Merrill, he said.
Merrill? Hazel asked, immediately regretting her tone, and the fact that she’d nearly laughed.
Yes. Is there a problem?He’d sensed it well enough.
Merrill the Mirror,she said.No. There’s no problem.
You laughed. She pictured a young boy pouting with his arms crossed after having his feelings hurt.
I did not. Well, okay. It’s a bit unusual…
Unusual is being a bard cursed to live out his days as a dreadful mirror such as this. My name is all I have left of who I was. So, excuse me if I seem attached to it. It was my father’s name and his before him,he offered in a dejected tone.
Hazel truly wanted to know that story, but now was not the time.
Merrill is a wonderful name. I just hadn’t expected it. I would love for you to tell your story when we have more time. But I fear if we do not get moving, His Majesty might put me to the pyre and have you melded down into something he finds more useful, she explained as kindly as she could.
I feel like I should be insulted.
Perhaps you should, but not by me. It is not I, but the King who uses you for personal gain,Hazel reminded him.
Your blood on my thorns suggests otherwise, little witch,Merrill countered.
Hazel froze.I-what did you just call me?
If Merrill had eyes, Hazel imagined he would have rolled them.I told you. I’ve tasted your blood before. Your kin, perhaps. A grandmother? An aunt?
My mother,she guessed.
Ah. All these images make so much more sense now,Merrill said thoughtfully.
Will you show me? Hazel asked. She was so close. So close to getting the mirror back on track.
Fine, then. You know the rules, he conceded.
Wait! Merrill?
Yes? He sighed.
Hazel grimaced, wishing she didn’t have to reveal so much.They… can’t know. They can’t know I’m related to her. Or any witch for that matter. My powers. All of it. It’s not safe.
I can’t promise you will find comfort in what I show you. But I will try not to get you into trouble.That was the last thing Merrill the mirror said before her reflection began to shift.
Hazel’s palms were sweating.
Two truths and a lie. You can do this.Phaedra’s words echoed in her mind. She just prayed Merrill would be merciful. That if he witnessed anything damning, he would twist it into something else.
The smoke and shadows bent and swirled within the mirror, and then an image formed.
Hazel sucked in a sharp breath. She was on a battlefield. Bodies were strewn about, the metallic stench of blood a heavy assault on her senses. A flash of motion caught her attention and there she took in the vision: Slaide, cutting down man after man without a second thought. Fury in his eyes, a beast that only sought destruction.
Truth. Her mind warned her. Everything she knew, everything she’d learned, supported this narrative. Slaide was a butcher. He was and always had been a cold-blooded killer. Doubt crept into her mind. Had anything he’d said been real? She’d trusted him.
Hazel took a step backwards, slowly shaking her head. She didn’t pay any mind to who they were. Did it matter? Future or past, Slaide killed and would continue to kill. He didn’t slow, he didn’t pause as if weighing the consequences of each life he took.
But she did. Hazel tore her gaze from the mirror, and when she looked back into it, the horrors were gone, a new image forming in its place.
It was again a visage of Slaide. He had a woman by the hand, dragging her behind him. But as Hazel looked closer, she determined the woman wasn’t resisting. She was running with Slaide, a banner of raven-black hair flowing behind her. Her facewas otherworldly—maternal, but fierce. And he was leading her somewhere.
