My heart kicked against my ribs as I shoved Rheya toward the door. We burst through as the remaining beams started their death groan, taking the stairs three at a time. I gripped a side table and hurled it at a window. Glass exploded outward.
“Jump!”
Rheya was already gone, one hand on the ledge, thennothing but air. I followed her through the shattered window, into the night, into the terrible freedom of falling.
The bushes broke my landing.
Thorns clawed at my skirts as I tore myself free. Rheya’s hands found mine, yanking me upright, and we ran.
A roar of fury blasted through the window.
We flew out of the garden, through twisting alleyways that all looked the same in the dark, our boots slipping. My lungs burned like I’d swallowed fire, but we kept running.
Gasping, I ducked under an archway. My hands shook. Angry red welts covered my wrists where the rune had fought back, skin blistered and raw, but the pain felt distant. Unimportant.
“Gods,” Rheya laughed. “We blew up the house.”
A lump rose in my throat. “Let me see the box.”
Rheya slipped it out of her satchel, and its cracked case caught the light. The metal was scorched in places, warped like melted wax, but somehow still intact. Whatever was inside had survived our disaster.
My fingers hovered over the latch.
I inhaled and opened the box.
A mirror. Round, palm-sized, with a handle carved from bone. A border of tarnished silver curled around the glass. The mirror’s surface was cloudy, like breath had fogged the inside. A distorted shadow moved and then stilled.
“That’s it?” Rheya croaked.
My hands trembled as I flipped it over. A rune was etched into the back, surrounded by small crimson stones. I swept my thumb over the pattern, and a hot pulse snapped at me.
I hissed, wringing my hand.
Rheya leaned closer. “What kind of mirror needs to be locked away?”
I stared at it. Someone had been desperate to keep it contained.
Rheya grabbed the mirror and box, stuffing both in her bag as I pressed my palms into my forehead.
“Now what?” she asked.
I chewed on my lip. “Nectar. We need our money, and maybe Madam Cass can move this thing. She’s fenced stranger items for us before.”
We headed there as fast as we dared, keeping to shadows, following familiar routes through streets glistening with frost. The checkpoint loomed ahead—tall archway, two guards with snow-rimmed halberds.
One straightened as we approached.
“Servants,” he grunted.
His companion eyed my bracelet. “Bit late for errands.”
“We were sent for wine.”
“What happened to your skirt?”
If I answered wrong, we’d be seized and questioned. I bowed my head, letting my voice shake. “My master tore it. When I spilled his wine.”
“Oh yeah? Who is your master?”
