The Mirror broke for third time, blue topaz splattering across the table.

‘My Lady, if you can’t—’

‘The next time you doubt my abilities, Goat, I’ll not only char the hair from your ass, but will do so in public,’ said Doe, the little group’s newest member. Lorne knew she was Dairin, but he also knew to beware of even thinking about the real names, even though no one could have recognised the woman in those plain grey clothes in The Serpent’s Head. As for how their shady conclave could convince the Court’s Arcanist to cooperate with an organization aiming to overthrow the King regent, he had better not ask.

‘Apologies.’

‘That’s better.’

‘What seems to be the matter?’ hissed Snake. ‘This should be working.’

‘Should be, precisely. Yet it doesn’t.’

‘Every time the view starts clearing up, it breaks. I think I even spotted figures this time on the other side.’ Bull leant closer to Doe. ‘Perhaps our Lady here is actively trying to hinder us?’

Doe slowly turned her head towards the man.

‘I’ll leave your hair where it belongs. But your balls will be in your mouth once you—’

‘Stop it,’ Lorne snapped, swallowing when the room went silent. ‘I hate violence, and this kind is unworthy of you, my Lady. If we may focus on the problem, please.’

‘But of course. Your honourable cohort is right in fact, the Mirror fails the moment it’s set. He might also be right for the other part. There could be someone hindering our efforts from the other side.’

‘How possible is that?’ asked Gull.

‘Very. I wish it wasn’t, but from what I can tell, they have a powerful Arcanist there since they are able to deter the flow of faelin from thousands of miles.’

‘That’s not very promising,’ Gull glanced at Lorne. ‘Do we have any options left?’

‘The question you may want to ask is whether you want to meet someone who can bridge two thousand miles of land and ocean while operating with the faelin.’

Lorne scratched the back of his neck. Malady was unable to touch the faelin. This must have been someone else.

‘Let’s suppose we want to,’ he whispered. ‘Do we have any options left?’

‘Yes, but not many,’ Doe squinted at Lorne. ‘One option is to try and conceal the presence of our Mirror and try to proceed that way.’

‘And why exactly did we not try this way in the first place?’ demanded Lion. Doe smiled, visibly trying to restrain herself from an outburst.

‘Because, my beautiful dumbwit, you bright gentlemen told me you wish to negotiate with the queen of Temdath, not to spy on her.’

‘We hear you,’ muttered Goat. ‘What is our second option?’

‘Fox.’

Glances fixed on Lorne made the man take a step back.

‘Blood binds, after all,’ Doe shrugged. ‘This is just an overly tentative suggestion, but if Fox is really Av… if Fox is really who he claims to be, it might work. Blood has ever been a strong bond to the faelin.

‘And what am I supposed to do exactly?’ asked Lorne, heart pounding hard in his chest.

‘A drop of blood should suffice. We let the topaz soak it and then we try again. That Arcanist should have a much harder time against the queen’s blood if we direct the connection to the woman.’

‘Give me something sharp, then.’

Gull handed a small knife to Lorne without ceremony. A quick cut, blood spilling, and Doe had already held a topaz over the thin wound above the man’s wrist.

‘That will do,’ she said, and began to assemble the Mirror of Faces once again.

‘Wait.’

Doe looked up in curiosity. Lorne harrumphed, stepping closer to the table.

‘I wish to speak with the queen alone.’

Goat snorted. ‘Out of the question, master Fox. The conclave remains together to avoid all kinds of scheming.’

‘I’m convinced Malady will not speak before you all. You are strangers to her, even if you used your true names. You simply have no base to confront the queen of Temdath.’

‘We won’t let you speak with her alone.’

‘Gull can stay, then. Have him grab a piece of paper and write everything for all I care. But he must remain in the corner.’

‘The conclave is based on mutual trust,’ Gull muttered. ‘I say we let Fox converse with the queen on his own.’

Lorne welcomed Gull’s newly roused companionship gladly, though the rest of the conclave seemed torn. Doe sighed and rose from her chair.

