He tensed for a moment and felt it when the spell hardened into two constructs—each boasting far more power than the previous batch. It felt like there were a few protective spells woven into them as well.
It’s trying harder. Obviously, whoever is helping Snow White is more powerful than it was originally prepared for.
Evariste risked sitting up—with the mirror distracted as it was, it wouldn’t notice he was moving around and not hunched with pain.
I wonder if it’s Angelique helping the princess? Given her penchant for ruining Chosen plans, it’s a possibility. Which would mean she’s in Mullberg.
Evariste stretched his arms above his head and slowly twisted his body, trying to loosen up his muscles. He’d concluded—now that he could actually think thanks to the presence of Angelique’s magic—that he needed to do as much as he could to prepare himself for rescue, or he’d be completely useless when someone did manage to fish him out of the mirror.
But even if Angelique is in Mullberg, it doesn’t explain why her magic has remained with me.
It went against everything Evariste knew.
Except, is that not how it freed me from the waking nightmares Liliane trapped me in on the journey to Mullberg? It sliced through the accursed magic, and then I was left to wander in Angelique’s dream world. But is it just Angelique’s magic that is special? Or something more?
As much as Evariste respected Angelique’s magic—he’d seen a hint of just how great her powers were when she’d attended a practice test that was designed to measure her magic, and she’d overpowered the centuries-old magic that was supposed to resist all forces outside its own nature.
But the very nature of magic was that it wasn’t sentient. It was an extension of its wielder given that it came from the soul, but it operated by rules.
Evariste’s own magic operated under a limit—he was unable to open gates in areas that had been desecrated by black magic, or the gate would fall apart.
I wonder if that is why the Chosen haven’t been able to fully twist my magic to their purposes. Because even once separated from me, it will always have that base inability to survive in truly black magic, like the many curses the Chosen have casted. Though it doesn’t seem like that limit extends to using my gates.
“Snow White…you will fall…and Mullberg with you.”
Evariste didn’t respond to the mirror—he didn’t want to attract its attention just yet. He did, however, glance at the mirror’s surface.
Queen Faina stood there, blank faced and unmoving. Her eyes weren’t focused, and though she breathed, it almost seemed like she wasn’t conscious.
The mirror’s magic oozed around her in a thick miasma. No longer did it brush at the queen as it used to; now it actively poured into her, as if she were a doll to control.
The mirror is certainly up to something. Normally, it sends Faina out of her room every so often to throw fits in the palace. But she’s been spending most of her time in her quarters and acts alarmingly…unaware.
It was almost as if the Queen’s mind was buried, and the mirror entirely controlled her movements. She brimmed with its warped magic, so that was a possibility, unfortunately.
The spell that held one of the mirror’s two constructs that were (assumedly) attacking Snow White crumbled.
Evariste grinned and ran a hand through his blonde hair as the mirror shook with anger.
“What’s wrong?” Evariste drawled. “Still losing to a princess?”
The mirror ignored him; it seemed focused on the remaining construct.
Evariste walked in a circle, his strides lengthening the longer he moved. Though he was technically walking, he wasn’t actually going anywhere; he remained the same distance from the mirror’s surface as he always did.
Evariste glanced at Queen Faina as he circled past her and slightly shook his head.
Her…state is going to hurt Mullberg. But is there anything I can do?
Hesitantly, he tried to reach for his magic. As expected, he rammed into the wall that separated him from his powers.
Angelique’s magic zinged through him, but even as he tried to pull at it, it slipped through his fingers, seemingly more interested in huddling next to the wall that blocked his own magic.
Could this phenomenon be because of our relationship? It couldn’t be simply because we’re master and student, or something like this would have surely happened generations before. But Angelique certainly doesn’t have feelings for me. She sees me as her mentor—she made it clear that she respects me but doesn’t need or want anything from me.
Evariste rubbed the back of his neck. It is curious, though. It’s always Angelique’s magic reaching out to mine. I wonder why that could be…
The mirror roared as the second construct was destroyed.
Grinning, Evariste plopped back on the ground and prepared for the mirror to try and drag more magic from him—and unknowingly fail because of the remnant of Angelique’s powers. “What was that you said before? You’re all powerful? It certainly doesn’t seem that way.”
“Silence!”
The mirror struck, and Evariste had to hold in a scornful laugh.
It still hurt—it felt like his chest was on fire. But it was a mild discomfort compared to the agony he used to be in.
He gritted his teeth and stared at the motionless Queen Faina.
Whatever the reason for this, I’m grateful. And when this is over, I’ll do everything I can to crush the Chosen.
Chapter 25
Angelique peered out one of the open windows of the cottage. The warriors insisted on leaving the shutters open despite the windy spring air because it still smelled of the garlic Angelique had smeared on them after the battle yesterday evening (for “healing purposes”) and the onions she’d held up to their faces so their tears clogged their eyes while she mended them with real healing spells.
They hadn’t been very grateful for her tender ministrations at the time. Angelique was certain she had no idea why.
Outside, Snow White and the Seven Warriors were busy preparing for Fritz’s journey. The quiet forester had been selected to deliver a letter to the Veneno Conclave.
Despite the Conclave being in the same country, Luster Forest was a fair bit north and east of the magical fortress, so the trip would take several days.
Rupert and Oswald were fussing over Fritz’s mount—who was saddled but not yet bridled—and were double-checking that his saddle bags and tack were secure.
“You must loosen up before embarking on such a long ride, Fritz.” Aldelbert instructed. “Your hips shall certainly be sore, otherwise. Here—follow along in this Glory-Intensifying-Stretch! Place yourself in a position of honorable humility and kneel on one foot and one knee as if bowing to our royal princess, then retain the stillness and balance of a graceful wild cat while pushing your hips forward with the confidence of a warrior!”
Fritz willingly did as Aldelbert demonstrated.
Wendal circled around the forester, studying him keenly. “Push your foot back a little farther to feel the appropriate greatness. Yes, there you have it.”
Beyond Aldelbert and his “stretches,” Snow White, Marzell, and a recently woken Gregori had their heads clustered together as they looked over the letter Marzell had drafted—which held an account of all that had happened to Queen Faina and of the attacks on the cottage.