She eyed the stairway up to the second level. Qeturah’s rooms should have paper, and she ought to search them while Qeturah was away.
After making sure she was unobserved, Leah climbed the stairs and turned left. She stopped dead when she saw the obsidian mirror mounted on Qeturah’s door. Its dark surface reflected Leah—and Qeturah, standing behind her, arms folded, gaze cold, as if she knew Leah was up to no good. Reflexively, Leah looked behind her, but it was just an illusion.
Still she hesitated. Five small copper mirrors sat along the hall floor, tilted up. If her reflection crossed them, would it be captured as the dragon’s had? She backed away.
She’d seen some paper in the Aerie while she was tidying up. Leah bit her lip. She should find the paper elsewhere, but the temptation to check on Gideon’s fever and relieve the worry that had nagged her all morning proved too hard to resist.
Decision made, she backtracked to the kitchen to speak to Cook. She began boldly, “I know about the Aerie, and who lives there.” Truth. “Qeturah asked me to look in on him while she’s gone.” Lie.
Leah expected Cook to be skeptical of her claim, but the older woman’s doughy face held only calm acceptance.
Leah felt a surge of disorientation. She thinks I’m noble born, and the noble born are always right. She won’t question me.
“I don’t know if he’s well enough to eat,” Leah continued, “but if you have some hearty food to tempt his appetite, I’ll take it up.”
Cook silently handed her an already-packed lidded pail with a long rope attached to the handle.
Leah borrowed an apron to cover the jet trim on her blue dress and took the lunch pail upstairs. She pushed it under the gap between the Four Worlds mirror and the floor before squirming through herself. Then she climbed the rough-hewn ladder with the end of the rope in her hand.
At the landing she hauled the pail up, wincing as it banged against the chimney.
Leah hesitated at the metal door, then knocked.
She didn’t hear a response, but when she unbarred it, Gideon stood on the other side.
Fever still flushed his cheeks, but he seemed more alert, and he was dressed in a loose white shirt and beige trousers. His dark eyes were so intent they made her stomach jump with nerves. “Leah,” he said.
It would’ve been better if he’d forgotten her, but she couldn’t keep her heartbeat from quickening. Hearing her name, her real name, on someone’s lips instead of “Jehannah” felt like a drink of cold water to her parched soul.
To cover her confusion she said, “Aren’t you going to let me in?”
He shifted enough so that she could squeeze by, brushing her shoulder as she passed. When she stared at him, he ducked his head, embarrassed. “I thought you might be a dream.”
“No.” Leah cleared her throat. “I brought you some lunch.” Self-consciously, she hefted the pail.
“You brought food for me?” He set the pail on the bed and opened it as if it were a precious gift.
While he unpacked it, Leah wandered in the direction of the table. When she’d planned this, she’d envisioned Gideon asleep.
With her back to Gideon, she rolled up a sheet of paper and stuffed it up the sleeve of her dress.
Her skin felt as if bugs were walking over it. Turning, she saw Gideon watching her. Her breath caught. Had he seen?
“Sit and eat with me,” Gideon invited.
She stepped forward before remembering her station. Maids didn’t eat with their betters. “No, I’m not hungry.”
“Then I’m not hungry, either.” He pushed the food away, but his stomach growled.
“You need to keep up your strength,” she protested.
“Then you will eat with me?” He peered at her through a tangle of dark hair. The afternoon sun picked out red glints in the black.
Leah surrendered. “Perhaps, just a little bit.”
Triumph tinged his smile, and having won once, he further insisted that she sit across from him. When she claimed to be more comfortable standing, he said that if she stood, he would, too. Since he was swaying already, Leah gave in. She sat cross-legged opposite him on the bed, her skirts carefully arranged to cover her legs.
Cook had packed enormous portions, so there was plenty of food to share: a small loaf of fresh bread, a pot of butter, two large drumsticks wrapped in napkins, a wedge of yellow cheese the size of her fist, and a dried apple tart so big it was almost a pie.
“What will you have?” he asked her.
