Page 32 of The Eternal Mirror
“This is a safe house,” I tell Killian. Well, that's not really its function, though I suppose it keeps the mirrors safe. “This is how we travel to my home world of Astrali.”
“Through a mirror?”
I nod and almost smile at the disbelief lacing his voice.
“Really, we're going through a fucking mirror. To another world. You're kidding me.”
“No, I'm not kiddingyou,” I say.
At that moment, the door opens, and Brown appears. I turn to face Killian. “There's still time for you to back out. You can drop me off here and go back. Find a new life. Away from your portal. There must be something you want to do now you’re free.”
“Are you shitting me? I wouldn’t back out for anything. You had me at ‘other worlds.’
So I think I'll stay and go through this mirror of yours, see what's on the other side. I always wanted to travel.”
“Me too,” Laura says from the back.
It occurs to me that maybe I haven’t emphasized the danger sufficiently. But they will find out soon enough. “Good. Let's go then.”
I get out of the truck and lower Grimlet to the ground. He looks around for a moment and then scrambles up the stone steps, flaps his wings and flies onto the balustrade, where he perches—very gargoyle-like. Killian and the others also get out, and they stand around looking a little lost, as though they don't know what they’re doing here.
I head up the steps and come to a halt in front of Brown. This is a job many of the guardians do when they retire—and they all take the name Brown, at least all of those who manage the safe houses.
A wave of something washes through me. At first I don’t recognize it. Guilt, I suppose. I've always known, deep down, that the way the guardians are treated is wrong, but my father insists it’s the only way. It’s tradition. I've come to hate tradition. Maybe it had a place once, but not anymore.
My father treats the guardians like second class citizens, which I suppose they are, in his mind. But my brother Khendril was a guardian, and he was the best man I’ve ever known. I wish he were alive.
Brown’s expression is blank, just like any good servant’s. But I catch a glimpse in his eyes of something else. Something I don’t recognize but gives me hope. Maybe Brown doesn’t hate me, after all. Maybe he just hates all I stand for.
I take a deep breath. “I have an apology to make before we go any further.”
He blinks, his eyes wide. “Prince? What do you have to apologize for?”
“Everything,” I mutter. “Absolutely fucking everything. And my only excuse is ignorance. I didn’t know.”
“And do you know now, sire?” I detect slight amusement in his voice. And fear. Is he wondering if this is a trap? That my father has sent me to root out any dissident behavior?
“Don’t call me sire,” I snap, and I shake my head. “I know some. Probably not everything. But enough to know that things need to change.”
“And do you plan to change them?”
“I plan to rip them down. Every last one of my father’s traditions.”
He nods. “Then we have no problems. How can I help you?”
I’m not sure if he means now or if he means with ripping down all my father’s traditions. Maybe they are one in the same. And in that moment, I have an inkling that perhaps Brown is more thanhe seems. Maybe the benevolent servant is just a mere guise. To cover up what?
“Come inside,” he says.
I look back at the others and nod, and we all troop in after Brown. He leads us through the big oak and iron door, down the corridor and into the library, then turns to face us.
“Let me introduce you,” I say. “This is Killian, Laura, and Jack. They’re here to help me. They knew Khendril—my brother.” Something occurs to me. “Did you know Khendril?”
He nods. “He was a good friend of mine. He gave me the chance when he left to go with him. But I was too old to be of help. He was a good man.”
That’s what everyone says about my brother, Khendril. I always tell myself that I would have turned out differently if Khendril had stayed, if I’d had his guidance growing up.
But that's just a cop-out. We are all in charge of our own destinies. We get to choose. I chose my path. Though maybe I was pushed along it a little—six months in a dungeon when you’re eleven years old can have a powerful effect on you.
