Pain slices my bicep. Am I bleeding? So much spinning.
“Your Highness, are you all right?” some Guardian asks. A woman? Can’t tell for all the nausea.
Blink. Focus. Do not pass out. The arched windows surrounding the throne room explode in a domino effect, raining glass one after the other. The panes land in shards on the floor, mix with melting snow and ice. The guests scatter. Some bolt for the grand staircase while others seek shelter beneath tables. Guardians beyond our cluster discard jackets and ties, withdrawing weapons hidden at their ankles or strapped to their backs.
It’s like some horrible scene from an action film. Except there’s no director to yell, “Cut!” No cameraman to stop the chaos or adjust the boom mic. This scene is in real time. No second takes. No do-overs.
Just when I thought everything was good again.
And then the most awful sound I’ve ever heard pierces the din. Rises above every other shout. Someone is crying . . . no, wailing. But the worst part? I know that cry. I’ve heard it before—in Wichgreen Village right after Ky threw a knife at Gage’s heart when he betrayed us all. There’s no mistaking Stormy’s soul-racking sobs.
The Guardians take action. They move Joshua and me toward the dais, a current too mighty to swim against. Up on the dais they form a line, and Joshua drags me to the throne. The hidden door behind the tapestry depicting a map of this Reflection grates open.
Joshua shouts something, shoves me just beyond the door. He releases me. He’s speaking, but I can’t focus on his words. I only hear her. I can’t make myself ignore the wretched sound.
I lean past Joshua, rising on my toes and swinging my head back and forth. Where is she? Where—?
There! A neon-purple pixie cut. Stormy. She’s kneeling over a very still, oversized body. A body resting in a growing pool of blood.
Joshua’s grip is firm around my waist. He pulls me back, deeper into the secret space behind the wall.
I twist. Wrench. Slip beneath his arm and stumble past him, tripping on my dress. The Guardian chain stops me, holding me back like some twisted game of Red Rover.
No, no, no. This will be just like the other times. Death will not win. It can’t.
“Release me,” I sing.
Their linked arms fall. And I run.
When I reach them, Stormy’s sobs bleed from her lips. “Help him.” She’s shaking, putting pressure on Kuna’s wound. “Pleeaase.”
I kneel and force myself to take in Kuna’s state. His breathing is so shallow. He looks unnatural this way. Big and strong and helpless, cocoa skin paled as if soaked in cream. His eyelids flutter, the whites beneath them bloodshot. Stormy strokes his bald head with her right hand, her mouth contorted.
Something warm and wet soaks through the fabric at my knees. I can’t look, don’t need a visual of Kuna’s blood staining my dress.
“Hush now,” Kuna whispers, the words barely audible. His thick fingers twiddle, and Stormy clutches them so tightly her knuckles whiten.
“Wait,” she chokes. “Wait.”
I lay my hands on Kuna, summoning the Physic within to reverse this unwarranted tragedy. I haven’t had much practice with this branch of my Calling, aside from the few scrapes I’ve healed under the castle Physic’s instruction this past month. No time for doubts though. I have to act.
Kuna needs me.
I muster all the love I have for my dying friend and sing new lyrics to my own Mirror melody. They change a bit every time, catering a new song to each situation.
“Hear my voice, my friend.
This will not be the end.
Let these words be the remedy.
Stay where you are meant to be.
Stay with us. Stay with me . . .”
I choke on the last lyric. This must be why my Mirror Calling didn’t vanish when I took on the Verity. Because my song is still needed, and maybe the Verity knew. But why isn’t it working? Why isn’t Kuna’s state changing? Healing?
“What’s happening?” Stormy’s face is trailed with tears. “Why isn’t your power saving him?”
I don’t have an answer for her. Because when Kuna’s eyes stare off into space, it seems surreal. Because when he stills I feel as if I’m watching the shocker ending to my favorite TV series. I can’t believe it, but there it is.
And there’s nothing I can do to change it.
Joshua crouches beside me then. He drags a dagger over his palm, and pure Ever blood drip, drip, drips onto Kuna’s open wound.
I’m longing for Kuna to gasp, to blink, to flinch—anything to indicate the Ever blood is taking effect. Ten seconds. Thirty. A minute. Then five. Nothing. We’re too late. Kuna is gone.
THREE
What Has Been Lost
When I was ten, my hamster died. I don’t even recall the stupid thing’s name. I just remember standing there, watching through the plastic pane of its cage, waiting for its furry belly to rise and fall. Rise and fall.
Rise. And. Fall.
As I stare at Kuna’s motionless middle, all I can think about is my childhood pet and how, if I had done something more—different—maybe it—he—would’ve survived. Despite the screaming and the clambering and the shattered glass reflecting the ruins of my heart, I experience a moment of unequivocal clarity. Time is nonexistent. It’s as if I’m standing behind a window, just like with my dead hamster, removed but here. I see but don’t feel. I know but can’t believe.
Kuna is really dead. And he’s not coming back.
Stormy lies crumpled beside him. She pulls her knees to her chest, and she hugs Kuna’s arm as if it’s a life preserver.
I stroke her short hair, smoothing the fringed locks between my fingers. My chest constricts, and I have to bite my lip to keep my own emotions from surfacing. We all loved Kuna, but no one will be as affected as the Guardian lying beside me, resembling a helpless toddler more than the fearless warrior she is.
Joshua places his palm on Kuna’s forehead, then sweeps his hand over Kuna’s eyelids. The big lug could be sleeping. I half expect him to sit up, slap his knee the way he does, and laugh, “Gotcha!” Stormy would be furious, and they wouldn’t speak for days. But they’d make up eventually. This horrific event would be forgotten.
This can’t be the end for him—them.
It is.
I glance at Joshua. Any second he’ll snap out of his trance, tell me what to do. I’m the Verity’s vessel for crying out loud, yet even I couldn’t bring Kuna back. It doesn’t make sense. First me, and now Joshua’s Ever blood? Why here? Why now?
Why Kuna?
“If someone is already meant to die, if it’s their time, nothing can change that. Not a touch from a Physic or a drop of Ever blood. Death is a Calling all its own.”
Ky’s words come screaming back to me. The explanation is so close, so fresh, it’s almost as if I hear him speaking aloud. This happens sometimes. When I miss him or feel particularly worried about the burden he carries. That’s when his voice calls to me—like a voice in a dream.