“I should be serving you.” She reached for the bread, but he pulled it away.
“Ladies are always served first. They are to be protected and obeyed.” He sounded as if he were quoting someone.
Leah bit her lip, troubled. A maid up here, a lady below—which was her true role? She was bastard born—but so was Gideon. If the duke dowered her… “I’ll have a little bread,” she said finally.
He tore off a generous portion, slathered it with rich yellow butter, then held it out to her. He watched tensely until she took a bite, then relaxed. He attacked the rest of the loaf with gusto, tearing into the crust with his white teeth. In no time at all, he consumed it.
Next, he tried to press one of the drumsticks on her. Leah declined three times, which only seemed to make him more determined. In desperation, she asked for some cheese. He broke the wedge in two and gave her the larger half.
Their fingers brushed. Leah’s blood leaped.
While she nibbled at the creamy cheese, he ravenously gnawed every shred of meat from the drumsticks and polished off the rest of the cheese as an afterthought.
His appetite pleased her. His body was obviously mending, even if his skin still felt hot.
He tried to give her the whole apple tart, but she refused. “Oh, no, Cook made that for you.”
“Take half.”
“No, it’s yours,” she insisted.
They argued back and forth until Gideon came up with a solution. “I’ll eat the whole tart if”—he paused significantly—“you visit me tomorrow.”
The warmth raised by their teasing banter drained away. She wanted to see him again so much. “I—I shouldn’t. Your mother might not like it.”
“Then I won’t tell her.”
Her defenses crumbled. “I’ll come tomorrow morning, if I can.” Qeturah shouldn’t return until noon.
A small smile curved his lips.
She brushed crumbs from her skirt, then reluctantly took her leave.
The only thing a noble boy wants from a maid is to tumble her. Her mother’s words rang in her ears as she lowered the bucket.
Gideon had looked as if he wanted to kiss her, but he hadn’t tried. Yet. And he’d seemed interested in her—in her likes and dislikes and what she said.
She was being foolish. Leah knew it, and yet she couldn’t help looking forward to tomorrow.
But first, there was today’s unpleasant task to complete. After setting out the quill, bottle of ink, and the paper, she painstakingly rewrote the message Sabra had torn up. Then paused.
If she truly wanted to impress Duke Ruben—and ensure her mother’s safety—she ought to tell him about Qeturah’s secret son. But the thought of doing so made Leah sick to her stomach. Rationalizing that she might need the knowledge to fill out her messages to the duke in the weeks to come, she folded up the note. A prick of her finger spotted the paper with blood.
She moved to the hypocaust in the dining room and set the missive in the grate. Holding out her hand, she concentrated on Calling forth a flame.
Ten minutes later, close to tears, she conceded defeat, unable to elicit a response from Thunderhead. Either Qeturah was right about female blood being weaker, or hers was too thin because her mother had no hot blood. She couldn’t use the hypocaust so far away from Grumbling Man. She would have to use the perpetually burning flame in the kitchen.
Leah returned the lunch pail to Cook, then shivered as if cold. Heart hammering, she held her hands over the hypocaust, pr
etending to warm them. Cook paid no attention, rolling out piecrust.
A pot of water boiled on top of the grate. Leah jammed her letter through one of the narrow gaps, singeing her fingers in the process.
There. Done.
But her sense of accomplishment was dimmed by the knowledge that she’d have to repeat the dangerous procedure all over again in another four days.
Chapter Seven
The Curse
“Today, we’ll ascertain which Mirror Worlds you have an otherself on.” Qeturah gestured to the Four Worlds mirror.
“So having one doesn’t mean having an…otherself on all of them?” Leah fumbled.
“Hardly.” Qeturah blew out an impatient breath. “Most Callers can only contact otherselves on one Mirror World. Two is unusual and three or four rarer still.”
Leah risked another question. “How many can you Call?”
“All four of the Mirror Worlds,” Qeturah said proudly.
“And the True World?”
“One must have a True self in order to have any otherselves at all. I—” She broke off, her expression brooding. “Come. You contacted Water last time. Try Stone next.”
