Page 15

Thirteen Days Since the Mirror Closed

M y eyes burn, but they’re too heavy to open.

I’m hot. Cold. Trapped in that strange space between fever and nightmare—like waking in clammy sheets after a dream you can't shake. Only this time, I can’t wake up.

I try. Again and again. But I can’t move. Can’t open my eyes. I’m locked in the dark.

“She’s doing well,” says the goblin’s voice, distant but clear. “Just a few more days.”

Days?

“I thought he killed her.”

Kainen? Why would he care?

“He would have... if you hadn’t stepped in. Did you?”

A soft warmth touches my forehead, lingering for a heartbeat—then it's gone.

“Did I what?”

“Kill him.”

“No. But he lost his rank and his position.”

“That was bold. Are you sure that was wise?”

A pause. Then?—

“Are you sure she’s not with him or that he sent her here?”

“She’s not,” the goblin replies, her voice rough with age. “She’s human... but not from here.”

“You think she’s telling the truth?”

Yes, I want to scream. I am. But I can’t move. I can’t speak. I’m trapped.

Clinking sounds. Movement. A damp cloth grazes my cheeks—cool, soothing.

“I don’t think he would have let her go if she were one of his,” she says. “Not her. Not this long. Nieve believes her. You know Nymphs can see through lies.”

Silence.

“You let her get close because of that,” she adds, knowingly.

“You know me well, Newt.”

“She’s lost.”

Asshole.He was using her. Using me. That shouldn’t surprise me... but it stings.

“If she is lost, she’s still a risk. I don’t know her.”

“Then stop wasting time accusing her. Get to know her. ”

“You have hope for me,” he murmurs.

“I never stopped. Maybe she’s not from here—or maybe she doesn’t remember. Maybe... she was meant to find you.”

“You think the gods had something to do with it? That she magically appeared here for a reason?”

“This land was born in magic,” she replies. “It lives in you, like it lived in your mother. No one knows what can awaken it... but time.”

A breath. Then?—

“All right,” he says quietly. “I’ll try.”

“You like her,” Newt says with a smirk I can practically hear.

“I never said that.”

Asshole.

“Tell that to the guards. The beasts. The Fae you nearly killed. And let’s not forget?—”

“I have to go,” he interrupts, voice sharp—cutting the moment short.

I slip back into darkness... but this time, there’s something else with me.

Hope.

My eyes flutter open, and this time I’m back in the tower.

The air feels... different.

There’s a vase of flowers near the window—their soft petals in shades of spring, impossibly bright in this world of ash and bone. I breathe in their fragrance, wondering how something so beautiful could grow here.

Magic. Maybe. It doesn’t matter. They’re still beautiful.

The door creaks open.

Nieve appears, radiant in a cherry-red gossamer gown. “You’re awake,” she says, rushing to my bedside.

A snort behind her makes her roll her eyes. The door clanks shut.

“That would be your guard,” she mutters with a smirk. “Annoyed he got stuck watching your door instead of playing soldier downstairs.”

“Kainen ordered him?”

She nods. “He’s... been worried about you.”

I doubt that.But I can barely think straight—my throat feels like I swallowed fire and ash.

“Oh,” Nieve gasps, as if remembering. “Newt said you’d feel like that.” A cup materializes in her hand, and she hands it to me. “Drink.”

The water is ice cold, sweet relief sliding down my raw throat.

Before I can ask about the flowers, Nieve is already at the wardrobe, pulling out a dress. It’s long, sheer in places I’d rather it weren’t.

“We don’t have much time. Breakfast is nearly over. You’ve been asleep for three days.”

Three days?

She glances over her shoulder. “Newt made sure you stayed hydrated. No complications. Just rest.”

My stomach growls in agreement. I bathe quickly, let her help me dress, and follow her to the dining hall—my nerves tight as a bowstring.

“I don’t want to go in there.”

“They know better now,” she whispers, her voice low and firm.

Inside, male Fae sit at long tables, their weapons set neatly beside their plates. A few glance up, pausing mid-bite. The other Nymphs, including Dedra, are already seated—though her glare could slice bone.

And then... Kainen.

Sitting at the head of the table, dark and devastating in his black tunic, he looks up—and the noise around us fades.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.

But he sees me.

My skin burns under his gaze. When it dips, slow and deliberate, over my chest, heat licks up my spine. For a second, I’m back at the lagoon—his name on my lips, his hands in my hair.

“You’re staring,” Nieve whispers, guiding me toward the same seat I’d taken the first day.

As I sit, the entire hall goes still.

All eyes shift to Kainen, waiting. But he doesn’t acknowledge them. He simply picks up a piece of fruit and begins to eat, like nothing happened.

