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“Appropriate?” I asked the wisp. It fluttered at my back and pushed me toward the balcony. “I got it, thank you.”
I stepped off the balcony and onto the chariot. As soon as my feet landed, the wisp took its place at the helm of the chariot to pull us away.
It wasn’t the fastest chariot I’d ever been on, so I guessed it wasn’t from Thorn. It wasn’t the large one Bash usually rode in, either. Perhaps Odette had summoned me.
We climbed through the sky, stars winking like diamonds around us. We passed a few other morning travelers who bowed their heads to us. A cool breeze chilled my sleeveless arms, and I wrapped my arms together with a reminder never to allow a wisp to choose my attire again, no matter how confident it acted. The wisp slowed and I peered over the edge.
“You are from Bash,” I said.
Bash’s mountain home was lit up against the constant night. As we approached, he descended from the sky on his own chariot to land in the courtyard. I stole a glance to the top of the mountain, where the snow he’d shown me sparkled like a white sheet, almost as brilliant as the stars.
Bash waited for me. That sneaky wisp dressed me in the same color as him, though the saturated blue did far more for him than it did for me. My heartbeat quickened as we drew near.
“You summoned?”
He offered a hand as I climbed from the chariot. “I’ve something to show you,” he said. I was startled by the slight tremor in his fingers.
Bash let go of my hand and strode to his place, removing a parcel from his jacket as he went. I struggled to keep up.
“What is it?” I asked.
He didn’t turn his head. “You’ll see,” he called back.
Iron grated against stone as Bash opened the doors. As soon as I was through, he let the double doors shut. With a snap of his fingers, the fireplace along the walls burst to life, the hungry flames banishing the cold draft.
He stopped and ran his eyes over me. “You look lovely. Now . . .” He undid the twine around the parcel without giving me time to absorb the compliment. He tilted it toward me. A dull lump sat inside.
I blinked. “It’s a rock.”
He stood close enough that his cloak fluttered against the skirt of my dress but made sure his body didn’t touch mine. He chuckled. “It’s not a rock. It’s a mirror.”
I squinted. “Bash, that’s a rock. A very large rock.”
“My Queen, if you’ll give me a moment, I’ll prove you wrong.” He held it closer to me. “It’s a mirror to the mortal realm and it was very difficult to acquire.”
I caught my breath. With a slight smile, Bash placed his lips near the rock. He glanced at me. “Their names?”
My voice was distant. “Cal and Malcom.”
“I desire to see Cal and Malcom Brenheda, siblings of the High Queen of the West.”
My heart sped up until it was a pounding drum in my tight chest, and my palms grew sweaty. Forget Bash’s desire to keep distance between us. I pressed myself against him to see the stone as its face shimmered white. I squinted against the blinding light. When the light dulled, an image was visible.
Tears filled my eyes as the scene came to life.
My brothers. Cal tucked in his loose cream shirt with frayed strings that was two sizes too big. He’d always insisted he’d grow into it. Malcom had grown into his. How was that possible? It had only been four months, yet my little brother was looking more grown up than before. He wasn’t playing with his toys. Instead, he was in the kitchens with his sleeves rolled up and flour dashed across his chin.
“Did you get the eggs from the market?” Cal asked, stoking the fire. His dark curls were damp from the heat, and he wiped them back with his palm.
My first tear fell at the sweet sound of his voice.
“I did.” Eliza answered, coming into the image to produce a basket from a cupboard. Lilies were braided through her blonde hair and fastened to the collar of her yellow dress.
I didn’t look like I belonged in the fae realm, but Eliza did. Her slender body drifted through the room as she arranged flowers and kissed both my brothers’ heads.
She passed the eggs to Malcom, who cracked and folded them into the dough.
They were in our home kitchen, but it was unlike I’d ever seen it before. The few open cupboards were swollen with food—butters and jams and breads and vegetables. Vegetables that didn’t look like they were stolen from Daven’s crop. And flowers, bright marigolds, adorned the windowsill as if they had money to spare on mere beauty.
