“I certainly do,” Sigmund said with another grin.
“Keep it in your breeches,” muttered Grimwald, shoving past Sigmund. Sigmund rolled his eyes but gave Makellos a wink.
“Some other time.”
“I’ll be here,” Makellos said, and then spent the next two hours unable to fall asleep as he contemplated how ridiculous of an answer that had been.
Something moved over him, something that made every hair on his body stand up, though he didn’t know why. He was choking. He was drowning. There was no air. Somewhere inside of his mind, Makellos realized that the distress he was feeling wasn’t only a dream. His eyes flew open to a darkness that was so deep, it seemed to engulf him in a sea of nothingness.
Gazing down at him was the Queen’s Shadow. The geist she had enslaved so many years ago, the specter that he had grown up being afraid of and spent most of his time avoiding in the palace. In the suffocating darkness, his eyes and cheeks looked even more ghastly in his pale, angular face. Makellos’ hands flew up to his throat where the geist’s shadows wrapped around him, his heart racing frantically in his chest. He tried to claw at the tightness that gripped him, but he might as well have tried to hold on to smoke. He couldn’t even scream to alert the miners to the unnatural presence in the room.
The Shadow had to be here to kill him because the Queen had discovered that Hans had let Makellos go. When her first attempt had failed, she had sent her most powerful assassin to ensure the job was completed. His lungs burned, the pressure in his body so tremendous, he wondered if his skin might split. He was going to die here, for nothing more than his mother’s vanity.
Makellos’ vision flickered, and, for a moment, he thought the world had gone strangely purple. It was then that he realized there was a glow emanating from the tendrils that encircled his throat, a strange violet light that licked over them like flames and then up toward the outstretched hand of the Shadow.The geist took a large step back, the shadows falling away from him, the pressure on his neck suddenly gone. Makellos sucked in a breath of the sweetest air he had ever breathed before the coughing started; choked, painful sounds halfway between a gasp and a sob. He realized a moment later that someone else besides him was desperately drawing in air. The Queen’s Shadow doubled over and dropped to the floor. The cocoon of darkness he had woven around them was falling and disintegrating, like water poured over a wall of spun sugar, and the unnatural silence now became punctuated with the sounds of seven other individuals in a room in various stages of sleep.
Unable to do more than take in gulping mouthfuls of air, Makellos coughed again, flailing against the blankets that had twisted around him, fighting them as if they too were trying to bring him harm. His ears were ringing, tears beginning to run down his cheeks as he choked on each desperate breath.
He wasn’t sure which of the little men awoke first, but there was suddenly shouting, and then the room erupted in a cacophony of chaos. The miners were scrambling out of bed, crashing into one another in the dim light and the tight quarters. He blinked several times to try to clear his vision, just in time to see the Shadow haul himself to the tall, discolored looking glass by the door and begin to disappear into it.
One of the miners, he couldn’t tell who, was by his side, a hand on his back in kind reassurance. He could hear vague shouts of, “Get him!” and “The mirror!” from the miners. There was another mad scramble as some of the men tried to chase the Shadow while others tried to get to Makellos.
The Queen’s Shadow finally vanished through the mirror, and with him, the remaining vestiges of the unnatural darkness he had ensconced the room in. The last of his head and shoulders had just disappeared into the tarnished surface of the looking-glass when, with a growl, Grimwald grabbed the nearest heavyobject, which happened to be the pitcher off the washstand, and threw it against the mirror with all of his might. The pitcher and the mirror exploded and shattered into several large pieces and hundreds of tiny shards, tinkling to the wooden floor of the cottage.
And then there was a stunned silence, punctuated only by Makellos’ ragged breathing. Someone lit the lantern by the door and carried it closer to him. The light stung his eyes, making tears well again, and the light moved to not be so close to his face.
“Der,” one of the men said. “You better check him out.”
“Oh, uh, yes, yes,” Der said, turning back to the pile of beds to find his spectacles that had been lost in the pandemonium.
It hurt to swallow. It even hurt to breathe. Makellos coughed again, and several hands rubbed his back and shoulders comfortingly. His eyes were still hot and full of tears. He didn’t want to cry, but there seemed to be no way to clear them other than to let them fall, so he did.
“There, there,” cooed a warm voice by his left shoulder. Hardwic, he thought. “We’ve got you. Just breathe.”
“Someone fetch him some water,” said Sigurd on his right.
Der finally emerged from the mess with his spectacles on, his hair sticking up in every direction, making his way over to Makellos. “Let me have a look. Dagobert, hold that lamp up high so I can see.”
Sigurd held one hand while Sigmund held the other. Makellos’ hands trembled in theirs as Der’s warm, calloused fingers prodded and stroked over his throat. He opened his mouth when instructed, and Der tipped his head this way and that, trying to look down his throat. “How’s it look, doc?” Sigurd asked.
“Well, a little bruising, but nothing seems broken,” Der said with a reassuring smile. “A few days of rest, and no talking, and you should be good as new.”
“But-” Makellos started, horrified by the rasp that came from his throat.
Der held up a stern finger. “No talking unless it’s an emergency.”
Makellos nodded, then glanced down as Bernhardt appeared in front of him, holding a mug of cool water. He took it with a grateful smile and tried to swallow a mouthful. It hurt, and he sputtered a cough. Sigurd and Sigmund both patted his back to help him clear it, and he took another careful sip.
“Well, it’s obvious the Queen knows he’s alive and is looking for him,” Sigmund said with a dramatic sigh.
“With the mirror destroyed, she shouldn’t be able to see you, right?” Bernhardt asked Makellos.
Makellos shook his head.
“Can she transport herself?” Hardwic asked worriedly. “Could she be on her way to us right now?”
Makellos shook his head again. In his twenty winters, he had never seen his mother teleport or transport herself some place, no matter how much of a rush she was in.
“What do you suppose pulled away the Queen’s Shadow?” asked Bernhardt thoughtfully.
