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My pulse hammers. She could have given me away. Instead, she kept my secret, which implies a bargain, though its terms remain unclear.
The music hits a crescendo, and the courtiers move as one, carrying me along. I fall into step, but not before casting one last look at the bower.
The girl is gone.
“A feast to welcome our guests!” announces the mirror-crowned courtier, popping up in my path. “This way, Favored Wilding of the Silver Flame.”
It takes everything in me not to flinch in reaction, and I follow him to rejoin the others.
When we leave the garden several hours after midnight, Theron’s steps slow to match mine.
“You seem distracted, Amalia Wolf.”
I continue walking without turning toward him. “There’s something about those girls.”
“They are valuable assets,” he replies, scanning our surroundings as we follow our guide down a different path. “Potential princesses are rare in any sithe.”
“It’s not that.” I flex my gloved fingers. “One of them recognized my tattoo.”
Theron gives no outward reaction, but his steps slow. “How would she recognize the blood magic? It should be undetectable unless activated.”
“I don’t know.” A shiver goes through me. “But she did.”
Thalindor peers over his shoulder at us in a subtle reminder that we’re not alone. The mirror-crowned courtier leads us along a winding path lined with flowers that bloom as we near, then close their petals again when we move out of range.
I move closer to Theron. “Tell me I’m not the only one getting trap vibes from this place.”
Theron doesn’t disagree. “That’s the point.”
“No, I mean—” I break off as a courtier drifts too close, pretending to adjust a hanging vine. When they move on, I continue, “I mean beyond the obvious power plays and intimidation tactics. Something else is happening here.”
“The Dark fae excel at layering deceptions,” Theron replies, dipping his chin to a fae noble whose skin ripples with shadows. “What appears to be the trap is most often the distraction from the genuine danger.”
We approach another archway, this one formed by two trees grown together, their branches twisting into a perfect curve. Tiny white flowers bloom along the bark, their petals translucent enough to reveal veins that pulse with tiny heartbeats.
The scent they release is an intoxicating mix of sweet berries and moonlight, reminiscent of the silver princes.
A sudden yearning hooks into my gut and pulls.
Only the flare of my magic keeps me from stumbling toward them, my nose burning as whatever spores the flowers released are irradicated from my system.
As we walk beneath the arch, a flash of silver embedded in the vines catches my attention. A mirror, small and ornate, tucked into the living wood. Its surface ripples, much like the hall of mirrors in Theron’s private quarters.
My pace slows, and I let the others move ahead with our guide. Pretending to admire the flowers, I angle myself toward the reflective surface.
The woman staring back isn’t me.
The mirror shows flickering shadows, formless at first, then coalescing into the faint impression of something crawling across the glass from within. A familiar, serrated motion that sends ice through my veins.
So the glasscrawler did follow us here. Could it not escape the mirror room until Theron activated the new portal?
My pulse quickens as I stare into dozens of hungry eyes fixed on me. Here, the monster’s form is less solid, but still unmistakable. It’s the same demon, the one who feeds on fear and puppets reflections, the thing responsible for driving those kids insane in the abandoned theme park.
It grins at me with needle teeth, a warped imitation of me forming around its monstrous mouth. The glamour I wear doesn’t fool it. It recognizes me.
I blink, and the image vanishes, leaving a reflection of tangled vines and empty air where I should be standing.
My fingers wrap around the hilt of my knife, the runes inscribed there pulsing with witch-magic as it recognizes the monster it was designed to kill.
