Through Fire & Sea

by Nicole Luiken

  Sick to death of lies, she told him what she could. “My mother is a weaver. She wanted me to take up her trade, but I lack her talent, and I had too much pride to be outshone by her apprentice, so I served in the kitchens.” She should’ve listened to her mother. Scrubbing floors had been backbreaking and far less rewarding than weaving.

  In truth, she’d only wanted to live in the castle to attract the attention of her father. She’d envied Jehannah’s life and wanted it for herself.

  And how well she’d been paid back for her fine ambition!

  Her hands pleated her skirt. “And then something else happened, and I came here. But no one hurt me.” Which was true. Duke Ruben had only threatened to burn out her eye. And break her mother’s fingers.

  “I’m glad.” Gideon touched her hand.

  A hot pulse moved up her arm, making her tingle. Too shy to meet his gaze, she stared out the window at the volcano.

  Gideon mistook her shiver for fear. “You don’t have to be afraid of Thunderhead. He just wants to prove to his brothers that he’s grown up. He won’t hurt you.”

  He sounded so certain… “Are you hot-blooded?” He frowned, so she elaborated, “Related to one of the dukes? Their hot blood lets them speak to the Volcano Lords.” If Qeturah’s son was the duke-to-be, that explained the bandits’ willingness to listen to her.

  Gideon avoided her gaze. “I don’t know who my father is.”

  “But Emman said…” Leah trailed off.

  Gideon chuckled drily. “He thinks Thunderhead is my father.”

  “How can that be?”

  “I don’t know.” Gideon grimaced. “Qeturah changes her story, depending on who she wants to impress.”

  Leah wondered if she would’ve been better off not knowing who her father was.

  “And you?” Gideon turned her hand palm up and traced the blue vein in her wrist. Her blood throbbed with heat, as if answering the Call of his. “Are you hot-blooded?”

  “Yes,” Leah whispered. “Though I didn’t know it until recently. My talent is weak.” Her candor frightened her. She couldn’t afford to tell Qeturah’s son her secrets. She wrenched her hand away. “I must go.”

  Disappointment turned down the corners of Gideon’s mouth. “You’ll come back tomorrow?”

  Against her better judgment, Leah promised she would. And in the days that followed her visits soon grew into a habit—a dangerous, wonderful habit.

  …

  Sabra’s eyes shot daggers at Leah. Leah pretended not to notice, focusing on Qeturah’s lesson in Calling.

  What Leah had done by accident the first time, with Water, now had to be relearned deliberately. Despite Qeturah’s impatient reassurances that Water folk lived on land and breathed air, the idea of going back terrified Leah. But at the same time, she wanted to learn everything Qeturah could teach her. Then maybe she would have value to the duke and never have to scrub another floor.

  “Sliding into your otherself’s mind takes finesse,” Qeturah lectured them. “Go too deep and you may trap yourself, or even exchange bodies with your otherself. And we don’t want your otherselves walking around here, do we?”

  Leah shook her head. Sabra sniffed as if she’d heard it all before.

  “Go too shallow and you’ll find yourself in a fight for control. You want to slide in and take control smoothly, so when they wake, they don’t even realize you were there.”

  The idea of controlling her otherself like a puppet troubled Leah, but she didn’t wish to offend Qeturah by saying so directly. “What if my otherself does the same to me? I—I wouldn’t like that.”

  Qeturah only laughed. “Fortunately, the other Mirror World inhabitants are innocent of mirror magic—Water in particular. They don’t know how to protect themselves from it.”

  “No, they don’t.” Sabra bared her teeth in a nasty smile.

  “And the True World?” Leah dared ask.

  The question earned her an assessing look. “Almost all True Worlders know some mirror magic, and some are masters.”

  Leah shivered.

  “Enough talk. Jehannah, we’ll start with you.” Qeturah turned Leah to face the ice mirror. “Today your task is to find out where your Water self lives. In particular, I want you to look for the symbol of a red leaf.” Qeturah showed her a sketch of an eleven-pointed leaf flanked by red rectangles. “It’s used by a duchy on Water called Canada.”

