Page 27 of The Sundered Blade

Senaya shook her head. “That I fear I cannot do. The sort of training you ask for would be of little use to you now. For good or ill, there is much you have learned that you will not be able to unlearn. You have found your own way, and your methods have set their own pathways, like riverbeds carved in rock. I can teach you new things, and possibly explain why some of your efforts may succeed or fail, but you cannot unlearn your magic.”

Leisa’s chin fell. “Then at least answer me this. What is so terrifying about our power? Why does… Why does your brother fear other mirror mages most of all? I know a little, but there has to be more. On my own, I am simply not that powerful.”

“It is true that you cannot bring down an entire fortress or defeat an army with a wave of your hand,” Senaya agreed. “At least, not all at once, and not in the usual way. But given time and secrecy, a mirror mage can do both of those things with terrifying ease, as you should know from seeing what my brother has done. We are also unique in that we have access to a much greater well of power than other types of mages.”

A thoughtful expression crossed Leisa’s face. “I have heard speculation that we can draw power from multiple sources.”

“Yes,” Senaya confirmed. “Like life force mages, we draw a part of our power from ourselves. If we never learn to tap other sources, we mirror mages can burn ourselves out very quickly, and our abilities are quite limited. But when we tap into our full strength, we also function as boundary mages, in a way that no scholars are yet able to fully understand. As best we can tell, our mirrors act as a boundary between our own world and the reflected world within the glass. We are able to reach across that boundary and use the power in what we see—both that of our reflected self and the world around our reflection. We draw it across the boundary and it is amplified by the transition, which grants us vast amounts of energy with which to work our will.”

Leisa had grown rather pale. “That is terrifying,” she allowed.

“But there are limitations,” Senaya continued. “We can only act upon reflections. Those actions are mirrored in the physical world, but we can never act on the physical world without the mediation of the mirror boundary.”

After staring thoughtfully into the fire for a few moments, Leisa spoke again. “I believe perhaps I have been limiting myself to the use of my own life force. It has grown easier since I began to practice with the mirror you gifted me, but I am still tired after any significant effort. And there have been times I have tried to act on a thing I can see in my mirror and felt as if there is some barrier I cannot reach past.”

“I do not know if I can train you to use the mirror as I do,” Senaya warned. “I am willing to make the attempt, but you must accept that you may be limited to the methods you have already learned. Your mind may not be able to adapt to new sources of power. Also…” She paused, and her hands folded tightly together before she spoke again. “I must ask whether you have ever tried to change something living.”

“I have.” The corners of Leisa’s mouth twisted. “A strange, wraith-like creature. I encountered that barrier I spoke of and ended up only exhausting myself for my efforts.”

Senaya’s shoulders suddenly slumped as if in relief. “That is good. You should not be able to do such a thing. I may have threatened those men with turning their daggers into snakes, but it was an empty threat.”

Aha. So that had been the lie Karreya sensed.

“We cannot change other living beings. Not without losing our humanity.” Senaya’s expression held echoes of some painful memory. “A mirror mage entirely devoid of love and compassion can do this, at great cost, but it is a dark magic that will leave scars on your very soul.”

“How do you know?” Leisa asked bluntly.

Senaya looked up and met her daughter’s eyes. Her face was drawn and haggard, but she did not flinch. “You are asking whether I have done this thing.”

Leisa nodded silently.

“I have not,” she said softly. “But my mother has used that power many times. Had I stayed—had I not run from my future and abandoned her plans for me—I would have done so long before now.”

Her daughter regarded her—doubt written clearly across her features—and at length Karreya could remain silent no longer.

“She speaks truth.”

Leisa turned to look at her skeptically. “You cannot know that.”

“And you do not know my grandmother,” Karreya said flatly. “Much like you, when I came to this land, I trusted in my training and my instincts. I thought I knew how to make my way among you. But I was wrong.”

Niell’s face appeared suddenly in her memory, as he’d looked that day at the market. His finger on her lips, begging for silence. His hair in artful disarray. His eyes, bright and thoughtful as they’d stared at one another.

She did not like that he was so far away. She’d grown used to having him close, and it felt almost as if one of her daggers or her limbs was suddenly missing.

“It was your Prince Vaniell who showed me how much I had yet to learn. How I could make costly mistakes out of ignorance. And you, too, risk deadly error if you do not understand what you face, and cannot accept that our knowledge of some things is greater than yours.”

Leisa hesitated for a moment before nodding hesitantly. “Point taken, I think.”

Perhaps Leisa did not quite understand, but Karreya did. She suspected that what her cousin truly needed was a glimpse, not of what she’d lost, but of what her mother had saved her from.

“Then I hope you will also consider taking a different view of what occurred when you were a child. Attempt to see your own life through another’s eyes,” Karreya suggested. “It will not be without pain, but some pain is necessary.”

“More pain than I have already felt?” Leisa retorted harshly. “More pain than wondering for most of my life whether my parents left me because they hated and feared my power? Whether they walked away when they could not bear to look any longer on this face that I stole?”

“A different pain,” Karreya replied patiently. “Not better, not worse. And what do you mean you have stolen a face?”

Her cousin could no longer hold her gaze. “When I was five, my sister died of a fever. I wanted to see her again, so I changed my reflection to look like her. It was the first time I’d used my magic, and I did not know how to change back. By the time I learned…” Her lips trembled, as if she were fighting tears. “I was alone, and I did not remember the shape of my own face.”

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