Chapter 30 The Reflection
Daphne
The Reflection
We changed before the ferry entered the port of Calais, but the cold of the sea had seeped into my bones.
The sensation of inhuman eyes on my back didn’t fade as we trudged through the crowded port of Calais.
Uniformed customs agents shouted at merchants, and the scent of salt and coal lingered in the wind.
I kept my head down as Emrys exchanged clipped French with an officer and handed over our papers.
Everything was too loud, too real. Only once we stepped onto the polished brass steps of the train did I allow myself to breathe.
The crystal glasses chimed softly as the train rattled over the rails.
Soft afternoon light slanted through the tall windows, gilding every surface.
The restaurant car was a marvel of polished wood and brass—mirrors catching sunlit reflections of decanters and cutlery, fresh flowers in vases, and white-gloved waiters gliding between tables.
Silver domes lifted with dramatic flair, and the scent of butter and garlic made my mouth water.
I sat stiffly across from Emrys at a small corner table, trying not to stare at the chandelier swaying gently above us or the wealthy travelers murmuring in French nearby.
I shifted uncomfortably, telling myself I was fine.
That I hadn’t just stood on the edge of death with a sea spirit whispering in my mind.
But the linen napkin in my lap was already wrinkled from how tightly I’d twisted it.
Between us, resting innocently on the velvet seat, was a hatbox that Emrys had “borrowed” from someone on the ferry. It would have been unremarkable—if not for the occasional tick tick of claws against its inner lining. And the hastily cut holes into the lid.
Emrys had ordered an impressive selection: a plate of cheeses, poached pears in red wine, fresh baguette, olives, duck, and a bottle of something expensive. He looked in his element, long fingers cradling a glass of wine, watching me through the steam rising from my plate.
I tried to match his calm, but I was too aware of everything—the fabric of my dress, the elegant women around me, the way the fork trembled in my hand.
“Do you always dine like a royal fugitive?” I asked.
He smirked. “Only when we celebrate making it across the Channel alive.”
I nearly smiled at that, but my eyes drifted to the window. Green fields, flocks of birds rising to the clear sky.
“I never thought I’d see this,” I whispered.
“France. Freedom.” I poured myself some wine, hoping to soothe my unease.
Maybe it was time to leave the shadows behind.
To celebrate. Soon, that bond between us would be gone.
And I’d board the first train to Italy. Or I could stay for some weeks in Paris.
“Arthur always said I deserved nothing better. That I was cursed. That I’d brought death to our parents.
” My voice cracked slightly. “I was twelve when the undyne drowned them.”
“He was wrong,” Emrys said, and his hand froze mid-gesture as if he was reaching to cup mine but stopped.
I blinked at the certainty in his tone. “You don’t know that.”
“I don’t need to,” he said. “I’ve known monsters, Miss Daphne. And you are not one of them.” Again, that terribly infectious smile of his. The right corner curled up, revealing a disturbingly sharp canine tooth. This sight sent a tremor down my spine.
I opened my mouth to reply, to say something sharp and witty and hide my blushing, but a faint creeeeeak interrupted me.
We both looked down just as the lid of the hatbox tipped up.
A small, black paw slipped out. Then another.
Long fingers with curled claws pulled the embroidered tablecloth and inched toward the cheese tray.
Emrys reached casually for a cheese knife. “Don’t you dare.”
Too late. The lid flew open.
Nibble emerged like a tiny bat-shaped demon, face first on the cheese platter, stuffing a piece of brie into his mouth with both paws.
I swallowed a laugh and looked around. “Nibble!” It all happened so fast, yet someone might have still noticed him.
“I told you we should have ordered a separate course just for him,” Emrys said.
The waiter, alerted by the sudden commotion, approached. “Monsieur! Pets are not allowed in the restaurant!” he said with a thick accent. Emrys flicked a hand subtly, murmuring something under his breath. The man blinked, forgot what he’d been doing, and wandered back toward the bar.
“Damn it, Nibble! I’m trying to save my magic!” Emrys said.
Nibble, belly now significantly rounder, curled up inside the hatbox with a satisfied burp.
I closed the lid of the box tightly. The question kept coming up in my head. “What are you, Emrys Caerwynne?”
He was quiet for a while, looking at the countryside flying by the window. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than I’d ever heard it.
“I was called many things. But to the Pentarchy—the five of us who watch over the ancient balances—I was the Lore Warden. Knowledge Keeper. Truth-bearer. I remember the names of the winds that no longer blow, the shapes of stars erased from the sky. I know the paths of the magic and how to tame it.”
“And the Eclipse Order? What do they want with you?”
His expression darkened.
