Peering through the gate—which hummed with Evariste’s magic—Angelique could see the sitting room of the Lord Enchanter’s house.
Lazy, afternoon sunlight streaked in through the windows, bathing the comfortable furniture in gold. Nothing looked disturbed, and Angelique could pick out the foreign script of magic as the defensive spells pulsed around the edge of the ceiling.
“Everything looks fine on the Torrens’ end, so I won’t need you to meet me there.” Angelique slid off Pegasus, hopping a little at the very long drop. “You can go back to the sky.”
Pegasus flared his nostrils at her.
“You’ve been with me a lot,” Angelique pointed out. “And I’ll need you again when it’s time to leave, so a rest would be a good idea.”
Pegasus twitched his nose, then jerked his head in a semblance of a nod.
Angelique turned to the window, but paused. “Pegasus?”
The starry equine flicked an ear.
Angelique bit her lip, but she gave into a deep impulse and flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “It’s fine if you’re still mad at me, but…”
She didn’t know how to put into words what she was feeling.
Shortly before Evariste had been taken, she’d gotten into a spectacular argument with him. They’d never made up after it, and now it was too late.
Their argument was a constant, painful reminder of just how much she had failed him.
She didn’t want to experience it ever again.
Pegasus pressed his jawline into her back in his version of a hug.
“Thank you.” Angelique threaded her fingers through his flaming hair—which warmed her fingers but didn’t burn like a regular fire, and somehow it still had a solid, hair-like texture to it.
She sucked in a deep breath, then stepped back and mustered up a smile. “I’ll call for you in a few days.”
Pegasus swished his tail and bumped Angelique with his muzzle, pushing her closer to the tree.
It was easier to climb into the portal this time—granted, she wasn’t sobbing, in shock, and terrified like she had been the last time she had to use it. But Angelique suspected part of it might be that she’d been keeping up with her fighting practices and routines, and her increased upper body strength made it easier to climb her way up the tree.
Squeezing through the window-sized portal wasn’t a pleasant sensation. The smaller space pressed down on her as she passed through a curtain of Evariste’s magic, and the full skirts of her dress got stuck on the window frame, so she was stuck with her front half in Torrens and her legs in Farset until she was able to yank herself free.
She fell on a cushioned settee with an oomph, upsetting the air.
Angelique slowly sat up and really looked around the room.
She’d thought the house would feel neglected—maybe there would be stale air, or the furniture would have a layer of dust. It should be at least a little desolate having gone without its master for years.
Instead, it was exactly as Angelique remembered from her early days as Evariste’s apprentice.
The air smelled clean, with a faint whiff of potent spices from the kitchen. None of the furniture had been moved or rearranged since the restoration mages from the Veneno Conclave had cleaned the house up after the dark mages had blown the sitting room to smithereens in the attack.
The defensive spells Evariste had woven into the house pulsed with power—Angelique’s, to be precise. She’d recast them once the original set were broken by the black mages that took Evariste. But she could also feel a few of the other pieces of magic that kept the place going. (One felt suspiciously like a cleaning spell, which would explain the gleaming wooden furniture, spotless floors, and perfectly pressed hallway rugs.)
Through the windows, Angelique could see a deer sniffing at some dead leaves on the front lawn. The swans that lived in the pond out front were gone—it was too close to winter for them to be around still—but a pair of ducks had taken over and were happily splashing in the clear water.
Surrounded by so much familiarity, for a moment Angelique half-expected to hear Evariste’s footsteps as he came down the stairs.
But the moment passed, bringing Angelique back to reality.
She took a deep breath and turned around to peer at the Farset portal.
Pegasus stood on the other side, dark and brooding.
Angelique waved to him solemnly, and he turned and trotted off—most likely preparing to return to the skies. Hopefully preparing to return to the skies.
As a constellation, it seemed important that he return to his heavenly domain from time to time. Angelique had no proof of this, but it felt logical.
When she was certain he had moved on, Angelique sighed. “I’m home.”
Her words seemed to rattle around the empty house, but for once Angelique didn’t mind being alone.
She’d been gone for so long, and she’d done so much.
The house—empty as it was—seemed to wrap around her like a warm blanket. For the first time in a long time, Angelique relaxed.
She would survive this.
She’d go to sleep, and in the morning, she’d wriggle her way back through the uncomfortable portal and scream for King Themerysaldi some more.
She wasn’t going to give up on finding Evariste. Coming home where memories of his voice and laughter teased her only hardened her resolve.
She’d find him. No matter what.
The nauseating scent of blood and smoke made Evariste’s gut churn as he tried to shut his eyes and block out at least that sense.
But the pervasive brown-red shade—the color of dried blood—was everywhere, even under his eyelids.
To think there would ever be a day where I’d long for the boring, gray mirror Liliane once kept me in. At least there the pain was fleeting…and I had a chance to glean even a tiny bit of information off the Chosen.
Another wave of pain hit him—serrated, like a kitchen knife stabbing his belly. The pain intensified as the mirror drained more of his magic from him, tearing it from his soul, through his body, and out his pores with an indifferent delight.
His muscles—which he’d long ago lost complete control over between the endless pain and the icy numbness that was setting in—twitched, briefly making him curl in a ball.
The pain was unbearable, but he didn’t scream. He couldn’t—he’d lost his voice days ago. Or was it months ago?
“Yes, enchanter. Your power was once lauded, and now you can only sit in your own misery,” the mirror whispered, echoing in Evariste’s brain even though he didn’t hear the words with his ears.
Someone groaned. It took Evariste a moment to recognize it hadn’t been him.
“Stepmother?” the voice was warped and warbled as it pierced the fog that surrounded the mirror.
“Is it another headache?” the voice asked.
“I’m fine, Snow White. I just need a little rest—if you would please attend the Cabinet meeting alone?”
Whispers scuttled through his surroundings, and Evariste waited for the princess’s reply.
“Very well.” Taps echoed through the mirror as the princess walked across the queen’s quarters.
Queen Faina waited several long moments before groaning again—this time a sound that was far more feral with pain.