Page 73 of A Reflection of Silver and Crimson

I remain mute, my lips pressed together.

“Why were you locked away?” he asks, his question chipping away at my truths.

Tears prick at the back of my eyes as Grandfather’s face burns my vision. I blink, willing it away, willing him away, willing his memory to not hurt so much.

I will strength too, the kind I have always expected Asha to give me. But she’s not here.

Imust do this alone.

“Is it because of your magic?” Jasce asks, jerking me back to him and all his questions.

The water ripples around me as I shake my head.

“Did your grandfather think you were insane? Possessed?”

“No,” I whisper.

“Then, tell me,Annora,” Jasce says, his voice laced with curiosity and a hint of something more, something that makes my pulse race a little harder.

“Grandfather locked me away because I have scars,” I say, my words raw, painful against my tongue.

“Why should scars matter? Everyone has them.”

“Not like mine.” The memory of that day overtakes me, blinding me with those horrifying events that had led me to the stove, where I tried to see the pot. I only wanted to help. Then, it teetered on the edge before pouring boiling liquid on me. I had turned away at the last second. That’s why it only hit the left side of my face—forever ruining me—forever making me an object of ridicule.

Mother had tried to heal me with her silver flames. If not for her care, the scars would have made me unrecognizable.

She had begged my grandfather to allow her to take me to the Kyanite tribe. Their more sophisticated healing abilities originate from their light magic. Grandfather refused, of course.

“I was burned.” The words choke out of me.

“Where?”

I bring my hand to the left side of my face, drawing a line from my forehead to my jaw. “Here.”

“And now you’re here,” he says plainly. “With me.”

“Yes, but I didn’t ask for it. I was content with my sisters.”

He grabs a bottle of oil and pours it onto a cloth and washes his chest and arms. “I have done a lot more research into the types of magic involved in something like this, and there’s only one type that could do this.”

Eagerness surges over me, compelling me to slide closer to him. “What type?”

“Soul linking.”

Soul linking? I have never heard of such a thing.

“It’s rare,” he says. “And mostly unheard of, and it requires silver magic.”

“Then,” I say, thinking out loud. “Someone from House of Silver did this to me?”

“Yes.” He sets the cloth down. “What do you remember?”

I run a finger across my forehead, needing to think, to remember everything. “I was ill, and Asha took me to a healer. The healer gave me a painting of Lyra.”

“What did the healer look like?”

“She had dark hair and eyes and a tattoo here.” I touch below my mouth. “It had odd symbols. I think they might be ancient Hematite words.”

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