The mirror.
I’ve spent all this time believing that my sister is safe and happy in his care, but I’ve believed that because of what I’ve seen in the mirror. But once, for just a flash, I saw Jas in that dungeon. But then the image shifted to what I desperately wanted to believe. And then, when I wished so desperately to not be going through this alone, the mirror showed me my mother—not because she was there, but because I wanted her to be.
Didn’t Finn tell me not to trust the mirror? He said it was dangerous for someone who had so much hope in her heart, and I disregarded the warning. But hasn’t it shown me what I hoped to see more than anything else?
I believed it when it showed me that Jas was safe and happy—because I wanted to believe. But for a beat tonight, the image it showed of my sister was dire, not joyful.
I’d thought that Finn didn’t know me at all to think I had hope, but he was right. For my sister, even for my mother, I did have hope. But now it’s gone.
Before, I needed to see that my sister was safe, and the mirror gave me just that. With shaking hands, I lift the mirror, stare at my reflection, clear my mind of expectations, and focus on my desire for the truth. “Show me Jasalyn.”
There’s no lavish room with lush bedding. No laughing handmaidens. There are no trays of food and picture windows that overlook beautiful vistas. All I see now is Jas, chained in a dungeon, a pallet of hay on the ground and a bucket in the corner. She’s thin, pale, and sipping at a cup of water with chapped lips.
I clamp my hand over my mouth before my gasp escapes. Sinking to the floor, I stroke my fingers across the image until it floats away. I’ve been eating like a queen and making friends. I’ve been dancing and laughing and falling in love. And all the while my sister . . .
Mordeus knew I’d want to believe she was in better conditions. He knew the mirror would show me what I hoped to see.
Another sob rips from my chest.
“I’m so sorry, Jasalyn. I’m so, so sorry.”
The mirror helped me find Sebastian once when it was inconsequential. It showed me Sebastian at his desk and later showed me the book. But I didn’t know enough about the book or even about Sebastian’s life to have any hope for those things—unlike my hopes for my family. Even my mother, who I believed abandoned me, I hoped even for her.
“Show me my mother,” I whisper. When I’m shown the tomb with a corpse inside, I’m not sure what I feel crumbling in my chest, but I fear . . . I fear it’s what little hope I have left.
I take slow, measured breaths and wait for the elixir to set in, but my mind won’t stop spinning. I wear the crown.
I pull myself off the floor and square my shoulders. I didn’t need the Banshee to visit me last night. I didn’t need Lark visiting my dream and telling me her call was inescapable. I knew how this would end when I entered the portal. Part of me . . . part of me knew I wouldn’t be going home.
The woman who escorted me to the restroom sags in relief when I return to the hall. I want to ask her why she works for the king. I want to ask her if she counts the days until she becomes his next tribute and if whatever she sold herself for was worth it.
How ridiculous that I once believed I’d live long enough to save women like her. How ridiculous that when Lark talked about me being a queen, I thought it might mean I’d have a chance to make a difference.
I’m numb as I follow the girl back to the throne room, but it’s not from his poisoned wine. No. I must have taken the elixir in time because I no longer feel the effects of the drug. This numbness is something else.
Resignation.
Disappointment.
A hopeless heart.
The king’s eyes are cautious as he watches me approach his throne. Does he see the sobriety in my movements? In my face?
I sway a little on my feet, unwilling to let him know he doesn’t have the advantage. “If I do what I must to fulfill my part of our bargain, you will be true to yours?” I ask.
His eyes glow so brightly the silver looks almost white. Greedy. “Yes.”
My eyes flick to the throne he never sits in. The throne that denies him its power as long as he doesn’t wear the crown.
“This can all be over by sunrise,” he promises me. “The ceremony is simple. We choose a rune, we say a few words, and I have the Potion of Life waiting.”
In my dream, Lark told me to remember our bargain. She said that Mordeus would be true to it. What were the words of our bargain, precisely? Return the artifacts to him and . . . no. Not to him. I’d specifically twisted his original offer on some hunch that his court was more worthy than he was.