The Reflection
We changed before the ferry entered the port of Calais, but the cold of the sea had seeped into my bones. The sensation of inhuman eyes on my back didn’t fade as we trudged through the crowded port of Calais. Uniformed customs agents shouted at merchants, and the scent of salt and coal lingered in the wind. I kept my head down as Emrys exchanged clipped French with an officer and handed over our papers. Everything was too loud, too real. Only once we stepped onto the polished brass steps of the train did I allow myself to breathe.
The crystal glasses chimed softly as the train rattled over the rails. Soft afternoon light slanted through the tall windows, gilding every surface. The restaurant car was a marvel of polished wood and brass—mirrors catching sunlit reflections of decanters and cutlery, fresh flowers in vases, and white-gloved waiters gliding between tables. Silver domes lifted with dramatic flair, and the scent of butter and garlic made my mouth water.
I sat stiffly across from Emrys at a small corner table, trying not to stare at the chandelier swaying gently above us or the wealthy travelers murmuring in French nearby. Ishifted uncomfortably, telling myself I was fine. That I hadn’t just stood on the edge of death with a sea spirit whispering in my mind. But the linen napkin in my lap was already wrinkled from how tightly I’d twisted it.
Between us, resting innocently on the velvet seat, was a hatbox that Emrys had “borrowed” from someone on the ferry. It would have been unremarkable—if not for the occasionalticktickof claws against its inner lining. And the hastily cut holes into the lid.
Emrys had ordered an impressive selection: a plate of cheeses, poached pears in red wine, fresh baguette, olives, duck, and a bottle of something expensive. He looked in his element, long fingers cradling a glass of wine, watching me through the steam rising from my plate.
I tried to match his calm, but I was too aware of everything—the fabric of my dress, the elegant women around me, the way the fork trembled in my hand.
“Do you always dine like a royal fugitive?” I asked.
He smirked. “Only when we celebrate making it across the Channel alive.”
I nearly smiled at that, but my eyes drifted to the window. Green fields, flocks of birds rising to the clear sky.
“I never thought I’d see this,” I whispered. “France. Freedom.” I poured myself some wine, hoping to soothe my unease. Maybe it was time to leave the shadows behind. To celebrate. Soon, that bond between us would be gone. And I’d board the first train to Italy. Or I could stay for some weeks in Paris. “Arthur always said I deserved nothing better. That I was cursed. That I’d brought death to our parents.” My voicecracked slightly. “I was twelve when the undyne drowned them.”
“He was wrong,” Emrys said, and his hand froze mid-gesture as if he was reaching to cup mine but stopped.
I blinked at the certainty in his tone. “You don’t know that.”
“I don’t need to,” he said. “I’ve known monsters, Miss Daphne. And you are not one of them.” Again, that terribly infectious smile of his. The right corner curled up, revealing a disturbingly sharp canine tooth. This sight sent a tremor down my spine.
I opened my mouth to reply, to say something sharp and witty and hide my blushing, but a faintcreeeeeakinterrupted me. We both looked down just as the lid of the hatbox tipped up. A small, black paw slipped out. Then another. Long fingers with curled claws pulled the embroidered tablecloth and inched toward the cheese tray.
Emrys reached casually for a cheese knife. “Don’t you dare.”
Too late. The lid flew open.
Nibble emerged like a tiny bat-shaped demon, face first on the cheese platter, stuffing a piece of brie into his mouth with both paws.
I swallowed a laugh and looked around. “Nibble!” It all happened so fast, yet someone might have still noticed him.
“I told you we should have ordered a separate course just for him,” Emrys said.
The waiter, alerted by the sudden commotion, approached. “Monsieur! Pets are not allowed in the restaurant!” he said with a thick accent. Emrys flicked a handsubtly, murmuring something under his breath. The man blinked, forgot what he’d been doing, and wandered back toward the bar.
“Damn it, Nibble! I’m trying to save my magic!” Emrys said.
Nibble, belly now significantly rounder, curled up inside the hatbox with a satisfied burp.
I closed the lid of the box tightly. The question kept coming up in my head. “What are you, Emrys Caerwynne?”
He was quiet for a while, looking at the countryside flying by the window. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than I’d ever heard it.
“I was called many things. But to the Pentarchy—the five of us who watch over the ancient balances—I was the Lore Warden. Knowledge Keeper. Truth-bearer. I remember the names of the winds that no longer blow, the shapes of stars erased from the sky. I know the paths of the magic and how to tame it.”
“And the Eclipse Order? What do they want with you?”
His expression darkened.
“Power. They want to rewrite the laws of this world. Unmake death. Change the balance of things. Raise an army. Replace this reality with something they think is right, for all of you. To do that, they need the Pentarchy broken. They need what’s inside my head.” He lifted his glass in a toast, his smile a promise that they’d never get it.
I took a bite of the duck and the sautéed mushrooms. “Is the Renegade leading them?”
