Eris
The reflections near the imprisoned faerie are more difficult to find this time, without Verena's heart-rending screams to guide the way.
Yet finally, I step up to a dim, circular window of light, looking up from the ground at this old dungeon. Light from the distant entry refracts softly off the nearby stream, sending pale shapes rippling on the dilapidated stone ceiling dripping with roots and moss.
Before I can say a word, the Thirteenth Faerie heaves an exasperated sigh from within the shadows of the cage.
"Must lost souls like you always live up to their bothersome reputations?"
"For someone who's said to have been imprisoned in isolation for nearly a hundred years, you're clearly not hurting for company," I mutter.
I reach out to touch the image in the puddle. It doesn't even ripple from my negligible presence.
"Or maybe you just want to be left alone in the shame of unjustly harming an innocent soul from another world. Dealing out an unearned punishment must feel wretched for Wrath himself," I muse.
Chains rattle in the darkness. His voice is pure warning.
"I've transfigured fools into pisspots for less impudence. Go vex someone else."
"I would, except I've yet to hear you say you're not ashamed for torturing Verena," I hazard pointing out. "That must mean something."
As much as I would rather not help her find a way home, I wonder what the guilt of a faerie could do to aid my plight in keeping her here. If he does know a way to send her back, perhaps I can direct her attention elsewhere.
"How very mortal of you, to search for meaning where there is only lack." More clanking, and then something drags across stone. "I suppose that transmigrated soul must have sent you."
"She thought you might know of a way she could return to her world."
Malivant is quiet for long enough that my hopes start to rise.
"Unless even a faerie like you thinks there is no way for Verena to leave. If that's the case—" I begin, already turning away from the puddle as I fight a smile.
"Tell her that I shall make a deal with her. If she breaks Reinhilde's deplorable curse and frees me, I'll send her soul back to the world in which she belongs."
Something caves deep within me as I turn back to the puddle. It's impossible to keep the unhappy dread out of my voice.
"You truly have the power to send her back?"
There is a pause before Malivant's dry laugh scrapes through the balmy air of this dilapidated prison.
"Now I understand why you've really come. What a miserable half-existence you lead. Yearning for another is such a pointless form of torture, let alone from within a glass cage."
I glower at the water's reflection still dancing on the ceiling. There is no trace of my presence there, either.
He's right that I lead a half-existence at best, but…
"I won't be in here forever."
"Ah, yes. False hope, the truest form of torture.
I almost wonder who you crossed once upon a time to be stuck as you are now," the faerie muses before making a nonchalant sound.
"Anyway, I assume you won't tell the otherworlder of the deal I'm offering, since you've deluded yourself into believing she would ever choose to stay for you.
No matter. I'll find a way to speak to her myself, so leave. "
Malivant's savage words and his quick dismissal send something blistering through me. I can't pinpoint what it is until he laughs again, the sound anything but humorous.
"So this is what the wrath of a fading soul feels like. So weak. Were I mortal, I'd pity you."
I nearly retort many things, but I bite my tongue.
Not out of respect. Not out of fear, either, even though faeries are terrible beings with many abilities and Malivant may genuinely be capable of hurting me in the mirror realm.
No, I say nothing because Verena is waiting for me to return.
Verena, who may receive some magical message from this prick at any moment about a magical deal to send her home. If she is going to leave soon, I won't waste what time I may have left with her lurking near this miserable ass.
Without another word to the Thirteenth Faerie, I turn and move swiftly back through the mirror realm. As usual, this dark, window-flecked nothingness is both peaceful and chilling.
When Reinhilde held me captive, it was the most I could long for—this total freedom to go wherever I wished to observe the fascinating physical world. My nonexistence was much less noticeable when I distracted myself by observing others' lives.
Now, the idea of aimlessly wandering this place to peer at endless faces, never seeing Verena's bright smile again or rolling my eyes at her many references to her world…
Crones, how am I supposed to endure that?
