The Mirror Prince (13 page)

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Authors: Violette Malan

BOOK: The Mirror Prince
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She wanted to run, but she let the Song she was humming govern the speed and pacing of her footsteps, just as it would if she were really making a Song. Any direction would do for now. As for when she reached the edge of the Vale of
Trere’if
—she was not going to call it the Vale of Basilisks ever again—well, there had been a rumor of Wild Riders to the Windward, and she supposed that was as good a direction as any. She did not know how large the Vale was, but she would walk all night if necessary. All day. Until she was free. Or until they found her.
 
Twilight shivered and pushed that thought from her mind. She went on humming, even though there was no one near her, allowing the simple, everyday task to relax her. She had never been particularly powerful, her
dra’aj
was nothing out of the ordinary, but she’d always felt invigorated after Singing. She’d heard it was the same for others with special talents, even Healers and Warriors, that they felt stronger after they’d used their gifts.
 
When she realized where her feet were taking her, she stopped, heart hammering in her chest, even the Song dying away in her throat. It seemed she could leave her harp, but there was something else—someone else, she corrected—she could not abandon. Leaving the harp bought her time, it was a step toward a safety that was precarious enough as it was . . . surely stopping to free the little Water Sprite would undo all of that? It was madness, and dangerous madness at that.
 
Her feet were carrying her forward, even as she debated. Apparently she had made up her mind without knowing it. In fact, now that she actually thought about it, stopping to free the Natural would take only a few minutes, and the act itself wouldn’t add much danger to her flight. Who would even notice? Twilight strode forward with more purpose. No one would go to check on the little Natural. Only those who had been present this afternoon knew about her staking, and none of them would have reason to do it. Even the Prince, supposing anyone would remind him, would not order such a check. There would not even be a guard posted to prevent interference, and all for the same reason: it would never occur to anyone that someone would defy the Basilisk Prince by setting the Natural free. As soon send someone to see if the sun had risen.
 
Twilight walked a little faster down the pebbled path, but when she came to the next cross path, she hesitated, teeth gnawing at her upper lip, as she turned first one way and then another. She had set off in the right direction without being aware of it, but now, now that she was consciously trying to find the right way, all the paths, all the trees, rocks, and hillsides looked the same under the moonlight. Her heart beat faster and she bit down harder to prevent the whimper that rose in her throat from escaping. For the first time in her life she wished that she were a Warrior, and not a Singer. If she’d been born a Warrior, she’d have freed the Water Sprite and been halfway to the Wild Riders by now. No Singer was going to Make a Song out of
this
daring escape; Twilight wasn’t even out of the Garden and she was already lost.
 
She stood still, heart stuttering, breathing uneven. If she panicked now, she’d be done for certain. She threw her head back and filled her diaphragm with air. Years of training relaxed her muscles, her breathing exercises quelling this panic just as effectively as it had ever done her stage fright. She had not particularly noticed their path this afternoon, she had been too busy watching the Prince. But she was a Singer, and she could not forget what she’d once known. Her heart slowed, she began to Sing the Song of the afternoon’s tour. She was careful not to let her voice grow louder as she grew more confident. Verse after verse came to her tongue, each little couplet and beat of rhythm a footstep on her journey. She saw where she had turned the wrong way, and retraced her steps into a meadow of sleeping flowers and began again. Here there had been snow, and here a shower of rain.
 
As she Sang, and her
dra’aj
rose and fell with the words, and her feet followed the notes along the familiar route, Twilight found herself wondering for the first time just where the
dra’aj
for the Garden came from. She had been told that it was the Vale itself,
Trere’if
that was, which provided the needed
dra’aj
, but if that were true, Twilight thought as her voice rose and fell in a whisper just loud enough for her own ears, then why was not
her dra’aj
stronger as well? Why not everyone’s
dra’aj?
Why only the
dra’aj
of the Basilisk Prince?
 
The clouds parted again as she rounded another turn in the path. The moonlight showed her just where they had heard—
 
Twilight stopped with a sharp intake of breath as she stepped into a shallow pool of water. She looked frantically around, but of course, she thought, breathing deeply again, if the pool was still here, then the Water Sprite had to be.
 
“Where are you?” she whispered, her voice barely louder than the wind in the trees. “Can you answer me?”
 
Twilight thought she heard a sound to her left, and as that seemed to match the picture she had in her head, she turned that way. She inched forward, feeling with her toes, fearful of stepping on the little Natural as she had stepped into the pool. A darker patch on the rocky ground, a sound of dry, hoarse breathing. Or was it just dry leaves blowing in the wind?
 
Twilight knelt and carefully felt in front of her. A whimper of sound told her that the brittle stick under the fingers of her left hand was no tree branch. Carefully she felt her way with soft finger touches along the Water Sprite’s limb until she found the rope fastening, tight above a joint. She pulled her belt knife out of its sheath and cut the rope from the stake end, unwilling to risk breaking the delicate limb by exerting pressure any closer to it. Freeing the limbs on the far side of the sprite was trickier, as reaching over the little figure put Twilight at a bad angle, but even with the moon’s light she was afraid to get up and move around, afraid she would step on the little Natural and shatter her like a pile of twigs.
 
She sat back on her heels, waiting until her hand stopped trembling before shoving the knife back into its sheath.
 
“I’m going to try to get you into the water,” she whispered, knowing that if she said it aloud, she would have to find the courage to do it. “I’m sorry if I hurt you. Can you make one sound, one sound only, to say if you agree?”
 
Again the whimper came, just once.
 