I reach for an apple, biting in. Juicy. Sweet.

And then?—

“Have you no respect?” Dedra sneers, venom dripping from every word.

I raise my brow over the apple. “What’s your problem?”

“You,” she snaps.

Her crimson hair glows beneath the morning sun. Outside the window, a black hawk perches silently, talons curling into the stone.

“Whatever,” I mutter.

A Fae male nearby leans in, flashing a grin. His hair is so dark, it shimmers blue in the light. “Don’t mind her. Dedra gets cranky when she doesn’t get her way.”

I arch a brow. “Good morning.”

“Magnus,” he says. “And I already know who you are.”

One of his friends flicks a grape at his head. “Stop flirting.”

Magnus laughs. “I was making conversation. Look what happened to Tristan.”

“Fuck off, Magnus,” Tristan growls from across the hall—his face now marred by a fresh scar trailing from eye to cheekbone.

I glance at Kainen, but he doesn’t react. Doesn’t flinch. He just eats, like Tristan isn’t even there.

“You’re not in charge anymore, Tristan,” Magnus calls.

Some Fae snort. Others nod. Tristan glowers, fists clenched.

Nieve leans close, her voice barely a whisper. “Kainen took his rank. His position.”

I nod, the memory of that night still raw.

My eyes drift back to Kainen—and the flowers. I lean toward him, voice low. “Thank you... for the flowers.”

He looks up.

Black eyes meet mine. “They weren’t from me.”

My stomach sinks.

“They’re not real,” Dedra adds with a smug smile. “There’s no garden here, in case you missed that.”

I reach for a banana, fighting the heat rising in my cheeks.

“They were from Nieve,” Magnus explains. “She’s an Anothusai—flower Nymph. Magic. She just wanted to cheer you up.”

I glance at her. “Thank you.” My voice softens. “No one’s ever given me flowers. Not since my aunt.”

Magnus tilts his head. “Where is she?”

My fingers curl around the fruit on my plate. “She’s dead.”

The table goes quiet.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

I nod, throat tight. “Excuse me.” I rise, eyes blurry, and hurry from the dining hall. The stairs blur beneath me as I take them two at a time.

By the time I reach my room, the tears are already falling.

I collapse against the wall, pressing my face into my hands—the grief of every moment, every loss, hitting me all at once.

The door creaks open.

I glance up, quickly wiping the tears from my cheeks. It’s him.

Kainen.

I scramble to my feet, pressing my back to the stone wall, clutching at the skirt of my dress as I smooth it over my thighs.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice unsteady.

He closes the door behind him, slow and deliberate. Then he walks toward me with that unnerving calm that makes it impossible to think straight.

He reaches out and gently tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes.

Black. Endless. Unforgiving.

My skin tingles under his touch, a surge of heat cascading down my spine and settling low in my belly. His thumb grazes my jaw. The pads of his fingers are calloused, warm—grounding.

“You didn’t eat,” he says.

Of course. Keeping me alive serves his purpose. Can’t have the bait starving.

“I’m sorry I left so suddenly,” I whisper. “I just... I needed a moment. But thank you—for the food. And for saving my life.”

“More than once,” he reminds me.

I start to look away, but he holds my chin firmly. His stare doesn’t waver.

“And I’ll do it again,” he says, voice low. Certain.

The words catch me off guard. My heart hammers against my ribs. Something in the way he says it—like a promise, not a warning—makes me ache.

I wish I didn’t want him to mean it.

I wish I didn’t want him.

“Thank you,” I say again, softer now.

His gaze drops to my lips. I feel his thumb brush the corner of my mouth.

Then he leans in.

His lips touch mine—soft at first, testing. Then firm, claiming. His other hand threads into my hair, anchoring me to the moment. My breath catches. His kiss deepens, and when his tongue finds mine, my knees nearly give out.

My fingers fist in the fabric of his shirt. I taste heat and hunger. Every part of me trembles.

“I can’t give you flowers,” he murmurs against my mouth. “But I think you’d rather have this.”

His lips press to mine again—slower this time. Intimate.

And then he pulls back. Steps away. Vanishes like mist.

I’m left standing there, breathless, dazed. Wondering if it was real.

The ache between my thighs and the taste of him on my tongue confirm that it was.

A knock startles me.

I drop my fingers from my lips just as the door opens again. Nieve steps in, a tray balanced in her hands.

“He said I should bring this to you,” she says with a knowing smile.

The tray is piled with everything I’ve eaten since arriving here—fruit, bread, cheese, nuts.

She sets it gently on the edge of the bed. “I’ll be back soon. Newt wants to make sure you’re alright.”

But we both know it isn’t Newt who sent her.