‘Here.’ She handed a dark green, bluish gemstone to Lorne. ‘It’s a moonstone. You are not susceptible to the faelin, you couldn’t use the Mirror without this.’

‘I’m not sure I can use gemstones, either,’ said Lorne, shoulders slumping.

‘Moonstones are very much like kyanites, nearly anyone can use them. And if for some reason you couldn’t, then I guess you won’t meet the queen alone.’

Lorne nodded, clutching the moonstone into his palm. Doe turned towards the rest of the band.

‘Let us leave master Fox alone. We’ll return in … half an hour?’ Lorne nodded. ‘Splendid. The moonstone possesses a fragment of Lady Maeve’s power. You don’t need to rush things. The girl’s like a depthless well, there’s enough faelin in that gem for a week-long conversation.’

The masked cohorts of Lorne all left the room, not without glancing back at him in doubt. He took Doe’s seat, watching the pack of blue topaz in contemplating silence. They formed a frame, twelve times twelve in rows and columns, without any actual glass in the middle. The structure stood on the table untouched but emanated a certain kind of threatening aura. Lorne felt the moonstone pulsating with the power of the Royal Reborn. He brought it to his wound on his arm, stained some blood on it, just to be sure. He then clutched it in his hands, then, tentatively, touched one of the topazes in the frame with his other. He was glad no one saw him in the process; he felt awkward.

The frame instantly began to emit a faint blue light. Astonished, Lorne instinctively let go of the gems with his left. The moonstone equally glowed in its ocean-green colour, Lorne feeling the gem warming up in his palm. A grey canvas of mist filled the frame of the Mirror, for the fourth time now. Lorne knew it was going to be successful this time. The view cleared, slowly revealing the inside of an extensively gilded throne room with two vague shadows over.

Soon, sounds of a quarrel reached Lorne.

‘Stop it, Dynarav, stop it already! How can these hollow pigs best you?!’

‘It’s not that simple, darling. This time, they used your blood.’

‘You … that’s a vile joke, even from you!’

‘I meant your mask, idiot. Well, it doesn’t matter. Greet your relative, honey.’

The Mirror had been set; the view clear. The scene overflew the frame of the gemstones, encroaching the whole room around Lorne in a vision as though he had been transported to Temdath. The next moment, he sat in the Palace of Sky, facing Queen Malady Avellan sitting on the throne, eyes narrow, lips pressed, face drawn into discontent.

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A hunched old man stood by the stairs of the throne, one that looked like an archetypal wizard stepping out of the pages of children stories. His long white beard hung below his waist, and one hand gripping a gnarled wooden staff he stood there like a professor from the Academy, face strict, piercing grey eyes staring into one’s soul.

Lorne took several moments to take in the vision. He had used the Mirror of Faces before, but the unfamiliar feeling of transporting his consciousness over thousands of miles always left him dizzy. He decided to remain seated; his body stayed in one of the rooms in the basement of The Serpent’s Head. He did not want to stumble across the table.

After making sure he was not going to lose his consciousness nor vomit, he lifted his head, studying the queen. Malady’s black hair seemed ever so glossy; it fell over her left shoulder, in one elaborate braid, the gilded Wreath of Temdath embraced the locks at the top. Her eyes burnt with unusual vigour, no wrinkles visible around her eyes nor her lips. Her porcelain skin was spotless, almost ethereal in the cleavage of her red gilded attire, tight on her body, slim as an athlete in their prime years.

She looked nothing like a sixty-year-old woman.

‘Well?’ Her voice, edged with a hint of impatient resentment, was clear and strong, but also exuberant, like thick velveteen blanket slipping off a naked body—

Lorne blinked. Then blinked again. That was out of the blue.

‘Well?’ Malady asked again. ‘It’s been long since we last saw each other. Come closer, Lorne.’

The voice bore a command, an order to which Lorne’s body twitched obediently; he flexed his muscles—a needless gesture, since he was there disembodied—but the sensation soon faded. Lorne turned his head to the hunched man, the man’s face mirroring his honest curiosity.