  Leah wondered how Qeturah knew so much about the other worlds.

  The ice mirror’s cold seemed to burn Leah’s hand, but she flattened her fingers against it, took a deep breath, and began to Call. Find a mirror.

  It took longer this time. Sabra twisted a yellow curl around her fingers. “Are you certain she has a Water self?”

  Stung, Leah tried harder. A headache throbbed in her temples by the time her reflection shifted. She could see only her face, weirdly close, and distorted.

  “Slide inside,” Qeturah urged her.

  I don’t know how. But then Leah’s gaze met her otherself’s, and dizziness spiraled through her. She fell.

  She held her breath, but this time she stood on dry land. Wide-eyed, she looked down to find herself in her otherself’s body, wearing a thin cotton shirt and trousers. What peculiar, masculine clothes!

  Though she was indoors, the room’s only familiar items were a table and chairs. She saw three large white boxes, the tallest of which hummed as if alive. Leah kept her distance from it.

  A number of wooden doors hung off the wall. Curious, Leah opened one and saw shelving. The dishes stored there suggested she was in a kitchen. But where was the hypocaust? Surely a fire was needed to cook?

  Thinking of cooking brought forth an image of a pot sitting on top of one of the white boxes.

  Leah put her hand to her forehead. Had the image come from her otherself?

  A trickling sound pulled her attention to water streaming from a metal arm into a washbasin built into the wall. Leah shivered, aware in every nerve that she stood on a different world. A place she didn’t belong.

  She longed to return to her real body, but Qeturah would be furious if she didn’t find the symbol.

  Walking over to the darkened window, Leah felt a spurt of relief when no fish swam by; the house didn’t seem to be underwater. Lamps on tall poles illuminated a dozen buildings in a neat row on the other side of a smooth road of cooled black lava.

  A pair of lights swept suddenly closer and then past. Leah retreated, heart pounding at the sight of the strange horseless wagon.

  Cars, her otherself’s mind whispered. More crouched motionless on the side of the road.

  Leah didn’t care what the ghastly things were called; she just wanted to leave. Take me home.

  Nothing happened.

  Her heart hammered as she realized that Qeturah hadn’t told her how to reverse the process. How had she returned last time? All she remembered was panic and choking.

  Telling herself that Qeturah would wake her if she took too long, Leah took a deep breath and began to look for the leaf symbol.

  Minutes dragged by. Fear ate at her gut. What if something had gone wrong? What if she were trapped here forever?

  Water splashed over the side of the washbasin, startling Leah. Surely it shouldn’t be doing that? But she couldn’t see how to pick up the basin and empty it.

  She knew water wasn’t as rare here as it was on Fire, but when the water touched her otherself’s bare toes, she jumped back.

  A towel hung from the handle of the tall humming box. She used it to blot up the water, then searched for more towels on the shelves behind the little doors. Finding bowls instead, she scooped excess water into them.

  She was running out of containers when she spotted the eleven-pointed red leaf painted on the bottom of a bowl. Setting it down on the table, she caught sight of her reflection. Of course. She held her hand over the surface and Called.

  The water rippled, and then she saw herself standing in the Mirrorhall. She met her o
wn eyes, and the connection snapped into place. She fell forward—

  —and found herself back in her body. Safe.

  “Finally,” Qeturah said waspishly. “Your otherself almost woke up several times.”

  Leah’s temper rose. She would’ve left earlier if Qeturah had explained the process better. “I—” She bit her tongue, her mother’s rule of deferring to nobles echoing in her ears. “I found the red leaf,” she said instead.

  “Excellent.” Qeturah’s green eyes lit, her annoyance forgotten. “Your Water self may prove useful.”

  Useful how? Before Leah could ask, Sabra gasped, and Leah saw the other girl kneeling before the gold mirror. She must’ve been puppeting her otherself, too.

  “Well?” Qeturah asked.

  Sabra shuddered; her skin had a gray tinge. “It’s done.” She pulled herself to her feet. “My reward?”

  “Yes, yes, you may write to your little friend.” Qeturah waved her off then dismissed Leah, too.

