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I straighten with effort, drawn toward the tall mirror. The connection to Amalia pulls tight inside me, tangled strangely with the thread that has bound me to Elionn since before either of us drew breath.

A thread that fell silent when he vanished from our world, but now hums again with life through our witch.

My palm meets the cool glass, and Silver magic coils around my wrist.

As the chamber vanishes from the mirror, I freeze.

The surface ripples like disturbed water, Silver spreading beneath my palm in widening rings.

Impossible.

I am no mirrorthane, despite sharing the same womb as my brother.

Yet an answering current moves through the glass. Not my magic. Not entirely. The connection stretches outward, following a path I should have no power to open, with a familiar presence woven through it.

Elionn.

His blood lives inside her now, and his blood is mine.

The mirror clouds before clearing to reveal a darkened chamber. Shadows cling to unfamiliar walls where obsidian replaces our silver, where light lacks the warmth of home.

And there, leaning over a basin, stands Amalia.

Relief crashes through me, only for fear to follow close behind. She braces herself on the basin’s edge, shoulders hunched with a weariness that mirrors my own. Even through the distorted glass, Opal light crawls across her skin with unnatural hunger.

What has become of our fae-touched witch in the days since she left our sithe? What has Theron allowed to become of her?

I flatten my palm on the mirror’s cool surface, and Silver ripples outward again, answering the blood that should belong to my twin.

“Can you feel me?” The question slips out before I can stop it. “You’re always with me, Amalia. Every moment, every breath.”

As though catching an echo of my words, her head lifts, turning toward me, and my heart seizes. Where once eyes the color of rich sable sparked with defiance, glowing Opal crystals now reflect a realm I’ve never seen.

Magic surges through me, Silver fire racing along my veins and gathering in my palm.

She needs me.

My brothers need me.

The Silver threads connecting me to them pull taut.

I cannot leave the Silver Sithe, lest it collapse in on itself as the power gathered here runs rampant without a conduit. But I cannot bear to stand by and do nothing.

I push against the glass, and where it should resist me, it yields.

Silver lightning leaps from my fingertips, racing through pathways that are not mine and yet recognize me. The glass cracks with the sound of distant bells, fissures spreading outward in elegant fractals.

Understanding strikes with terrifying clarity.

I cannot create the passage.

But Elionn already has.

His blood inside Amalia has given his magic an anchor in the Dark Sithe, and whatever ancient power distinguishes one twin from another cannot distinguish us well enough to bar me from following the path between them.

My absence will send the councilors into a panic. The sithe will falter without an anchor. But these consequences pale before the pull of the connection, before the knowledge that Amalia is in danger, and even my powerful older brother has not been able to protect her.

Silver fire engulfs the mirror as I pour my magic into the path Elionn’s blood has opened. I cannot shape it the way a mirrorthane could, but I can hold it long enough to cross.