Mirror Sight

  “Do not hurt her,” Cade whispered as the edges of his vision darkened.

  “Her? You can’t mean your lady dressed as a stable lad, can you? Or, perhaps the little girl from your old professor’s house? Well, we shall talk more about them later. Both of them. For now, my guards will take you to my place of business.”

  Cade barely held back a howl when two guards lifted him to his feet. He kicked out, but one of the guards slammed his fist into Cade’s wound. His legs buckled beneath him, and in the twilight of consciousness, he heard Luke’s voice.

  “I’ve done what you wanted. What of my son? My family?”

  “You will be delighted to know,” Mr. Starling replied, “that we haven’t taken any more of your son’s fingers. However, there is a price every conspirator must pay for betraying the emperor.”

  “I don’t care. Kill me. As long as they’re all right, I don’t care.”

  “Very noble sentiments,” Mr. Starling said. “Very noble, indeed, but I’m afraid you misunderstand.”

  Through the haze of pain, Cade saw Mr. Starling signal a guard over, who bore a wooden coffer. Mr. Starling lifted the lid so Luke could view what lay within. Cade strained to see, and when he did, he was so revolted he thrashed in the grip of his captors. A man’s head . . .

  Nightmare, he thought. It was all a nightmare.

  Luke staggered back, his body convulsing. “No, no. Not my son.” Then he lunged at Mr. Starling, a rising cry of grief and rage issuing from his mouth, his hands reaching out like claws. The report of shots battered Cade’s ears, and the next thing he knew, Luke lay sprawled on the floor in a widening puddle of blood. Mr. Starling, wreathed in gunsmoke, stood over Luke’s body shaking his head.

  “A pity,” the Inquisitor said, clucking his tongue. “A pity I never got to tell him what we did to his wife and daughters.”

  The guards jostled Cade from the room, smoke burning his eyes.

  Karigan waited. No one gave her a second look as they passed by. No one questioned her presence. It must mean that all was going well in the palace. Luke and Cade were playing their parts, so she must play hers no matter how marginal it felt. It was difficult to note anything exceptional here in the courtyard, but if she started exploring, she would be noticed, and by the look of the guards, they were apt to kill on the slightest provocation and not worry about a reason.

  She brushed flies away from Raven’s eyes, and on inspiration, started walking him in circles. I can do this. One of the duties of a Green Rider was scouting. This should be second nature to her, but standing right beneath the nose of the enemy, on his own ground, and against weapons she had never before faced, was daunting. Walking Raven in circles, she hoped, would be construed as keeping her master’s fine beast limber. She would gradually widen the circle to see what she could—

  “Now there is a first-rate horse, Admiral,” a man said, breaking into her thoughts. “Boy, trot him. Let me see him move.”

  Though startled, Karigan had the presence of mind to keep playing her role and obeyed at once. She did not dare look directly at the man, but a sideways glance revealed he wore a suit and was accompanied by several people. Some scout she was—she hadn’t noticed their approach. She ran alongside Raven so she could show off his stride at a trot. Always a performer, he arched his neck and gave her his fancy high-stepping gait, which made him look like he was trotting on air. The man and his attendants were a blur as she ran by.

  After several circles, the man called for her to halt, and he came forward to inspect Raven more closely. Karigan kept her head bowed as a meek servant would. Raven side-stepped and snorted when the man reached out to touch him.

  “Shhh . . .” was all she dared tell Raven. He tensed, but did not act out.

  The man ran his hands up and down Raven’s legs and along his back. It was as he stroked Raven’s neck that light glanced off his ruby ring and into her eye. She couldn’t help but stare as the ring went back and forth in a mesmerizing fashion with the stroking. She had seen it before. It had belonged to Lord Amberhill.

  “Give me a yacht or ship any day,” said a man in a fancy white military uniform. “Horses? Too unpredictable.”

  “But, Admiral, I know our little lake is predictable, but you cannot tell me the sea is. It is the never knowing what to expect that I find so challenging and intriguing.”