  Leah left slowly, discouraged. If Qeturah had given Sabra permission to send love letters, Leah had nothing with which to counter the other girl’s blackmail.

  …

  Zamara yelped as a tongue of flame burst from the hypocaust. She shook her singed fingers and almost dropped the sheet of paper Qeturah thrust at her.

  “I can’t look,” Zamara declared after the message had burned onto the paper. She hid her head on her cousin Niobe’s shoulder. “Did the dragon hurt my family?”

  Qeturah scanned the missive. “The dragon has been sighted in your father’s duchy.”

  Leah’s tension eased: now she had something to tell Duke Ruben. But her relief quickly transformed into shame when Zamara started sobbing.

  “Hush,” Qeturah said. “Your father says nothing of any losses. Go and pack now.”

  “Smoking Cone is on the way to Cinders,” Sabra said boldly. “Why don’t I ride with you part of the way, and then meet up at the crossroads in a few days?”

  Qeturah’s smile turned razor sharp. “I’m sorry, my dear, but in view of your attachment to that boy—what was his name? The one whose father is feuding with yours?—I doubt your father would approve. Also, Zamara’s father mentions trouble with refugees and bandits on the road.”

  “But you promised—”

  Qeturah raised an eyebrow.

  Sabra’s hands clenched into fists before she whirled and left. Leah felt an unwilling wash of sympathy. It seemed hypocritical for Qeturah to permit Sabra to secretly send messages to this boy and then chastise her publicly.

  Leah expected Sabra to take her temper out on her as soon as Qeturah left, but instead Sabra sulked in her bunk.

  Leah was left alone with Niobe—who, missing her cousin, promptly attached herself to Leah, chattering away.

  As a result, she not only almost got caught sending her latest message to the duke but was very late taking Gideon his supper. Cook had the lidded pail waiting when she finally escaped into the kitchen.

  “Be quick,” Cook said. “The sun will be down soon.”

  Leah seized the pail’s handle and all but flew up the stairs. She hungered to see Gideon.

  When she arrived, Gideon stood at the balcony, black hair blowing in the wind. From his high color, she knew that his mysterious illness had flared up again. His lips parted in surprise. “Leah. I thought you weren’t coming.”

  Leah reddened with guilt. “Are you terribly hungry? I tried to come sooner.” She described how Niobe had followed her everywhere, judiciously editing her tale so Niobe sounded like a demanding noblewoman harassing a maid.

  During her story, Gideon’s gaze strayed to the window. The setting sun glowed bloodred against the dark gray clouds. “Your day sounds exhausting,” he said, a false note in his voice. “You should rest now.”

  “I’ll be fine. Go ahead and eat.”

  Gideon unpacked the food onto his bedspread and handed her the bucket. “Here. You can go.”

  Leah felt as if he’d slapped her. They usually shared the food, talking and teasing. Their time together had swiftly become the best part of her day. Why was he suddenly treating her like a servant?

  Her gut clenched. Had Qeturah found out her son was spending too much time with a maid and ordered him to distance their relationship? Had she already lost him? The thought stabbed like a knife.

  “I’ll leave then.” Blinded by welling tears, she stumbled away.

  “Wait!” Gideon caught her shoulder at the door. “Don’t cry, Leah. Please.”

  Leah bowed her head, even as she allowed him to pull her against his muscled frame.

  He tipped her chin up. “Tell me what’s wrong, and I’ll fix it. Is it that Sabra girl? I’ll get Mother to make her stop.”

  “No. That’s not it.” Leah tried to twist away, but he wouldn’t release her.

  “Then what is it?” He swore suddenly. “If Emman or one of his men dared touch you—tell me who, and I’ll kill him.” A murderous light shone in his eyes.

  “No! Nobody touched me. I—I forgot, that’s all.”

  “Forgot what?”

  “That you’re a noble and I’m a servant. I thought we were…friends.”

  “Friends?” He growled as if she’d suggested he befriend a mule.

  How foolish she’d been. “Go ahead. Laugh at me.”

  She tried to break free, but he turned her so that they stood face-to-face. Hectic color burned in his cheeks, and his eyes glittered with fever.

