Page 186 of Mountain of Mirrors and Starlight
Beau watched his grandmother with intense fascination as she described her tale. Her death, she explained, was still hazy to her—but she remembered fighting with her husband, and falling. The next thing she knew, she was waking up in a glass coffin in the dwarven vault, being spoon-fed lies by Aeron.
Their mother had told them about their grandmother’s death, but Beau wondered if that was really true. If Cerridwen had even the slightest bit of life in her when stored in the coffin, then resurrecting her would always have been a possibility. With the help of the Mirror…
Like Dillon, he suspected she was an exception.
So whatever Aeron was planning to do with the Mirror, he strongly suspected it didn’t involve Clay or Gwyn—or Venus and Owen.
Aislinn and Luna recounted their side of the story, and finally told him about Aeron’s warning—that Caerwyn didn’t have long to live.
She glanced over at his sleeping form. He had not woken at all whilst Beau had been watching over him, and that was probably for the better. His face was horribly pale—almost grey.
“Do we believe him?” Minerva asked.
Aislinn shrugged. “Can we afford not to?”
“I don’t understand it. He was fine all the time we had the Mirror in our possession on the journey back.”
“It was wrapped in my cloak, though,” Aislinn continued. “I might have delayed the reaction, I don’t know. Or perhaps it only fully woke when Aeron used it in front of him… when he brought Owen through it.”
Cerridwen placed a hand on Aislinn’s shoulder. “We’ll figure something out, child. Have no fear. Go lie down with him now. You must be exhausted.”
Aislinn smiled weakly, and pulled out one of the makeshift beds, bringing it as closely as she dared to Caerwyn’s sleeping form. She stroked his hair back from his face, and Beau wondered once more how she could stand this, to be so close to him and not be able to touch.
He yawned. “If it’s the same to everyone else, I’d like to sleep too.”
“And me,” said Luna. “Just for a little bit.”
“Take as long as you need,” Minerva instructed. “Although don’t be surprised if we’ve all starved to death by the time you wake.”
“I can make some breakfast before—”
“Luna,” said Minerva softly, “sleep.”
They all lay down, too exhausted to care about moth-eaten blankets or empty bellies. Beau tossed for a little bit. Flora and Bell, the dwarves most likely to blend in, went out to search for food. Diana and Magna fortified the weapons with bits they’d found from upstairs. Minerva scribbled on paper, setting up broken furniture to resemble models. Dillon kept watch by the window.
Cerridwen sat on the floor not far from Beau, occasionally meeting his eyes whenever he opened them.
“Not tired?” he said eventually.
“It appears I have spent the last seventy years sleeping.”
“Fair point.”
Cerridwen paused. “Can I ask…” She shook her head. “Never mind. You’re trying to sleep.”
“Trying, and failing to. What’s on your mind, Grandma?”
Cerridwen prickled at the sound of the name, and he wondered if it was too soon. He had no idea what else he was supposed to call her.
“Juliana,” she whispered, “is she happy?”
Beau smiled into the stuffed sack he was using as a pillow. “I think I’d use the words ‘fierce, terrifying, and a force to be reckoned with’ before describing our mother as ‘happy’, but yes, she is. She’s a great queen, and a loving mother… and she and our father are still disgustingly in love with one another.”
Cerridwen shook her head. “Juliana and Hawthorn. What a thought. They must have quite the love story.”
Beau shuffled closer, arm still wrapped around his makeshift pillow. “I’m sure they’d be happy to tell it to you—once we get out of here.”
Cerridwen’s gaze turned towards the window, and he knew she was wondering if that was even possible. “And you?” she asked, even more quietly. “Are you happy?”
