He steeples his fingers beneath his chin, calm as ever. “I’m afraid so. The sooner we complete these tests, the sooner you’ll be free, Princess.”
I can’t deny the logic, infuriating though it may be. If freedom lies at the end of this, I should be grateful for his eagerness to move things along, especially after weeks of confinement, reduced to playing chess with my enemy.
“Very well,” I reply tersely. “What must I do next?”
“The Test of Threads,” Anethesis says, his voice smooth and measured. “To measure your control over the threads of magic.”
“Magic?” I echo, incredulous. “I don’t have any magic. And whatever Imightpossess is severed by this.” I gesture to the invisible collar wrapped around my neck.
Without a word, Anethesis waves his hand, and the collar vanishes. I rub at my neck where it had pressed against my skin, glaring at him with narrowed eyes.
“This is bold of you,” I warn.
He remains unfazed, his indifference grating. “I think you are wiser than that, Princess. You know the limitations of your power, as do we. We’ve been studying you since the moment you arrived.” He pauses, his jade eyes boring into mine. “Your strengths. Your weaknesses. And the truth is, even without the collar, you cannot escape Driftspire. Even if you managed to dispatch me and my brethren waiting just beyond that door, where would you go? There’s nothing but sky and mist. A single misstep, and you’d plummet to your death.” He tilts his head, staring at me intently. “I don’t think that’s the outcome you desire.”
I grind my teeth, a wave of fury surging through me. I am so tired of being manipulated by Fae. They’ve haunted my life from the beginning, different shades, different magic, different allures, but always the same in one respect. None of them can be trusted.
“Let’s get this over with,” I snarl, pushing to my feet.
Anethesis shakes his head, clicking his tongue as if scolding a child.
“This test can be completed right here, Princess,” he says smoothly. “Let us begin.”
Anethesis stretches his arms wide, and the walls around us dissolve into an endless stretch of rippling midnight blue. The furniture vanishes in an instant, leaving us alone in this strange, boundless place. It feels as though the ground beneath me is shifting, but I’mnot moving. My feet remain rooted, yet I struggle to maintain my balance as this surreal realm swirls and undulates.
A wave of nausea rises, and I clutch my stomach, dry-heaving as the world pitches and rolls like a stormy sea.
“Breathe,” Anethesis says, his tone maddeningly calm. “It will pass soon enough.”
He lifts his hand, and the air ripples.
Before me, a shattered mirror materializes, its jagged shards suspended in midair, each fragment catching the light and splintering it into fractured reflections of my face. Beside it hovers an hourglass, its golden frame carved with intricate, swirling runes that seem to shift as I watch, while inside silver sand falls in a slow, shimmering stream, each grain marking the start of a countdown I can feel in my bones.
“The Test of Threads,” Anethesis says, his voice echoing around me. “Weave it whole again. Use the threads of magic that bind all things. Your time is limited, Princess.”
Without another word, he vanishes, abandoning me to my task.
I stare at the broken mirror, my reflection scattered and distorted across its many pieces. My heart pounds. Magic? How am I supposed to do this when my power has always been stifled or stolen? The collar may be gone, but I’ve never wielded the sort of magic required for this task freely. This is impossible.
Still, I stand before the shattered mirror, extending my hands hesitantly. I try to focus, reaching deep within myself, searching for some spark of energy, some hidden well of power. My fingers tremble, and I press harder, willing the shards to move, to respond.
Nothing happens.
The silver sand slips through the hourglass, each grain a cruel reminder of time slipping away. A knot tightens in my chest. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve failed.
But then, pain.
A sharp sting on my arm makes me gasp. I look down to find a thin, fresh cut stretching across my skin, beads of blood welling up along its line. Confused, I clutch my arm, staring at the wound as my mind races. What caused this?
Before I can gather my thoughts, another cut slashes across my opposite arm, the sting sharper this time. My breath quickens as the realization dawns. This is part of the test. The longer I fail, the more the magic will punish me. And I don’t want to know what will happen when the last grain of sand falls.
Panic claws at me, but I force myself to focus. I stare at the shattered mirror, closing my eyes and trying to feel it, to sense the threads of magic that Anethesis spoke of. I reach deeper inside myself than I ever have before, past the fear, past the doubt, searching for that elusive spark.
It’s faint at first. A shimmer in my mind’s eye, like spider silk glinting in sunlight. I reach for it, and suddenly, I see the mirror differently. The shards glow faintly, connected by invisible threads, their broken edges aching to be whole again.
I stretch my hands over the pieces, willing the threads to bind them together. Slowly, haltingly, they begin to respond. The shards quiver, then lift, their edges aligning as if pulled by unseen strings. A glimmer of hope sparks within me, but my concentration wavers as pain flares again. A fresh cut across my cheek.
I grit my teeth and push forward, ignoring the stinging lines that now mark my arms and face. The fabric of the mirror becomes clearer, its imprint on the world unraveling and reforming under my will. The shards piece together, one by one, like a puzzle slotting into place.
