Mirror, Mirror
When she arrived back at her rooms, Hazel wanted to collapse into her bed and stay there forever.
Though the oils and tinctures were working something akin to magic on her injuries, she still found herself depleted after traversing the many stairwells and corridors.
She stopped at the double doors and leaned forward, thumping her forehead against the wood. She huffed a breath.
Footsteps sounded down the hall behind her. Gods, she just wanted rest.
Slaide, unfortunately, wanted to talk. And she was in no shape to fight him on it.
She pushed one door in, stumbling into the room and just out of reach.
“Hazel,” he grumbled. He’d been trying to chat the entire walk back to no avail.
A well-timed release of the door left it slamming in his face.
She limped across the room and plopped herself onto the bed, a sigh of relief escaping her lips as she sunk into the down-filled duvet. Her momentary bliss was interrupted by the doors crashing open, and she found herself sighing a second time, exasperated by his persistence.
“Hazel.”
Maybe if I just lay here, he will leave me alone.
“I have all day, sweets.” He plucked an orange cat hair off his jacket, pondering it for a moment before discarding it on the floor.
She rolled over, grunting her dismissal.
“Look. I don’t know what happened back there, but I am trying to find out so I can… help you? So we can move on from this… whatever this is.”
“Go. Away.”
“No can do. Your leash may be longer than most, but make no mistake—you’re still tethered to me.” He crossed the room, approaching her side of the bed.
“Then maybe you should pull it a little tighter,” she said as she rolled away from him.
The air was snatched out of the room, leaving a deafening silence between them. She turned to look at him, only to find his stare had darkened, giving him an uncomfortably feral expression.
“Say that again,” he growled.
Nope. Not doing that. She rolled her eyes. “Fine.” She sat up halfway, adjusting the green dress.
Slaide relaxed and walked over to the window, looking out over the stable yards.
Hazel took a deep breath. “All of the rules, preparing for this tournament, all the adjustments… it’s just so much.
I didn’t ask for any of this.” She looked at her hands.
Cursed hands and cursed powers. She hadn’t asked for any of it, and it was ruining her life.
“I have always been a plain, simple person. A nobody. Pa and I lived on our farm forever. Our cottage and the inn are where I’ve spent most of my time, and up until a few days ago, I’d never been outside of Larksridge.
My entire world has been turned upside down, and my own father doesn’t even know I’m alive. ” She dropped her face into her hands.
“So, tell him,” Slaide said as if it were really that simple.
She whirled on him, preparing to bite his head off, but he was gesturing at the writing desk and unused parchment there.
“I can write to him?” There was no way it was that simple. Witch. Killer. It will mean the death of me if I forget that.
“I don’t see why not. Bear in mind it will be read by multiple people to check for code words or encryptions. You can’t talk about anything you’ve seen or heard here, plan an escape, request a rescue… you get the idea.”
Hazel considered it. She did want to ask him about the rumor she’d overheard, but perhaps it would have to wait. She sighed and slid herself from the bed, stifling a groan when her feet touched the floor.
“What would I even say? I have nothing to hide, and I’ve learned nothing about this place other than everything is a secret.
I am just a daughter who misses her father.
We are all each other has in the world.” And…
Agnes. Holy gods. The thought struck her harder than the guardsman the night she was arrested.
“Agnes,” she blurted. “My… she… the other woman I was brought in with. What became of her?” Her heart was in her throat. She hadn’t even had a moment to think about her beloved Agnes.
Slaide considered her for a moment. And then he looked as though a thought had hit him. “Ah. Was that her name?”
Was? Please, please let her be ok.
“She’s been returned home, to the best of my knowledge. She took a hard hit to the head that night. Didn’t remember a thing. Though, if what they say is true, you probably prevented it from being much worse for her.” He eyed Hazel thoughtfully. “That was brave of you. Stupid, but brave.”
She looked away, unsure what to make of the statement. Was it a compliment? Did she care? “I’m just glad to hear she’s alright,” she said.
Silence stretched between them.
Hazel pulled out the desk chair. She smoothed her dress and took a seat on the plush velvet cushion. She gathered the materials she needed to pen the letter, finding everything but a quill.