‘Who’s this? I don’t remember him being around.’ Lorne heard his voice distant, echoing as though he spoke underneath water—a side effect of the Mirror. He was unsure why he could hear Malady and the old man clearly.

‘The blood of Vilenmar remains strong to this day,’ muttered the hunchback.

The Queen of Temdath raised a brow.

‘I see you’ve forgotten much of etiquette, nephew. Perhaps we should walk through the basics? A simple greeting should suffice for now.’

‘Yes. I’m sorry.’ Lorne set aside the mystery of the stranger for the time being. ‘It’s good to see you again, Mal. And in such a good health! You … really haven’t aged a bit.’

Malady forced a smile on her strict face. ‘Can’t say the same to you. Your hair’s diminished, that stubble is awful, and I see you indulge in food quite often.’

‘What can I say? I live in a happy marriage.’

‘Oh, yes, with that Morbane girl,’ Malady grimaced. Lorne was surprised she remembered. ‘I would compliment on her cooking expertise, but let’s remain on the ground of reality, that woman has never so much touched a ladle, let alone use it.’

‘You are quick to judge, aunt, but have you, yourself?’

A quiet chuckle escaped from the Arcanist’s lips. Malady’s fingers whitened as they gripped the armrest of the throne.

‘You come to my house and dare mock me? State your business! I doubt you’re here for small talk. Go on and be off.’

Lorne mused silently on the fact he had been called boy. He breathed in an attempt to mollify his rumbling stomach; he wanted to proceed very cautiously.

‘There’s been some vile rumours circulating around about you, aunt.’

Malady’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is that so?’

The Arcanist’s posture changed slightly as though he straightened; it was hard to tell.

‘They say you’ve publicly executed our queen. Alysia Khryssalan.’

Lorne thought he saw slight traces of relief on both; for a moment only, but he was sure it was there. What else have they expected?

‘Oh, nephew, to give credence to such folly!’ Malady chuckled. ‘Queen Alysia resides in Handerlon as guest, a highly esteemed one, no less. Why would it be in my interest to harm the queen of a potent foreign ally? The commerce of raw gemstones with your people proved to be invaluable. Temdath blossoms.’ The queen leant forward. ‘Now, tell me, Lorne, where did you hear this absurdity?’

Lorne dismissed the question, waving his hands as if it was of little importance.

‘It does not really matter. But … it would please our folk if I could see Alysia. That way I could drown those foul gossips.’

Malady smiled. ‘But of course.’ She looked at the Arcanist. ‘Well, you’ve heard my nephew. Get the queen here, let us dispel his convictions of me being a bloody butcher.’

The hunchback mumbled something under his breath, then turned, leaning on his staff, and shuffled away from the vision. Lorne followed him with his eyes; turning around, he saw the throne room behind him fading into a distorted image of the void, the old man looking more and more vague with each step.

‘How many years has it been?’ Malady’s question drew him back from watching the edges of the vision.

‘A lot.’

‘Too many. Who was on throne when you left?’

‘Ilyvon. I left Temdath for good the day before he proclaimed the Union of Dath.’

‘You left the day before that degenerate got a dagger between his ribs.’

‘That’s a different perspective, but yes. Why is it important?’

‘It’s not. I was just thinking. You’ve missed three rulers of Temdath, and a period when we tried to mimic Remdath and its Council. The Syndicate lasted for … two months? Before the Peyklyns executed a coup.’

‘All that in the last twenty years.’

‘These abominations lasted less than half a decade.’

‘How true is that. You managed to have sat on the throne in the wake of the chaos. And have been for what, fifteen years?’

‘Precisely.’

‘I thought ruling exerted the person, the soul,’ wondered Lorne aloud. ‘I would have expected some tiredness. Grey flocks. Perhaps a couple of wrinkles, crow’s feet. Queendom doesn’t seem to touch you much, aunt.’

Malady smiled again—but there was no beauty in that smile. It looked more like a sneer, something an unfortunate rabbit could see the moment before it is pounced by a bird of prey.

