Page 73 of The Eternal Mirror
Without Khaos, I would have probably banged my brains out on the wall. I’m dirty and smelly. Though not hungry, thanks to Khaos, who has kept me well-fed. Which was just as well since no one else fed me, part of Khronus’s punishment period, I presume. Though they did bring me water—just handed it through the bars without a word spoken. So at least Khronus doesn’t want me dead.
I think I have become closer to Khaos than I ever thought possible. I know his favorite color: red. His favorite food: meat, the bloodier the better. His favorite place: mountains. On the face of it, we are so incompatible. I wonder what criteria the goddessused to decide we were fated mates? Though I suppose they do say opposites attract.
He’s stayed outside the cell, so we haven’t touched in this time. We talked a lot, but not all the time, and it was amazing the comfort his closeness brought me. I’ve slept more than I have in as long as I can remember.
It’s like being in the eye of the storm. Time out. If a somewhat smelly time out. If Khaosti can just keep his head and not reveal himself, I might almost admit that I’m glad he came.
Finally, on the morning of the fourth day, they come for me. I hear the stomp of boots on the stone floor. Khaosti doesn’t say a word, but I can sense him moving away along the corridor, so no one trips over him.
This time, things are different. I hear the key in the lock, and the door swings open. The same two guards stand there. The one on the right holds out a pair of cuffs, and I hold out my hands. They cuff them in front of me this time. Much better, and I follow them down the corridor. I presume we’re heading for the throne room again.
Instead, we head downwards, into the dungeons. And as we turn at the sign of the dark flame, everything in me goes still.
A shiver races down my spine, the kind that doesn’t fade, just lodges behind your ribs and starts to rot. The walls around me pulse with power—stronger than before. Wrong power. Old. Hungry. It vibrates in my bones like a scream just beyond hearing.
My steps slow.
I don’t want to go in there.
I don’t want the mirror to suck me dry.
For a second, I seriously consider turning invisible and grabbing Khaos and just vanishing. Running.Hiding.
Has Khronus decided my magic is more useful without the rest of me attached? That I’m too annoying? Too unpredictable? Too...me?
Maybe I’ve miscalculated.
Badly.
But the door is forming and I know I’m out of time.
So, I walk forward, slow and careful, as if the floor might collapse beneath me.
And then I see him.
Khronus. Ugh. He’s naked from the waist up and he’s hooked into the cracked mirror like he’s part of its machinery. Lines of silver snake from the glass into his back, his neck, his wrists—embedded deep, pulsing like veins. His skin is too pale, too smooth. Almost inhuman. His chest rises and falls in a slow, unnatural rhythm. His eyes are closed, his expression ecstatic.
More ugh.
Magic pours into him in threads of light so thin, they shimmer like spider silk. He reminds me of some parasitic creature feeding off the life force of others.
The mirror behind him is still cracked—light bleeding through the fractures like a wound that refuses to close. I feel it tug on me the moment I enter, as though it recognizes me.Wantsme.
Or wantswhat’s inside me. But again, I get no feeling of evil from the mirror—just from the man behind it. Where did it come from? Did the mirror mages create it. But it feels old. Or rather ageless.
I force my gaze away from the glass, and that’s when Khronus opens his eyes.
He’s smiling. Gods, I hate it when he smiles. It makes my stomach twist. He unhooks silver lines from his body with a casual snap.
A shudder runs through me, but I force myself to step closer. Reaching out with my magic, I test the wards around him, probing, pushing, trying to sneak around them, but they’re solid. Damn.
His gaze drops down my body, and his smile deepens. “You look a little worse for wear,” he murmurs. “Were your accommodations not...comfortable?”
“It was a stinking pile of shit,” I answer with a smile of my own. Yeah, I know I could be a little more conciliatory, but I suspect this guy already has enough people kissing his ass. He doesn’t need me to do it as well. I’m not kissing anything of his. That’s a hard pass.
“Well, maybe we can arrange something a little more pleasant,” he says.
My eyes flicker to the locked cell doors all around the outside of the room, lingering on the one that holds Yasmin. Is she still here? Is there an empty cell waiting for me? A shudder runs through me.
