After slipping through the tunnels and slashing through sticky webs in her path with her dagger, Sable came upon a long room with a low roof—and just in time, for the tunnel she was squishing through had become unbearably tight. She tumbled out, dusting off dirt and bits of web that had clung to her clothing as she tried to calm her thundering heart. Being inside that tunnel reminded her of the mask.
Like the rest of the House, this room was shrouded in shadow, the only source of light a single, blue-flamed candle flickering in the far corner. Skeletons of both man and animal were strewn about, and freshly killed birds hung from webs so thick Sable couldn’t glimpse what lay beyond them. The stained walls were covered in writing, the language oddly familiar.
She’d seen it in the Book of Elements, she realized. But, unlike in the book, Sable could somehow read the scrawl here. As if the House was not only revealing unknown speech, but also unknown writing.
Leaning against the wall was an Elven mirror—a large piece of chipped reflective glass framed in metal so lustrous it glowed. Elven mirrors were considered a weapon by some, and a necessity by most who fought in the wars. The glass was designed to show only truth, so any person wearing a glamor, or anyone convicted of treason, would be revealed for what they truly were if they stood before one of these mirrors. Very few of them still existed; most were destroyed long ago by those who dabbled in black magic.
Sable slowly took a step forward. And another. When she was close enough to touch the mirror, she froze. Her heart nearly stopped.
Instead of seeing a reflection of Avalon in the glass, as she’d predicted, she found herself looking at the face of someone she hadn’t seen in a very long time.
She was looking at herself.
In the choking darkness of this vile room, her hair was as silver as starlight, her eyes a rich gold. Her skin was tanned from many years spent in the snow-bright North, and her body was as willowy as she now remembered it. The black bodysuit she wore flattered her form, the durable material and glossy color suggesting she was as dangerous as she looked.
A cry of surprise escaped her lips. She raised a trembling hand and touched the cool glass.
The surface rippled, as if she’d thrown a pebble into a pool of still water.
She stepped back, forcing herself to tear her gaze from her reflection. The wall behind the mirror stretched before her, the cluttered words coated in dust. Squinting her eyes to better see in the dark, Sable scanned the letters, though they were so cramped it was a challenge to identify single words. But she gathered enough after several minutes: This language belonged to the primordial gods. And the sentences here…they told the history of Kaia Stormblood—the occupant of this House and a once-mortal queen.
Sable kept reading, her heartbeat quickening. Somewhere far away, Avalon began to stir.
Kaia Stormblood had hungered for immortality for so long that she drove herself mad looking for ways to obtain it. Believing it would win her the hand of her true love—an Elven prince—in marriage, she’d bargained with the Witch Lord Gandraian, and he’d gifted her with not only immortality, but powers comparable to those of the vanished Elkmoon Witches. Days after she’d received her gifts, the man she loved sustained a mortal injury, and she’d begged Gandraian to heal him. But every gift came with a price, and after Kaia’s love was healed, Gandraian bound her to this House, where she would live out a dark eternity in isolation.
Sable shuddered as she read on, skimming over stories about the old gods and goddesses; about the Seraphim, the Dwarves, and an ancient race of giants known as the Eotun; about the Light Elves before they were banished.
Seven words stood out among the mess of loopy scrawl:Only a god can kill a god.
Avalon was fully awake now. Sable couldn’t bring herself to speak, nor think in coherent sentences. Her mouth was dry, and her thoughts were a jumbled mess.
Avalon whispered,Kaia wasn’t the only mortal to obtain immortality.
A dozen memories trickled through Avalon’s mind, and Sable understood then. Avalon’s father had once been mortal, though few people had ever learned how he came into his power. And Avalon wasn’t one of those people.
Is it possible,Avalon began,that my father received his immortality the same way?
From Gandraian?Sable asked.I doubt it. Gandraian has been dead for a long time.
His body was never found.
Sable had nothing to say to this, though they both felt the hairs on their arms rise.
Sable,Avalon started, her voice hesitant.Do you remember Hannelore?Avalon was thinking back to when Sable had encountered Hannelore’s spirit floating in the catacombs. When she’d released a breathless squeak of surprise—and, somehow, recognition.
I remembered everything about my friend the second I saw her.A moment of silence passed, and when she spoke again, her words came slowly, as if she was uncertain of her own past.Until I met Levon,Hannelore was my only friend for many years. I wasn’t allowed to have friends. Balthazar and Rhea said it was for my own protection, but I was lonely. I had my brother—I remember a bit about him now, though mostly just what he looked like… But I longed for more, and I met Hannelore one day near the Haunted Woods. She was mortal. She’d crossed over from the Mortal Lands through a portal that opened only at twilight.
Sable paused to swallow heavily, and their vision blurred as tears burned their eyes.
The warrior continued.I’m sure you know the laws against friendships formed between the Fairfolk and mortals. Though it’s different for you—as the princess, I imagine you can get away with more than most people.Avalon’s heart gave a painful squeeze as she considered her friendship with Hadrian. She was lucky she was even able to call him her friend.Back then, my identity was heavily protected by all those who lived at the House of Ice. Rhea and Balthazar had sworn an oath to keep my brother and I safe, and they’d given us rings to conceal our true appearances and scents.
Wistwood rings,Avalon said. Sable was sorting through the vague memories in her head, trying to fill in the gaps for things she hadn’t learned yet.
It was a miracle that Hannelore was willing to be my friend,Sable went on.That she trusted me enough not to balk at the idea of wandering into my lands. To not cower when I smiled; when my pointed ears and my ability to start a fire from nothing reminded her of…what I am. The stories whispered in her lands made us all out to be monsters, and the few hobgoblins and sprites that haunted mortal forests and homes caused enough mischief to justify their concerns.
Sable paused, and Avalon sensed it coming as images of snowdrifts and bloodied hair floated through her mind.
One day, a few soldiers from the Wolf Pack came to the House.Thanks to the ring, they didn’t know who I was—who was really spending their time with the rebellious mortal girl who constantly wandered out of her own lands. But they went off that day to kill Hannelore—to send a message that no one defies law and gets away with it.