‘How’s father?’ Lorne asked to lift the atmosphere.

‘Why don’t you come and visit him yourself?’ whispered the woman.

‘You know I’m not part of this family anymore, Mal. How’s he?’

‘Tucked away at his keep as ever,’ Malady leant even closer in her seat. ‘You say you’re not part of our family. Yet you summon the Mirror of Faces and burst into my palace using your blood, the very same that flows in each and every Avellan. I find this controversial, my dear boy.’

Malady’s eyes glinted—Lorne stood and took a step backward, tumbling in his chair, body trembling. What is going on?

Clatter of footsteps resounded behind his back, but however much he strived to turn back, he found himself unable to do so. Malady’s glare entrapped him, both theoretically and physically. Lorne’s entire body winced when Malady leant forward even more, having him stare at the cleavage of her dress. This is wrong. I am being manipulated. That Godsdamned Arcanist—

An arm flew at his throat, grabbing the man’s neck with a steel grip. Lorne could not even catch his breath before the hand turned him over with otherworldly strength. He faced the wretched hunchback; except the old man was no longer hunched. He towered nearly a foot above Lorne’s head. Lorne, struggling to break free from the Arcanist’s hands, grabbed the old man’s wrists—and panic surged through his chest once he felt the reptilian hide, full of dark blue feathers, dark as pitch.

‘Get him through already,’ Malady hissed. Her voice a snake crawling amid dried leaves; nothing like it was before. The Arcanist’s grey eyes narrowed, face drawn into curious contemplation as he slowly pulled Lorne closer to him. Lorne felt his muscles flexing, strenuously stretching, and with a growing sense of abhorrent fear he realised his senses began to alter; he no longer smelt the musty walls of the Serpent’s Head but the faint odour of lavender across the throne room; his palm, clutching the uncanny wrist of the Arcanist, felt the stranger more and more real. Sweat trickled all over Lorne’s face; drops already fell to the floor of the throne room. Of the throne room!

A sudden jerk around his waist shook the entire vision, the Arcanist’s grip weakening. Those grey eyes now glared at Lorne with genuine ire.

‘Don’t you dare lose him now!’ snapped Malady, to which the Arcanist’s growled:

‘Stop behaving like a moronic child and lock him here, useless brat!’

Another jerk shattered the vision; Lorne slipped from the ungodly hands of the grey-eyed Arcanist, lost his balance and fell on his butt in the basement of The Serpent’s Head. Dairin stood by him with Khora and Laemar, the rest watching the scene in silent horror, frozen. The image of the throne room had already been dissolving, only an opaque mist remaining in the Mirror and its immediate vicinity; a moment later the blue topazes were scattered with a loud crack, the mist vanishing in an instant.

Lorne’s entire body quivered as Dairin crouched by him.

‘What the hell was that?’ asked Khora, pale as a Velardhari.

‘Shut your mouth,’ barked Dairin at him, then studied Lorne’s features. ‘Are you all right?’

Lorne reached for his neck, rough cough tearing up from his throat. He rubbed his neck and chest. ‘I guess.’

‘What do you think has happened?’

Lorne knew he would see those grey eyes of the Arcanist in his sleep the following nights. ‘I can’t say.’

‘You were almost pulled to the other side,’ said Dairin, and though she tried to conceal it, genuine admiration hid behind her words. ‘Lucky the others spied on you behind the door, so we could interfere when things started sounding busy. Do you know that person? That Arcanist?’

‘I don’t.’

‘They might be Reborn,’ she muttered to herself, checking Lorne’s neck. ‘That’s nasty. I suggest you find out some story in case your honourable wife asks about it.’

‘But how was it?’ Laemar asked. ‘Could you speak with Alysia? Did you see her?’

‘No. But …’ Lorne lifted his hand and opened his fist. A handful of dark blue, nearly black feathers fell onto the floor by him. Lorne looked up at his cohorts, body quivering. ‘I … don’t think she’s alive.’