I need to learn as much about this world as possible, so I ask, “What’s with the trees?”
“What do you mean?” Ky’s chest vibrates against my back.
“I mean the doors. Why do the trees have doors?” Each one is different, but all are weathered. Red doors, black doors, natural doors, some tall with squared corners, some short and rounded.
“How else would you get inside?” He might as well say “duh.” Then he adds, “But this is Lynbrook Province. All these tromes were abandoned during the Revolution.”
Tromes? Tree homes?
I examine each one as we trot onward. Do people, did people, really live in these? I look up. Windows glimmer high above in each trome. When a shock of blue flashes in one of the panes, I do a double take. On second glance, nothing’s there. But I saw . . .
The horse stops.
The tree line ends just before a drop-off. The beginning of a dilapidated bridge stretches straight ahead. Thin branches arc and intertwine, consumed by overgrown and deadening ivy.
Haman dismounts. “We’ve reached the Broken Bridge. I will have words with the Troll.”
Troll? As in mythical creature that doesn’t exist?
He walks to the bridge’s mouth and halts before earth changes to wood. Thirty feet ahead I can see the bridge is broken in two, a wide, impassable gap dividing our side from the other. Beyond the gap, a gray, rolling fog obscures the bridge’s other half. I wait, my breath in limbo. Any minute some beast straight out of Middle Earth will emerge.
Not even close.
A striking woman with cascading blonde hair and wintry-blue eyes materializes from the mist. I’m immediately reminded of Quinn. Did she make it home okay? Did she ever try to call, drunk and slaphappy, to check on me?
No. She didn’t.
The woman walks over the gap as if it’s not there and approaches Haman.
A gasp escapes me. “How in the—?”
“It’s a façade.” Ky’s lips graze my ear and I flinch. “An illusion created to ward off trespassers.”
“Haman Skinner.” The woman’s lyrical voice turns even his name pleasant. Black dresses her hourglass frame from shoulder to toe, a flowing, almost ethereal fabric billowing around her. “What brings you so far from home?”
Haman bows. He respects her. Why? “Sovereignty business, Mistress Isabeau. My lord—”
A porcelain hand silences him midsentence. “You know better than anyone I do not make exceptions for Jasyn Crowe. Why are you really here?”
“We need to cross.”
“And this concerns me how?”
With all the presentation of a hotel concierge, Haman sweeps an open palm back toward us. “The girl, m’lady. She is Elizabeth’s child.”
Isabeau’s expression changes. Recognition? Hatred? Awe? “You are sure? Do not toy with me.” Pink sneaks into her ashen cheeks.
His bow deepens. “I would not lie to you.”
Isabeau looks past Haman, her glare penetrating.
I lean deeper into Ky’s chest. What is it about this woman that makes me so afraid?
“So this is my late husband’s unfaithfulness incarnate. She will make a fine slave.”
In your dreams, lady.
With a trepid laugh Haman speaks again. “I’m afraid that isn’t possible. His Sovereignty has plans for the girl. The mark—”
“I’m well aware of what her mark indicates, Haman, though it holds no value for me. Get on with it. What is my recompense?” Isabeau crosses her arms and tilts her chin. Pretty high-and-mighty for someone living on—or underneath, as the tales go—a bridge.
“What is it you desire most?”
Haman already knows her answer. Why this long-drawn-out conversation?
A pearly smile lights Isabeau’s face. “How can I be sure you will keep our bargain?”
“I do not welcome your wrath. You have my word. I will deliver payment.” He reaches out a hand.
Isabeau nods, her incisors a little too sharp within her satisfied grin. She places her dainty hand, palm up, in Haman’s. “I bind you to your vow.”
He bends, places a kiss to her palm, looks up. “By a kiss I am bound.”
What just happened?
“We have an agreement.” She leers at me. “Safe passage across the bridge in exchange for Elizabeth’s unborn child.”
NINE
Eyes Meet
The mist consumes us as we pass over the false gap in the Not-So-Broken Bridge. Clopping hooves and our breathing are the only sounds. It’s daytime, but the shadows give the illusion of twilight. There’s no hour or season. Just clouds. The arcing branches of the bridge act like a cage. Trapped.
Elizabeth’s unborn child.
The second I’m able to move on my own, I’m figuring out a way to save her. From Jasyn. From Isabeau. The woman had to be lying. Mom would never have an affair with a married man. And she’s sure not pregnant. When I find her—and I will find her—she’ll set me straight.
She’s lied to me before.
But she wouldn’t lie again. Not about this.
Ky shifts behind me. I have to use him to learn what I can. If this were New York, I’d have no trouble with direction. I hate to admit it, but I need his knowledge of this place, this Reflection, if I’m going to escape . . . and survive.
“I always thought trolls were crude, hairy ogre-monsters.” Keep it light.
“Not everything is visible on the surface, princess.”
Do I hear spite? “How so?”
He tightens his hold on the reins. On me. Annoyed? Frustrated? “I mean, appearances can deceive. A jagged surface doesn’t always allude to what truly lies beneath.”
You and the boy have something in common.
It’s what Mom would say if she were here, but I won’t believe it. Ky and I are nothing alike.
Better keep a tab on things I can use to my advantage. Weaknesses. Isabeau is Haman’s weakness—someone he fears.
Check.
Now what’s Ky afraid of?
“Can’t we go any faster?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“Is that a crime?”
He breathes in. Out. “The wounds Haman inflicted start deep, then work their way to the surface. You’re bleeding internally now. Eventually your skin will rupture and you’ll bleed out.” He explains it like a doctor diagnosing a terminal patient. How does he know so much about this? “We’re trying to get you to the castle without speeding up the process. Any sudden movements will only worsen your condition. It’s why we continued through the Threshold into Lynbrook Province rather than taking you back to the Pond. The alternate Threshold would’ve left us practically at Crowe’s doorstep. But this way is safer. Your Reflection has too many obstacles when it comes to getting from here to there.”
Be still. If what Ky says is true, I’ll be dead before I have a chance to save Mom.
“What does Jasyn want with me? Why all this trouble to bring me here?”
“Shhh!”
I raise my voice. “Tell me. Or I swear I’ll throw myself off this horse—”
“I said be quiet!” he whisper-yells.
The black horse stops. Rears. Whinnies wildly. Ours follows like a tipped domino.
I clench its mane so I don’t fall. Crud, that hurts. “What’s happening?”
“Whoa! Easy, girl.” He pulls on the reins, digging his heels into the horse’s rear.
Something emerges from the fog ahead. Is it an animal? A bird?