Masquerade of Mirrors (Halls of Glass #1)

Chapter 1

Taera

Don’t look at the desert.

I’m not supposed to feel its lure. Not this long past childhood.

Growing up only a dozen steps from high tide, I know better than to cross the harsh line where dirt turns to rusty-orange sand.

But the desert doesn’t like to be ignored.

It demands my attention like the deafening winds that beat at our hut.

It slips between unguarded thoughts, stealing my forbidden glances—which I’ve learned to hide like a dark, delicious secret between me and the sand.

Don’t think about the desert.

My breath catches when I realize I’ve been gazing out over the lush curve of the dunes.

Scowling, I drag my eyes back down to the sandy dirt beneath my feet.

What is it I’m looking for again? Blushing desert lily.

All I need is to find the lily and get far away from the cursed edge.

Even with the sands receded and the call less strong, I don’t trust myself this close to the line.

I focus on keeping my feet rooted to the dusty ground, rather than letting them carry me absentmindedly toward the dunes.

Longing hooks beneath my ribs, tugging my thoughts back to the desert.

I force myself to recall why I shouldn’t give in: everything—everyone—the sand has stolen.

I flinch, but my heart hardens with cool hatred that keeps me focused.

But if I can’t even trust myself…

I swing my head around, searching for Ezran beneath the hot, blurry afternoon air. The sunburnt wildflowers carry the same amber tint as the ocher ground and hazy horizon. I stride out onto the cracked earth of a long-dried salt lake.

“Ez!” I shout.

“What?” my brother calls from behind me. I swivel around, my head throbbing. This close to the desert, the pain tingles around the edges and verges on pleasure.

I hate it.

He bounds over, shoving a gangly arm out, revealing his stained hand stuffed with crumpled purplish leaves. I frown.

“Whistleweed,” he exclaims.

I groan. “Ez, that’s sage.”

“It’s not.” He glares at me with stubborn dirt-brown eyes identical to my own.

“Look at the leaves. They’re rounded.”

He looks down at his hands, then shrugs, tossing the leaves to the ground and wiping his palms on the already-stained brown burlap of his tunic. A mischievous smile quirks his lips, parting into a wide grin that displays his crooked front teeth.

“But look at what else I found,” he announces, pulling out his other hand with a flourish. In front of him—between his legs—he prominently wields a bulging ferocactus the length of his arm, which bobs enthusiastically, emulating, well…

I roll my eyes, groaning. But I can’t help the faint smile that tugs the edges of my mouth, concealed beneath my sandscarf. Why did I agree to bring Ez along?

Turning away, I settle for crouching down and pulling out the short knife from my belt.

Its chapped leather handle fits with familiar ease between my fingers as I tease apart the windswept stems of a clump of yarrow and cut them tidily from their base of leaves.

After trimming off the flowers, I wrap the cuttings in a scrap of fabric and tuck them into the satchel looped to my leather waist belt.

Sweat beads at my brow and I wipe it off, inhaling the stifling heat.

Rising, I’m already glancing around for Ezran again while I scan for the other herbs I need.

“I thought your apothecary work would be stuffy,” Ezran says, keeping me informed of what direction he’s in. “But this is awesome!”

I grit my teeth, stray flecks of sand grinding between them, watching my brother swing the cactus around like a bulbous green sword. I make myself turn away. It’s fine, as long as he isn’t hurting himself or getting into trouble.

“I thought only mages came out this far,” he calls, “and relic hunters.”

I stiffen. “It’s low tide. I only come here when it’s safe. I never cross onto the sand.”

“Right, yeah.” The ease of his tone worries me.

I risk a glance to the west, and it steals my breath away. The blazing orange sand sings to my bones and threatens to mesmerize me.

Don’t look at it.

I exhale carefully and drop my gaze. The better plants will be closer to the edge. Well, the same plants. But their properties will be more potent, with roots closer to the sand.

Jaw tight, I take two steps toward it. I’m vigilant, making sure each movement is of my own accord and that I’m not being dragged by wicked forces beyond the line. I can taste it now: sharp and metallic and leaving the sting of salt on my tongue.

Magic.

I press my lips tightly closed. I will not think about the cursed power of the desert. I’m antsy as I scan the brown grasses, prodding spiky shoots and gnarled shrubbery scattered across the barren ground, searching for any hint of color that would signal the herbs I can sell to the apothecary.

