Page 213 of Blade of the Nightking

As I approached, my glow intensified. In the murky reflection, my skin was positively luminous. The glass itself was hazy and discolored, smoky around the edges and marred by darker stains that spread across its surface like bruises.

I stopped directly in front of it. Inside me, my magic went still. Waiting. Expectant. Excited.

Slowly, I lifted a hand and reached toward the glass.

The surface rippled.

I snatched my fingers back. But the disturbance only spread, widening across the mirror in concentric waves. My reflection blurred, then faded entirely, revealing something else beyond the glass.

Another room.

It was nearly identical to this one, yet where this chamber was draped in crimson and gold, the one beyond shimmered with silks of turquoise and silver.

My breath caught. This was the Looking Glass—I knew it instantly. The one Rìan had asked Elyndra about.

My thoughts reeled. Elyndra had lied. She'd told Rìan the mirror had shattered, and yet here it stood, hidden away inside a warded room. Which meant the chamber visible beyond the glass had to be the other brothel in Pelaga.

She'd lied about that, too. She was still conducting business there.

My gaze dropped to the mirror's frame as another realization struck me. The female downstairs had said they'd only just received the Ambrosia from the Tidelands. How would that have been possible if there wasn't still an open channel between the realms?

A slow smile tugged at my mouth.

I'd found it.

Our passage to the second well.

CHAPTER 45

My lack of excitement should have been disturbing, but it felt far too good to feel... nothing.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, I was seeing the world without an emotional lens distorting everything I encountered. A profound sense of calm settled over me as I left the chamber and restored Elyndra's wards with barely a thought. They weren't particularly complex—not the ones concealing the Looking Glass, anyway. Centuries spent as the only magic wielder in the Mirrorlands had clearly made her complacent.

That suited me just fine.

Still, I couldn't exactly wander around glowing. My skin was still alight, my magic sitting too close to the surface for comfort, and I had no desire to explain that particular phenomenon to anyone. Reaching inward, I carefully tucked it away, pressing it deeper beneath my skin until the glow disappeared entirely.

I eventually found the kitchens after retracing my steps and trying the left-hand hallway instead. The cook had been sprawled over a countertop with a book in hand, absently polishing glassware for Ambrosia cocktails as she read. Judging by the empty dining area, most patrons had long since abandoned thoughts of food in favor of satisfying other appetites.

A few hurried apologies later, she set about preparing me a meal—a plate of sliced roast pheasant with honey-glazed carrots and soft white bread still warm from the oven.

While she bustled around the kitchen, I eyed the book she'd left behind and read the title. Curiosity prompted me to flip through the first few chapters. It was a romance. Many of the pages had been dog-eared, and it didn't take long to discover why. The marked passages were filled with scandalous encounters, lingering kisses, wandering hands, and increasingly creative uses for furniture. By the second chapter, I was fairly certain the heroine had spent more time tangled up with the hero than engaging in whatever plot the story was supposed to possess.

A faint sense of satisfaction settled over me when I realized I could read every word without difficulty. More appealing, however, was the detached awareness that thoughts of Levinica weren’t sending spears of guilt stabbing through my chest. My magic had taken it all away.

Even Levinica's death failed to touch me. It existed simply as a fact. A thing that happened. No more painful than recalling that the sky was blue or that winter followed autumn. Just another truth.

I devoured the meal standing right there in the kitchen, praising the cook for her skill as I ate. She positively beamed beneath the compliments. I may have felt very little, but hunger wasn't an emotion, and the rich complexity of the food was still something I could appreciate.

As I polished off the last of the bread, I found myself wondering why I'd spent so long fearing this side of my Eidrae lineage. Why I'd clung so desperately to my emotions. To my humanity. Why bother?

Everything hurt when I could feel it. Being human was a miserable affair, filled with grief and longing and endless hardship. This was easier. Simpler.

On my way back to the room, I passed the alcove. It was empty. The curtains had been shoved aside, exposing the aftermath within. Cushions lay scattered across the floor, the small table had been overturned, and strips of silk hung torn from the ceiling. The sight of the ruined space brought an unwelcome thought of what had happened there, and my magic swallowed the sudden pang of hurt before it took hold.

I paused halfway up the stairs to watch the orgy unfolding beneath me. Without shame to make me hide my eyes, I stared openly and brazenly at the acrobatics on display, the impossible positions and elaborate contortions.

I pitied them all—their hollow needs, their desperate attempts to fill a void that could never truly be satisfied. Empty shells without mates, expending themselves on an act that served no purpose.