. In the past, Aesok had made many wonderful toys for Besok, and he wanted to play with the True World. But Aesok couldn’t bear to see his creation harmed, so he wove magical protections around it.
“Angry, Besok decided to make a world of his own. Lacking the spark of creativity, Besok copied Aesok’s world. But he was lazy and did not take the time and care with it that Aesok had.
“The first world he made, he used too much heat. This became Fire World.
“On his second attempt, he tried to remedy his first mistake and used too much liquid, submerging much of the surface. This became Water.
“The third time, he used mud, and this hardened into Stone. The fourth time, he used his breath, and this became the Air World.
“None of his worlds were as good as the True World, and soon Besok grew bored. He wandered off and forgot to destroy his pitiful creations, and so the Mirror Worlds came to be.” Qeturah paused.
“Is our world supposed to be Fire World?”
“Very good.” Qeturah raised her eyebrows. “Most would have guessed their home to be the True World.”
“It’s a strange story.” Leah had no idea what to make of it.
“And what if I told you it was true? Oh, not the part about Aesok and Besok”—Qeturah waved a hand—“they’re only myth, but that there are five worlds, the True World and four Mirror Worlds?”
“I don’t like the idea that our world is just a copy of this True World.” Leah frowned. It seemed, well, disrespectful.
Qeturah laughed. “Come. I have something to show you.” She led the way to the back corner of the Mirrorhall, where the cave walls pinched inward, forming an irregular archway.
&nbs
p; Leah caught her breath.
Reddish-orange light from a horizontal slit in the thick wall fell on four mirrors. Crafted to all but fill the archway, the mirrors joined together to make a large hanging square.
“This is the Four Worlds mirror. The top left represents Air.” Qeturah indicated a pane of marvelously clear glass. Leah could see right through it into the alcove beyond as well as her reflection, as thin and insubstantial as a ghost.
Below the glass hung a three-foot square of gold. Leah blinked, stunned by so much wealth. How had Qeturah been able to afford such?
Qeturah caressed the metal. “Gold is for Stone.” She moved on to the bottom right panel of blackest obsidian. “Can you guess what this one is for?”
Obsidian came from cooled lava. “Fire?”
“Very good. And the last is Water.”
Leah’s brow puckered, because the last panel wasn’t water—water couldn’t hang from a wall—but looked somewhat like glass. “What’s it made of?”
“Ice.” Qeturah used a word Leah had never heard before. “When water becomes cold enough, it solidifies into ice.”
Leah cautiously touched the ice. It felt solid under her fingers and very cold—especially in the hot room. “What’s keeping it cold?”
A smile played around Qeturah’s lips. “My magic.”
Leah stifled her next question, but couldn’t resist asking, “Is there a mirror for the True World?”
“There is one in my Mirrorhall. Which one do you think it is?”
Was this the test? Leah considered the copper, silver, and gold mirrors scattered about before turning back to the great Four Worlds mirror. “If the Mirror Worlds are imperfect copies of the True World, perhaps all four mirrors together represent it.”
Qeturah’s expression stilled. Leah had a sinking feeling that she’d just said something unwise.
“Clever girl,” Qeturah purred, circling behind Leah in a way that raised the hairs on her neck. “You’re right. The True World can be reached by peering into the center of the Four Worlds mirror, so that you are reflected in all four elements at once. But I strongly advise you not to do so. It’s very dangerous.”
“I won’t,” Leah promised.
Qeturah relaxed. “Pick a mirror—any but obsidian—and stand in front of it.”
Leah positioned herself opposite the ice mirror.
“Water? That will do. Water World has many mirrors.” Qeturah stood behind her and put her hands on Leah’s shoulders. Leah tried not to flinch. “Gaze into your reflection.”
Here came the test. Leah drew in a deep breath and concentrated on her image.
“Now I want you to Call,” Qeturah said.
“Call who?” Leah asked carefully. Thunderhead?
“Your reflection. Your otherself who lives on the other side of the mirror in Water.”
Leah didn’t understand. Other people? Otherselves? “An illusion of myself, you mean?”
“No.” Qeturah sighed. “When Besok made the Mirror Worlds, he copied not only Aesok’s world but also the people in it. Of course, many years have passed since then, so most people don’t have any otherselves because their ancestors married a different person on each world, or their ancestor’s otherself died in an accident before having children. Only rare and special people, usually of noble blood, have otherselves.”
Dismay made Leah hunch smaller. She wasn’t noble.
“Call her. Call your otherself.”
Leah straightened her spine. She might be bastard born, but Duke Ruben’s hot blood ran in her veins. Isaiah had told her his secret name.
She laid her hand on the cold, wet surface of the ice. “Otherself, hear me!”
“Not so loud,” Qeturah chided. “Slide into her thoughts. Call her with your mind. Suggest that she find a mirror. The one who initiates the Call must use the proper mirror for the world being contacted, but the receiver of the Call may answer in any reflective surface.”
Determined to succeed, Leah bent her mind to Calling her otherself. Find a mirror. Gaze into a mirror.
“Yes.” Qeturah’s hands tightened on her shoulders in excitement. “She comes. Look.”
Leah’s reflection wavered, then sharpened into the image of a girl who was both herself and not herself. They shared the same features, the same eyes, but her otherself’s hair and clothes were different.
