Ava met the old woman’s gaze. “You said you have it.”
“That I do, young one. That I do.” The crone reached into a pocket of her apron and withdrew something that glittered in the soft light of the cottage.
It was a shard of mirror—about the size of Ava’s palm, jagged along one edge but polished smooth along the others. As she looked at it, she could see her own reflection, but…different. Older. Wiser. With that tattoo from Book’s illustration fully formed down her arm.
“It’s too small.” Ava tilted her head. “It won’t fit.”
The crone smiled knowingly. “It will be just fine.”
“I’m…going to just assume you’re…not going to just give it to me. And this comes with some kind of price tag.” Ava sighed. “Serrik mentioned some kind of trial.”
The three sisters exchanged glances.
“Nothing is given freely.” The mother began.
“There must always be an exchange,” the maiden added.
“Balance,” the crone concluded. “I will give you this shard, but I require something in return.”
Ava shut her eyes. It was going to be something terrible. “Like what?”
The crone leaned forward, her ancient eyes suddenly sharp as blades. “Memories.”
“Memories?”
“A fair trade, in balance.” The crone held up the shard of mirror. “The mirror shows truth and possibilities. I collect memories—memories are lies and certainties—spent moments. If you wish for one, I require the other.”
Nos stiffened beside Ava. “That is a dangerous price.”
“All meaningful prices are dangerous,” the mother replied calmly.
“What do you mean, exactly, by ‘you require’ the other? What are you going to actually take from me?” Ava frowned. This was where things were going to get sticky. “How many memories? Which one? How damaging is this going to be to me? Do I get a say in which one it is? Or how big it is?”
“You are learning quickly, little one. Good.” The crone smiled, revealing teeth that were surprisingly white and even for an elderly woman. “I would reach into your mind and select a memory. Any memory. It would become mine to keep and experience.”
“Any memory?” Ava repeated. “You mean I don’t get to choose which one?”
“That would rather defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?” The crone folded her hands in her lap. “Memories freely given are rarely the valuable ones.”
Ava hesitated. The idea of someone rummaging through her mind, taking whatever they wanted—it felt intrusive. Violating. But what choice did she have? They needed the key.
“Maybe we should look elsewhere,” Ibin suggested, clearly seeing Ava’s discomfort. “Maybe there’s another way?”
“There is nowhere else,” the maiden said softly, almost sounding sympathetic. “Not for this key. And there are three locks with three keys, one to each.”
“It’s your decision.” Nos actually lookedworriedabout her. “But consider carefully. There will be no going back.”
Ava looked down at Book, then at the mirror shard in the crone’s withered hand. She thought about Serrik, about the fae, about the impossible choice before her. Help commit genocide or remain trapped until she befell a curse and died some terrible, long drawn-out death.
Or find a third way, as Book had suggested, and kill Serrik.
No matter what, the way forward…was with that damn key.
“If I agree,” she said slowly, “you take one memory. Just one. And then you give me the shard.”
“Precisely,” the crone agreed.
She took a deep breath. “Fine. I agree.”
