Dear brave girl,
Makai has taken me far from this Reflection. I will not divulge where and risk this letter falling into the wrong hands. All I can say is I am out of harm’s way. I will send word again when I am certain it is safe. Do not forget you are now queen and all the position denotes. You are the woman I always anticipated you would become. I believe in you continuously and support you no matter the choices you make, but be chary in whom you place your confidence. I am leaving this with Regina, as I would trust her with my life. Keep that in mind going forward.
All my love,
Mom
I refold the note along its premade creases and slip it between the pages of Mom’s sketchbook-slash-journal—the one I’ve held on to like a security blanket since Ky returned it to me in the Forest of Night. Mom, at least, has begun to see me in a new light since I took on the Verity. She treats me not as the girl I’ve always been but as the woman I’m trying to be.
Most everyone else, however . . .
Sigh.
Why are people tiptoeing around me, avoiding me even? Guardians look the other way in the halls, and maids turn their backs and whisper as I walk by. I could almost mistake their reactions as reverence for their new queen. But naïveté is no longer my middle name.
Because there’s no denying the emotion etched on everyone’s face.
Fear is tangible. I sense it seeping through the walls, hanging heavy like the notes in Chopin’s “Funeral March in C Minor.” This week has been a reboot of Freaky Friday in which my high school and the Second Reflection have switched places. Except this time it’s not my mirrormark that’s causing the chatter.
I just wish I knew what was.
As the questions scroll by like summer clouds, the Second’s highest point seems to sharpen in the distance. Stormy’s suite faces south, overlooking the Forest of White and what’s beyond. I think of the tapestry map in the throne room. Of all the places in this Reflection, or even the next, Pireem Mountain is one I’ve yet to visit.
“I still want to take you there, you know. To Pireem Mountain.”
My ears perk and I sit up straight. Such a casual comment and the first I’ve heard his voice since coronation night. What would happen if I . . . ?
Why not? Doesn’t hurt to try.
“You’d actually have to be here to do that.” The out-loud retort sends a tiny thrill through my center.
“You know why I left. I had to bring back Khloe.”
My breath looses, relief canceling my reservations. “I know,” I say. If I can talk to him, really talk to him, maybe it is real.
And if it’s real, maybe I can find out where he is.
I rest my elbow on my knee, smush my cheek into my knuckles. “But you could’ve said good-bye, or even taken me with you. I could’ve helped you with the Void.” Pause. “Ky . . .” Swallow. “I’m looking for answers.”
“I know, Em. Me too.”
“Ky . . . where are you?”
“Who are you talking to?”
I flinch and fall off the window bench at Stormy’s sudden appearance. Oh, for Verity’s sake. Scrambling to my feet—man, my knee stings—I push my overgrown bangs from my eyes. “I didn’t know you were awake,” I say—croak.
Her glazed eyes don’t focus on me, or anything for that matter. The crimson tank of her Guardian uniform is rumpled, and her bra strap hangs off her right shoulder. “I don’t get much sleep these days.” She scratches the back of her matted bedhead.
Right. When I thought Mom died, insomnia was my middle name.
“So, who were you talking to?” She snatches a now-stale biscuit off the coffee table, turns it over in her dainty hand.
Say something. “Uh . . . myself?” Nice one, genius.
“Hmm.” She doesn’t comment on my unconvincing response. Instead she zombie-walks across the suite’s common area, enters the bathroom, and shuts the door. The sound of rushing water filling the tub follows moments later.
I cross haphazardly to the cushy love seat in the common area and sink onto it. The antique coffee table sits before me. I open Mom’s book, laying it across my thighs. I’ve taken to studying it each day, learning what I can from her experiences with this Reflection. There’s the loose sheet of parchment with Queen Ember’s “Mirror Theory” as well. It’s been unfolded and refolded so often it’s beginning to yellow and wear along the creases. I should copy it onto a fresh page before it falls apart.
After a few minutes the rush of water ceases, and steam begins to seep beneath the door. I moved into Stormy’s suite the day after Kuna died. Was that only last week? She insisted she was fine, and at first she seemed so. But I wasn’t buying it. I know all too well the façade one tries to put on after such a loss. No way was I leaving her alone.
“It wasn’t your fault, Em.”
I give a physical shrug against Ky’s internal comment. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Kuna’s death. It wasn’t your fault.”
Except maybe it was.
I close my eyes and curl my fingers around the edges of Mom’s book, feel the worn leather slide against my fingertips. This was everything to me a couple months ago, held every answer I needed to become who I was meant to be. Now I long for more. With Stormy up and about, perhaps it’s safe to venture back to the library and continue my search. Or perhaps I’ll grab another volume of The Reflection Chronicles from Joshua’s study.
Huff. This presents another problem. Because then I have to come out of hiding too. Which means risking an encounter with Joshua.
Since the run-in with Gage I’ve been avoiding him. We can’t talk about the Kiss of Infinity I obviously didn’t give him, but how can we evade it? And what’s worse is I think he wants to discuss it, as if somehow talking will fix everything. He’s ever the optimist, always believing he can find a solution to every problem.
But that’s not reality. Sometimes there is no solution. Sometimes there’s simply an end.
A single sob sounds from the bathroom and I rise. Wince at the pressure in my knee. Hold my breath. Stormy has hardly spoken since Kuna’s death. She’s like a ghost haunting this Reflection. Her guest appearance a few moments ago is the most I’ve seen her all week.
Another sob. Then another. I move to the bathroom door and place my palm there. Wait a second.
And then she’s bawling.
Dread pinpricks my sternum. Kuna’s Reminiscence is tonight—a Second Reflection tradition much like the memorial services held in the Third. This is why Stormy’s mobile. Tonight she says good-bye. We all do.
My most recent meal tumbles in my gut, banging around like a sneaker in the dryer. Good-bye. Such a simplistic, trivial detail, but oh so necessary. Closure finalizes things, allows those left behind to move on.