“Power. They want to rewrite the laws of this world. Unmake death. Change the balance of things. Raise an army. Replace this reality with something they think is right, for all of you. To do that, they need the Pentarchy broken. They need what’s inside my head.
” He lifted his glass in a toast, his smile a promise that they’d never get it.
I took a bite of the duck and the sautéed mushrooms. “Is the Renegade leading them?”
He looked back at the sunset, its glow reflecting in his eyes like liquid gold. “Yes. He pronounced himself as Grandmaster of the Eclipse Order. But there are others, too. Humans. Monsters flock together. Villains always find a banner to march beneath.”
I put my glass on the table and glanced around. How many of the travelers were his spies? Would I ever be safe again, even if Emrys Caerwynne was just a memory?
“That woman you loved... What was she like?” I asked, feeling a lump in my throat for some God-unknown reason.
His gray eyes drifted toward something far away, and his voice dropped to a whisper.
“She was… made of fire. And she burned everything around her until the flames caught her, too. I knew it was coming and couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t protect her.”
His throat bobbed, and I looked away, stung by something I couldn’t name. A strange mix of curiosity and sadness. The knowledge that I’d never be like her.
“How did she die?”
“In my hands,” he said. “She paid with her blood for the freedom of her people. There’s that thing about freedom, Miss Daphne. It never comes for free.”
He looked down at his hands, fingers flexing slowly.
“I spent decades hunting down everyone involved in her murder,” he said.
His voice sounded hollow. “Killed them all. Every single soldier who attacked that village among the blooming poppies. And for a time, I would’ve gone further.
I was ready to kill their families. To take from them what they took from me. ”
He exhaled, the wine in his glass glowing blood-red as it caught the last sunlight.
“Luckily, Camille found me before I became a monster. She pulled me back. Reminded me who I used to be.”
I looked closely at him, noting every detail. The dark stubble along his sharp jaw, his wide pupils, blacker than midnight. This man was a murderer. I remembered all too well the quick work he did of the Hollowborn and Vexley’s men at the manor. Then why did I feel so safe in his company?
“And you, Miss Daphne?” His lips stretched into a sad smile. “Captor of forgotten goddesses. Breaker of wards. Was there anyone who made your heart beat faster?”
Dust motes shimmered in the air between us. I tipped back the rest of my wine. “I always found Prince Tamino from The Magic Flute rather charming,” I said. Warmth spilled in my chest when his smile deepened, wrinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes.
He thoughtfully tapped his lip with a finger. “Hmm, odd, you didn’t strike me as one in need of a savior.”
I looked away to hide my flushed face. Somehow, this was the best compliment I’d ever received. “Not a savior. Someone noble enough to help those in need.”
“Someone with a magic flute? I’d say, Miss Daphne, you’re building quite the reputation among retired gods and immortals.
” He smirked. “I suggest you rest now, little thief. In Paris, we’re going to do what needs to be done.
” His voice got darker, and my stomach dropped.
Odd as it was, I was not looking forward to that moment, even if it meant I’d finally get my freedom.
“Fine,” I said and pushed up to my feet. I almost lost my balance. The French wine and the speeding train were a tricky combination.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“To the powder room, just across from here, Emrys.” I pointed at the door at the bottom of the car. “No gentlemen are allowed there, so you stay here and keep an eye on Nibble.”
He nodded, and I could tell his eyes followed me when I walked to the far end of the cart.
My skirts brushed the wooden paneling of the narrow corridor leading to the powder room.
The sounds of the restaurant—cutlery clinking, soft laughter—faded behind the heavy velvet curtain.
I did my business, then washed my hands at the porcelain basin.
Why was it suddenly so cold? The hairs on my arms stood up, and I glanced into the mirror above the copper faucets.
My reflection seemed… slow. Damn it. I shouldn’t have drunk that much.
I took a step, and for a heartbeat, my reflection didn’t move.
Wine. I told myself. Just the wine. I am not used to drinking.
A cackle startled me. Two stunning young brunettes dressed in the latest French fashion burst in. After sparing me a condescending gaze, they went on with their conversation, the taller one fixing her high-pinned hair. Our eyes met for a moment.
Sweet Mother Mary. In the reflection, their eyes were two maggot-infested holes, and their skin was gray and decaying.
I pressed my palms against my mouth and turned around, ready to scream.
The girls were carried away in their conversation, looking completely normal.
Did I imagine this? I shook my head and headed to the exit.
Flying demons, a mental asylum, spirits, and an undyne. Life had not been gentle lately.
As if it had ever been gentle. I straightened my back and walked past the women.
Paris was an hour away. And with it—my chance at freedom.