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“The Oracle of the Forbidden Isles gifted me a weapon with which to break the glass. That is why we have come,” Cassian explains.
Hope lights Baldr’s eyes, and he goes still, his gaze swinging between us. “Truly?”
“Truly,” I reply with a smile. I quickly fill him in about our situation, explaining the poisoning of the country, the control or deaths of the people, and the army we have waiting for us outside.
Baldr listens intently, his jaw ticking. When I finish, he stands and braces his hands at the sides of the window frame, looking out over the mystical scenery. “I have been here for over two hundred years,” he says. “And that’s two hundred years in your time. Math was never my strong suit, but I believe it works out to be over thirty thousand years that I have been trapped in this room.” He turns and his eyes are bleak. I’m horrified by the thought—my mind broke much sooner. The fact he is still standing is a testament to his strength and willpower.
“And that,” he continues, gesturing at the scenery outside, “is ever-changing. One day I might appear in the Fae realm, another—deep in space. One year I was underwater, laying at the base of King Triton’s castle, drowning over and over again. No living being outside of this box seems able to see or hear me. But I am immortal, and cannot die, so I suffer eternally.” He returns to the bench, collapsing onto it. “The only thing that saved me was the mirror. The being trapped inside it speaks to me on occasion.”
Cassian takes a seat on the floor and pulls me into his lap. “How did you come to be here?” His arms tighten around me, and I lean back into him, still troubled over Baldr’s incarceration.
Baldr blows out a breath. “You are from Valderán, do you know the story of Ravensly?”
“The Valkyries told me she was a powerful sorceress and that your father had sent you to deal with her. You vanished without a trace.”
Baldr opens his mouth but hesitates when the wall we came through begins to shimmer. A masklike face appears, and I gasp, remembering seeing it once before when I was a child. “I believe I am best suited to tell this tale,” the disembodied voice says. It shifts its empty eyes toward Baldr. “Hello, old friend. I am afraid I have not been fully honest with you over the years, and I beg your forgiveness. I worried you might hate me for my part in your circumstances.”
Baldr sits back and crosses his arms over his chest. The mask watches him for a moment, then begins its story. “I am Prince Khallan of the Light Court, son of Queen Aoife. Ravensly was from a village at the base of Clawback Mountain. She was incredibly beautiful and had suitors from far and wide vying for her hand. Tales of her beauty and innocence spread throughout the lands, even making their way into the Fae realm. Curious to see if the stories were true, I traveled to Valderán. So enchanted was I by not only her looks, but by her apparent kindness and generosity, I lured her to a fairy circle and whisked her away.
“Like this room, time moves differently in Faery. I was fully caught in her spell and fancied myself in love with her within a few short weeks. For the first time in my immortal life, I was happy and working diligently to get my mother to agree to let her stay. But slowly, things began to change. Ravensly was never satisfied, nothing was good enough. She was insanely jealous of other women and began to sow seeds of discord throughout the court. Nothing I did was enough to satisfy her, and she would often lash out with her wickedly cruel tongue, her insults cutting like knives.
“My mother had enough and banished her from Faery, demanding I return her immediately to her world. By this time, I no longer loved her, but she was with child. I gifted her the mirror which would allow me to communicate with my daughter once she was born. It could also gift Ravensly with a small amount of power. Not much, but enough to ensure my daughter could be cared for without Ravensly worrying about poverty.”
Khallan pauses, the mask turning downward. As interesting as the tale is, I cannot help but feel a smidgeon of impatience. Cassian’s arms tighten around me when I fidget, and my cheeks blaze. I do not wish to seem rude, but there is a battle waiting for us, and I don’t understand why we need to have this conversation now. These events took place hundreds of years ago—surely they have no relevance to today’s proceedings?
“Just let them tell their story,” Cassian breathes in my ear. “Remember what Baldr said about the time difference. Spending fifteen minutes here will make no difference.” I give an almost imperceptible nod and give them my attention.
“I did not know that Ravensly’s family already had a propensity for magic. Adding the little I gave her allowed her natural abilities to strengthen. She became stronger, and after our daughter, Kali, was born, she spent every free second learning everything she could. She found a witch willing to train her in dark and death magic, and when Kali was five, Ravensly was able to use the runes to trap me in the mirror, enslaving me.”
“Why would she do such a thing?” Cassian asks.
“She was furious that I had taken away the immortality she could have gained by living in Faery. She felt entitled to have everything her heart desired and being denied it made her jealousy soar. Trapping me here was my punishment for leaving her and taking away the life she thought she deserved.”
Baldr picks up the story. “She began rapidly gaining power, but the death magic she practiced required killing sprees. The earth cried out for help, drowning in the blood of her victims. Odin heeded the cries and because I am indestructible, sent me to stop her. Back then, she relied heavily on her raven spies, who caught wind of my impending arrival. She was waiting for me. The moment I arrived, I was sucked into the mirror, and have been trapped here ever since. As a god, I am extremely powerful. My magic warped the mirror, turning it into something it was never intended to be. She now has access to my powers—”
“Along with mine,” Khallan interrupts. “Which makes her one of the most powerful sorceresses that have ever lived.”
A line etches into my forehead as I mull over their words. “Wait, what did you mean when you said, ‘back then,’ Baldr?”
He tilts his head to the side. “I suppose that was a poor choice of words. She still uses the ravens, does she not?”
I lean my head back, exchanging glances with Cassian. “Ravensly died hundreds of years ago,” I say slowly, wondering what I am missing. “Morana is her . . . great-great-granddaughter, I believe.”
Baldr shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest. “MoranaisRavensly.”
My brows furrow at this. “How can this be? She’s not immortal. She looks no older than thirty!”
“And how long has she looked that age?” Khallan asks. I open my mouth, then slam it shut. It’s been several years since I’ve seen her—I’m not counting her disguise in the village—and I realize she did, indeed, look the same as she did when she married my father. I was a child at the time and not observant of such things. And when I was older, I was too busy being tortured by her to notice she didn’t seem to age.
“The witch taught her how to obtain immortality . . . in a sense. She must offer sacrifices regularly to the mirror and feast on the flesh of humans.”
“But wouldn’t people notice she wasn’t aging?” I ask.
“She wears a mask,” Khallan explains. “Keeping it in place requires a tremendous amount of magic. She bathes in the blood of innocents to keep up the deception. As for not aging, she would simply use her magic to create a ‘child’ and then take over their lives once they reached a certain age. So she is her own great-great-granddaughter, in a sense.”
My stomach roils at the thought. Creating fictitious children and reliving lifetimes over and over? She must have had a steady supply of new servants to be able to pull off such a thing. “What happened to the people she sacrificed?”
“Their souls became part of the mirror.”