  “Yes, Your Eminence.”

  “Boy,” said Xandis Pierce Amberhill, emperor of the Serpentine Empire, “to whom does this horse belong?”

  Karigan stood frozen. She held her gaze to the ground and fought the urge to scream at him and demand why he had done what he had done, why he had destroyed the realm of his birth, how he’d become such a monster. She fought for control, dared not speak knowing it would give her away immediately, and more importantly, endanger Cade and Luke. A guard in leather and light armor, enameled in red, closed in. Armor? Here? It was the first she had seen, and she assumed it was ornamental since the projectiles of firearms could punch through it, rendering it useless. It was not entirely like the armor she was accustomed to seeing back home, but had gears and pivots at the joints, and copper tubes fed from narrow cylinders behind the shoulders into the bevor concealing his lower face.

  “Idiot,” the admiral said. “Your emperor has asked you a simple question. Now answer.”

  She pointed at her throat to indicate a problem with speaking, and then in a harsh whisper, said, “Mr. Mayforte.” Then remembered to add a quick, “Your Eminence,” and bob her head.

  “Mayforte?” Amberhill asked. “Do we know a Mayforte?”

  “A vintner, apparently, Your Eminence,” said another man who was gazing at the casks in the wagon.

  Amberhill suddenly turned his attention to the palace entrance as he sighted someone or something. “Webster, my friend,” he called out. “You missed a fine sail on the lake. Now come take a look at this horse. It is owned by a vintner named Mayforte.”

  Webster could only be Webster Silk, Karigan thought. If the Adherent was here, did that mean his meeting with Cade and Luke was over? If so, where were they? A furtive glance revealed only one man standing on the palace steps.

  There was the tap of shoes on stone as Webster Silk approached. “I am sorry I missed the outing, Your Eminence, but I just met with the Mayforte fellow.”

  The guard in red armor edged closer. He wore a longsword girded at his side, but no gun. She felt his gaze on her and saw him blink through the eye slits of his visor.

  “What is the horse’s name, boy?” Amberhill asked.

  “Raven,” she replied in her harsh whisper.

  “Good name. I make him mine. I’m sure your master won’t mind indulging me. If he does? Well, doesn’t matter. The horse is mine.”

  This was too much. He sounded very much like Arhys, of all people, greedy and spoiled. Karigan did not know how much longer she could contain herself.

  “No,” Webster Silk said. His closeness behind her made her jump. “Mayforte will not mind. He is quite dead.”

  “Dead?” Karigan cried.

  “And,” Webster Silk continued in his calm, matter-of-fact voice, “this lad is not who she pretends to be.” He removed her cap. Her braid fell down and thumped her between the shoulders. She felt naked before all those eyes staring at her. And shocked. Shocked by what Silk had said about Luke. A storm brewed within her for she knew Cade could have only met the same fate. Amberhill had caused the destruction of her home and betrayed the people she loved, and now this.

  She stared brazenly at him now that she was revealed, the pressure of the storm building to an explosive level. Amberhill looked almost exactly as she remembered him, the black hair tied back, the light gray eyes, the well-structured face. The same, but different in some indefinable way.

  “You killed them,” she said, her voice a low threat. “You killed them all.” Raven echoed her with a
shrill whinny.

  “What are you talking about?” He gazed blankly at her.

  “You’ve destroyed Sacoridia and everything. Why? Why did you do it?”

  He tilted his head as if he did not understand her. “Sacoridia?” He sounded it out as if speaking a foreign word for the first time.

  “Yes, Sacoridia!”

  “That is quite enough,” the admiral said.

  Someone else shouted, “Control that horse!”

  Karigan was only peripherally aware of Raven, snorting aggressively, ears flattening. At some point she had dropped his reins and held her hands in fists before her. Her entire being was focused on Amberhill even as men closed in around her, their guns glinting in their hands. They would not dare fire them as long as she stood so close to their emperor, would they?

