I couldn't fixthe mirror as a mirror, but it still worked to send messages. I smudged my hand along the fractured surface to bring up the person on the other end.
Her eyes loomed huge as she brought her face too close to the elaborate spell capturing her illusion.
“You're looking a little thin. Your cheekbones could cut glass now. Are you eating enough?”
Yaya, my grandmother, was never one for small talk. The little vine poking through a gap in the stone walls curled around my finger and released it, called to my Elven magic but wary of my other, darker half. The contact helped me hold on to my patience. “Yaya. I can hold your illusion for only fifteen minutes. Are you sure that's how you want to use them?”
I didn’t comment on her appearance in return, which was still ridiculously fresh even with her millennial birthday coming up. She was so damn proud of the two crow’s feet she acquired last year. She said they perfectly complemented her long silver and white blonde hair and enhanced her sharp features.
“Sorry.” She backed up, her lean hands steepled before her face and my body loosened a bit. “They’ve cleaned out your rooms, but I rescued Gertrude.”
All breath left my body in a rush. Thank the Godds my beauty was safe. Losing her would have been the last straw in a string of rotten straws, or however the metaphor worked.
“Not much new, but I know you wanted regular updates. The King -” Yaya flinched at what she saw ofme in the mirror and quickly corrected herself. “The usurper has declared two months of feasting. Like we all haven’t feasted to death since he walked in here with that Godds-cursed sham of a Godd object and everyone fell all over themselves to hand him the crown. He’s gathering the Council for daily ‘huddles’, as he calls them, for as long as he can stand them. I hear the room is already tense with violence every time they meet. Even Nemian complains in secret.”
The vine grew and curled around my wrist in a consoling grip. “They grumbled about my once-a-season meetings, and still no one has objected?”
Yaya shrugged her slim shoulders, disturbing the filmy layers of her blue ceremonial gown that offset her warm brown eyes so well. “He has the Calix.”
That simple statement had me clenching my fists, destroying the vine wrapped around me with darkness.
It was hard enough being yanked off my throne. To find another had taken it in my absence because of a ridiculous chunk of metal, made me see red. The Council and my people were too stupid to realize it was a fake. Probably too excited to have me dead to pay attention. And too greedy for the next generation of Elves to care. They had been trying to increase their fertility for centuries; hence, the experiments with the human village. I would have to prove the mystical object was a fake since only the True King could wield the Calix. Waving itaround, the usurper settled his legitimacy in almost every Elven mind.
I had made no progress in finding the real one. And I was desperate enough to ask Ward to flex his unparalleled research ability. Ward was the perfect friend like that. Managing us all into our better selves, taking care of everyone whether or not you wanted it. I respected his power, but secretly craved his acceptance even more. How was I going to tell him I couldn’t find a glowing sword that grew wild roses out of the hilt with the power of abundance and life?
“Right,” I said.
My Nightmare came forward in frustration. We both needed action, not discussion. I needed to be doing something instead of pacing this room.
“You will figure it out. I’m just glad you’re alive.” Her smile wobbled.
Was I? Some days, when random tremors overcame my hands and I couldn’t breathe, I wasn’t so sure Brad had been stamped out of my life. On those days, I never wanted to leave Ward’s Keep.
Her gratitude made my voice come out small. “Thank you, Yaya.”
She drew close to the mirror again. “Make sure they’re feeding you meat. You need to keep up your iron.”
I had quite enough metal today.
“I’m sorry, Yaya. The spell is wearing off. Ican’t hear you very well.” I waved at the mirror, turning down the spell.
She garbled out something like, “I love you.”
“What was that?” I narrowed the connection until she faded away from my mirror. “Love you too, bye!”
Surely, grandmothers were the worst calamity to ever befall a forgotten King.
Chapter 2
Maggie
THREE MONTHS LATER
Everything was fine.
This was a lie I told often—sometimes out loud, but usually to myself. It frequently accompanied Rue’s voice telling me to stay calm, to think. That worked until I remembered she was gone. Then I never knew what to do with all that pain. Which usually led me to something that felt oh-so-good and was oh-so-stupid.
I focused on the woven mat beneath me. On the sun cresting over the horizon in a blaze of molten colors, and the magic that now simmered inside me since the night I tried to kill the Elven King. My morning practice kind of helped me work with my emotions, contain them, anduse them. The stretch of my legs and arms, the bend of my feet kept me in control, grounded even if it produced nothing magical.
