Page 12 of Mountain of Mirrors and Starlight
Aislinn cried out, but the pain didn’t reach her—not fully. All that reached her was this hot, explosive feeling, the desperate need to survive.
She sunk her dagger into its neck and wrenched through its muscle, until there was little more than spine connecting it to its body.
Still, it jerked forwards, its antlers burrowing deeper into her flesh.
She cried out then.
The young man rushed forward, sword in hand, and sliced the head away. It clung to Aislinn’s middle as the body slumped against the ground, finally still.
Aislinn stared at it for two seconds, vision spotting, crisping away at the edges like paper in fire. A voice called to her—but she was already gone.
Aislinn’seyesopenedbeneatha wooden ceiling, her head groggy, eyes sticky with sleep. She tried to move, to sit up—
Pain lanced through her, forcing her back down.
She was accustomed to pain. A seasoned warrior. She’d broken half the bones in her body at one point or another.
But help was never far away. Someone was always there to patch her up afterwards. Her father, Beau, the court healer.
Well, aside from once.
That memory trembled inside her, worsening the pain. She rolled onto her side, trying to breathe through both—
“Steady, steady!” said a sharp, deep voice.
Aislinn looked up. At her side was a bronze-skinned dwarf, her silver-hair cut in a practical bob. She reached out to steady Aislinn with warm, calloused hands.
“What… what happened?” Aislinn asked, her mouth gummy.
“You got gored by a stag,” the dwarf replied. “You’ve been out of it all night and most of the day. Drink this.”
She handed her a tankard of rich, foul-smelling liquid. Aislinn wrinkled her nose. “What is this?”
“Medicine. It’ll help rebuild your strength. You lost a lot of blood, girly.”
Aislinn stared at the potion.
“If it were poison, I’d have dressed it up prettier.”
It was solid logic, and Aislinn was in too much pain to argue. She gulped it, choking on the stink, placing the tankard down when it was empty and waiting for it to work.
Nothing happened.
“I don’t… I’m not healing.”
“What, expecting instant results?” The dwarf laughed. “You fae! We’redwarves,lass. Couldn’t do magic if we wanted to, and there’s no fancy fae plants around these parts, I tell you.”
Another dwarf appeared in the doorway, taller than the other one, not as old. She had charcoal hair, deep brown skin, and eyes as dark as pitch. Her throat bore three white scars across it.
“Ah, Flora,” she said, in a voice like honey and whiskey. “How’s the patient?”
“Alive and kicking, as you see.”
Aislinn stared at her, thoughts growing sharper. “Wait, where am I? There was a boy—and the stag, the stag was dead but then it was—”
“Steady, steady!” Flora said. “The boy’s fine, lass. He brought you here. And as for whereyouare, well… you’re in our home. A cottage in the mountains. You’re safe enough here. Do no harm to us, and we’ll do none to you. Dwarven code.”
“And… the stag?”