  Memory or recognition registered in Amberhill’s eyes. “Yes, a long time ago. I remember there was a war. And I remember you. You are the vanishing lady, are you not?” Then his eyes began to cloud over, grow smoky, almost black. His face rippled with change. He sneered at her in a way she had never seen before. Not on his face. “Galadheon, I know you.” His voice had changed also. It did not sound like him, but she was too angry, too overwrought, to see what was right before her. Cade was probably dead. Amberhill had killed Zachary, destroyed her home. She would avenge them all, but before she could speak or throttle the life out of him, a red armored hand swept down and struck her collar bone. The next thing she knew she was down hard on her knees in front of Amberhill, nerves ringing, too stunned to think clearly. She shook her head, but it only made her more woozy.

  Someone barked orders and rough hands grabbed her arms. She was dragged, pushed, and shoved, up the palace steps. Though the blow had not knocked her out, it left her so dazed that the passage through the palace was a blur of white marble. She lost track of time and distance until finally she was flung into a room. The motion jolted her collar bone, and she cried out at the sudden pain. Her vision blackened.

  “Miss Goodgrave?” asked a familiar, if anxious, voice drawing her back.

  This time gentler hands helped her up so that she sat on a chair or sofa. Voices ebbed and flowed. Karigan wanted to retreat to the darkness, but the world was just too bright.

  Someone placed his hands on either side of her face. She was so muddled. Her head felt fluttery light and tingly. Then the pain slowly eased, eventually fading altogether. Slowly her senses sharpened, and a man in blue robes stepped back from her.

  “Miss Goodgrave?” Lorine. It was Lorine.

  “Who—who is this man?” Karigan asked.

  “A mender,” Lorine replied. “His name is Marcus. You were hit very hard, and he healed you with—”

  “I am a true healer,” the man said. “I can channel etherea through my hands to heal. The blow cracked your collar bone, but I knitted it back together.”

  It all started to come back to Karigan. The courtyard, the confrontation with Amberhill. She tried to rise, but the world started to fade out again.

  “Easy,” the mender said, pushing her back into her seat. “You can undo all the good work I’ve done if you don’t take care. Perhaps you would like some water?”

  Lorine appeared before Karigan and pressed a glass into her hand. When she lifted it to drink, her hand dragged on something and there was the clink of metal. Her other hand, she realized. Her wrists were manacled. When had those been put on?

  Prisoner.

  She drank deeply trying to gather her wits, and when she paused, she eyed Lorine who looked none the worse for her time at the palace. She wore no restraints, no manacles.

  “Lorine,” she asked, “you are all right?”

  “Yes, miss. We have not been harmed.”

  “Arhys is . . . ?”

  Lorine nodded. “She is having lessons with some of the palace children right now.”

  “Let me see into your eyes,” the mender told Karigan. She saw a brand on his forearm and realized he was a slave.

  A pinpoint of light formed magically between the tips of his thumb and forefinger, and he aimed it into her eyes. “Easy,” he said in a soothing voice. “The light will not hurt you. I just need to see how your eyes react to it.”

  She did not feel threatened by him, so she obeyed, and he grunted with approval at what he saw.

  “All is well,” he told her. “I will leave word with the guards that they are to inform me if you should become ill, but I do not think there will be a problem.” With that, he collected a case that must hold his instruments and let himself out of the room. Beyond the door, she saw a flicker of red that must be guards.

  She felt for her brooch. It was there, hidden by its spell. Next, she checked her pocket. Her moonstone was missing. She’d been searched. She gazed about. The room she occupied was well-furnished. She sat upon a plush sofa. There was art on the walls, and doors leading to other rooms. If not for the knowledge of where she truly was, she would have guessed she was in some country manse. If not for the manacles on her wrists, she might have found it comfortable.

  Lorine sat down beside her. “Oh, Miss Goodgrave! How did you come to be here? Did Dr. Silk bring you, or that horrid Mr. Starling?”

  “No. I came with . . .” And when she remembered Luke was dead and probably Cade, too, she could speak no more.

