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Chapter

Twenty-Nine

N ever let it be said that Daphne Stone isn’t brave.

But that doesn’t mean I’m confident. Being brave involves being scared, because otherwise you are cocky without regard for the million things that can sweep your life from your veins.

We are all only ever one stupid decision away from death, and it doesn’t matter if you live your diurnals in a stuffy library with books for company, or you ride at dawn with a sword grasped in your hand, seeking adventure.

Now, as I stand clutching an Idol weapon in front of a mirror with a man I call a friend, I can safely say I am both terrified and expecting the worst. I can’t remember whose room is whose in the knights’ chambers, and yet I am about to walk into a world I’ve never visited with a guide who can’t remember my name. What can go wrong?

My reflection stares back at me. I look strong with my hair pulled into two tight braids by Gwyneth, wearing my new emerald-green dress, shorter than the common style with the hem below my knee.

My feet are wrapped in sturdy leather flat boots, while the trident, a symbol of power made for the Idols, finishes off my outfit.

Just what every clumsy and confused maiden needs.

“When you are ready, touch the trident to your reflection,” the mirror man says.

“But Daphne’s body will remain here?” Gwyneth asks for the hundredth time.

“That’s right, but she will transfer her consciousness to her reflection.”

“Sounds simple enough,” I mutter.

“How long will this take?” Nash asks.

“A turn, perhaps two if she stands to gossip with an Idol,” the mirror man replies.

“There will be no gossiping,” I declare. “I’ll get in, do a swapsie, and get out.”

“Try not to bring any new magical sidekicks back with you,” Hart drawls as Sir Sweeps-A-Lot brushes against my free hand. “We are running out of room.”

To emphasise his point, my capons make a mad dash from one bed chamber to another. “Stop squabbling,” I bark at them. They freeze for a moment before resuming at a normal pace. They aren’t fooling me.

“Don’t overfeed them, because they get gassy,” I instruct.

“You’ll be gone a turn.” Theo smirks. “I wasn’t planning on feeding them at all.”

“Also, compliment my broom and be kind to the genie, wherever he is right now.” He keeps disappearing off somewhere. His lamp? Maybe he retreats in there to escape this madness.

“Stop talking like this is the last time you’ll see us.” Malachi clicks his tongue. “Or you won’t be going at all.”

“What he said,” Gwyneth adds. Her hand presses against my lower back, urging me forward.

I blink at myself getting closer and closer.

The trident’s forked tip touches the mirror, igniting a golden beam of light that radiates up the handle and over my hand.

My heart thrashes as my reflection’s lips curl into a smile, one I know I’m not wearing as I’m yanked through the surface.

My body squeezes around my organs, and for a split tempo, I think I might implode.

The tension releases, and my feet slide out from underneath me.

Got to start this adventure like I mean to go—with a calamity.

My ass thuds onto something hard, and I yelp as my tailbone twinges in protest.

“Ow,” a male voice exclaims.

My face heats as I scramble to my feet and off the strange man below me. Mist surrounds me, and I appear to be walking on a lake or a pond.

“Sorry, I slipped. I didn’t see you there.”

His silver eyes glint like moonlight on water, and his dark hair falls in artful waves to his collar. He’s dressed to the nines in tailored breeches and a topcoat, the navy fabric embroidered with silver thread that practically screams his importance.

“Well,” he says, his voice smooth but tinged with mock indignation, “this is not how I expected our grand meeting to begin. Do I at least get a formal apology, or should I start composing my list of grievances?”

“I… I’m sorry?” I stammer.

“Ah, repentance at last,” he says, springing to his feet so smoothly it makes me feel like a klutz in comparison. “You must be Daphne. You’ve made quite the impression.” He leans in conspiratorially. “Although I’m thinking of renaming this spot ‘The Field of Splat’ in your honor.”

My cheeks flame. “I didn’t mean to?—”

“Oh, don’t apologize again,” he interrupts, waving my words away with a dramatic flourish that nearly takes out a small mirrored bush.

“Let’s start over. Welcome to the Land of Reflection!

” He sweeps his arms wide, barely missing another bush.

“Home of wonders, beauty, and… me. But let’s not get distracted by my charm just yet. ”

Is he serious? I can’t tell. Where is my mirror man? This guy’s face is all playful arrogance, but those silver eyes have a flicker of… something. Mischief? Sanity on vacation? Either way, I decide to roll with it.

I spin, finding the mirror behind me, with my knights and my sister staring through with frowns.

The mirror is identical to mine.

“Did she make it through? I can’t see anything but her reflection,” Gwyneth asks.

I wave at them. “Hey, I’m fine.”

“They can’t hear or see you, unless you are a mirror person,” he says.

“Who are you?”

“I am your mirror man, the original, as I’ve explained.”

“But you are not a floating head.”

He throws said head back and laughs. It is a rich sound that sends tingles down my spine. If my heart wasn’t through a mirror with four knights, this mirror man might be very capable of sweeping me off my feet. “No, fair Daphne, I am not. Appearances can be deceiving.”

“You got my name right,” I marvel. This is definitely another world.