Leah felt dizzy. It was the same girl she’d seen while looking into a pail of water on the castle’s roof. Just before she’d somehow fallen in and found herself surrounded by water—that must have been the Water World.
Leah flinched, flesh crawling at the thought of returning to such a horrid place. Her otherself vanished.
Thankfully, Qeturah didn’t object. She smiled. “Congratulations, Jehannah. You’re a Caller like me.”
Evidently, she’d passed the test.
Chapter Five
An Epidemic of Whispers
“Honey, have you seen the paper?” Holly’s mother asked as she carried in two grocery bags.
The concern in her voice made Holly set down the spoon she’d been toying with. “What paper?”
“One of the tabloids.”
Holly grimaced. “No. I try to avoid them—they write so much crap about Dad.”
“I’m afraid your picture’s in it.” Her mother unloaded the ingredients for strawberry shortcake onto the counter.
An ominous feeling tightened Holly’s stomach. What picture? Her mother hesitated, then handed over the newspaper.
The inch-thick headline jumped out at Holly: Beecher’s Daughter “Hollywood” Lost at Sea. She winced. They’d not only used her stupid nickname, they’d made it sound like she’d drowned. And, OMG, the picture.
Holly’s skin contracted in horror. “No, no, no…”
Some wannabe photojournalist must have gotten wind of her dad’s involvement and snapped a picture of them arriving at the hospital. Her dad had his arm around her shoulders, but her mom and Dorrie had been cropped out. In the photo, Holly’s bare legs stuck out from under the blanket she huddled under, making it look like she was naked instead of wearing a swimsuit. Her face was pale, her expression vacant. Smear a little blood around her mouth, and she could have doubled as a zombie.
Her thoughts spun. How could her little accident have made the front page? Couldn’t some actress like Cassie Burns or Angelina Jolie have gotten pregnant/engaged/dumped this week?
“School starts in three days,” Holly said starkly. “Everyone is going to see this. Please let me stay home.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” her mom said with genuine sympathy. She handed Holly the sliced angel food cake and began to hull the strawberries. “I agree that it’s a terrible picture. But you still have to go to school on Tuesday.”
“Couldn’t I transfer?” Holly viciously tore the cake into bite-size pieces. There had to be some way to avoid the coming suckfest.
“To where? It’s a national paper.” Her mom looked like the successful interior designer she was—stylish clothes, salon-cut hair—but she argued like a lawyer.
Holly groaned. “I’m doomed.”
“You’re not doomed. It’ll blow over in a week or so.” Her mom squeezed her shoulder en route to the sink. “I’m just thankful you’re alive.” Tears glimmered behind her designer eyeglasses as she rinsed off the berries.
“Me, too.” The thought of her harrowing swim made Holly shudder. She’d been certain she was going to drown and had no clear memory of dragging herself to shore. Luckily, the Coast Guard had heard her call for help, because by then she’d been half dead.
“Don’t ever do that again,” her mom scolded. She collected the dessert bowls from Holly. “You scared me—us—half to death.”
“Us?” Holly snorted in disbelief. “Yeah, right.”
Her dad had been furious at her “irresponsibility.” He’d blown up at the hospital, yelling until Holly’s tears overflowed and her mom banished him from the room.
“Oh, honey,
he didn’t mean what he said. And he called and apologized, didn’t he?” A steely note infused her mom’s voice. The knife in her hand flashed, slicing strawberries over the cake.
“Yes,” Holly admitted. Though in her opinion it hardly counted since her mom had put him up to it.
“Sometimes, when people are worried and feeling guilty about their own actions, and then the worry lifts, all those strong emotions get converted into anger.”
“You didn’t yell at me.”
Her mom’s lips twitched. “No. Though I certainly rehearsed a few choice things to say to you during the search—in between prayers. It’s easier to be mad than scared. But as soon as I saw you, I knew you’d been punished enough.”
“If I’ve been punished enough, can I skip school?” Holly asked without any real hope.
Silently, her mom gave her an extra dollop of whipped cream on her strawberry shortcake.
…
The first day of classes sucked. An epidemic of nudges and whispers broke out wherever Holly walked.
She started keeping score in her head. Whistles from acne-spotted junior high boys, four. Snarky comments about her supposed penchant for skinny-dipping, six. Stupid questions about her dad, twelve. Actual expressions of concern over her welfare, one—from the principal, whom she’d never spoken to before, but who apparently had a great idea for a movie. At lunchtime, she searched the sea of students for someone to sit with who wouldn’t grill her for all the juicy details.
Her gaze fell on a cute boy sitting by himself. She didn’t know his name, a rarity in her small high school, but some elusively familiar quality made her catch her breath. The undertone of navy blue in his black hair made her think of the sea at night…
On impulse, she set her tray down next to him and gave him her best smile. “Hi.”
His eyes met hers. They were a dark midnight blue, screened by a thick fringe of lashes, and seemed guarded. “You don’t want to sit here.”
“I don’t?” Holly didn’t know whether to be amused or offended. “Why’s that?”
He pointed to her best friend, Shannon, who was waving wildly. “Holly! Over here!”
“Ah. Thanks.” Holly’s shoulders relaxed as she wove her way toward Shannon’s distinctive platinum-blond ponytail. Finally, someone she could vent to. Shannon had spent the last three weeks in Europe, so Holly hadn’t talked to her in ages. They’d emailed, of course, but it wasn’t the same.
Through Fire & Sea Page 5
