Page 75 of The Iron Dagger
Blessedly, Gideon was saved from having to answer by an interruption at his elbow. Then he fought to suppress a groan when he saw who it was.
“She’s not bad looking for one of them,”said Farrington in that weedy voice that Gideon couldn’t stand. His cousin was weaselly and conniving without the Falk charm. He was the sort to talk loudly about his incoming inheritance at the deathbed of a family member. Or eavesdrop at parties.
His droopy eyes flicked between Robert and Gideon, and his thin lips curled in a smile. “Have you bedded her yet, Gideon?”
“I dearly do not wish to be sick and waste the expensive vintage I’ve been enjoying, so would you please step back a few paces, Farrington?” said Gideon, flicking his hand dismissively.
“That is no way to speak about a lady, Farrington,” said Robert sternly. “Would you tolerate someone speaking of bedding Lady Josephine in such a crude manner?”
Lady Josephine was Farrington’s mother and Gideon’s great aunt. Gideon felt as though he were about to retch.
“You’re both making me ill. Now please, I must find the man I came here to meet so I can escape this accursed party.”
“Who are you looking for?” said Robert.
“Lady Cecilia’s father.”
“He’s over there,” said Robert, raising his glass towards the fireplace.
“Thank you. And Farrington—stay away from Lady Hara. She’s likely to turn you into a newt in her shock. She’s not accustomed to seeing such a sallow complexion among the living.”
Ignoring Farrington’s grumbled swearing, Gideon spotted an elderly man with the burgundy velvet cap of a scholar sitting before the fireplace. Gideon made his way through the crowd and stood before him.
“May I join you?” he asked.
“By all means,” said the man, grasping his drink with both hands as it rested on his ample stomach. “You are the only young person who seems to value an old codger’s company.”
Gideon took the upholstered seat beside him.
“I am Lord Gideon Falk. You are Professor Lascort, are you not?”
“I am. Are you looking to brush up on your studies in the midst of a party?” The professor chortled. “My, the youth of today have changed.”
“It’s more of an intellectual curiosity,” said Gideon. “Tell me, what do you know of a substance called sorbite?”
“Sorbite . . . ah, witch’s mirror. I’ve come across it once or twice, and there is said to be a large deposit of it somewhere inthe mountains where the fae folk live. But no one has mined for sorbite in years. Why do you ask?”
“A friend of mine is researching it,” he said. “And I told her I knew just the person to ask.”
The old man chuckled, flattered.
“Well, let me see. Sorbite is a scrying material. All witches can see visions of the past, present, and sometimes even the future with the aid of a scrying stone, depending on their level of skill. Moving images of people and things. But sorbite is different from other scrying stones. It allows witches to physically access the realm where these images live.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” said Gideon.
“It allows them to access the dimension where the past, present, and future are kept. A witch would see what their mind interprets that space to be. For some, it is a formless space, for others an empty room, a hall of mirrors, or a pool of water to swim through.”
“When you say it is a physical space, what do you mean? How can a solid mineral turn into a space?”
“Think of it this way. If there was a piece of sorbite as large as a door, a witch could walk through it into the realm-between-realms. For you and I, it would be a solid rock like any other.”
“You said it was called the witch’s mirror . . . why is that?”
“It reflects a witch’s power, rather like a mirror reflects light. Not very useful, unfortunately, since a witch must be touching it at all times for the power to be transferred to the stone.”
“Would it be possible to capture the reflected power somehow?” asked Gideon.
Lascort bridged his fingers in thought. “It is an intriguing notion. Perhaps sorbite could act as a conduit, imparting power from one source to another.”