Twilight maneuvered her hands under the brittle rib cage, scraping the backs of her fingers against the rock beneath the sprite, afraid to handle her too much. It was like picking up a doll made of the driest twigs and dressed in cold silk. Twilight’s hands felt large and clumsy, and sweat trickled down her nose as she heard her own voice whispering the word “sorry” over and over. She got her hands under what she thought were the sprite’s armpits and lifted. The little arms reached up then, trailing their bracelets of rope, and hugged Twilight around the neck. The little Sprite’s hair broke and crumbled as she laid her head on Twilight’s shoulder.
 
Oh, Hydra that guides me,
she thought, careful not to whisper her prayer aloud,
please may I not break her.
She turned as quickly as she could and this time stepped deliberately into the pool. She knelt and tenderly lowered her burden into the cool liquid. The water thrashed around her ankles, reminding her of the time her father had taught her to catch trout with her bare hands, and suddenly she was knocked backward onto the ground as two strong wet arms were around her neck and her face was being covered by wet kisses.
 
As she swallowed a sob, Twilight realized that not all the water on her face came from the Sprite.
 
“Oh, my sister,” said the Sprite in her crystal voice. “Oh, thank you, my sister, thank you.”
 
“Can you leave here?” Twilight asked. Her heart sank. A fine adventurer she was, for certain. Until this moment it had not even occurred to her to wonder how the Water Sprite was to leave. She
couldn’t
go back to the Citadel for something to carry her in. She
couldn’t
. They would both be caught, and what good would that accomplish? But how could she leave the little Sprite now? Twilight was so taken with her own fears that she almost missed the Water Sprite’s answer.
 
“
I
can leave, but what of you, my sister? Surely you will not stay?”
 
“Oh, no, but—will you manage? I must go quickly—I took so long to find you—” Twilight was ashamed to be so relieved, but if the Sprite had no further need of her . . .
 
“Wait, my sister, are you not afraid that the Hunt will follow you?”
 
“The Hunt is not here,” Twilight said. But her Singer’s ear heard the question in her words.
 
“Do not be willful, my sister, do not deny what you know to be true. Come with me, it is the only way.”
 
“If I Move us, the Prince will know—”
 
“But he cannot know if I go! And you are my
fara’ip
now, my sister, and so can travel with me. I will keep my waters flowing, and none shall see you. What is your name?”
 
“I am Twilight Falls Softly,” Twilight said. Sister to a Natural? Why not? “My mother was Stars Unchanging, and the Hydra guides me.”
 
“The Hydra? A water beast! You are well-named and we are well-matched, my sister. I am Tear of the Dragon, and Water is my guide. Come, take my hands, and we will go together from this place.”
 
Twilight drew in a deep breath and took Tear’s hands.
 
 
Cassandra added a palmful of fragrant leaves to the pot of water heating near the fire and remained there on her knees, as if the tea needed her supervision to steep. Like the stone carafe that was always full of wine, and the basket that was always full of fruit, the fire burned without benefit of added fuel. How strange, how miraculous after all this time; and yet, how ordinary, here in the Lands. She looked around. There wasn’t even a fireplace poker for her to play with. Which, now that she thought about it, was probably a good sign. That the poker was missing meant that someone—someone who didn’t want it to be used as a weapon against him—would be along to confront them.
 
Not that she was looking forward to the confrontation, exactly. Without turning her head, Cassandra stole a glance at the table where Max sat sound asleep, his head pillowed on his crossed arms. So far her confrontations weren’t going very well. Still, if she was lucky, enemies with weapons would show up and give her something easier to do.
 
She released her breath in a long sigh. There was no telling how much time they had before someone
did
show up, and past experience told Cassandra that she and Max needed to finish talking. She’d hoped the tea’s spicy smell would wake Max up, so she wouldn’t have to. She was perfectly aware that her reluctance to wake him had nothing to do with his needing his rest, and everything to do with not wanting to see that look on his face again. She shuddered. Had he ever looked at her with quite that mix of anger and disgust before?
Come on,
she told herself,
it can’t get worse.
If only she believed it. She stirred the pot. The tea was ready, too much longer and it would be stronger than Max liked it.
 
“Max.”
 
He came awake and alert immediately, as he always did, and Cassandra’s heart turned over. Too much the same . . . and not enough. His eyes narrowed as he saw her, but thank all gods the look she dreaded was no longer in them. She poured his tea, carried the delicate cup back to the table, and set it near him.
 
“Truce for now?” she said, sinking into the chair she’d used before.
 
He rubbed his face, shaking off sleep. “What you told me doesn’t change anything,” he said finally, the velvet of his voice rough and broken. “It’s not proof. I mean, you’re Sidhe, Faerie. Nothing’s beyond you, not even—”
 
Not even,
Cassandra thought, seeing in the stiffness of his face what Max was unable to say,
knowing what song Franny had been singing as she bled to death.
Her hands gripped the arms of her chair under the edge of the table, where he could not see. She should have known he would have thought things over before he fell asleep, and he would have told himself that of course she knew secret things about his life. It would take him a while longer to reach the next conclusion, that if she was Sidhe, and could do anything, then it also followed that she could do what she had told him had been done, and that therefore everything she had said to him could be true.
 
“There’s no harm, then,” she said, keeping her voice carefully neutral, “in my telling you the rest of the story, the events that bring us to this room.”
 
“Go ahead,” he said.
 
Cassandra drew a goblet toward her. As she expected, it was clean, no residue of wine left dried to the bottom. As she put her hand on the pitcher, Max raised his eyebrows, warming his hands around his mug of tea.

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