Page 41 of A Deal with the Shadow King

“Now, can you tell me what happened the other night in the gardens? I just swore fealty to your monstrous king,” I croak.

One gives a negative slice of the head, and I want to shake him until he changes his mind.

“Do I have the Faerie sight?” I negotiate, trying to find another silver lining to this wretched, indoor swimming session.

“Not yet.”

I draw back as he leans closer. “What are you doing?”

“Do you want the Faerie sight or not?” A leftover from his earlier snark rises to the surface.

“Yes.” I’m rooted in place, wondering what’s about to happen.

One cups the side of my face and whispers so softly that the wild beats of my heart almost drown out the words, “Close your eyes.”

A nervous hiccup quakes my throat, but I obey. Why does he have the power to do this, and not the king? It’s odd.

He presses his lips on my right lid, and wicked tremors rock up and down my spine as he switches to the other side. The heat of his kiss is dizzying, and my chest heaves.

Magic spices up the air, but it’s not at all like the king’s paralyzing power. It’s warm and comforting and strangely familiar.

When I open my eyes again, the colors are vivid and slightly askew, and I blink to dissipate the warmth in my belly.

One pulls down his hood. Loose strands of raven-black hair fall over his mask, and I almost raise a hand to brush them back behind his pointy ears.

Almost, but not quite.

“Congratulations, kitten. You’re a real seed, now. Tomorrow, I will teach you how to travel through the sceawere.”

Chapter 15

Behind the Glass

The glossy surface of the mirror at the back of the balcony reflects my ambivalence. I’m about to face my biggest fear—and probable doom.

“Are you ready?” One asks me with his arms crossed.

No.

“Yes,” I answer instead.

We stand shoulder to shoulder in front of the glass, our slightly distorted reflections touching at the hips. The mix of humiliation and exhilaration from last night’s trial still clouds my brain as I observe him from the corner of my eye. I went straight to bed after the trial, exhausted from the intense use of magic, and spent the entire day biting my nails, wondering when he would fetch me for my lesson.

He wears a long bow on his back, the majestic weapon held in place by a leather strap, with no quiver in sight. A neatly trimmed sideburn runs parallel to his ear, licking the edge of his mask and a string of discrete Fae drawings disappear under his hairline.

When you’ve only seen the bottom third of someone’s face, and suddenly you get to see more, it’s hard not to obsess over every little detail. Or at the very least, it’s the excuse I use to stare at his tattoos and pointy ears a little longer.

“The sceawere is an endless labyrinth. It can take you anywhere you want, but it can also swallow you whole. Once we’re inside, just stay close to me.” He links our fingers and steps toward the glass like it’s ordinary.

His hand is warm in mine, and I squeeze it without thinking. My whole body stiffens at the prospect of visiting the in-between world that lurks beyond the mirror.

I flatten my mask to my face with my free hand, drawing in a sharp breath and holding it in. A pinch of frost tightens my cheeks, the wave of silver in front of me quickly vanishing in favor of a kaleidoscope of colors.

One’s silhouette is slightly askew, everything beyond him blurry and incomplete. I catch glimpses of every room in the castle like I’m seeing through a series of tiny peepholes. As soon as I focus on one image in particular, it hides from me, replaced by another. On this side of the mirror, the glass moves, wild gusts of intangible wind plying it back and forth.

Thousands of silvery strings ripple between the different reflections. Multiple networks of semi-translucent threads have been crafted into different shapes and patterns like an eclectic, woven macrame. Some strings are thick as wool while others are as slim as a hair. Their strange shimmer makes it hard for me to focus, and shadows lurk at the edge of my vision.

One caresses the back of my knuckles. “Breathe, kitten.”

---