I face him, trying to mask my shock as I absorb the sight before me. I’ve never looked into Soulless eyes. I wish I wasn’t now. They’re completely clouded. The haze glassing them moves and swirls, as if permanent fog resides there.
Ky draws his knife, uses his body as a barricade, backing us away from the guard. “Anytime now, Ember.”
I fumble with Mom’s book in my sweating palms, shaking as I read the page again.
I lift my head and start to sing. My voice wavers, cold and cracking.
The guard halts his pursuit.
It’s working. My melody grows stronger, surer.
He drops to his knees.
Other guards begin to notice and pursue. I keep at it. Sing as loud as I can manage, my alto hitting its range limit. We walk backward up the ship’s ramp. I stop singing. Catch my breath.
“Do you have any idea how to drive a ship like this?”
“Drive? You don’t drive a ship.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
He shakes his head. “We don’t have a crew. We’re better off taking one of the lifeboats. Climb in and keep singing. I’ll handle the rest.”
One by one, Jasyn’s army ignores us, acts as if we aren’t here. I begin my song again. My throat begs for mercy, but I thrust the lyrics through. It seems like forever before the rowboat breaks water. Ky rows, and I sing until I can’t see the sand anymore. I feel like a siren, but instead of drawing sailors to their death, I’m saving us from ours.
When I finally collapse onto a bench, I gaze at the stars overhead, brilliant in a new moon sky. How is it possible this Reflection holds the same constellations as my own? Yet another conundrum to add to the list.
“I don’t believe it.” Ky slows his rowing, hunches forward.
“Me either.” I laugh, giddiness competing with sanity. If I wasn’t afraid of capsizing, I would literally jump up and down.
Splash, slosh, splash. Ky works the boat forward, staring at me. “I’ve heard the legends.” Ky ceases once more and raises the oars. Drip, drip, drip. Water trickles from wood to sea. “I always thought they were just stories. Fables my mother told to help me fall asleep.” He resembles a country kid visiting New York for the first time. Awestruck. Eyes as wide as cymbals. “How did you know?”
I dig The Reflection Chronicles from my pack, flip to the last page, and raise it. “Because of this.” I tap my finger against the sketch on the back.
Ky laughs. “I guess we need to change the name.” He resumes rowing, his biceps flexing with each stroke.
“The name?” I pull my canteen from my pack and drink, the cool liquid coating my dry throat. I offer some to Ky.
“Birthmark is the wrong term.” He raises the canteen into the air as if preparing to give a toast. “Mirrormark is more like it.”
TWENTY-SIX
When We Touched
Mirror Theory. Seventh Day, First Month, Fifth Year of Aidan’s Reign . . .’ The fifth year of Aidan’s reign?” I flip open Mom’s sketchbook-slash-journal, scan the entries. Aha! There. She was thirteen in Aidan’s thirty-fifth year as king. She couldn’t have written this. It explains the torn page, the dissimilar texture of the paper. On first glance I assumed this had been written in haste, the handwriting simply not as tidy. But no. This cursive is different. The slant and formation. The loop on the capital O, the tail on the y. Even the t is crossed with a unique swish.
“Em, don’t leave me hanging. Keep reading.” Ky nudges my shin with the toe of his boot. He’s stopped rowing, reclining on the boat’s opposite end, knees bent and elbows propped on the bench behind him.
Licking my lips and taking a breath, I readjust my flashlight and continue to the poem.
“ ‘Once upon a time is ne’er what it seems. And happily ever after oft a mere device of dreams. What wicked snares are vines, and thorns cause many throes. But peer beyond the surface; you may there find a rose. E. G. A.’ ”
“E. G. A.? Who’s that? I thought the initials on your mom’s book were E. K. C.”
“They are.” I pass him the paper, now slightly damp. The sea is serene, the shimmery surface lapping, flowing, swaying. Like a ballet, the water seems to have its own choreographed cadence. The waves glissade. The sea foam chassés.
“ ‘Mirror [n. ‘mir r]: 1. One who possesses the seven Callings as previously defined in The Reflection Chronicles, Eighth Account, Dimitri Gérard.’ ” Ky’s voice is deep, his brows high. He reads with all the pomp and circumstance of Professor Henry Higgins from My Fair Lady.
“Give me that.” I attempt to snatch it back.
He plays keep-away, dangling the paper over the boat’s edge.
“Don’t you dare.” I try to sound serious, but my warning releases through a grin.
Straightening his shoulders and clearing his throat, Ky snaps the paper before his face and reads, “ ‘Origin: Unknown.’ ” He peers over the sheet at me. “Well, that’s helpful.”
Eye roll. “Just keep reading.”
“ ‘Hypothesis: When bestowed by the Verity’s vessel, a Kiss of Infinity imposes an unusual outcome upon the subject’s soul. As always, two souls are bound either wholly or in part, depending upon the mutuality of said kiss. However, an additional change occurs due to the unique pairing of the Verity and the Kiss of Infinity, producing an entirely new Calling.’ ”
He lowers the paper again. “Whoa.”
Whoa is right.
“Sounds like your bond with the vessel did more than guard your life. I can’t believe you’re really a Mirror.”
My shoulders scrunch. “Maybe.”
“What, maybe? Did you see that display on the beach? Because I did, and let me tell you, it was awesome.”
“I know, it’s just . . .”
“Just what, Em?” His tone flips from jocular to serious.
I rub my temples. “Why would Joshua keep this detail from me?”
The boat rocks as Ky climbs over the benches separating us and sits on the one opposite mine. Our bent knees touch. Our eyes meet. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I tried to tell you, Crowe isn’t the only one with an agenda.” When I don’t respond, he adds, “But hey. Maybe David just didn’t know.”
“He knew.” I bristle, clutch the board beneath me. “He’s the one who gave me this book.”
“Doesn’t mean he read it.” Ky shrugs. Places the “Mirror Theory” in my lap.
I smooth it flat and continue reading in silence, studying every word and syllable I missed on my quick perusal back at the Haven. Ky leans in, probably reading upside down. His hair tickles my forehead and our breaths mingle.
One, two, three, breathe, two, three, focus, two three . . .
Indications:
Conveys traits relating to, but not necessarily identical to, the other seven Callings. Strengths may manifest all at once or over time. May seem coincidental in the early stages, i.e., ability to defend oneself with no previous training (Shield), ability to recall past events in great detail (Scrib), etc.
This is the paragraph that first caught my attention. I recall kneeing Ky’s groin, how it happened so fast, as if I didn’t realize I was doing it. Then there are the memories of Mom’s sayings playing over and over in my mind.