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The reflection shrugged. “You don’t want to remember your past. That’s just the surface motivation. What’re you hoping to get out of it? What do you think’s going to happen if and when you remember how all this shit”—she gestured at the room around her—“played out?”
That was a good question. “Maybe I’d stop having blackouts.”
“Maybe. Not sure. We never made it that far. Every time we get right to the edge of pulling off the bandage, we chicken out.” The reflection shook her head. “No, remembering is only a means to an end. What do you really want?”
That stumped her. She stared down at the objects on top of the vanity. A hairbrush. A bracelet. A few trinkets. A small ivory box, carved with a fleur-de-lis on the lid. The symbol of her father’s family line. It was a dangerous flaunting of her illegitimate birth. Something itched at her mind, just the hint of recollection.
Her existence was tolerated in her father’s court, but it was hardly accepted. She was not a princess within these walls. She was at best a lady, and she had known from the moment she was old enough to understand why the other children picked on her that she was nothing more than a bargaining chip that was barely worth using.
Used.That’s what she’d been her entire life, from the very beginning. Used and with no say in her own destiny. No decisions she ever made were her own. Anger roiled in her, sudden and unexpected. She didn’t know why she was suddenly so furious.
“You’ll find out. I think we’re strong enough to hold on long enough this time. You might actually remember everything.” Her reflection snickered. “For better or worse.”
Maggie turned her attention back to the mirror, nearly shaking from her sudden and inexplicable fury. “I want to have control.”
“Good.” Her reflection leaned closer, resting on her elbows. “Now you just need to work for it.”
“But I don’t—I—I’m powerless.”
Her reflection sighed and hung her head, shaking it as if giving up on an idiotic child. “Maggie, Maggie, Maggie. You’re so goddamn clueless sometimes.”
“Now I’m insulting myself.”
“Whatever works.”
She rubbed her hand over her eyes, pressing the heel of her palm into her cheekbone. She really didn’t want to get annoyed at herself. It would be pointless. “Okay, then help me. Explain to me what options I have.”
“You’re off to a good start, ditching the priests. Rinnie and the demoness don’t mean you any harm, but that doesn’t mean the Church doesn’t. You can trust the words that come out of Gideon’s mouth, but…he’s also not telling you the whole story for a reason. He’d rather stay quiet than lie to you again.”
“Again.”
“Again,” the mirror confirmed. When Maggie finally looked back up to her reflection, she kept talking. “Setting Father free was the right decision, as much as it hurt. He…shouldn’t have been left like that.”
Nodding, she sighed. “I knew I loved him. I wish I could remember more.”
“You will, if you let yourself.” The reflection tilted her head, as if considering Maggie thoughtfully. As if she were making her own choice. “I’ll give you two things.”
“Now my own head is withholding information from me?” She arched an eyebrow. “What kind of bullshit is this?”
The mirror laughed. “All you’ve ever done is withhold things from yourself. I’m just you, roleplaying this ‘bullshit’ out.”
“Whatever.”
“Thing number one.” The reflection held up a finger. “You smashed Algernon with a book. He came back in one piece. Think that through and tell me what’s wrong.”
Maggie went to speak and then paused. “I smashed Henri and he died. But…maybe it was because of the hammer? It was magic, I’m sure.”
“Maybe. Or maybe not.” The reflection held up her second finger. “And thing number two. Ask Gideon if he kept the rings.”
Pain seared through her head as if someone had driven an icepick into it. She gasped and gripped her hair in both hands. She didn’t think dreams were supposed to hurt. But there she was.
The thin band of gold rolled across the floor, bouncing a few times before skittering along on its edge like a coin. Its path was ended abruptly as a dark boot flattened it to the stones.
A whisper of dark fabric.
“Marguerite—wait!”
The stone crenellations on the balcony dug into her palms. She could feel the grit as the edges of the blocks jabbed into the cuts on her hands. She had been running away from someone. Standing on the edge, she turned to look in horror at the man who had been chasing her. Dark robes swirled around him. Only his silhouette was visible, cut out against the firelight of the torches behind him.