A hand appeared over her shoulder, holding a sleek, black feather. No, not a feather. A writing quill. She grasped it, meeting Slaide’s gaze as he looked down at her, those golden eyes burning with the heat of ten thousand suns. “Don’t mess this one up. It happens to be my favorite.”
Hazel found herself giddy with childlike joy, smirking mischievously at the quill as she took it.
And then she began to write.
Once Slaide had taken his leave, Hazel’s letter in hand, she collapsed into the bed.
Her body was tired, but her mind refused to turn off. So, she lay there, quiet and unmoving, hoping she could just… go to sleep.
Realizing her mind wasn’t going to give in, Hazel climbed out of bed and decided to get to know her surroundings a little better. She grabbed the chamberstick and candle from the bedside table before slowly making her way around the room.
There wasn’t much in the way of decoration. No family photos adorning the walls. No trinkets or personal items. In fact, besides the ornate bed and curtains, there wasn’t much to say about the space at all.
Beyond the full-length windows overlooking the gardens and forest beyond, the bright moon began to peek over the treetops. It illuminated the room so fully, she almost didn’t need the candle at all.
Hazel followed the light it cast into the room to where it met the floorboards. It was then she spied the tapestry hanging in a forgotten corner.
As she approached, Hazel discovered a depiction of their entire pantheon of gods, plus extra she didn’t recognize.
In the middle, the elemental gods were represented—the ones she was familiar with.
But below them… additional godlike beings took up residence in the Underworld.
And above, a goddess with pale skin and flowing white hair was one with the moon, seeming to channel its power.
Opposite her, a dark-skinned male figure was postured in the same fashion with the sun.
Celestial gods. She wasn’t sure where the name came from, but it fit all the same. She’d never seen anything of the sort.
A sudden draft sent chills up her spine. Gooseflesh pimpled her arms. But the windows were shut and so was her door.
Hazel frowned. But wait…
Carefully, she pulled the tapestry forward to peer behind it, finding nothing but a stone wall. Not that she had expected some long-forgotten hidden passageway that might spell her escape, but it would’ve been nice.
Across the room, the handle to her door turned and jangled, as though someone on the other side was fiddling with the lock.
Hazel’s heart jumped into her throat as questions assaulted her mind. She should be sleeping, not snooping. But why was someone entering her room, knowing she should be asleep?
She blew out the candle and slipped behind the tapestry just as her door creaked open, silently hoping the room was dark enough to hide the obvious lump behind it. Her fingers itched to reach for the locket as it grew uncomfortable against her chest.
Whoever it was took three steps into the room before retreating back into the hallway. Hazel released a sigh of relief, relaxing her body into the cold stone against her back.
It shifted behind her with a click, groaning low like some awakened beast.
Before she could react, Hazel fell backward into nothingness, with nothing solid to grasp until the hard, dusty floor rose to meet her. She coughed through the cloud of dust as she righted herself.
But to her horror, the wall she’d somehow fallen through was already closing, sealing her off from her room and leaving her in darkness.
She pushed to her feet, lunging at the wall where the door had been moments before. She searched for anything, any way back in, but there were no loose stones, no hidden buttons. Clearly, she wasn’t getting back the way she came.
Hazel turned to face the room she’d entered, surveying her surroundings once the dust cleared. She was in a small antechamber—high above her, a small, barred window allowed in a sliver of light. On the far wall, there was an opening about knee high.
After inspecting it, Hazel knew what she needed to do. It seemed safe enough, and her options were… limited, at best.
On the other side of the tunnel, Hazel brushed cobwebs away and dusted off her nightdress. This room was vast and long forgotten.
It was a library. An old, abandoned library, but a library, nonetheless. Notably missing… the books. Empty shelves filled the space, and the tables arranged near the looming windows were coated in a thick layer of dust.
Hazel walked down one dark aisle toward the center of the room.
Something thumped to the floor several aisles up, and she froze, every fiber of her being on alert.
What in the gods… Her locket thrummed against her skin, as if pulling her toward the sound.
It had never urged her toward something; only warned against it. So, she obeyed.
As she peered from behind a bookcase, Hazel found the culprit: a small leather-bound tome. At first glance, the shelves had appeared bare, but perhaps someone had missed a book or two in their clean out