I move faster, ignoring any whispers that reach my ears from hundreds of reflections I pass. Some time later, I finally stop at my mirror in the queen's chambers.
She's not in here, though.
"Verena?" I check, in case she's in the garderobe.
When there's no answer, I begin scouring the reflections of the castle.
More laughter and humming and mutterings coast to me, but I don't linger to listen to any of them. I check the courtyards, the windows overlooking the bridges, the chapel, the throne room—
Damn it, where is she?
Before I can start imagining one of Schultz's spies plunging a blade into her chest or slashing her delicate throat, I rush toward the reflections in the secret passage. There aren't many—just the handheld mirror in the lair and the one large mirror in the magic hot spring room.
The instant I catch a glimpse of Verena soaking in the warm water, I relax.
"Thank the goddess," I sigh, approaching the mirror. "You really must start leaving notes on mirrors for me. Write letters in blood if you must, for all I care."
She groans, wiping steam from the bath off her forehead. "Ixnay on the B-word, please."
I snort, but my relief and amusement die quickly when Verena sits up to retrieve soap from the edge of the hot spring.
She's uncharacteristically quiet, as if lost in thought, as she lathers up—but I suddenly have to brace my hand against the edge of this mirror, swallowing hard as I stiffen in my pants.
The suds slide over Verena's wet skin, shimmering in the light of the flickering sconces. When she slides the soap between her bare breasts and down her stomach, circling over her dripping hips, I bite back a swear.
When she reaches up to massage soap into her hair, I can't take it anymore. She's too fucking beautiful, and the pressure is driving me mad.
My hand steals down to untie my trousers until I can slip my hand down, gripping my needy cock.
If Verena opened her eyes right now, she would see me stroking like a lecher to the sensual masterpiece she's presenting. My breath comes faster. I try to muffle it with the back of my other hand, unable to rip my gaze away from her curves as she washes.
I would give anything to be the water that drips from her.
I would give even more to lick it off of her. To feel the smooth perfection of her skin against my lips, trace her curves with my tongue, and whisper confessions into the crook of her neck.
I would confess that when she rests at night, I imagine resting beside her. I imagine smoothing my hand over that dark red hair and kissing that adorable spot above her lips.
I become weak at the thought of Verena kissing me back. The way she might tease me with that gleam in her eye before letting me feel what pleasure is, for once.
Something about this otherworldly woman is indescribably enchanting.
I haven't been acquainted with many people—but though I've only known her for a short time, whenever we speak, it feels as if I've known her forever.
We fit into each other's presence so easily that I don't see how my nonexistence will ever recover if she leaves this world.
It's becoming unbearable, this need for more of her.
Though my strokes have increased and unadulterated desire has me muffling my labored breathing, the swell of impending something abruptly disappears from my body.
As always, release eludes me, impossible thanks to whatever mirror-cursed wretch I am.
I'm left painfully hard in my hand, throbbing and dizzy as I watch Verena sink back into the water to rinse her hair. She didn't notice my bout of frenzied, futile desperation.
Matron almighty, I want nothing more than to revel in complete pleasure with Verena for the entire night of the next full moon, if she also desires it.
But…does she?
Realizing this infatuation I have for her could be entirely one-sided, I step away from the mirror and drag a hand over my face.
Since her arrival, Verena has constantly complimented me, calling me gorgeous, handsome, beautiful, and so on. Just yesterday, she said something about my hair looking as though moonlight and an oil spill had a baby, whatever that means.
We get along so damn well, even when our banter is nothing but ribbing—but I don't think she jests about finding me beautiful.
The attraction is more than mutual. Surely she at least suspects that.
"Fuck," I breathe, pacing back to the mirror.
I have to know. If she's not interested in me the way I am her, or if she only sees me as a creature in her mirror…
Well, I'm far too helplessly drawn to her to leave her be. Still, at least I'll know.
I exhale again, bizarrely nervous. It's rare that words don't spring to my tongue with ease.