Stuffy work. I snort. Ezran has no idea how far I’ll go to keep a scrap of meat in our stew, to keep his endlessly hungry teenage stomach full and spare Gramps from having to go back to work.

To my delight, a shimmer of violet winks at me from up ahead. Closer to the sand.

I will not look.

The sky is clear, which—in a faint, faraway part of my mind—sets me on edge. A storm might be coming. But the colors hold me: the distinct shade of green of the leaves, the clear points to the purple petals. The desert lily is just a dozen steps away.

I hesitate. It could be a trick to tempt me closer. A mirage. A lie. Even at low tide, when it’s relatively safe. But the plant is still a good twenty paces from the edge.

Slowly, I step closer.

Don’t trust the desert.

The scent of eucalyptus rolls lazily in on the wind, and a heavy ache grips my chest as memory slams into me. Mom’s arms. Her smile. My hand drifts to the glossy pendant looped around my throat, carved of the same wood she loved.

My mind grows hazy as I step closer to the desert. My breaths quicken—not from fear, as they should, but…

I hate how much I love it out here. I shouldn’t. But the thrill ignites me, even as it terrifies me. The obsession gnaws at my muscles, aching and restless. Stepping toward the sand is as tempting as a cool glass of rainwater after a hard day under the sun.

But that would be reckless.

I can’t be reckless.

This close, it’s hard to look away. In my periphery, I can still see the flower I’m shuffling toward, only a few steps away, but the sand has swirled around my soul, yanking me closer—

Don’t—Don’t—

Ezran’s scream ricochets through me. I jerk around. It’s the sound of pain. Sharp. But I can’t see him.

I jog in the direction I last saw him, still shaky as my lucidity returns. A torrent of curses guides me until I spot him. He’s hopping on one foot, clasping the other, his face scrunched tight.

I groan. What has he managed to do this time?

“Careful,” I bark, reaching him and grasping his arm so he won’t jump onto another cactus. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything,” he objects. “Mother of cactuses, it hurts.”

I duck down, examining the reddening patch of skin around his ankle and yank the leg of his pants up, exposing the already-swelling joint.

“What did you step on?” I demand.

“Nothing.”

The doofus.

“Ez,” I snap, “don’t you dare lie to me this close to the desert.”

Ezran groans. “Scorpion. I didn’t really see, but it was small and red, I think.” His anger melts as his eyes grow huge and worried. “Am I going to die?”

“No, you absolute cactus,” I say, a bit too forcefully. “You’re fine.”

It’s my turn to groan as I glance back at the plant I left behind. The purple flowers are impossibly distant now—perhaps just a mirage after all. I shake my head and refocus on my brother.

“Can you walk?” I ask, scowling. My pulse pounds, but I keep my tone calm. No need to alarm him.

My nostrils flare. In the heat of the air, beneath the perfect blue of the endless sky, I can taste the tang of static that comes before a storm.

“I-I think so.” Ezran limps a few steps in the dirt, his foot dragging more than it should, before he yowls. “Ayye! These damn shoes.”

He yanks the fraying leather off his foot, drawing his arm back to toss it.

I catch his hand and safely retrieve the offending footwear.

It’s a miracle the few remaining scraps of leather have held together—mostly it’s gaping holes begging for something venomous to crawl inside.

Guilt twinges through me. I should have at least tried to patch these up again.

Ez should have made sure they were in good enough shape to follow me this far out.

I grit my teeth, anger edged with the knowledge I could have prevented this.

I glance around, part of me still attached to my plan.

I was relying on this clear afternoon—the low tide—to at least collect the simple stuff I’ve had to start rationing at the apothecary.

But Ezran limps right through those plans, his face pinching up as he jumps around on one foot. He’s going to exhaust himself.

I don’t bother asking if he’s having any trouble breathing or feeling sick. There’s nothing I can do about it here, and he’ll only start inventing symptoms.

I frown. Gramps will have to make do with what I’ve already collected. He won’t complain, but it still makes me furious that Ezran insisted on coming, only to waste several good hours on what’s going to be a long, idiotic trek home.

I scan for any sort of branch sturdy enough to help him walk, but not one of the mangy shrubs stands a chance of being useful.

Nothing out here makes it past my knees.

I should have known that the desert would sooner take than give me anything I can actually use.

At least my annoyance keeps my mind away from the blasted sand.

Heat builds across my face as I mutter, “Come on. Let’s get going already.”