  “You are much more than a friend.” Bending, he covered her mouth with his own.

  Hot blood sang through Leah’s veins. She stretched up onto her tiptoes and kissed him back. She’d been waiting for this forever. His arms tightened around her in a desperate embrace, but after only a few moments he thrust her away. His chest heaved with effort.

  “You must go now. The sun’s almost down.” Again, he glanced out the window.

  Everything inside Leah stilled. Cook had mentioned the setting sun, too. “Why must I go?”

  Gideon groaned. A lock of dark hair fell over his eyes. “Because I’m not ill. I never have been. I’m cursed.”

  Not ill? “I don’t understand.”

  “It comes upon me at this time every night. Leah, you must leave now, for your own safety.”

  Leah resisted. “Why? What will happen if I stay?”

  Exasperation made his voice waspish. “Did you never wonder why this door has a bar on the outside? It’s to protect everyone else in the Tower.” He brooded down at her. “You’re in especial danger. It—the curse—wants you. I can feel it chafing at the bit.” He reached out to touch her, then clenched his hand into a fist.

  “I’ll go if you come with me,” Leah argued.

  But he only shook his head. “The curse would just follow me. I can’t escape it.”

  His words reminded her of a story she’d heard of a child, of a man cursed by his dying wife and tormented by her angry ghost. “What does it want?” Leah clung to his wrists.

  “Payment,” Gideon said darkly. “I owe it flesh and blood, and it will not be denied.” He pried loose her fingers with frustrating ease.

  “Let me stay,” Leah pleaded. “We can face it together.”

  He kissed her forehead, and Leah felt the hot imprint of his lips like a brand. “Go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Gideon…” Her throat clogged.

  “Don’t be afraid for me.” He grimaced. “The curse hasn’t killed me yet.” Inexorably, he pushed the door shut. “Drop the bar into place,” he commanded.

  “No.” She couldn’t bear the thought of locking him in with whatever evil monstrosity was on its way.

  “You have to!” Even through the door, she could hear his harsh breathing. “It’s coming. I can feel it. Please, Leah, I’m begging you. If you care for me, latch the door.”

  It broke her heart to hear him sound so frantic. Weeping, Leah pushed the bar into place.

  Chapter Eight

  The Importance of Being Holly
Beecher

  (mirror)

  What time was it? Holly rolled over in bed and peered at the red digital numbers on her alarm clock. Five twenty-eight. Way, way, too early. She closed her eyes.

  (find a mirror)

  Two minutes later, Holly grimaced. Her throat felt dry. Since she was already awake, she might as well get herself a glass of water.

  At the door to the bathroom, she hesitated. The water from the tap was never cold enough. She shambled downstairs to the fridge and drank a glass of milk instead.

  (gaze into the mirror)

  Her reflection in the shiny faucet caught her eye while she was rinsing out her glass. There was something compelling about her stretched image…

  (look deep.)

  …

  Holly blinked, coming back to herself just as water slopped over the brimming sink and onto her bare toes.

  Crap! She quickly shut off the tap, but not before more water spilled over the rim with a sound like Niagara Falls. She went to grab the dish towel that always hung from the refrigerator handle and discovered it already lying on the floor—sopping wet.

  Holly stared around her, seriously creeped out.

  Bowls of water covered the counters. Every single bowl in the kitchen had been used, from soup bowls to the big blue mixing bowl. The table bore pots and casserole dishes, similarly full. Neatly lined up in front of the stove were eight glasses of water.

  What had happened? Had she done this?

  Spooked, Holly jumped when a blow-dryer went on upstairs. The microwave clock read 6:04. Crap! She had five minutes to clean this up before her mom came down.

  Holly plunged her hand into the sink and fished out the spaghetti-sauce lid blocking the drain. As the water gurgled away, she emptied all the bowls into the sink and then put them back in the cupboards wet.

  She’d cleared the counters but hadn’t made a start on the table when her mom wandered into the kitchen. “Holly?” She halted in surprise. “You’re up early.” Holly usually didn’t crawl out of bed until quarter to eight.

  “Morning.” Please let her not notice.