Hiswife?
That’s ridiculous!
“I would never marry anyone from House of Crimson.” The words escape me before I can stop them. I slap my hand over my mouth, wishing I could stuff the declaration back inside.
Instead of anger, like I imagined Jasce would show, he stares at me, his expression blank.
Fantastic, indeed.
He’s one ofthosetypes—the dangerous kind that can hide what he’s thinking behind a stony façade.
Like Grandfather. He is a master at it.
Jasce walks past me and sets his goblet down on an ornate chest of drawers, with a large, polished looking glass suspended above it. “Youare from House of Crimson, Lyra.”
“Who is—” The words die in my throat as my gaze catches on the image in the looking glass. My breath hitches, and I turn around, thinking there is someone behind me. But there is no one in the room except for Jasce and me.
I turn back to the looking glass, at the stranger staring back at me—a stranger with wavy, golden blonde hair instead of reddish brown and flawless skin instead of scars. With a shaky hand, I touch my cheek and feel that smooth, foreign skin.
Olah, what is happening to me?
The god of all Tarrobane doesn’t answer.
“You were saying?” Jasce asks, taunting me.
Instead of answering him, I stumble away from that false reflection.
“Lyra.” He steps closer to me, and my muscles tense. “Why don’t we stop the antics? You and I both know why we married. So, let’s not pretend.”
Lyra?
Who’s Lyra?
My name is Annora.
“I’m not…”
What's happening?
Am I dreaming?
No, I am going insane!
“I warned you before I left,” he says, yanking my attention back to him.
What is he talking about?
“I don’t—”
“—enough,” he snaps. “I’m tired of these games.”
I flinch, shrinking away from him.
I cannot tell him that I am not who his eyes tell him I am. He will think I am insane. EvenIthink I am insane.
And on the slim chance that he would believe me, what then? If I tell him the truth, he will deal with me as he does all his enemies—ruthlessly and mercilessly. His people hunt and kill my people—the rebels from House of Silver
My heart pounds as I edge closer to the looking glass, thinking the reflection will change and expose the woman with the scars, the one locked away by her grandfather.
