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I nod in acknowledgment, but my attention remains divided.
The presence skitters at the edge of my perception, never quite solid enough to pinpoint. It moves like the glasscrawler did, sticking to my peripheral vision, but what reflections exist in this dank forest?
I scan the area, searching for anything reflective enough to serve as a mirror. The puddles underfoot. The slick surface of certain leaves. The purple sap oozing from wounded bark, its surface tension creating a glossy finish.
The feeling intensifies as we pass between the border markers. The stones hum with power, and for a moment, my vision doubles, the forest layering over itself, shadows deepening where they shouldn’t.
The sensation vanishes as quickly as it came, leaving me dizzy and more certain than ever that we’re not alone.
“The official road begins here.” Theron gestures to a less overgrown route winding between the trees. “From this point on, we are within the Dark King’s territory.”
“And under his scrutiny,” Thalindor adds, hand resting on his sword hilt.
I don’t reply, too focused on the prickling sensation crawling up my neck. We’re being watched, and not just by the sentient plants or whatever border guards the Dark Sithe employ.
This attention is different. Personal. Hungry.
A flash of movement reflects in a puddle by my feet, too angular to be any of us, too sharp-edged to be natural.
By the time I look, it vanishes, leaving only the impression of too many eyes and a grinning maw.
Theron notes my stillness. “Is there a problem?”
I weigh my options. Telling him might put us all on alert and help if whatever’s following us attacks. But it might also trigger diplomatic incidents if we accuse Nyctarian of siccing monsters on us before we even reach their sithe.
“Nothing concrete.” I continue forward. “This place puts all my senses on edge.”
Theron studies me longer than necessary. “The Dark Sithe affects everyone differently. For some, it awakens desires best left dormant. For others, it magnifies fears until they manifest.”
“I know fear,” I say flatly. “This isn’t that.”
The sithean stone pulses, a rhythm that doesn’t match my heartbeat or any code I recognize. Would a fae know what it means? What is my lack of knowledge costing us?
As we continue along the path, the vegetation thins and the trees stand farther apart, allowing weak sunlight to filter through.
The knife at my hip thrums with witch-magic, responding to a threat my companions don’t perceive. The runes etched into the blade warm beneath my fingers, a counterpoint to the icy chill at my throat.
I was not the only one who entered the mirror when Caelan pulled me through.
The glasscrawler could have gone to any of a dozen places. But would it have followed me here?
8
THE CASTLE OF GLASS AND SHADOW
THERON
The land resists my magic’s efforts to bring order, paths shifting back into chaos as soon as I pass, a constant reminder that I walk in another king’s domain.
Thalindor moves ahead, armor whispering, while Amalia keeps pace at my side, sharp-eyed and restless as a bird in a snare.
“The boundaries have shifted,” Thalindor reports, not bothering to slow as he scans the canopy overhead.
“They push outward again,” I murmur, more to myself than to them. “King Nyctarian never stops testing the borders.”
Amalia’s head turns toward me, the movement wary. “So the sithes aren’t a set size?”
“They grow with the power of the fae they contain, and King Nyctarian has opened his kingdom to the wildlings,” I reply, taking care not to reveal my unease. “While they do not wield magic in the same way the pure fae do, their small trickeries add up over time.”
