Page 39 of A Taste of Silver
"State your full name for the record." Magister Drell's pen hovered over fresh parchment.
"Aurea Miren Solis."
"Daughter of?"
The question hung in the air. The answer was a brand on my soul, painted in the silver eyes and sharp cheekbones from the hall of mirrors. Admitting it here meant claiming the target on my back.
"Queen Lyralei Solis." The words were solid as iron in my mouth, but left a bitter, dusty aftertaste. "Last of the Mirror Queens."
Murmurs rippled through the council. Lady Meren leaned forward, her jewelry catching the light in deliberate, winkingflashes, not quite mirrors, but close enough to make my skin itch.
"Your Highness," Lord Vex said, his voice sharp enough to cut through the whispers, "this changes nothing. If anything, it confirms the threat. The Mirror Queen bloodline was severed for good reason?—"
"Was it?" Lady Meren asked, her voice smooth as silk. She adjusted a ring on her finger. "Or did we simply fear what we couldn't control?"
Prince Aldric raised a hand. The chamber fell silent.
"Magister Drell, present your findings."
The scholar stood, gathering his texts with ink-stained fingers. He approached me with the careful precision of someone handling a vial of poison.
"May I examine your marks?" he asked.
I hesitated. The gloves were a flimsy shield, but they were all I had. Refusing, however, was an admission of guilt. Slowly, I pulled off the left glove, finger by finger.
A collective gasp sucked the air from the room.
Silver vines wound from my fingertips to my elbow, pulsing with a soft, inner light. The patterns were not random; they were symbols, equations, entire languages written in light and metal. Magister Drell's monocles gleamed as he leaned closer, his breath a ghost across my skin.
"Extraordinary," he whispered. "These aren't just marks. They're living script. The Codex described this, but I never thought..." He traced a pattern in the air above my arm, careful not to touch. "This symbol here, it's the glyph for 'passage.' And this cluster represents 'binding.' But this..." His finger hovered over a complex knot near my wrist. "This is new. Or rather, very, very old."
"What does it mean?" Prince Aldric asked. The question carried the weight of a sentence.
"Unity." Drell straightened, adjusting his monocles. "It's a fusion glyph. Theoretical only, no one's successfully performed such magic in recorded history."
My chest tightened. The failed ritual. My attempt to merge my soul with Silvyr. The evidence was written on my skin for anyone who could read it.
"The Codex," Prince Aldric commanded. Two servants brought forth a massive tome, straining under its weight. They set it on a lectern with a thud that echoed like a closing door.
Magister Drell's hands, stained with ink, trembled as he opened the book. The pages were silver-edged, the text written in an ink that shifted between black and mirror-bright. "The Mirrorwalker Codex," he said, his voice dropping into a formal, reverent cadence. "Established in the reign of Queen Morwyn, Third of Her Line. Let all who bear the blood know these words as law."
He began to read.
"A Mirrorwalker may not enter the Mirror Realm without sanction of the Crown."
The words were a cage. I thought of Silvyr, of the darkness behind the glass, and a fresh wave of fury and longing washed over me.
"A Mirrorwalker may not teach their arts to those not of the blood."
Another bar slammed into place.
"A Mirrorwalker must serve as guardian between realms, neither fully of one nor the other."
A life sentence. The list of restrictions layered upon me, tightening like silver chains, each a perfect blend of protection and prison.
"However," Drell said, his voice shifting, "a Mirrorwalker of royal blood holds certain privileges. The right to sanctuary. The right to trial by reflection. And..." He paused, his eyes wideningbehind his monocles. "The right to reclaim the Mirror Throne, should they prove worthy through the Trial of Stars."
Lord Vex's chair scraped against the stone as he stood. "Absolutely not," he said, his hand dropping to his sword. "We are not resurrecting dead traditions."
