Shadowick lay beyond them, its edges blurred by distance and magic, the land itself seeming to breathe as if aware it was being watched.
The Priestess crossed the room and sat at a heavy desk.
Her movements were precise and strategic, even in her own personal space. She rested her elbows lightly on the polished surface and stared out the window for a long moment, her expression unreadable.
She didn’t appear angry, nor triumphant, just contemplative.
“That’s not fair,” I whispered, unsettled by the lack of obvious villainy.
She reached forward and opened a drawer.
The moment the contents were revealed, I gasped.
The object nestled inside was small, but it glowed with a power that made my teeth ache and my magic recoilinstinctively. Whatever it was wasn’t just magical. It wasfoundational. Old in a way that predated schools and covens and neatly named spells.
A relic.
No, not a relic.
A key?
I didn’t know how I knew that. I just did. It was the kind of knowing that settled into a person’s bones and refused to leave. I steadied my breath as the object pulsed softly, light threading through it like a heartbeat, and I felt the echo of it flare painfully at my hip.
“Oh no,” I breathed.
The Priestess’s head snapped up.
She turned sharply, scanning the room, her gaze cutting through the shadows with frightening precision. Her eyes narrowed, not in fear, but in alert recognition.
For one horrifying moment, I was certain she was looking directly at me.
The air in the Oath Room thickened. The mirror trembled beneath my hand, the image wavering as if resisting being seen.
The Priestess stood, her movements swift now, and strode toward the door. She closed it firmly, her hand lingering on the latch as she murmured something I couldn’t hear.
But I felt a ripple through the glass like a warning, and the image shattered.
The mirror snapped back to silver, reflecting my pale face and wide eyes, my hand still pressed flat against the glass.
I staggered back, my heart hammering so hard it hurt.
She’d felt it.
Not seen me, not fully, but sensed the disturbance.
The connection.
The intrusion.
And that was when the final, chilling realization settled over me.
This wasn’t a one-way path.
The mirrors weren’t just windows.
They were bridges.
Whatever line existed between the Priestess and me, between Stonewick and Shadowick, between the Academy and her castle, it was thinner than I’d ever imagined. It was thin enough for magic to cross and fragile enough for awareness to bleed through.