  DR. SILK’S EYES

  “Miss Goodgrave?” Lorine shook Karigan’s arm. Chains clinked. “Miss Goodgrave, please, what is it?”

  Karigan barely heard her. Her vision had narrowed, grown dark. She could not grasp the loss.

  “I—I came with Luke and Cade,” she said finally. It was too much to tell Lorine everything, all the events that had led to her being there. “Luke is dead and . . .”

  Lorine clapped her hands to her mouth and paled. Karigan had not been the only one who loved Cade.

  “Nooo!” Lorine wailed. “It can’t be true—it can’t!”

  While Lorine was able to express her grief, Karigan could not seem to. She was broken, unable to speak, act.

  The door to the room opened, and a pair of guards barged in. Even distraught, Lorine had the presence of mind to veil her face. Karigan had no veil, nor did she care. The guards roughly pulled her to her feet and without another word, pushed her out of the room. The door was slammed behind her, cutting off Lorine’s sobs.

  The details of the corridors the guards dragged Karigan down were lost to her. She did not see others who passed by. She was trapped inside herself. She thought they passed a fountain with the statue of a dragon in it, and only noticed because it reminded her of something, but she let it go. Nothing else mattered.

  Eventually they entered a darkened room, and the guards forced her into a chair. It was unmistakably an office with bookcases and a massive desk, and sitting on the other side of that desk was Dr. Silk gazing at her through those specs of his. She should want to kill him, she thought, for any part he might have played in Cade’s death, but it was hard enough just to sit upright and not fold into a fetal position. She was cold ashes, not fire.

  Dr. Silk waved the guards out and then stared at her, alternately gazing at something lying on his desk.

  “You are she,” he said at last.

  Karigan stirred. “What?”

  “You are Miss Goodgrave,” he said, “or whatever your real name may be. Do you remember the image-trapper at my dinner party?” He lifted a framed picture, tilting it so she could see. “The image of you is still oddly transparent, but less so now.”

  Karigan blinked, focused. It was her in black and white and layers of gray. Her posture was stiff and unnatural, the expression on her face dead of emotion. She could have been looking in a mirror, for the image reflected how she felt at this very moment. But Dr. Silk was right—she could see the backdrop through her face as though she had used her fading ability at the time of the image-trapping. Cade i
s gone. The thought had nothing to do with the picture or Dr. Silk sitting there on the other side of the desk. It came unbidden.

  Dr. Silk set the portrait aside and folded his black-gloved hands on the desk. “What is your real name?”

  “Does it matter?” Nothing mattered, not with Cade gone.

  “It does to me. That you acknowledge you are not a Goodgrave is a positive beginning.”

  “Ask your emperor. He knows who I am.” She glanced listlessly at his shelves. They were much neater than the professor’s had been, but there were similar artifacts; a rusted helmet, a skull, rolled maps.

  “The emperor is currently indisposed.” A muscle twitched in his cheek.

  “Seeing me was too much for Amberhill, was it?”

  It was difficult to gauge Silk’s expression with those specs concealing his eyes, but she saw him start in surprise. “My dear,” he said, “it would be wise of you to use care when speaking of the emperor.”

  Karigan shrugged.

  “Now, you can keep your name to yourself,” Dr. Silk said, “but in time we’ll have it from Mr. Harlowe.”

  Karigan jerked upright. Her mouth dropped open, but once again she could not speak.

  Dr. Silk leaned forward to study her. “You thought he was dead, didn’t you.”

  Her heart pounded. Her head pounded. “He’s—alive?” She hated revealing herself this way to this man, but she could not help it.

  Dr. Silk leaned back into his chair, a slight smile on his lips. “For now. I cannot say the same for Josston’s old carriage driver, however. My dear, now that you know Mr. Harlowe is alive, your answering of questions could make things much easier on him. You see, he is with an Inquisitor. Inquisitors are not gentle questioners, and they will use whatever methods they require to extract the information they seek. It can go badly for the one being questioned. Do you understand?”

  Karigan licked her lips and nodded. Oh, yes, she understood. They were torturing Cade.