“Astrid is a mirror. That’s her magic. And she’s never known how to turn it off, how to control it. All she’s ever had control over is what kind of impression people see. When she’s in a positive mood, others see their best qualities reflected back. When she’s in a negative mood, they see their worst.”
Her wings go still. “I…I don’t understand.”
“You met Astrid when her father painted your portrait, correct?”
She nods.
“Because of her mood, Astrid formed a positive impression on you that day,” I explain, “which means everything you’ve seen since has been your best qualities reflected back at you. When you saw her pink hair, that was your pink hair. When you saw her poppy-red lips, those were your lips. And when you saw how lovable she was, how everyone around her was drawn to her, every quality Edmund adored…that wasyou. You were the lovable one, the one your people and your husband cherished. All this time, you’ve let hatred grow in place of what should have been joy.”
She throws her hands in the air, and her wings begin to buzz again. “I still don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“You were jealous of her. Envy grew over time. But you weren’t envious of Astrid. You were envious of your own reflection. You’ve never met the real Astrid. You’ve never seen her true face. All you’ve ever seen is your reflection. Your hair, your lips, your charm, your lovability. All these things Edmund fell deeply in love with. They’ve always beenyourqualities. And you let what is good and true and wonderful fester in your heart. You let it turn you against a girl who could have been a daughter to you.”
Her shoulders tremble. “I…I don’t believe you.”
“I can’t lie, Your Majesty.”
“But she can.”
“I’ve seen it,” I say, punctuating each word. “I’ve seen her magic in action. I promise you what I say is true; the Astrid you think you know is not the real her.”
Her eyes widen a fraction at the wordpromise. Fae promises aren’t given lightly, and she knows it. She takes a step away from me, her hand absently rubbing her heart. “But…but why didn’t she tell me about her magic? Or anyone, for that matter. Did Edmund know?”
“Her father was one of the very few who knew. She never told many people because doing so has caused her pain in the past, as did her magic itself. Her magic is why she rejected your nephew—because he fell in love with a version of her that wasn’t real. It’s why she was so badly injured that she developed a Crimson Malus addiction. It’s why she struggles to make friends. It’s why you made yourself her enemy.”
Tris shakes her head, as if that will help rid her of the truth. “She’s…a mirror? You’re certain?”
I nod.
Her lips pull into a pained grimace. “So as I’ve grown to hate her…I’ve hated…me?”
“That’s the gist of it.”
She puts a hand to her mouth, the other still clenched over heart. Her scent darkens with a chaotic medley of confusion, pain, and grief. Eyes unfocused, she backs up until her heels meet the bottom step of the dais. She drops to the step in a pool of pink silk, wings limp behind her, and cradles her face in her hands.
“What kind of monster am I?” comes her wailing voice. “What kind of person sees their own reflection and…andhateswhat they see?”
I’m stunned by her show of emotion. While I’d hoped my truth would get through to her, I hadn’t fully believed it would, nor had I expected such a reaction. I feel only the slightest pity. The rest of me relishes the pain she’s in.
Her shoulders heave as she cries into her hands. With slow, careful steps, I approach her sobbing form. Thrusting out the Chariot, I say, “Here. I’ve fulfilled our second bargain.”
She lifts her face from her hands, blinking the sheen of glittering tears from her eyes. Her brows knit with confusion as she accepts the device.
“You agreed to return Davenport Estate to my name. Considering I’m about to die, that means nothing. But I request that you sell the property to someone who will take care of it, someone who will bring the crops out of their state of neglect and make them thrive again.”
Tris turns the device over in her hands. “I can’t keep this,” she says, voice heavy with regret. “It belongs to the council.”
I’m surprised by that. Chariots are rare and coveted. The Alpha Council is supposed to have ultimate control over who utilizes them, but I never expected Tris would have enough of a conscience not to keep it.
She sighs and rises unsteadily to her feet. Her voice comes out weak, flat. “I accept our second bargain as fulfilled and grant you full ownership of Davenport Estate.”
Something snaps inside me like an invisible cord—the magical severing of our bond. I nod my thanks, despite how meaningless her gesture is mere seconds from the death she’ll deliver next.
She opens her mouth to speak again, only to snap it shut. Finally, she meets my eyes. “You are certain Astrid didn’t kill Edmund?”
I frown. Why would she ask me that? She damn well knows the answer. She has to know it was Marybeth acting on her orders. “I’m certain.”
Her scent dips into sorrow once more. “Astrid gave you her heart, and you delivered yourself to me, heart intact. I accept this as your fulfillment of our first bargain. In return, I release you from your term as Huntsman.”
