Page 2 of Wicked Prince of Mirrors
Rhea scowled. “No, stop worrying aboutyour father. He’s a warrior king. Besides, plenty of magicians guard the Boundary. Monsters won’t come here. While your father’s gone, we should go have fun.”
I lowered my gaze back to the book of beasts. Three weeks ago, my father had left with a group of soldiers for the Boundary. The tour was routine, yet I couldn’t help the gloom that settled around me. In his absence, a strangeness had come over the palace, shadows danced, reflections rippled, and sometimes voices whispered to me. I needed a distraction.
“What do you suggest?” I asked.
Rhea’s fingers danced over the patterns of the quilted blanket. Rolling onto her stomach, she grinned at me, eyes dancing with mischief. “The Night Market is coming tonight.”
My eyes widened. Closing the book, I dashed to the window which overlooked the flower gardens and the pine forests to the north. There was nothing out there but lavender sky and a gloomy mist, hovering with indecisiveness as though it couldn’t choose whether to encase the forest or melt away. Nothing new. “How do you know? Can you see it from here?”
“This morning, tents appeared in the open field outside the city. My maid, Hyria, says it will be open tonight. Word travels fast, the city will empty, everyone will go.”
I sank into the chair again. “Everyone will go. I wish we could.”
“Why wish? Let’s go!”
“What? No. It’s forbidden. My father would never give his permission.”
“But he’s not here, is he?” Rhea challenged, a wicked glint in her eye.
My face warmed, considering her words.
The Night Market appeared and disappeared at will, for a frivolous night of revelry. There would be bonfires and dancing, sweet drinks and spicy foods. Vendors with treasures for purchase and inside each tent would be a unique performance, a feat accomplished by artistry or acrobatics. Stories were spoken in soft whispers of the Night Markets that appeared before the war, about the men who breathed fire, the women who could fly, tamed beasts who could dance and sweets that melted on one’s tongue.
“Say yes,” Rhea commanded. “I know you’re thinking it.”
My gaze dropped to my hands and that caged feeling came again. I needed to escape the walls of the palace; I needed to walk free and enjoy myself. I was a princess, not a prisoner.
“We’ll have to sneak out—” I began.
“No one will know.” Rhea grinned. “I promise.”
We left after dinner while the sun set, a deep mauve spreading across the sky with hints of peach-colored streaks near its edges. The palace sat at the height of the city with a river curled around one side like a snake sunbathing, while the other side was openmeadow leading into the pine trees. The wood stretched south as far as the coast, but the darkness of the trees always made me shudder, imagining what horrors lay hidden within. So far, nothing nefarious had come out of the woods.
The Night Market sat on the open meadow, a smear of tents that blended into the night. It was full of life and crowds of people, as though the entire city had emptied. I’d never seen anything like it, the scent of baked sweets, the shouts and laughter of the crowd, the whoosh of fire. Giant tents pulled my attention, and I turned in slow circles, staring at the sights and sounds in awe. It was only when I stopped, I realized I’d lost Rhea.
I let my gaze dart around the nearby booths, searching for the familiar shape of my cousin. Instead, a booth full of reflections caught my attention. Curious, I strode toward it, taking in the glittering glass, shards of crystal and mirrors. Round hand mirrors with ornament handles, square mirrors, large enough to hang on a wall. A strange sensation came over me as I stepped into the tent. The sounds of the crowd muted and my breath caught, every inch of skin tingling.
I lingered in front of a silver mirror, and something moved behind it. A shadow stepped toward me, its vague shape sharpening as it neared. I glimpsed pale skin, pointed ears, and dark eyes. Its mouth moved.
Princess.
I whirled around, heart racing.
But there was no one in the tent aside from myselfand the woman who worked it.
She rearranged a set of crystal bracelets, dark hair falling to her shoulders and hiding her face. A warning flitted across my soul, a reminder that true mirrors were illegal, and this booth should not be here. If the Venators—Magic Hunters—came, either the woman would be captured or she’d produce a license to sell mirror lookalikes.
When I peered into the mirror again, there were no signs of a shadow, only my reflection, a young woman with a heart-shaped face, dark brown skin, overlarge brown eyes, and a hood covering waves of thick, curly hair. I looked lost, frightened in a way that almost made me pity myself. Why wasn’t I bolder, stronger?
My silhouette warped in front of my eyes, moving like a trick.
This was the Night Market, a place of tricks and illusions. Was I peering into water instead of a mirror? I reached out my hand to touch my reflection.
My fingers burned and the glass shattered.
The scream that followed made my ears hurt until I realized the cry came from my own throat. My hands shook, blood stained my fingertips and shards of glass lay around my feet—so the mirror was real, not a fake.
The woman was at my side in a moment, a finger to her lips, wary eyes regarding me. “You’ll summon the Venators with that screaming. Come, let me bind your hand.”
