Page 17 of The Other Side of the Mirror

With feigned nonchalance, I eyed the three of them. “So how did you all meet?”

I didn’t know anything about the foundation of their obviously tight-knit group. And I needed them to tell me, to learn the truth of who they were—a strange sort of litmus test of the faith they were asking me to put in them.

The trio shared a quick look, as though deciding who would tell their shared story through raised eyebrows, head tilts, and shrugs.

“Bash, Rivan, and I have been friends since childhood,” Yael said with a long suffering look on her face. She took the edge off it with a dazzling smile, those turquoise eyes crinkling. “We grew up in the Imyrian Keep together, ate together, trained together, fought together…”

“We were born to a world at war,” Rivan cut in, his deep voice resonating in the air between us. “The False King stole the crown fifty years before any of us had been born, so there was a practice sword in my hand when I was still in swaddling clothes. He took Morehaven by force, his followers infiltrating the High Queen’s guard and slaughtering those who wouldn’t stand with him when he took her prisoner. In any case, none of us have ever known peace in our lifetime. And we’re all close to reaching half a century.”

I stilled at the mention of their ages when none of them looked much older than me. Yael laughed at my stunned expression, a musical sound that fit with the lilt of her accent.

“Fae lifespans can reach a thousand years. The aging process slows down exponentially after you reach your Seventeenth. You would have noticed soon.”

I froze entirely at the realization that this did indeed apply to me too. Yael continued as I slowly closed my gaping mouth. “Rivan’s a year older, and I’m a year younger than Bash. Not that it matters at this point. We hated each other at first.” She smirked, then the levity faded from her face. “Until one autumn night when an older kid thought it would be funny to throw the Imyrian heir in a well after Bash bested him with a wooden sword during practice. Something about seeing how long he could float before he shoved him in?—”

She cut off with a wince at the sharp look Bash was giving her.

Imyrian heir?

I opened my mouth to ask, then filed the words away for later so as not to throw the story off track.

“I had been sleeping nearby, so I jumped in after Bash, riding the bucket down—and whacked the water out of his lungs while Rivan fought the bully off. He’d heard the commotion after being sent to find me. Rivan pulled us both up, and we’ve been inseparable ever since.” Yael gave Bash and Rivan a fond look they both returned. “There’s something about fighting together for survival…you can’t help but become fast friends.”

“How old were you?” I couldn’t hide my horror at the thought of Bash as a little boy, fighting to keep his head afloat. Shadows flowed over Bash’s hands, either at my reaction or the memory—though his face remained unbothered.

“I was seven,” Bash said crossly, giving Yael an exasperated look. “And I was fine.”

Then he glanced up, catching me watching him. A muscle ticked in his jaw at whatever worry was still written on my face. I quickly looked back at Yael, who was staring at Bash with an odd expression.

“He was half-drowned,” Rivan said, his eyes flashing. “But you forgot to mention we only hated you, Yael, because despite being younger, you insisted on being a know-it-all…and bested everyone at archery while rubbing our noses in it.”

“I had better aim than you long before the wind was on my side.” Yael flicked her fingers, sending a puff of air into Rivan’s face as he gaped like a fish. He muttered something that sounded like a curse, but Yael just shrugged. “Lit a fire under your ass, didn’t it?”

Bash didn’t deign to respond, just rolled his eyes. Yael chucked an acorn at him, her magic blowing it so that it whistled right past his ear before it looped around. He dodged it just in time for it to not hit his face. Bash laughed—a deep, boisterous chuckle—the first time I heard him truly do so.

Suddenly, I couldn’t help but join in. When they all stared at me, I abruptly stopped, feeling a blush stain my cheeks. Bash’s eyes caught mine, his laughter gone, but a happy smile still played across that normally brooding face. I unthinkingly gave him a smile in return, and Bash’s focus zeroed in on the right side of my mouth where I knew my one-sided dimple had appeared, making my heartrate skitter.

We watched each other a few beats too long before looking away.

Yael cleared her throat. “Anyway…after the war, we all stayed with the Imyrian Rangers. The defenders of the Southlands and the Faewilds,” she added at my questioning look. “We’d been roaming the Southern Kingdom since we were kids anyway. And not that any of us slacked in any form of fighting, but with my prowess at a bow, Rivan hand-to-hand, and Bash’s sword and shadows…Well, they didn’t dare break our merry band apart during or after the war.”

A grin ghosted across Rivan’s face. “And now we’re his?—”

“You mean they tried early on to break us apart, and failed,” Bash cut in dryly.

My stomach tightened at the glimpse of whatever they had gone through to stay together. It reminded me of how Quinn had been there when I needed her the most. How her family had taken me in after mine was taken from me. Even if she had kept this secret from me…surely, I owed her the chance to hear her out.

“On our Seventeenths, we figured out why we were all drawn together,” Yael continued, drawing my attention from what, exactly, my best friend knew. “Bash might be the only Celestial of the three of us, but Rivan and I have such a reserve of raw magic that we’re fairly unstoppable together.” She shrugged, the motion at odds with the steel in her gaze. “Not that there haven’t been those who tried to test that.”

“And neither of you got sick of him and went solo?” I looked pointedly at Bash in a lame attempt to joke away the pain of whatever memory still swirled in his eyes.

Rivan shook his head solemnly. “That’s just a journey. Adventures must be shared.”

The sense of belonging in those words made something pang in my chest, their comradery wearing at the lingering cold around my heart. At the notion that I needed to keep myself separate from them for my own well-being.

Bash shared a look with his friends. Then he grabbed the piece of sandwich I had forgotten about and held it out to me.

“Eat,” he demanded. “You need to keep your strength up after that training session. If you let your magic drain your reserves, it won’t end well.”

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