Page 211 of Mountain of Mirrors and Starlight
Venus looked down at her feet, tears sponging from her eyes. She let out a long, guttural sob, and charged.
Tiberius launched himself out of nowhere, taking her blade to his shoulder. He groaned, knees hitting the floor.
“Tibe!” Minerva was at his side in a second. “What were you thinking—”
“I’m all right.”
Venus pulled back her sword, staring at the tip. The look of horror was akin to the one she’d given Clay’s remains.
There was once upon a time when Minerva knew her better than anyone, when they didn’t need words to talk, where they seemed like the only two people in the world, their thoughts existing inside one another.
It had been decades since Minerva had heard her sister’s unspoken thoughts, but she thought she heard them now.
What have I done, what have I done, what have I done?
She turned on her heels, staggering into the corridor.
“Ven!”
She turned back to Tiberius, her hand against his wound. “I’m fine,” he said. “Go after her.”
Minerva raced after her. Venus was in no state to fight. Her mind wasn’t her own—it hadn’t been for a long time, even before Aeron sunk his claws into it. Grief was the monster that had poisoned her, and Minerva kicked herself for not having seen it, for not having fought harder, for leaving her, leaving Avalinth.
If she’d stayed, if she’d been the queen she’d always promised to be, none of this would have happened.
No what ifs.
Minerva stumbled after Venus as she staggered down the corridors, half laughing, half sobbing, cutting down anyone who stopped her—friend or foe.
She stalled only when the familiar red cape appeared, and Clay’s haggard face turned towards her.
She didn’t move when he approached. She dropped her sword, and opened her arms.
Clay’s body slammed against her, and tore into her shoulder.
“Ven!”
Minerva launched forward, but Venus wasn’t even screaming. She stared up at Clay and smiled, even as he clawed at her flesh and chomped at her neck.
“I just… wanted... to see you… again.”
Minerva swung her axe across the thing-that-was-Clay’s throat, and sent his head spiralling down the corridor.
She sunk to Venus’ side.
Blood pulsed from her shoulder, from her throat, from her head. Her eyes circled upwards, her mouth still smiling.
Minerva took her sister’s hand. It was smooth and scarless, softer than she could ever remember hers being, but once—a long, long time ago—they could have beenherhands.
She squeezed it tightly, and Venus’ eyes met hers, just once more, just for a moment.
“It’s all right, Ven,” Minerva said, “you’ll see him again soon.”
The Mirror pulsed with darkness, tendrils of smoke crawling through the air. Aislinn spied Caer battling towards it, Owen at his side, but her gaze caught on Beau, flinging out fireballs, his back entirely undefended.
She raced towards him, wishing she had a bow, something to throw—
A spear rose in the arm of an undead warrior.
