Yvlle winked at him. “That’s exactly what I plan to tell some of your contestants, Arris.”
Arris rolled his eyes. He thought his mother would scold her, but Queen Yzara was misty-eyed. She flashed atrembling smile before excusing herself and leaving Arris to the mercy of the contestants and their hundreds of shifting reflections.
There was no true music in the Ozorald Cave, but somehow a stray wind had found its way into the cavern. The way it brushed the gemstones above sent a whisper that bounced off the mirrors. Arris watched as each contestant found her way to a mirror. Gone was their earlier fervor… now they seemed sedate. Transfixed, even.
Arris had only just stepped onto the onyx floor when he heard a shrill cry. Not ten feet away stood the Lady Edmea—once more attired in her pale gown—who was pointing furiously at her reflection. Arris went to her, curious. When she had performed her talent, she had mesmerized him, and when he stood beside her, he tried to imagine what their lives might be like and pictured a riot of color. It made him smile.
“Are you well?” he asked.
“Oh! Your Highness,” said Edmea, curtsying. She could hardly bear to tear her gaze away from the mirror. “I’m sorry you have to glance at such hideousness. I can assure you I have no intention of becoming… that.”
In the reflection, Edmea was older. Much older. Her pink hair had dulled to a mere blush. Her neck was loose and her face was crinkled. And yet in this reflection, she was smiling and her eyes twinkled with liveliness.
“I find her lovely,” said Arris.
Edmea looked stunned. “You do?”
He nodded.
“Sometimes I think that even if my mother had the chance to grow old she would have refused for the sake of beauty,” said Edmea.
She spoke archly, but Arris could sense the pain under her voice. She was looking at him as she spoke, but when he glanced in the mirror, he saw a glimpse of a different version of her. A little girl with rosebud hair standing in a pool of gowns, laughing as someone dropped a scarf over her head.
Edmea shook herself.
“You know, for all my mother’s beauty, she was famously cold,” she said. She glanced at Arris from beneath her lashes and his heart beat a little faster. Whatever softness had stolen over her expression now hardened to elegant iciness. “You will find that I am quite the opposite, Your Highness.”
She curtsied and Arris, smiling, continued down the row of mirrors. He thought there would be more conversations with the contestants but not everyone wished to reflect on things. Whatever Orinthia saw in the mirror made her storm toward him and kiss him so hard he nearly stumbled. But she was shoved out of the way by the bejeweled Zoraya, who had tears in her eyes as she said:
“I need you to know that what I saw in the mirror convinced me that I am exactly where I am supposed to be,” she said. “And by the end of this tournament, you’ll know it too.”
She stroked her finger along his cheek, and Arris—still a bit dazed from Orinthia’s icy kiss—leaned forward rather hopefully but Zoraya only winked and walked off. In thedistance, the dinner gong rang, and Arris began to make his way to the entrance of the Ozorald Cave. Along the way, he found that some of the contestants had left him messages on the mirrors. One message, by the siren Cordelia, was so daring that the mirror was still steaming.
“I was hoping to speak to you alone,” said someone behind him.
Arris turned and his heart skipped a beat. Talvi, of the Aatos Mountains, stood there with her hands clasped. She was exquisite. He had always thought the Aatos Mountain girls to be icy beauties, but Talvi’s loveliness was the delicate wonder of frost and soft snowfall. He thought of her song about Enzo’s sea witch consort who had loved him and then cursed him when her love was not returned. All his life, his ancestors had cursed the sea witch for setting the precedent of carving out hearts and shortening the life expectancy of Enzo’s male descendants, but Arris had always felt bad for her. How much pain must she have known to inflict such damage on her own line?
“Your song was beautiful,” said Arris.
Talvi smiled. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“It was quite the bold choice to sing the woes of the woman who essentially cursed me,” said Arris, before adding: “I’m glad you did.”
Talvi smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that. There’s something I was hoping to show you…”
Talvi reached into the folds of her strange dress, which resembled falling snow. As she was withdrawing her hand from a pocket, there was a blur of shadows to her right—
Yvlle stepped out of the shadows and grabbed Talvi’s wrist: “Drop your weapon.”
“Really, Yvlle!” said Arris, annoyed.
Talvi did not flinch, nor did she gasp. She leveled Yvlle with a cold stare. In Talvi’s hand was a slender book.
Yvlle scowled. “I stand mistaken.”
“Did you?” asked Talvi, rubbing the spot on her wrist where Yvlle had grabbed her. “Knowledge is a formidable tool. Perhaps you were right in your assessment, though brutish in your approach.”
“I believe you owe her an apology,” said Arris.