His hand wraps around my back, and he ushers me across the sparkling water, which ripples underneath my feet. “I get a little confused sometimes. You have my greatest apologies.”

“It makes no difference to me. I find it rather endearing. Perfect and polished is so last annus. I find beauty in the unusual and awe in the imperfections.”

“That is why you are the most fair,” he declares.

There’s something that has been niggling away at me since my conversation with the genie. “Do you have a name?”

He glances at me. “I do.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

“There’s power in knowing someone’s name.”

I shrug. “Who am I going to tell? The Stirlings and my sister perhaps, but they don’t mean you any harm.”

He halts and turns to face me. “Very well, Daphne Stone. I am Eron,” he says, gesturing grandly at the surrounding landscape. It’s all strange—endless rolling hills made of mirrored surfaces that reflect the sky like a patchwork quilt of light.

He strides off confidently, his coattails fluttering behind him like he’s the star of his own play. I trail after him, trying not to trip on the strangely slick ground. Spoiler: I fail. Twice.

After what feels like an eternity of listening to Eron alternately brag about his wit and hum tunelessly, we crest a hill.

Below us stands a gleaming castle made entirely of mirrors, its spires piercing the sky like shards of crystal.

The reflection of the landscape dances across its surface, giving it an almost liquid appearance.

“Welcome,” Eron says grandly, “to my humble abode.”

“Humble?” I echo, raising an eyebrow. This must be like the Hallows Palace, where mirror folks hang around when they aren’t giving false compliments about being the most fair.

“Fine,” he relents with a dramatic sigh. “Welcome to the Grand Glimmering Seat of Eron, King of the Land of Reflection.” He gives a mock bow, straightens, and grins. “Yes, yes, I know. You’re in the presence of royalty. Try to contain your awe.”

I shake my head. Aww, he thinks he’s a king. I’m not about to burst his bubble.

“Surprised?” he asks, smirking. “Don’t worry, it’s a common reaction. I rule with wit, wisdom, and…” He pauses, tapping his chin. “Well, mostly wit. The wisdom comes and goes, to be honest.”

We trudge down the hill where we meet and pass many mirror folks who whisper excitedly behind their hands. I guess it’s not every diurnal they see a maiden brandishing a giant glowing fork strolling through the land.

Eron pays them no mind. Instead, he forges a confident path through the stares straight through the arched doorway of the castle, through a magnificent hall, and into an enormous room.

In the center is a raised platform with a majestic crystal throne, and behind it, a massive mirror ten times larger than the one I came through, except this one has been shattered and pieced back together, although on closer inspection, I notice several missing shards.

“An ancient betrayal,” Eron says, his voice quieter now. “The mirror was once whole, as was I. Without the shards, I’m… not entirely myself. Thoughts slip away. Memories tangle. Sometimes, I forget who I am.”

My heart squeezes in my chest, and something settles in my veins. “Once this is done, and I have found my way out of this legend, I will help you find those missing shards,” I vow.

He looks at me, his silver eyes suddenly serious. The vulnerability vanishes as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual grin. “Excellent! But first, tea. Or possibly cake. Or both. Royal decrees are hard work, you know.”

Where is the actual king, and would he be happy that my mirror man is impersonating him?

“Did you know while sponge cake is light and therefore you can fit more inside your belly, fruit cake is heavier but you can also eat the same volume?” he explains. “I am partial to a classic sponge with a frost fruit twist myself.”

This is why Eron is my mirror man. I’m in an unfamiliar land, and we are debating the merits of cake.

“I would love to talk cake with you,” I say as he slides himself onto the throne.

I glance around, waiting for the guards to come and drag him from the chair he falsely sits on.

Nothing happens. Must be a lax security diurnal.

I wave the trident in front of me. “But first I would like to exchange this.”

Eron’s eyes widen like he’s seeing it for the first time. “Of course, my lady fair. How rude of me.”

“That’s okay. You had a lot going on.” Like walking and bragging.

He claps his hands. The giant doors to the left of the room fling open, and in strides Poseidon, my sword clutched in his left hand while his hard eyes flick to Eron.

“King Eron, I do not enjoy being kept waiting,” Poseidon snaps.

Wait, what? My mouth drops open as I absorb an Idol recognizing Eron as a king. The women hanging around at the open door giggle as they take in Eron and Poseidon, a look of longing in their eyes for either or both males.

Guards flood the room, edging the walls, and as one, drop to one knee and hold their hand over their hearts. “King Eron, you have returned,” one of them says as he stops in front of my mirror man.

My mirror man is a king. Oh, holy Idol balls. My mirror man is an honest to Idols king.

The implications shatter my previous understanding of everything.

My world shifts, the ground beneath me trembling with untold possibilities as questions race through my mind.

What does Eron’s kingship mean for us? Are we on the verge of something monumental, or are we teetering on the edge of chaos?

As the guards rise, the tension crackles in the air, and I know deep within that the path we’re about to tread could unravel everything.

My heart pounds. This is only the beginning, and I am desperate to uncover what fate has in store for us next.