Agnes.Standing just to the right of where she rested, Agnes looked upon the woman with sorrow in her bloodshot eyes, wiping away a tear. She approached the woman and withdrew a small brown book from within her mourning robes, tucking it beneath the woman’s clasped hands.
“Take this to the Otherrealm with you. Watch over us, especially your daughter,” she whispered.
Holy gods.She heard the unspoken words. Somehow, as though the answer came somewhere from within her soul, she knew. It was her mother.
But it was no surprise to find out she was dead. Hazel had always suspected this, even when she thought Connall’s late wife and her mother were one in the same. Both had met tragic fates, regardless. But the book… she reached for her pocket to find it was still there.
Witches gathered around the pyre and chanted, including Agnes. Between sobs, they conjured an enormous blue flame which was set upon the kindling. And moments later, everything was engulfed. Hazel watched as her mother’s body dissolved into a million blue and white butterflies and disappeared in the column of smoke. And with them, the images dissolved and reformed into something else entirely.
That,Hazel decided,was undoubtedly a truth. One down, one to go.Perhaps this wouldn’t be so difficult after all.
The new image formed slowly at first, then all at once Hazel was thrust into a fierce battle.
And in the middle of the fray was Slaide.
A caravan of wagons was ablaze and bodies were strewn about, some cut down by a blade, others by something else.
It didn’t take long to see how they’d met their end. Slaide was outnumbered and should have easily succumbed to his foes. But Hazel watched in horror as he reached up and calledlightning down from the sky upon his adversaries—completely obliterating them.
When the next round of enemies moved in on him, Slaide called forth his shadows and they bled from him in a hungry frenzy. They sought and destroyed everything they touched, leaving empty husks in their wake.
Another easy one. This is the other truth.Hazel was certain. This was the Slaide she’d been warned about: a butcher of men, women, and children alike.
But then… Slaide climbed into the back of one of the engulfed wagons. When he emerged coughing and sputtering, he cradled a young boy in his arms, unconscious from the smoke.
He ran the child’s limp body to the edge of a forest, where he was met by a woman, who took the child into her arms before disappearing.
After handing him off, Slaide dashed back to the caravan, searching for more survivors. Each time, he carried them to the woods, where he was met by another man or woman, who would then carry or drag the person to safety.
Hazel scoffed. Clearly, she’d been too quick to judge this image in the beginning, for this was most certainlynotrepresentative of the Slaide she knew. The self-serving prick would never…
So the next vision she’d see would be a truth. It had to be.
As Slaide’s rescue efforts faded into smoke and flame, a new one appeared. Hazel was looking at herself, asleep in her room back on Connall’s homestead… tossing and turning mid-nightmare as she so often did.
The vision shifted, depicting a beautiful bronze-skinned woman approaching their cottage. Hazel stiffened. She’d never seen this woman before.
The woman crouched down, writing something in the dirt with her fingers, then leveling her gaze on their home. It was asthough Hazel could feel the weight of that stare even through the mirror.
Within, Hazel could be heard mumbling something, attempting to shout at some unseen foe. The woman approached with caution, but with concern written on her face in the form of furrowed brows.
In a flash, she was gone, replaced by an oversized orange cat, who then hopped up onto the windowsill and into Hazel’s bedroom.
What in all the gods.Hazel’s face twisted. No. She was certain the orange cat she’d been accompanied by was nothing more than just that—most definitelynota human in disguise. That was ridiculous.
And yet, she was no longer certain of anything. Her mother’s death was a given. Slaide was a bloodthirsty monster. And the cat was just a cat.
“You lied,” Hazel said, voice wavering.
“Why yes, I did. But only once,” the mirror replied.
“No.” She took a step back. “More than one of those things was a lie.”
“You’re so certain?”
“I’m not playing these games anymore,” Hazel insisted. On cue, the locket warmed.
“Oh, but on the contrary, my dear,” the mirror crooned, “the games have just begun.”