"Verena. There's something I should tell you."
She doesn't lift her head from the edge of the pool where her neck reclines, simply soaking in the quiet of this private cavern. She seems to be waiting for me to get to it, so I do.
"I leave the mirror realm during full moons," I say quickly.
"At least, I used to, before Reinhilde. But in all the time I wandered before she imprisoned me, I only ever sought knowledge in new books in the hope of finding something that could free me.
I never met anyone of real note and certainly never experienced anything like this…
harrowing attraction. About that third promise I want from you…
on the next full moon, I thought we might—"
I cut off and look at my hands, dismayed at how mysteriously damp they feel.
Is this…sweat?
Matron, I've never sweated before. If this is what being tongue-tied is like, it's horrid.
"I-I only mean that I want to experience more.
Much more. With you, I mean—obviously. But only if you want me in return.
I can't even begin to describe how I've started to crave you and—" I fumble again, grimacing at how clumsily the words are coming out.
"Damn. I said crave again. Just please get the teasing about that out of the way quickly, so we can get back to… "
I trail off, my nervous attention settling on the way Verena still hasn't moved.
Her shoulders rise and fall with her breathing, but her eyes are shut. Beads of moisture have gathered on her too-pale forehead.
I thought it was just condensation from the hot water, but now I tense, recalling just how recklessly she's been fighting the thirst.
"Verena. Can you hear me?"
She's unresponsive.
"Verena."
When I bang hard on the glass, wishing it would shatter into a thousand pieces and let me go to her, she stirs ever so slightly.
But she's weak, her breathing growing more ragged.
Shit.
At once, I'm racing through the mirror realm, already calling Wulf's name though I know he can't hear me.
I come to a screeching halt when I see the unmistakable frame of the Huntsman in fresh leathers. He's passing the reflection of a door handle somewhere near the chapel, clearly on his way back to the queen's chambers.
I shout his name from the next stained glass window, startling him enough that he curses in Hjemic.
"Eris? What—"
"Verena has succumbed to fever from lack of drinking blood. Go into the secret passage at once and—fucking Crones," I realize, horror overtaking me. "You can't get in there."
If the Huntsman heard my last words, he ignores them completely as he breaks into a run toward the queen's quarters, taking stone steps three at a time.
I follow through the reflections, but already, I feel as though something inside me is splintering.
I've only seen the real queen fall ill with bloodlust a few times.
She was so content feeding from her Favored as much as needed that it only happened in rare instances—but when it did, Reinhilde collapsed, despondent except for sudden bouts of violent mania.
She would lose her mind to bloodlust, screaming and thrashing before falling silent, over and over.
Thanks to the many intricate enchantments she laid on her Favored, one of her men always found her quickly, compelled by magic to revive her with blood at once.
But Verena is alone. She's somewhere Wulf can't go. I have no idea how long she'll keep breathing, in that unconscious state.
I'm going to lose her.
Not to another world as I dreaded, but to Death himself.
Wulf bursts into the queen's chambers just as I appear in my mirror covering the secret passage. He's already reaching for the frame around me, wrenching it open.
"Only the queen is capable of stepping foot past the threshold, thanks to Reinhilde's magic," I rasp, hopeless and spiraling. "You can't—"
My words cut off as the Huntsman can and does step behind the mirror.
I hear his footsteps thunder down the spiral staircase a second longer. The shock of the impossible happening only holds me hostage for a second before I return to my view of the hot spring room.
My heart flips when I see Verena has finally roused. She's so weak that she sways as she fights to get to her feet.
Just as she braces a hand on the edge of the pool and begins to step out, water dripping from her bare, feverish body, Wulf bursts through the blue door.
The loud intrusion startles Verena so her hand slips on the slick steps. Without the support, she slips. I shout in alarm when her chin smacks against the edge of the spring on her way down into the hot water—
But Wulf is already lunging forward, pulling her out of the spring to cradle her in his arms.