The Farthest Gate (The White Rose Book 1) (39 page)

I put the love I had always felt for her into my smile, and reassured her, “Grandmama, it is Celeste!”

“Celeste?  Celeste!”  Her face expanded into joy and amazement, then confusion.  “But, what are you doing here, in my mirror of all things?”

“You had better ask Death,” I told her.  “He has put me here and means to destroy me when he finds a grisly enough method.”

She staggered back, blood draining from her face.  For the first time ever, I heard harsh words fall from her lips, “That villainous scoundrel!”  She whirled to her servant.  “What are you standing there for?  Go get me my sword!”

“Yes, My Lady.”  The flustered servant hurried to an armoire, flinging open its doors.  In a back corner, she found what was wanted, pulling out a rapier.  She ran with it back to Amelia.

I have seen many fine blades in my father’s house, but none to rival this except for my own sword.  The sheath was jet black, its end capped with silver.  The hilt was silver too, with a matching back-swept hand guard made to resemble the winding of ivy—
Elven forged, probably spell-inscribed as well.

Grandmama drew the blade and tossed the sheath onto the bed.  All-at-once dreadfully calm, with a naked weapon in her fist, she turned back to the maid.  “Wait here with Celeste.  I must have
words
with my dear husband.”  Without waiting for a response, Grandmama whirled grandly in her skirts and strode vigorously away—a storm seeking some distant shore to crash upon.

Staring after her, the servant wrung her hands, acting as if she wanted to call her back, but did not dare.

From outside these chambers, I heard slamming doors and nervous shrieks.  I imagined that Grandmama was stirring up quite a storm with her unexpected emergence from self-imposed seclusion.  I was happy to have enlisted someone capable of conducting a war all on her own, but the solace was small as long as I could only wait on events that I ought to be a part of.  If only I were free of this looking-glass prison...

The servant turned fretting eyes my way.  “Is there … is there anything I can do for you?  Does it … hurt … to be so flat?”

Flat?  With
my
figure..?  Oh, because I am in a mirror.  With a straight face, I reassured her.  “One gets used to it after a while.”

In the distance, I heard the confusion and shrieking strengthen.  Men were shouting in alarm.  I heard the telltale scrape of swords being drawn.  Many feet ran through the nearby
corridors.  The maid gasped, her face flushed with excitement.  “We are under attack!”

My fragile peace was swept away by excitement—I sensed Azrael at work here.  The rest of my forces wouldn’t be far behind him.  I stamped my foot.  Everyone was getting to fight but me!

19.
TERMS OF SURRENDER

“I must barricade the doors!” the servant screeched, hastening away.  Moments later, I heard her startled gasp from the next room as she met something unexpected.  I knew what that was when Abaddon rushed into my presence, taking advantage of the general upheaval.  He closed the bedroom door to prevent interruption, and came straight to my mirror.  His eyes brimmed with dread.

“What did you tell her?”

I played at ignorance.  “Her?”

“Amelia!  What did you tell her?”

I did not try for a convincing tone.  “Why, we have been discussing the rose gardens of my cottage.  She misses them terribly.”

He attempted fierceness.  “Do not play games!  Have you not betrayed me?”

In his heart, I knew he hoped to be wrong, yet had I told him that the incestuous secret remained between us two, he would not have believed me.  I therefore told him what he
would
believe, since he anticipated the worst.

“She knows.  She knows and has gone to Death with the truth.  What else could have driven her from seclusion?”

“Then … I am … ruined!” he choked out.

His eyes burned with savage intensity.  He snarled like some cornered beast, but I did not care a whit.  He had brought disaster down upon himself by trifling with my heart and stealing my son.

“If you would avoid embarrassment in the future,” I advised, “it is best not to sin.  Failing that, you should not be so stupid as to get caught.”

Abaddon found my comments less than helpful, for he tore himself away from my insolence, and seized a vase of white roses.  In another second, I knew he would hurl the flowers at me in childish temper.

“It is bad luck to break mirrors,” I reminded him.

He paused.  A lunatic gleam danced across his eyes.  He laughed manically, then sobbed uncontrollably, dropping to the floor.  He cradled the vase as though the roses could give absolution, and rocked in place, forgetting me altogether.

“Bad luck,” he muttered.  “Yes …
that
is what it is … cursed, wretched luck.  Not my fault.  Nothing is ever my fault.  Dragons will be dragons, after all…”

He continued in this vein, so I turned my back on him, unwilling to watch him unman himself.  Besides, I had problems of my own that begged for attention.  I needed to get out of this glass and put my sword to use!

As I pondered how to do this, I felt the wrenching sensation of being moved.  The charcoal-hued reflection I inhabited twisted around me and drained at my feet, passing through a hole that whisked me down as well.  A black current flung me violently onto … the throne room floor.  I trembled with relief at the end of the rough ride, glad to be out of the mirror world.

I turned my head and saw Grandmama’s feet inches away. 

She helped me to stand as the chamber doors burst inward.  Elves bounded my way with Azrael in the lead.  He had to have brought them all in the shadows of his cloak.  The elves slowed to make a violent clatter, crossing blades with servants in green livery.  The shape-shifters weren’t far behind.  The snarls of wolves and the screech of owls added to bedlam, setting my heart to race.

In contrast to the furor, Death’s voice stayed dead-calm.  He pointed at me without looking my way.  “You want her—there she is.  Now tell me why I should be merciful to my son’s slayer?” he asked Grandmama.

They both ignored the intrusion of my friends.

