Hunting for magical signatures sounded similar to one of her own skills. She had an uncanny ability to sense any form of magic, old or new. Not many people could do that. But mirror magic was something she did not understand at all. As far as she could tell, it was unrelated to scrying. Her natural curiosity was aroused.
“How did you convince them to give you the mirror?”
“It is easy to convince the English that the French are into vanity. I just said I could not possibly tie the Waterfall knot unless I have a mirror to help me dress. Being fashionable gentlemen from the best circles, they thought it perfectly logical that I would be concerned about how my cravat was tied.”
“This mirror magic. Is it a Talent?”
“I do not understand.”
“Is it something you do naturally, or did you learn it? Do they have Academies like here where you come from?”
“Yes. I was trained in an Academy in Barcelona.”
The hard floor was biting into her skin, and she was recovering from the effects of the laudanum. She pushed herself to her feet and began to wander through the room, stopping at the long looking glass It was covered by a cloth. She tried to probe its magic, but to her mind’s eye, it was nothing more than a mirror.
“Why should I believe any of this?”
“Because I will show you.” With a swift movement, he jumped up from the bed and came over to the mirror.
“The spell starts with a simple request. ‘Mirror, mirror, on the wall. Or on the floor.’ Then you may ask it to do what you wish. It is a great deal more complicated than that, but that is the general idea.”
He took down the woven cloth that covered the mirror. Then he spoke a few words. Elizabeth did not recognize the language. They were not in French, certainly. He drew a circle on the mirror with each of his fingers, then blew onto the surface of the looking glass. Her reflection disappeared, and a moment later, the surface dissolved into a mist, then sharpened into an image. Elizabeth recognized it instantly. It was the breakfast room, the makeshift Council Chamber. The Council members were meeting there.
Elizabeth gasped. Even faced with the evidence, she did not want to believe that de Riquer could accomplish such a feat with such little exertion.
“Then you know where the Council meets, and you know who the members of the Council are, but you cannot hear what they are saying. That is a mercy, at least.”
“Patience, Mrs. Darcy,” he said, putting his finger to his lips. “I have not yet finished.”
A muted sound began to emerge. Slowly, it became clearer.
Darcy was speaking. “So are you telling me I am not allowed to go to the cellar and rescue my own wife?”
She shut her eyes in relief. They knew she was here. They would rescue her.
“I think you have not quite grasped what is happening, Darcy.” It was Grayson speaking. “I believe what some of the members of this Council are implying—quite strongly, I might add—that your wife was visiting the French mage, and someone locked her up. In other words – and correct me if I am wrong, ladies and gentlemen—they seem to be accusing your wife of treason.”
Elizabeth’s stomach clenched so hard she thought she might be sick. So that was why they had thrown her in with the prisoner.
She turned to de Riquer. “Can I speak to them? Can I explain what happened?”
He shook his head. “That would require a mirror that has been set up on the other side. Besides, it is the worst thing you could possibly do. You cannot reveal that you have spent the night here with me.”
“The night?” She had not realized so much time had passed.
She was filled with despair. “What else can I do? They will be coming here any minute.”
“As I have told you, I do have the ability to escape. I would teach you how to do it yourself, but there is no time. Can you think of a place that is safe, where no one will see you, Mrs. Darcy?”
She nodded. Her bedchamber.
“Very well. Imagine it in detail.” He spoke a few words to the mirror. “Have you done so?”
“Yes.”
“Now step into the mirror.”
She gazed into the milky swirls of fog in the mirror, imagining herself standing in her own room. She imagined the escritoire and her bed. She imagined the window with the view of Oakham Mount.
