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Instantly the surface began to change. Red clouds spread faintly across the surface.
Lyrastra stepped through, as if the mirror were a doorway and as if she knew exactly what lay on the other side. She vanished.
There was an appreciative titter from the crowd. They liked Lyrastra, I realized. They might have liked her even more than they liked Draven or Avriel. She was something of a court favorite–bold and decisive. She wasn’t as brave or as strong as Draven. She wasn’t as cunning or cutthroat as Avriel.
But she did what needed to be done.
I found myself hoping Lyrastra survived. Draven would need people like her around him.
Had I really just thought that?
I shook my head and looked back at the room below.
Selwyn had beaten Avriel to the punch and was approaching the mirror. Or had Avriel purposely decided to linger? He stood nearby, watching closely, his scaled arms folded over his muscular chest.
“That seemed very easy,” I whispered to Odessa, feeling relieved. “Blood to pass through.”
To my surprise, she grimaced and shook her head.
“What?”
“Wait,” was all she said. “I pray I’m wrong.”
Selwyn glanced back at Draven who nodded as if in encouragement. The antlered man nodded back, then faced the mirror.
“He let him go first,” Odessa muttered.
“Why not?” If all that was required was a handful of blood... A feeling in the pit of my stomach said that it could not be that easy.
“The prince is too generous for his own good,” was all she said, her face grim.
The mirror swirled. A voice emerged. We could not hear what it said.
Selwyn’s large hands curled into fists by his side.
Whatever he was being asked for, it wasn’t simply blood this time. And he wasn’t happy about it.
Turning, he shouted something up to the gallery. To my surprise, the queen turned sharply to a group of courtiers standing behind her. Two of them broke away from the group, nearly running in their haste to reach the gallery doors.
“Where are they going?” I asked, bewildered.
“Wait. We should know in a minute.”
I sighed. Odessa was being annoyingly obtuse. Evidently, she had hunches of her own but didn’t wish to share. Was she afraid of being wrong? Or afraid of frightening me if she was right?
There was a lull, like the calm before the storm. Around us, Siabra were chattering and laughing. Vespera’s death had swiftly been forgotten.
A table with lavish refreshments had been set up in one corner of the room, replete with crystal tableware and a tinkling fountain flowing with a pink-tinged wine. I recognized a face as a man crossed a room and filled a glass with the pink stuff.
“Javer is here,” I told Odessa.
She nodded as if not surprised. “He’ll keep his distance.” She met my gaze. “But he wouldn’t stay away. He’s loyal to the prince, regardless of how furious the prince may be with him.”
“I understand.” And I did. I even grudgingly respected it. In that same vein, I was about to ask where Crescent and Gawain were when there was a commotion from near the entrance.
The doors had opened again. Four people stepped into the gallery.
“Fashionably late,” Odessa said, rolling her eyes as Rychel, Hawl, Gawain, and Crescent walked towards us.