When we arrive at Newt's cottage, I am enveloped in a herbal haze that lingers on my skin like the smell of ash and blood. Thorny ivy and thick-barked roots form a web around the healer's space, making it difficult to see. The inside is filled with the keen burn of new incense and the buzz of old sigils.

Have a seat,” she instructs.

Suddenly, Newt puts a hand covered in icy salve on my ribcage, and I recoil from the pain. A sudden, intense, and searing agony bursts from deep inside. Quickly, deep purple bruises spring up all over my body, like a dropped glass of wine.

“It's fortunate he didn't break any bones,” Newt says in a low, gravelly voice, her mouth stiff as she looks toward the doorway where Kainen waits—a figure sculpted from wrath and remorse, his expression motionless.

I try to swallow my pride and the agony as I sit rigidly on the side of the bed. “What did you actually do to Tristan?”

Rounded, menacing, and unintelligible, Kainen's golden eyes pierce into me. “He meddled. It's up to me to ensure your safety from now on.”

Then something else I can't make out crosses his expression. Perhaps shame is the emotion that flits across his eyes, along with something I'm unfamiliar with. But just as I'm about to capture it, it disappears.

Newt growls. “I would prefer to finish this before she begins to bleed again, if you two have finished flailing about like wyverns in heat.”

“How come I wasn't bleeding when I woke up?”

“I gave you something that stops the bleeding and heals you rapidly. Also, something to numb the pain.”

Thunder rumbles outside, just beyond the horizon. The atmosphere seems tense, as if tensions are building up to a breaking point, whether it be a diplomatic agreement or a violent conflict.

“In one hour, we depart for the High Court,” Kainen announces.

I turn to face him. “Because of Tristan?”

“Because a war within our borders cannot happen. The Nightfallen is among us.”

A shiver of fear snakes through my body. “And I’m supposed to do what, exactly?”

Kainen steps into the light. His eyes catch the flicker of flame in a nearby brazier and reflect it like gold. “Breathe,” he says, his voice hardening. “Breathe, and try not to get us executed by the Queen.”

The dreary Nythyan winds whip outside Newt's cottage, yanking at my cloak like a pair of fingers with an excess of joints. The dark woods speak a language I'm only beginning to decipher; their warnings are fragile and unformed, like recollections of a life I never had. I feel like I'm starting to be marked by this world. Perhaps it has already done so.

As we near the river, Kainen walks silently by my side, cloak drawn tightly around me. A sleek black boat, its wood adorned with silver veins, is waiting for us. Ancient and unintelligible inscriptions vibrate with calm enchantment and shimmer across its sails.

Nobody says a word. Every breath is short and piercing because of the dense tension in the air.

My hand lands on Kainen's waist as he assists me onboard the boat. For an unnecessary amount of time, it lingers. The touch makes me wince, but I resist the need to withdraw.

“You should have allowed me to go back,” I say as the boat slides into the River of Blood. “I'm sorry for causing so much trouble.”

He jumps right in. ““Tristan got what he deserved. It was a long time coming and not until I figure out who you are. Plus, I need to ensure the Fae are not out for blood. They are an integral part of Nythia. The magic they wield is an important part of Nythia's survival.”

As we fade into the murky crimson stream and the mystery beyond, his words reverberate in my bones and in the ethereal fog that envelops us.

As we fade into the murky crimson stream and the mystery beyond, his words reverberate in my bones and in the ethereal fog that envelops us.

Skating over the blood-red river like a ghost in the darkness, the boat makes the world seem as if it were painted upon it. The veil mysteriously lifts as we enter Fae realms, exposing a seashore adorned with crystal trees and flowers that bloom with light instead of petals, creating an eerie and mesmerizing sight.

As soon as my boots hit the floor, my breath stops. Beneath my feet, the dirt gleams with a fine dust that seems to have been created from crushed gemstones and an ancient substance, perhaps bones. The air is dense with magic, twice as heavy as fog. It caresses my flesh as if it were breathing. I am intrigued.

Kainen warns us not to talk until he specifically commands us to as we start to climb the crystal stairs. “However, remain silent if they reveal your real identity. The Queen always holds court during the Crescent Rise. It’s when the veil between futures is thinnest.”

My chest tightens as I look at him. “For what reason?”

Behind me, Malachi responds, “Because its the way it is done and always remember Fae do not lie,” in a low, deep voice that sounds less human and more like an ancient being plucked from the earth and fire. “However, you will be bound by hidden realities.”

Whispering, “You're a dragon,” I point out. “No one can lie about that.”

He gives me a small smile—sharp, tired, and a little sad. “One of the last.”

“Where I'm from, you are mythical and don't exist.”

“They must be liars and want you to believe that,” he remarks as we go under the arch of the singing trees.

Reality is more perilous than fiction.