I took the question, answering Death with equal vehemence, “Because he deserved much worse, having stolen my son’s soul before his time.  If you want to dispense justice, give some to me.  I carry your blood as well.”

Death’s gaze swung to me.  He studied my unmasked face.  As he grasped my meaning, the hard glare of his green-fire eyes dimmed.  Seeing my true form, my resemblance to Grandmama, rendered him speechless.  I did not think he was often as surprised as in that moment.

At last Death spoke, “Then you are—”

“Your granddaughter, and Phillippe’s mother.  You have no right to keep him from me.  I have come for what is mine.”

“By my withered soul...”  Death sighed.  “I have always known that Abaddon wants what I have, but to do this...”

Grandmama turned imploring eyes upon me.  “You would take Phillippe away so soon?  I just learned of his existence and have not even seen him!”

Death’s eyes blazed up once more.  “I do not easily surrender what comes to my hand.  You have taken my heir from me.  I say you owe me another,
Granddaughter.
”

“And I say you have no secrets from me.  Shall I tell my Grandmother exactly how grieved you have been during her retreat from these courts, or would you like to tell her yourself?”  The judgment in my eyes left him no doubt that I spoke of his unwelcome attentions to Amberyn’s abducted wife.

“We can … ah … speak of such things later.”  He turned his head at last to evaluate the battle he had disdained up until now.

I looked as well, delighted my forces were routing Death’s defenders.  Each liveried servant defeated was pitched into Azrael’s cloak and spirited away so that resurrected shades would not be a nuisance.  I wondered why none of us had thought of this before.

“For now,” Death said, “order your followers to desist.  This is most unseemly behavior.”

“Then you desire my terms for surrender.”

“No terms,” Death snapped at me.  “Your surrender must be immediate and absolute.”

I put on a face filled with vast amazement, and laughed.  “Why, I was speaking of
your
surrender.”

             
He laughed at that, a cold lash of sound, utterly confidant.  “Yes, you are certainly related to me.  Your spirit does you credit, but do not try my patience further.”  He gave me a grim look.  “You know I can call forth legions of reavers in but a moment.”

My allies now enclosed us, except for Faang, the elf prince, and the unicorn.  I deduced that they were using us as a distraction to rescue Amberyn’s beloved Myla, and possibly Phillippe as well.  I needed to give them as much time as I could.

Azrael answered Death.  “Will you truly call my brothers to war with the living?  You know they may not take anyone whose time has not yet come.  You risk Heaven’s displeasure with such a course, but you know that.  Why else have you hesitated up until now?”

An owl swooped down beside Azrael.  She faded, bleeding light that became D’elia in her feathered cape.  She broke into the conversation, staring daggers at Death.  “I want my son out of the abyss, or it will
take
Heaven’s intervention to save you from me.”  Her tone of voice suggested that the appropriate response had better be forthcoming most quickly.

Death gave her his attention.  “Your son?  Who is he, and why is he in the abyss?”

“Abaddon’s handiwork,” I said.  “But we don’t need you to reclaim Silver Wolf.  His soul is in
my
keeping.” I lifted my fist.  The ring I wore misted with a golden light. I could not be careless with his true name entrusted to me; I spoke so softly, even I could not hear.  Then, my voice pealed out in command, “I call you from the abyss!  Come to me!”

The hall fell into a startled silence.  After a few heartbeats, white mists formed a column in our midst.  Ether-winds twisted the vapors, moaning complaint.  The winds failed and the pillar of mist sank and spread out across the floor, leaving Silver Wolf on his knees, his head bowed as though something inside him were broken.  He shuddered with relief, having now escaped the endless falling to which he had been consigned.

His eyes lifted to mine.

I saw a beginning madness there that he fought down with an adamant will.  Had I waited much longer, there would have been nothing left to save.  It had been wrong of me not to act sooner.  I just hadn’t realized…

He struggled to stand, but gathered strength from every moment out of the abyss.

D’elia flung herself at him, holding him for the first time since his death.

I returned my attention to Death.  “Perhaps you have realized by now that the easiest way to get rid of us is to just give us what we want.”

His clenched fists shook in anger.  “I am Death.  I will
not
have my conduct dictated to me on my own world, in my Courts, and especially not in my own home.  It is this simple: you will submit to my authority, or I will crush you.”

“Then you must crush me as well!”  Grandmama spoke softly, but with a cutting edge.

“Be careful what you say,” Death hissed.  “Some words cannot be recalled.”

A new voice announced itself, “As long as people are being crushed for following their hearts … count me in.”

My heart leaped, for it was Phillippe—accompanied by Faang.  They pushed in past the surrounding warriors.  My son ran to me and I crushed his solidified soul against myself.  I felt a flush of pride at his defiant courage!  My gaze blurred with happy tears as his arms enclosed me.  I wanted that moment to endure forever, but things were still out of hand.

“Hah!  As if I fear petty tyrants…!”  Amberyn broke through the encircling ranks with his lady at his side.  “You have committed an act of war against Avalon by making my wife your prisoner, and soiling her with your unwanted advances.  You should find a sword most hastily, for I am well prepared to dispatch you instantly into the ranks of the dead.”

“It is what you deserve, you pig!”  Myla’s voice matched her glacial stare as she stamped a dainty foot in contempt. 

Grandmama went rigid with fury, hearing of Death’s trifling during their separation.  She said, “
Arming yourself is a good idea, for if the elf doesn’t kill you, I certainly will, you lecherous cur!”