What, then, are the chances that the mage who created those constructs is still mucking around Luster Forest?
Angelique tensed at the thought, and her heart started to pound faster—not in fear. Quite the opposite, actually: anticipation.
If I could find the mage and capture him, surely we could make him tell us all—where Evariste is, what happened to Faina, perhaps the mage would even know where the Snow Queen’s mirror is!
Her cheek muscle twitched, and everything in Angelique wanted to go sprinting outside. But she couldn’t very well reveal her true self on the chance that a black mage might be near.
Instead, she poured a little more healing magic into Oswald than she ought to.
I need to finish this as quickly as possible. Then I will go hunt down the mage!
The mirror was doing something different. Evariste could tell because his pain had decreased significantly.
It hadn’t been long since he’d considered death and truly thought the end was coming. And now, the mirror had stopped gnawing at his powers.
Minutes passed, and Evariste wondered how long it would be until his pain spiked again.
The same rusty color was still splashed everywhere, but there were innumerable chains of magic—written out in an archaic language Evariste didn’t recognize and that pulsed with an eerie light.
The spells were gone before he had a chance to notice much more. Given that he was in the mirror, he could feel it sending the spells out, rolling them so far it had to be a fair distance from their location.
Once the spells arrived at whatever location it was the mirror desired (Evariste could feel the activity of magic, nothing beyond), the mirror sparked the spells to life, creating a miniature army of constructs.
Since he was only feeling the magic through the filter of his surroundings, Evariste couldn’t quite tell what shape the constructs took on, but he knew they were fighting—even if he didn’t know whom.
“Snow White…” the mirror breathed.
Evariste—stiff with muscles that still ached, but at least he could breathe without pain—slowly pushed himself off the ground. “A bit obsessed with the Mullberg Princess, aren’t you?” He almost didn’t recognize his own voice—his throat was raw from the yelling, and he hadn’t said actual words in a long time.
The mirror shockingly ignored him; it was too invested in whatever its constructs were doing.
Evariste stared into the bleak, rusty red scape surrounding him and wondered what he should do.
I’m not in pain. Does that mean I should try getting up? But what’s the point? The agony will come back. It always does.
Despite his grim thoughts, he staggered to his feet. For a moment, everything around him shifted in a sickening swirl. When he could stand without swaying and grew more stable, the swirling stopped, and for a moment, Evariste almost felt human again.
The mirror is fighting. Anyone who opposes it is automatically an ally. I need to do whatever I can to annoy the mirror—or distract it.
His thoughts came more from habit than anything else. He used to think like that—before physical torment had become all he knew. But a tiny part of him, the last sliver that made him hang on instead of giving into the mirror’s madness, was glad he was still capable of such thoughts, even if it was from routine.
“Seems like she’s got some help,” Evariste observed as the fight raged on. “Must be pretty significant forces given that you appear to be losing this battle!”
The mirror savagely ripped magic from Evariste, which made him sprawl to his knees as white-hot pain ravaged his body.
He couldn’t breathe; it was a struggle just to survive.
Dimly, he felt the spellwork that created the constructs crumble. They were effortlessly snuffed out, and though the mirror pulled more power from him, it didn’t seem to be able to patch the spell.
Why not?
“Snow White…” the mirror repeated, this time as more of a snarl.
Everything shook, and when Evariste peeled an eye open, he could see the rust color was deepening into a darker shade of red.
“Fair and wise. You will fall! I shall return you to my grasp…”
This would have been the perfect time to wheeze out an insult, but Evariste was tired of fighting. He couldn’t resist any longer. At least he had the satisfaction of knowing someone was resisting the mirror, even if he could not.
But that small part that hadn’t yet given up pierced the haze of pain to question the situation.
Strange, though. The mirror is brimming with my magic. It’s angry that its constructs were destroyed, and yet it didn’t use my magic to finish off whoever fought against it. Is it because it can’t?
He doubted it had anything to do with his particular magic. Sure, his magic had forcibly included the weakness of romantic love to the many curses the Chosen had placed using his powers.
However, that wasn’t shocking—he’d already established the weakness was due to his love of Angelique.
But why have a weakness at all? Once removed from me, my magic should be entirely theirs to manipulate. My core magic is rare, but there’s nothing special to it. They haven’t had a problem creating portals in tainted areas. And yet, there seem to be problems when they try to spin it into anything besides my core abilities…
A new round of searing pain ripped through Evariste, and all thoughts disappeared under the savage attack as the mirror fed on his magic.
Chapter 21
When Angelique finished healing Oswald, she approached Fritz as he put the finishing touches on the newly fixed door.
“If you’ll excuse me, I would like to check on the outdoors.” Angelique smiled and used the tangy dill she’d used to swat Rupert to gesture at the door.
Marzell spat out the nail he was holding between his lips and finished hammering a nail into the board he was securing over a broken window. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s unsafe—there could be more of those creatures outside.”
“All I intend to do is inspect the perimeter,” Angelique lied. “I’ll move the starfire crystals into a more serviceable formation and put some herbs out to ward off evil.”
Marzell’s forehead wrinkled. “Can herbs actually do that?”
“Of course, they can!”
“But you said you can barely heal, and that’s the main focus of herb magic,” Marzell pointed out.
How is it that I had such terrible luck to be stuck with people who know more about herb wizards than I do?
Angelique puffed her chest with as much pride as she could muster. “It is. But when an herb wizard has as much passion and anger as I considering what we were put through tonight, it is possible to channel that feeling into magic!”
Marzell didn’t look convinced, but Fritz opened the door.
Angelique scurried through—her satchel thumping on her hip. “Thank you, Fritz!”
“Don’t wander too far,” Marzell warned her. “Stay within sight of the cottage.”
Angelique waved her now-drooping dill at the warriors’ leader as he poked his head outside. “Yes, yes. I’ll screech if I see so much as a suspicious squirrel. Besides, the starfire crystals are my possessions. I have more I can use if necessary. Now, leave this apprentice to her herb magic!”