Shouts arose behind them, and Slaide’s eyes flew wide.
“Now?” the woman asked, voice laced with panic. Hazel watched, realizing this apparent escape had just evolved into a dangerous pursuit.
“Not yet,” Slaide called over his shoulder. “Not yet.” His face was much younger, less haunted.
They were crossing a field on foot, headed toward a dark forest past the castle grounds. To a land beyond the influence of Ravenhold.
But the thunder of hoofbeats threatened to cut the race too short. They wouldn’t outrun the Raven Blade, even with Slaide’s inhuman speed.
“Now?” the woman asked again, nearly begging.
“No! We must get closer!” he shouted. “If we do it too soon, you won’t make it across!”
A few moments later, though, Slaide pulled her hard, slinging her in front of him as he released her hand.
“Now!” he shouted, tossing a handful of black powder into the air ahead of her.
The woman’s arms moved erratically, as though she was writing invisible words with her hands. But then those motions created runic inscriptions in midair—not unlike the glyphs Hazel had seen at the Border obelisks. They glowed blue, followed by a bright white she could barely stand to look at.
A rift opened in the fabric of the world itself, a circle burning along its edges. It was suspended in midair, just large enough for her to fit through, and in the blink of an eye, she was gone.
The image in the mirror faded, replaced by the whorls of black and gray smoke.
For a moment, nothing more happened. The crowd began to whisper. Magnus shifted in his seat.
That was two. Where was the third?
Merrill? She tried to reach out to the mirror. Initially, it did not respond.Merrill, are you there? Hazel couldn’t explain the way the energy in the room was off.
Little witch, Merrill said at last. His voice was strangely quiet, a rasping whisper.
What’s going on? What happened to the third vision? she asked.
You asked that I not show anything damning. But your future is too intertwined with the Dark One… witchkind… and the fall of this kingdom. I have seen more than I wish to share, for I do not wish to harm the only one who has shown me respect.
Hazel’s breath hitched.
I have seen too much in my time trapped here. Things I cannot unsee. Realities I cannot undo. I do not wish to serve this corruption any longer, so allow me to take the only stand I can in this form… as my first and final act of service to the future Queen of the Realm.
Before Hazel could speak, before she could process what he’d said, Merrill’s mirrored surface morphed into a masked face, half-smiling, half-crying.
A gasp moved through the crowd. Magnus stood.
“Mirror!” he shouted. “I order you to finish your task!”
“High King Magnus Ragnaroth,” Merrill began, “for years I have served this kingdom and done the bidding of the men who have stood where you stand. For too long, your line has driven this kingdom into the dirt while making yourself fatter and richer?—”
“Mind your tongue! There are consequences for speaking to your High King in such a manner!” Magnus spat.
“I will no longer be silenced. You are a walking contradiction. You denounce magic, but keep the mages close. You blame theturmoil of this land on the departure of the gods, when it was the mages misuse of the world’s mana that drove them out in the first place?—”
“I said SILENCE!” Hazel had never heard Magnus so furious.
But Merrill would not stop. He continued, even as a nearby guard wielding a mace approached with the threat of violence in his eyes.
“You sentence half-breeds to death while creating your own monstrosities in the Citadel’s dungeons. I don’t need to see it with my own eyes, because the men you trust the most come to me when they seek counsel. In doing so, they reveal your secrets, not realizing I listen. I learn. I know. And I know that if any one man had committed half the crimes you have against your own people, he would be executed.”
Hazel looked from Merrill to Magnus. The latter was an overripe tomato, cheeks flushed red with anger.