Being surrounded by water had almost killed Leah. Would Stone be like being buried alive? Swallowing, she shuffled in front of the golden mirror. A tremor passed through her body, but she laid her palm on the polished metal and Called. Look into the mirror.
For several moments, nothing happened, and Leah relaxed. But then the metal warmed under her hand. Her reflection shimmered and changed. Her otherself wore turquoise robes, and she held her chin at a proud, haughty angle. Her eyes burned with determination.
(I know I’m right—)
The odd words slid into Leah’s mind as if they were her own thoughts, but they originated from her otherself.
“Very good.” Qeturah pulled Leah’s hand away, and her otherself’s reflection vanished. “Rest for a moment, and then we’ll try Air.”
“I don’t need to rest.” Midprotest, a surge of dizziness sent her stumbling against the wall.
Qeturah laughed. “It seems you’re wrong.”
Flushing, Leah bowed her head. When her legs felt steadier, she straightened, and repeated the process, touching two fingers to the pane of glass. Look into the mirror.
Nothing happened.
Leah tried again with no result. Disappointment coated her throat. “I must not have an otherself there.”
Qeturah’s lips tightened. “Give it a moment more. Your otherself may not be close to a mirror.”
Leah Called until pain stabbed her head. She willed her reflection to change.
“Enough,” Qeturah said. “Two worlds is better than Sabra.” She put a hand on Leah’s shoulder.
Leah shrugged her off. She could feel the change rippling through the mirror, see her reflection transforming, becoming other. “There!”
Her Air otherself posed in front of a full-length mirror. Her hair was as short as a boy’s, and she wore a boy’s bright green trousers. With gloved hands, she pulled a pair of glass bubbles over her eyes. Leah caught her gaze and felt her otherself’s exhilaration as she threw herself off the edge—
Qeturah jerked her back, and Leah fell on her bottom. “I did it.” Seeking approval, she looked up, only to recoil at the hungry avidity on Qeturah’s face.
Qeturah’s expression melted into a smile. “Very good, my dear. Your father gave up a treasure in you.”
Leah’s gut knotted. Qeturah wasn’t as pleased as she claimed. It was as if she both wanted Leah to be able to Call the Mirror Worlds and was jealous of her ability.
Feeling vulnerable, Leah scrambled off the floor and braced her feet to keep from swaying.
“An excellent session,” Qeturah praised. “Now we’ll stop for the day.”
“But—” Leah started, bewildered.
Qeturah laughed, a light, silvery sound that held condescension. “But you haven’t Called your True self yet? Patience, my dear, patience. Much training is necessary before you can Call the True World.”
Leah didn’t believe her. She might need training, but Qeturah was holding back because she didn’t trust Leah.
Indignation welled behind Leah’s breastbone, until she remembered that Qeturah was right not to trust her—she was Duke Ruben’s spy.
…
She shouldn’t be doing this. Her actions were foolish, but rebellion stirred in Leah’s heart, and she kept climbing the ladder to the Aerie.
All morning Sabra had harassed her with endless errands, and Leah had not turned up any incriminating love letters when she searched the other girl’s trunk. Leah needed to escape for a while, and where better than the Aerie? Except that was just an excuse. The need to see Gideon burned like a flame inside her.
She rapped on the metal door. No one answered, and her stomach twisted in disappointment. If Gideon was sleeping, she should let him be—but what if he was too sick to respond?
Unbarring the door, she slipped inside only to find his bed empty. Where could he be? There was no place in the Aerie to go—except out the window. Leah’s chest tightened. What if Gideon had stumbled out of bed, delirious, and stepped off the window ledge?
She hurried forward and almost tripped on a knotted sheet snaking across the floor and over the edge. Dropping to her hands and knees, she peered over the lip of stone and saw Gideon hanging halfway down. She stifled her instinctive outcry, fearing that she might startle him into a fall.
Irritation battled worry. What did he think he was doing? He was still ill! But she had to admit he didn’t look shaky. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion as he swiftly descended. Was this something he did all the time?
