Page 19 of The Other Side of the Mirror

I stepped back, letting out a shaky breath. Bash backed away without another word. I watched as his shadows raced around the camp, forming wards against whatever roamed through the forest. Then he disappeared to change, returning in a fitted linen shirt. I tried not to stare at how it clung to his broad shoulders.

He didn’t look at me as our dinner warmed over the fire he built. I wondered if I had somehow offended him when it lasted through the meal.

Inwardly, I marveled that the dinner had come from a pack—thick crusty bread and hearty soup garnished with fresh herbs. Though I had long since realized my companions’ bottomless bags held more than they should be able to contain. As if they could summon exactly what was needed. Thankfully, the magical saddlebags also included an extra sleeping bag. The stars twinkled through the trees as we set up our beds for the night as the fire died down to embers. My sleeping bag had a built-in pillow and a fleece-lined interior that was insulated enough to ward off the morning mist. Yael set hers up next to me and Rivan laid his next to Bash—our heads meeting in the middle.

I tried not to notice that Bash was head-to-head with me, so close that his woodsy scent wafted toward me…though I told myself it was just the surrounding forest. It did nothing to help me fall asleep. There was something magical about sleeping outside in the moonlight, under the too bright stars above. But my mind was whirring too much to appreciate the soothing sounds of the woods, especially with my newfound fae hearing.

When I heard soft snores from my companions, I let out a heartfelt sigh, staring at the sea of stars above me like they might share the explanations I lacked. My mind was too loud, the events of the last day too much to let me find sleep so easily, even with the white noise of the river.

A movement above my head made me jump, and I heard a soft chuckle.

“Not used to sleeping outside?” Bash asked in a low voice. Starlight danced along his cheekbones; his mismatched eyes startlingly bright despite the darkness.

My stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch. I rolled onto it, resting my head on my crossed arms as I looked at Bash.

“My mind won’t stop spinning,” I whispered. “Though it seems I’m not the only one.”

His face split into a rare, full smile—but only for a heartbeat. Just long enough to make my stomach flip concerningly. “I’ve been thinking…”

In one swift motion, Bash pulled his sleeping bag up next to me so that our heads were side by side, our bodies still in opposite directions. Then he rolled on his back and crossed his arms behind his head, looking sideways at me. I laid my cheek on my arm and stared back at him—his face now inches away. Our eyes lined up upside down from each other.

“Couldn’t stand Rivan’s snoring?” I muttered, grateful he couldn’t see the blush on my cheeks at our proximity.

He let out a sound that was almost a laugh. “Didn’t want you to wake anyone up with your midnight whisperings.”

“You started it,” I shot back.

“As if that sigh was anything but a lure,” he said impishly, a playful smile on his lips.

For a moment, we were silent, gazing at each other. The moonlight caressed his face, and I lost my comeback on the tip of my tongue as my focus zeroed in on the freckles that graced the bridge of his upper lip.

“You were saying?” I finally managed, looking away as that lip curled like he had noted my attention.

“I’ve been thinking about your parents,” Bash murmured, and I felt a pang in my chest. “Obviously, they must have been keeping you and your family from the False King’s clutches—especially with a daughter who has Celestial magic. But to leave the realm behind for the human world? They weren’t the only ones to do it…but I’m surprised they didn’t return when the war was won.”

“I can’t stop thinking about my parents either,” I said quietly.

Bash’s eyes softened. “Do you want to talk about it? If there’s anything I can do to ease the burden, I will.”

The sincerity in those words made my sarcastic reply die in my throat.

Before I could even gather my thoughts, everything spilled out as if waiting for a chink in my armor. “I want to know why they never told me anything about this world. I want to know why they hid my magic from me. I want to know exactly why they ran, and exactly what they knew and when. And I want to know what happened to my brother. If he made it through the mirror. If he didn’t…”Die.The word caught on my tongue, even seven years later.

I closed my eyes and took a long four-count breath, running through the familiar routine until my anxiety eased. My breathing was steady when I looked back at Bash.

“You’re remarkable,” he said in a low voice, his handsome face showing no signs of teasing.

“Don’t try to flirt your way out of this,” I retorted, pursing my lips even as something fluttered in my chest. There was a flash of heat in his gaze when his eyes dipped to my mouth, and I swallowed hard as part of me went a bit molten. “My dad taught me how to regulate my breathing. He was in the military, where they taught him.” My tone turned bitter. “Or at least that’s what he told me.”

“He could have been part of one of the fae armies like the Southern Rangers,” Bash said, his tone conciliatory yet understanding. “Perhaps we can find some records when we get to Morehaven.” He let out a long breath, our faces so close it brushed against my cheeks. “You must miss him,” he added, his voice bleak. His throat bobbed. “I know I miss my father. He died fighting the False King when the Imyrian Keep fell at the end of the war.”

My heart clenched at our shared pain. At the exact way I knew how excruciating his own loss must have been, thenandnow.

“I’m sorry,” I said, catching his eye. “To be so close to the end and then lose him. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Me too.”

We stayed like that, in companionable silence, breathing in the night air while we took each other in. I should have known he knew death from the carefully casual way he had responded to my own loss, like it wasn’t a topic to shy away from. And from the lost look in his eyes when he didn’t think anyone was watching—one I recognized from my own sorrow.

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