There lurked a vileness within me, and I possessed no handsome features nor rich clothes to conceal it.
My curls stirred as if moved by a breeze, though the air stood eerily still. The reflection swirled like a pond of liquid silver, melting and pooling at the lower edge of the frame. Ice crept over the glass, crackling as it spread over walls to the window. I retreated with a shiver to the stone-cold hearth. A hollowness sucked the air from the chamber—the same sort of emptiness that had settled over our cabin in the wake of my mother’s death.
From the mirror came a sweet murmur. The puddle of silver trickled like honey from the frame and slithered down the wall. It slid over the floors with a soft laugh that echoed crisply—as if we were not in a tight chamber, but in a marble hall. The stench of death bit sharply at my nose. I raised the incense it with trembling hands over my heart like a warrior holding a shield.
The silver spirit hissed.
Ah, it hummed.Another one who remembers the old ways. Another one who dares to call me forth. You reek of despair, little witch.
I stifled a scream, shrinking back until I stood against the cold hearth. “I have come to trade for a secret,” I whispered into the stiff quiet.
Of course you have, little witch. So brave of you. So foolish. So dull. I grow tired of secrets. I crave flesh. The spirit cackled, amused by my flinch of terror. It had drawn near as it spoke.Notyourflesh.
“Tell me your price,” I breathed.
It slithered closer, sizzling in anger as it brushed against my bare feet. As if I had burned it. I clutched the incense tighter.
Tell me first what you desire.
“A secret Adrik would protect with his life.”
The spirit chuckled.I know just the one.
“Then tell me your price.”
It is but a small one. I feel generous tonight. Just a few knick-knacks to ease the misery of living alone in that mirror. You’d know all about that, no? Have pity on me, little witch. Lighten my loneliness.
“Tell me.”
The feather of a rooster. A shard of moonstone. A single belladonna flower. A vial of water from the mountain spring.
“That is no small price. I am trapped in this chamber, much like you.”
The spirit stirred with anger, sprawling into a lake of silver. The window pane creaked with cold.
This is my price, little witch. Nothing more and nothing less.
A frigid finger slid over my neck. It was death’s impatient touch. It had come to retake what was his, and it would take me along if I lingered much longer.
“The feather of a rooster, a moonstone shard, one belladonna flower, a vial of water from the mountain spring. All in return for a secret Adrik would protect with his life. You will tell me that secret as soon as you've received your price.”
You offend me, little witch. I am no wicked faerie. I do not deal in trickery.
I paid no heed to its hollow cackle. “Do you agree?”
I agree, I agree, it hummed as it retreated.I agree, I agree.
Its hollow voice echoed in my bones long after it had slithered back into the mirror.
I agree, I agree.
I secured the laced sheet tightly and I checked it thrice before I coaxed a small fire from the hearth. The flame burned feebly that night, as if it spurned me for my recklessness. The frost on the window lingered, and so did the cold of death in my bones. I agonized for hours over the task of acquiring the items. The belladonna flower I’d pluck when Almira next came to revive the garden, but the vial of spring water and the moonstone shard quite puzzled me. The feather of a rooster seemed a trifle in comparison.
I spent the dark hours bent in faint candlelight over the drawing of the fox to distract myself.
I fainted from exhaustion.
I was still reeling from the terrors of the night when Adrik came to our aid in the late morning, armed with a shovel. I was glad to see him, but Lorell only grumbled when Adrik handed him a fresh loaf of bread, and he retreated for the rest of the day to brood in the workshop.
