Page 122 of Lucifer's Mirror
It feels fabulous to be clean. I pat myself dry, then stand in front of the small mirror as I braid my long damp hair. I then turn my head to the side so I can see where that creature cut me. The wound is healed now. I can still see where its claws ripped into my flesh, but it’s only a scar. It looks weeks old instead of hours.
After dressing in a clean pair of pants and my old t-shirt—which has been laundered, so it’s clean, if a little holey—I head back to the kitchen and meet Khaosti at the door. His hair is wet from the shower, and he’s dressed in clean clothes as well: black pants, long boots, and a black shirt. The color works for him. A sense of shyness washes over me as we look at each other. There’s a promise in his eyes of things to come, and the heat sparks to life deep inside me again, starting an ache in my belly.
I give myself a little shake and step into the kitchen. Thanouq is seated at the table, and I grin like an idiot.
“I’m glad you’re back safely,” he says. “I thought we’d lost you.”
“Aw, would you have been sad?”
He smiles. “You know I would.”
Hah, I bet that would change if he knew who I really was.
“I would have come after you, but…”
“You were needed elsewhere. I understand.”
And I do. Thanouq is an honorable man. I feel bad for a moment for keeping my secret from him. But I don’t want him to look at me like he hates me. I know he and his people have reason to hate Lucifer, to despise him. What will Thanouq think when he realizes that Lucifer is my father? Because one day I will have to tell him—this is just a reprieve.
I cross the room and take a seat opposite him. Khaosti sits down next to me, and Hecate plonks bowls of hot, steaming stew in front of us. There’s fresh bread on the table—I can smell it and breathe deeply—and thick, creamy butter. I take a slice, add the butter, and take a huge bite.
“So he was going to trade you to Lucifer?” Thanouq says, then stares straight at Khaosti. “Nice friends you’ve got.”
Khaos doesn’t deign to respond, so I answer for him, “Trystan is dead, so it hardly matters.” I take another bite. I chew slowly, swallow, and take a spoonful of stew. It’s hot, and I blow on it.
Thanouq keeps his attention on Khaosti, a frown between his eyes. I’m guessing he wants to say more, but he seems to decide against it because he starts to eat and gives all his attention to his food.
I do the same. I eat until I’m full and can’t manage another mouthful.
I’ll never take food for granted again after these last weeks. I might not have thought Lissa and Pete were good foster parents, but at least they put food on the table most of the time. I sit back, sigh, and catch Thanouq’s searching gaze on me.
“Still no memory?” he asks.
I can almost feel the flush creeping over my cheeks, but I manage to shake my head. I really hate lying.
He gives me a look of sympathy, which makes me feel even worse. “No matter,” he says. “You can be anything you choose to be.”
“I know.” Except of course whose daughter I am. Other than that, I just have to decide exactly what I want to be. But for the first time, I think perhaps I can do this. Whatever this is. Others believed in me; I just have to find that belief for myself.
Just not right now. “Time for bed.” I glance sideways at Khaosti. He’s looking at me, watching me with those golden eyes, his lids half-closed. My gaze drops to his mouth, slightly parted, and I remember the sensation of it on me. I can’t wait to feel it again. I lick my lips and slowly push myself to my feet.
“First, I think it’s time to take a look at your injuries,” Hecate says. “I probably have something that can help. And no doubt you’ll sleep better for it.”
I had forgotten about my injuries, but as soon as she mentions them, the aches start again. Mainly my ribs, but there are other bruises too. I know she’s right. I give a quick nod and, with one last glance at Khaosti, I follow her out of the room and into her small office. I stand just inside the door, feeling suddenly awkward—I don’t know why—and a little guilty. I haven’t done anything wrong. Yet.
She turns to me and looks me in the eye. “You can’t trust him,” she says. “You know that, don’t you? There’s too much resting on this.”
I think about what she’s saying. There are some things I trust Khaosti with. I trust him with my life. But I don’t trust him with my secrets. Except I’ve already trusted him with the biggest secret of all—who I am. It was a secret only shared between my guardians and Hecate. Now the circle is widening. But I felt it was right that he knows—he’s come so far on this journey with me.
But I don’t know enough about him or where his loyalties lie. I remember Khendril telling me that as a boy, Khaosti had been indoctrinated almost from birth to believe that the Astrali had a God-given right to rule, and that everybody else should fall at their feet. I don’t think Khaosti really thinks like that, but maybe it’s there in the back of his mind. And when push comes to shove, will he be on my side when the fate ofhisworld is at stake? I can’t risk it. A deep pain burns in my heart as I accept that.
Afterward, maybe there’ll be time for us. I hope. But now, I have to do my own duty, what my mother gave up her life for me to do. What Khendril and the others died for.
I have to save the goddamn world.
Hecate is giving me time to think. She knows when not to push, that I have to come to the right decision for myself. She’s mixing herbs in a bowl and pouring steaming water onto them. She carries it over to me and holds it in front of her face. I breathe it in, and the sweet, fresh aroma fills my mind. It sinks down through my body, and the last of my aches and pains fade away to nothing. I feel more awake. My mind is quiet and calm. Whatever is in there is good stuff, and I realize that I also have the power to do this. I’m a healing witch and a spellcaster, and also—something Hecate doesn’t know yet—I’m a mirror-mage, like my mother. I have the power to make the portals between the worlds, maybe the last mirror-mage alive.
“Thank you,” I say. “I feel better.”
