Page 17 of Off with Her Head
"It's never been done," I say slowly. "The mirror is designed to respond only to Darkmore blood."
"But things are changing," she insists. "The roses, the fountain, our magic—everything we thought we understood is transforming. Why not this, too?"
She has a point.
"It could be dangerous," I warn her. "These mirrors are inherently unstable. That's why they're bound to a single bloodline—it creates a controlled connection. Adding a different kind of magic, a different kind of blood..."
"We won't know until we try." She draws a small knife from her robe pocket. Before I can protest, she slices her palm, crimson welling along the cut. "We need information, Ravenna. We need to understand what Mara is planning."
I should refuse. The rational part of me, the queen who has survived through caution and control, knows this is reckless. But the wound in my side throbs, and assassins have already breached Underland's defenses. We don’t have time for caution.
"Give me your hand," I say.
Scarlett moves closer, sitting beside me on the bed. She holds out her bleeding palm, and I place mine beneath it, careful not to reopen my own wounds. Her blood falls onto my skin, warm and impossibly red.
"Now touch the mirror," I instruct. "Just a drop or two of blood. I'll let my magic flow into it without giving too much."
She reaches for the mirror on the bedside table, pressing her bloodied fingertip to its surface. I place my hand over hers, feeling our magic flow together once more.
Our words come too naturally. "Mirror mirror on the wall," we say in unison. "Show us what Mara plans."
For a moment, nothing happens. The mirror's surface remains obstinately reflective, refusing to respond to our combined request. Then, slowly, silver mist begins to form. But this is different from the mirror's usual visions. The mist isn't just silver anymore—threads of red weave through it, creating patterns that remind me of the water in Scarlett's fountain.
Images begin to form, but they're unlike any the mirror has shown before. Instead of possible futures branching outlike trees, we see something more linear. More certain. As if combining our magics has somehow clarified the mirror's vision, removing the element of possibility and leaving only probability.
We see Mara in what appears to be a chamber deep beneath a castle—Edmund's fortress, perhaps. She stands before an altar made of those same magic-draining crystals, their surface etched with symbols I've never seen before. Blood drips from her palm onto the crystalline surface, but it's not red. It's black, corrupted,wrong.
Around her, figures in iron armor stand perfectly still, their eyes vacant, their expressions empty. Not soldiers but puppets, controlled by whatever magic Mara now wields.
"She's building an army," Scarlett whispers, horror evident in her voice. "Using those crystals to control them."
But that's not all. The mirror shows us more. A map of three kingdoms—Underland, Darkmore, and Ironwood—spread out on a table. Crystal markers placed at strategic points along all borders. Mara's finger tracing paths of invasion, her mouth moving as she explains her plan to a figure just beyond our view.
"She plans to attack both our kingdoms simultaneously," I realize. "Using these crystal-controlled soldiers."
The vision shifts again. We see a vast underground chamber, larger than the first. At its center is a pool of liquid that seems to drink in light itself. Not water, but something alive in a way that makes my skin crawl. Mara kneels at its dark, bubbling edge, dipping her hands into its depths.
"What is that?" Scarlett asks.
"I don't know." A chill runs through me as I watch my sister commune with whatever lurks in that pool. "Something old. Something that should have remained buried."
The mirror's surface begins to crack further, fractures spreading outward from the point where Scarlett's blood first touched it. Our combined magic is too strong, too wild for itsancient structure. The vision begins to break apart, fragments of images flashing too quickly to fully comprehend.
Armies marching. Crystal weapons glowing with stolen magic. My sister, transformed into something not human. And Scarlett—Scarlett lying motionless on a battlefield, her red hair spread around her like spilled wine...
"No," I gasp as I pull away, breaking our connection. The vision shatters, the mirror's surface going dark.
We sit in silence for a moment, both processing what we've seen. Scarlett's hand finds mine again, our fingers intertwining almost without conscious thought. The comfort of her touch grounds me, giving me something to focus on besides the horrors the mirror revealed.
The dark mirror lies between us, more cracked than before but still intact. I wonder if it will ever show clear visions again, or if this damage is permanent.
"I need to get to Darkmore," I say. "I need to inform my commander of what Mara has discovered beneath Ironwood. Of what’s coming."
"You're in no condition to travel." Scarlett gestures to my bandaged side. "You've used too much magic and it’s late."
"There's no time to wait. If Mara is preparing for simultaneous attacks—"
"Then rushing into a journey that might kill you won't help either of our kingdoms." Her voice softens. "Rest tonight. Let our combined magic continue healing you. We'll leave for Darkmore tomorrow, when you're stronger."
