Page 110 of This Dark Descent
“What was that fo—” She stopped. The corridor wasn’t empty after all.
Standing on the other side was Lochlyn.
Mikira couldn’t move. All she could do was stare at the easy grin on her brother’s lips, the way his green eyes were warm even in the darkness. He was taller than she remembered, his auburn hair shorn in a military cut. But he was here. He was real.
“Hey, Kira,” he said, and something inside her broke.
She flung herself toward him, but Atara stepped between them, shoving her back. “Move!” she screamed at the horse, unable to do anything but watch as Lochlyn started walking into the dark, beckoning her to follow. “Move, you stupid horse!”
Atara whinnied sharply, the sound rebounding painfully in her ears in the narrow confines of the tunnel. It struck like a shock of cold water, and she gasped as the magic released her.
Lochlyn was gone.
“It was an illusion,” she breathed, staring down at her palm. The door handle had been enchanted to create illusions, and Atara’s danger charm had sensed it.
She nosed Mikira’s cheek, huffing indignantly, and Mikira dug her fingers into the horse’s coat. “I’m sorry,” she said, but Atara only shuffled aside, giving her room to remount. She took one last look at the door, at the magic that could bring back her brother, and sent Atara onward.
They barreled along corridor after corridor, no sign of another horse. On and on they raced, until a pinprick of white light illuminated the way ahead.
An exit.
Mikira leaned close to Atara’s neck as the horse flew down the tunnel. But no sooner had the light appeared than Mikira realized something was blocking their way. She slowed Atara to a trot as they neared what looked like a series of standing boards.
“What in the hells are these?” Her voice bounced off the walls.
She led Atara at a walk to an opening in the line of boards. As they came around the corner, they entered a circle of mirrors.
They all reflected the same thing: her, sitting on Atara’s back. Except something was wrong. Mikira’s eyes were dark bruises full of anger, her jaw set in a hard line and her hands curled into white-knuckled fists. She’d never seen herself so angry.
As she watched, the reflection opened her fists to reveal hands stained with blood.
Mikira gasped, looking down, but her hands were the same pale white as always. But in the mirror, the crimson coating her palms was unmistakable. It was so thick it looked like she’d dipped them in a can of red paint.
What was this? An enchantment that reflected her emotions? Such a thing was incredibly rare and expensive, and by far one of the most difficult types of ethereal enchantments, as it relied on each individual viewer.
She couldn’t look away from it.
The blood dripped from her hands, sliding down her leg and along the saddle, staining the horse beneath.
“Atara,” she breathed.
In the reflection, there was only the shape of a horse, made entirely of clay. Slowly, she began to crumble apart, Mikira’s chances at winning the race disintegrating along with her.
It wasn’t simply her emotions the mirrors were enchanted to show.
She swallowed hard. “They’re enchanted to reflect my fear.”
A stone clattered and Mikira twisted in her seat. Standing in the entrance to the mirror circle, his black stallion’s flank wet with blood, was Gren.
He stared at the clay horse in the mirror. For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Gren kicked Iri with such vicious ferocity the horse squealed and reared. When his front hooves struck stone, he bolted.
“Stop!” Mikira screamed, but it was too late. He’d already torn through the opening on the far side and out toward the light.
She sent Atara after them, erupting out of the tunnels into the grassland and the storm above. Rain pelted them harsh and heavy, houndingthem past the checkpoint and onto the dirt road leading to the Kelbras’ estate.
They tore after Iri and Gren, the realization of what this meant tightening like a noose around her neck.
