Page 92 of Mountains of Mist and Magic

Sion. Sion. Her mate. Her fated love. She thought of the vision that included him and their beautiful daughter. There were children in her future with Sion.

But Jurel's face flashed before her eyes, and she was brought back to the argument they'd had before his death, and the way she yelled at him and dismissed him. The guilt pooled in her stomach, and she felt herself moving towards the mirror that held his reflection. She could right a wrong. And if she chose to bring back Jurel, she would never seek out the Murcurial...and she would never be fated to Sion. She could erase the pain she caused, and free Sion from the half-bond they shared, one that he didn't fully understand.

She reached out to stroke Jurel's reflection, but she stopped just shy of touching the mirror.

No. This wasn't the right choice. While her conscience was begging her to save Jurel, to free herself from memories of her own wrongdoing, she thought back to the reflection with Sion.

She had a daughter.

She had magic.

The revelation forced her to pull her hand back instantly, as if the mirror was a roaring fireplace that might burn her.

This choice wasn't hers to make. She wasn't in charge of choosing a man. This wasn't some love triangle she was trying to resolve. Not a knot to untangle.

She was choosing something for all fae.

She was choosing a future with magic. While it was easy to get caught up in the visions of her future, she needed to look beyond it.

Needed to finally let the memory of Jurel go.

And with it, bring back magic.

Pulse hammering, she moved slowly towards the other mirror, the vision that included magic. Trembling, she reached out her hand, touching the surface of the mirror. The coldness of the glass felt jarring against her palm, and everything around her went dark.

She squinted, eyes adjusting to the dim light.

She was back in the thicket, back where she had started.

“What in the world...” she mumbled aloud, trying to make sense of what happened.

“Congratulations, Selenia Snowden,” a voice echoed. It was the same voice she had heard earlier before. “You have passed the test of wisdom.”

An opening out of the thicket appeared, and Selenia quickly crawled through it, heading towards the sunny tunnel before her.

Chapter Forty-Five

Phillippe pushed himself off the rocky floor, his head pounding as if he'd overindulged in fire ale. His stomach felt a bit queasy, and his body was sore like he'd been working and riding hard for days on end. Even his fingers felt stiff. He flexed them as he stood, and out of nowhere, the tips of his fingers turned ice cold and a blast of small snowflakes hung in the air.

“What the hell?” he exclaimed, rubbing the back of his head. Perhaps he had hit it when he had fallen. But other than the headache, his head felt fine, no lumps or bumps.

Cautiously he held up his fingers, trying to recreate the oddity.

Nothing happened. He shrugged, telling himself that it must be some trick of the temple. Some part of the test. Maybe they would have him questioning his own sanity by the end of it.

He grabbed his pack, which had fallen to the floor, looking around the room. How did he get into this chamber? He searched his memory, trying to remember what happened before he woke up on the cold, hard ground. He had heard a voice, he was sure of it. He couldn't recall what they had said, however.

Phillippe brushed it off, continuing forward, farther into the temple. He found a small opening off of the current room and tried to push himself through the sliver of space. After a few attempts, he managed to get his large frame through the small opening and into another room. He stepped into the dimly lit chamber, his breath forming frosty clouds in the cold air. The air itself was odd, thick with an energy that felt cold to him.

The chamber was large, its ceiling high and lost in darkness. As he walked, his footsteps echoed, reverberating through the stillness. He paused in the center of the room, noticing another altar ahead. On it lay a stone tablet inscribed with ancient runes, surrounded by a ring of small, glowing crystals. Phillippe approached the altar, curiosity piqued, but as he reached out to touch the tablet, a sharp, icy pain shot through his hand.

He recoiled, staring at his fingers. A thin layer of frost covered them, glinting in the blue light. He rubbed his hands together, trying to dispel the chill, but the frost remained. Then he put everything together.

Magic.

He had magic. Whatever had happened prior to him waking up had led to this. He held out his hands, and he felt a surge deep inside of him. He focused all his energy, and then ice, thin and slick, came forth.

Phillippe grinned, feeling the adrenaline move throughout his body. He was now the match of his brother.Better, actually, he thought. He raised his other hand and let another burst of ice out. It hit the wall of the temple and shot back at him, but he quickly ducked. He didn't quite have control of his powers, but he was sure he would get better with time. But this feeling, this tingling feeling inside of him...was intoxicating.

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