The sheet didn’t quite reach the ground. Gideon dangled by his arms then dropped the remaining feet. He landed as lithely as a cat in the courtyard of beaten dirt formed by the Tower and its neighboring hollowed-out volcanic formations in the village.
Gideon drew a sword from the scabbard strapped to his back. He practiced with the blade, lunging forward, cutting first high, then low. Leah watched, mesmerized by the play of muscle under his shirt.
Gideon paused. A short, mustached man emerged from the shadows. He had the rough look of one of Qeturah’s outlaw subjects.
“Very pretty,” Mustache jeered. “How about a real fight?” He hefted a wooden club studded with obsidian shards—a peasant’s weapon. Or a bandit’s.
Gideon raised his sword. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Leah inhaled sharply as the two men circled each other and feinted. Gideon had the better weapon, forged of iron, with a longer reach, but the obsidian shards were viciously sharp. If Mustache landed a blow, he would shred Gideon’s skin.
Gideon jabbed at Mustache’s shoulder, but he ducked the blow and charged. Leah winced as he swung the wicked club, but Gideon danced back and only the tip caught him. A drop of blood dotted his shirt.
“Out of practice, I see.” Mustache shook his head with mock sadness, then followed up with another blow.
Gideon stepped into the strike, holding the club off with his cross guard, then whipping the blade down.
The bandit leaped back and swung the club in a vicious arc at Gideon’s legs. Gideon jumped over the club and touched his sword to his opponent’s throat. “Yield!”
Mustache dropped the club.
Gideon lowered his sword—and Mustache produced an obsidian knife. He pressed the tip against Gideon’s heart. Leah gasped.
“What have I told you about lowering your guard too soon?” Mustache tsked.
Gideon twisted sideways, and his sword licked out, knocking the knife to the ground. He grinned cockily. The breeze blew a lock of black hair across his forehead. “You were saying?”
Mustache scowled. “If your father wasn’t who he is, I’d take you down a peg, boy.” He stalked off.
As soon as he was out of sight, Gideon waved at Leah. How long had he known she was there?
Anger overwhelmed any embarrassment she might
have felt. She waited impatiently while he climbed back up.
He emerged back on the balcony, flushed and smiling. “Leah. I didn’t expect you this early.”
Obviously. “What were you thinking? You’re still sick.” She smacked his chest. The exercise had raised a mist of perspiration on his skin, making his shirt stick.
“Only a little, and for once I’m not tired enough to sleep the day away.” He paced the length of the chamber, restless. “Don’t you see? I have to take advantage of the times when I feel better.” He grimaced. “I’ve been cooped up in this room for six months.”
Leah was startled. “You’ve been ill that long?”
“Longer than that. But it’s been worse lately.” Gideon shuddered.
She hadn’t known. “It was still foolish to exert yourself sword fighting. Who was that, anyway?” she added.
“You mean Emman? He’s…no one you should know.”
“Is he a bandit?”
“He used to be, before my mother took over the valley.”
How had Qeturah managed that? Leah brushed the nagging question aside for later. “Does your mother know you spar with him?”
Gideon shrugged, then changed the subject. “Leah, you don’t have to tell me, but I’ve been wondering—are you in trouble?”
Leah stiffened with panic. Had she given herself away? “What do you mean?”
He locked gazes with her. “If you are in trouble, it doesn’t matter to me. Mother won’t mind, either. She says it’s good for the population.”
Leah blushed beet red. He meant the expecting-a-baby-in-six-months-with-no-husband kind of trouble.
“Only if there’s anyone who dared hurt you, I wish you’d tell me.” He touched the hilt of his sword.
“No! I’m not in that kind of trouble—in any trouble,” she corrected herself.
“Everyone who comes to Thunderhead’s valley is in trouble of some sort.” Gideon studied her.
She should make up something, but shame thickened her throat. She was here under false pretenses, spying on his mother. That she was doing so to save her own mother didn’t make what she was doing any less reprehensible.
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