Page 38 of Mountain of Mirrors and Starlight
Aislinn was quite sure she’d never loved her father more than in that moment.
“Um, the former. Sorry.”
He shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. Your mother might be, that she married me.”
Juliana charged by, screaming as she decapitated a limping troll. “Ma’s in her element, and she loves you.”
“I know, and it still shocks me to this day, but her affections may wane if she’s forced to spend much longer with King Owen. No matter. What do you need me to do?”
“Create a distraction so I can get him to safety?”
“I can do that.” He moved his hand away from the shield, as if to dismiss it, but paused mid-motion. He lifted his hands to the back of his neck and removed this thorn pendant from around it, looping it over Aislinn’s head instead. The wooden thorn hummed against her chest, like another, separate heartbeat.
Aislinn could never remember her father being without it.
“So that we won’t lose you again,” he explained. “Your mother has the matching one. Take care, daughter mine.”
He dropped away his shield, and a blaze ofsomethingglittered around him. He was conjuring another glamour—something to confuse the mortals. Aislinn could see through it, whatever it was, but suddenly a bunch of soldiers were screaming.
Caerwyn hit the ground, wrapping his arms over his head. Aislinn launched forward, pulling him to his feet. He tried to fight her off. “What are you doing?” he screamed, knocking her back to the ground, “There’s a dragon!”
A dragon? Really, Father?
“No, there isn’t,” she assured him. “It’s a glamour. It’s not really there—”
“I can feel the flames—”
Aislinn seized his face. The panic in his eyes narrowed, almost worse than before. “It’s not there,” she repeated. “Trust me.”
“Caer!” Minerva hollered from the back of a wargi. “We need to move!”
Caerwyn nodded numbly, climbing to his feet.
“Stop!”
A soldier appeared, grabbing his middle and tackling him towards the ground.
“No—” Caerwyn rushed, half whimpering, “stop—”
“You’re all right, Your Highness, you’re safe now—”
“No—”
Aislinn barrelled into the soldier, knocking him backwards. The soldier rolled over her, his weight crushing. Aislinn fumbled for her weapons. She wouldn’t let him get the better of her.Couldn’t.
“Faerie witch!” the soldier hissed, pressing against her windpipe. “This is your doing. You put him under a spell—”
Aislinn choked, trying to claw at him, her feet grinding uselessly against the dirt. Darkness spotted in the corner of her eyes.
“Let go of her!”
Caerwyn grabbed his face, his hands gliding around his neck. The soldier’s eyes glazed over, his gaze going numb and smoky. A grey, unhealthy hue bloomed across his skin, corrupting every patch of skin, like a fire ravaging a meadow. His hold on her slackened, his jaw going loose. He gaped at her with open eyes, listless, lifeless.
He looked… dead. Dead like the stag, like a body that had lain exposed on the ground for days, weeks even, swollen and bloated.
But he was still moving. Still moving and staring with ghostly, ice-white eyes.
Aislinn scrambled away, half a scream in her throat.
