Page 80 of A Taste of Silver
The silver marks that had once been confined to my arms now traced delicate patterns across my entire body. The glow of them was visible through the tattered remnants of my dress like veins of living starlight.
I could sense them as they pulsed faintly with magic. They spiraled around my throat in delicate whorls, cascaded down my spine in flowing script, and painted intricate mandalas across my palms. But they no longer burned or ached with the familiar fire that had plagued me for so long. They simply were, as natural as breathing, as essential as blood flowing through my veins.
"Look," Silvyr whispered, his breath warm against my ear, actually warm, not the cold of between-spaces but the warmth of something truly alive, truly present in this world.
The opera house had become a cathedral of possibilities, its vaulted ceiling now open to both mortal sky and mirror-realm stars simultaneously. Where the old mirrors had hung in their ornate frames, doorways now stood, not the forced, violent openings that had torn reality during our battle, but invitations crafted from light and intention.
Each one showed a different path between realms, their edges shimmering with the same silver fire that now marked my skin. Some led to the silver forests of the Mirror Realm, where trees made of crystallized moonlight swayed in winds that carried the songs of forgotten dreams. Others opened onto familiar streets in Virelda, where I could see people gathering in wonder, drawn by the impossible music that still echoed faintly in the air. Still others revealed places I'd never seen but somehow recognized, perhaps from Silvyr's memories, or from the deeper knowledge that came with accepting my role as a bridge between worlds.
The barriers hadn't been destroyed, I realized with growing wonder. They'd been transformed into choices, each threshold a question asked and answered with every crossing.
The Crimson One stood with Seraphina near the center of the theater, no longer merged into one tormented being but connected by threads of silver light that pulsed between them like shared heartbeats. The threads were beautiful in their restraint, strong enough to bind them together, delicate enough to allow freedom.
He looked... smaller somehow, not in stature but in presence. Not diminished but more human-sized, the terrible hunger that had defined him for so long replaced by something quieter, more sustainable. The raw desperation had burned away, leaving behind something that might actually be called peace.
Seraphina was fully manifest now, solid and present in a way that made my heart ache with happiness for them both. Her hand rested on his arm not in possession or desperate clinging, but in acknowledgment of their shared history and whatever future they might choose to build. When she moved, she cast no reflection. She was the reflection made real, finally given substance and choice of her own.
"We did it," I breathed, hardly daring to believe the evidence of my own eyes. The air tasted different, cleaner somehow, as if the poison of forced separation had finally been purged from both realms.
"No." Vaen's voice came from everywhere and nowhere, carried on air that shimmered with his fading presence. I turned to find my brother more translucent than before, his sacrifice having burned away much of his substance to fuel our working. But he was smiling, truly smiling, for the first time since I'd remembered him—not the sad, guilty expression that had haunted our reunions, but something bright and genuine and free. "You did it. All of you together. You found the path betweenextremes, the place where love doesn't have to choose between connection and freedom."
His form flickered like candlelight, and I knew we were losing him again, but not to death this time. To transformation, to something larger than any one person could contain.
Prince Aldric looked at me, and his eyes held something new, humility, perhaps, or the beginning of wisdom born from having his assumptions shattered completely. The rigid certainty that had defined him was gone, replaced by the kind of openness that only came from admitting, and knowing down to the marrow of your bones that you'd been fundamentally wrong about everything you thought you knew.
His guards had removed their helmets without being ordered to do so, revealing faces marked by the transformation we'd all undergone. They were still themselves but more aware, more present, no longer hiding behind armor and authority. One of them, a young woman with kind eyes, was staring at her own hands as if seeing them for the first time.
"The realms," Aldric said, his voice hoarse from shouting orders that no longer made sense in this new reality. "Are they...?"
"Connected but not merged," my mother's voice answered, though her ghostly form was beginning to fade like morning mist. She'd used too much energy helping us maintain our working, and even the success of our transformation couldn't keep her manifest much longer. The edges of her form were dissolving into silver light, but her expression was serene. "As they were meant to be from the beginning. Separate enough for identity, close enough for communion. Each realm maintaining its own nature while acknowledging the other."
Through the doorways, I could see people gathering on both sides. There were nobles and commoners, mortals and mirror-born, and they were all drawn by the impossible music we'd created.
Some approached the thresholds with wonder, pressing their hands against the barriers that had kept them apart for so long. Others came with caution, old fears not easily dismissed, but all with the recognition that something fundamental had shifted in the world. Children who had never seen the other realm pressed their faces close to the openings, their eyes wide with curiosity rather than fear.
"What happens now?" I asked, though part of me already knew the answer would be as complex as the question itself.
"Now you choose," the Crimson One said, his voice no longer layered with stolen harmonies and borrowed power but singular, entirely his own for perhaps the first time in centuries. "Every day, every moment, you choose. To cross or stay, to transform or remain, to love without consuming." He looked at Seraphina, and she met his gaze steadily, neither shrinking from his history nor demanding he be anything other than what he was choosing to become. "We've learned that lesson well enough to teach it to others who struggle with the same darkness."
The weight of that responsibility settled on my shoulders, not crushing, but significant. We would be teachers now, guides for others who found themselves caught between worlds, between identities, between love and freedom.
Silvyr's arms tightened around me, and I felt the question in his embrace before he spoke it aloud. We'd fought so hard to be together, had been willing to break worlds and defy edicts, but now that the barriers were transformed rather than destroyed, we had options we'd never imagined. He could exist in my world without being trapped in mirrors or burning himself away with each manifestation. I could visit his realm without losing myself to the silver fire or forgetting who I was meant to be. We could be together not through binding or breaking but through choice,renewed with each crossing, each day, each moment we decided to reach for each other.
"Together?" he asked, and the simple word held centuries of longing finally given the possibility of fulfillment.
"Always," I replied, turning in his arms to meet those constellation eyes that had haunted my dreams and guided my waking hours. "But on our terms now. No one else dictating our path, no destinies we're forced to fulfill, just us choosing each other again and again because we want to, not because some cosmic force demands it."
The theater began to settle around us, reality finding its new configuration like a house built on stronger foundations. The cracks in the air sealed themselves with threads of silver and gold, leaving scars that would always mark where the worlds had nearly torn apart but had chosen to heal instead. They were beautiful scars, I realized, proof of survival, of choosing connection over separation even when it would have been easier to let the divide stand.
The witnesses began to disperse slowly, carrying news of what they'd seen to every corner of both realms. I watched a mirror-born noble take the hand of a mortal courtier, saw them exchange wondering looks before stepping through one of the doorways together. A group of children from both sides pressed their faces close to a threshold, comparing the differences in their worlds with the fascination of the young for whom impossibility was just another adventure.
Melora appeared at one of the doorways, tears streaming down her weathered face as she took in what we'd accomplished. Her apothecary robes were dusty from travel, her herb-stained hands pressed to her mouth as if she could hardly believe what she was seeing.
"Child, Aurea," she called, and I heard all her love and fear and pride in that single word, heard the forgiveness I'd been too proud to ask for and the understanding I'd been too hurt to offer.
"We should go to her," I said to Silvyr, feeling the pull of family, of the woman who had sacrificed so much to keep me alive. "She deserves to know that her sacrifices weren't in vain, that the choices she made, however painful, led to this."
"In a moment," he replied, his hand finding mine with easy familiarity, fingers interlacing as if they'd been carved to fit together. "First, this."
