Blood-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book I ]

13

Every part of Mhera's room was in shadow. The darkness seemed to move around her, threatening. The first moon, pale blue, had risen into the sky; it cast watery light through the half-parted curtains of her balcony doors. Long, sharp shadows fell across the floor from the tall posts of her bed.

Mhera closed her eyes for a moment. She reached behind her to check that the door was closed fast. Then she went to her dressing table and picked up Esaria's mirror.

It was a pretty thing, framed in gold with a slender handle. Mhera looked first at the back of it, where a beautiful pattern of flowers and trailing vines had been graven with considerable skill. She traced her fingertips over the images, feeling the rise and fall of the surface. Then she drew a deep breath to steady her will and turned the mirror in her hands.

All she saw was her own face, plain and colorless in the night.

Breathing shakily, Mhera sat down on the chair at her dressing table, staring at the surface of the mirror. She had never applied herself to the task of seeing a vision before. She had always tried to avoid it. But now, she was tired. She was tired of hiding it, tired of lying to Gella, and tired, most of all, of running away from something she clearly could not escape.

Mhera knew that the visions were most likely to come when she let her mind drift. So, holding the mirror with both hands, she focused on her reflected face and then unfocused, letting her vision blur and her mind slowly slip away from the present moment. She gazed, allowing her thoughts to shift to other things ... Koren's expression as he demanded that they do more to capture Koreti's killer ... The feel of Gella's fingers resting gently on her neck ... The sound of her uncle's measured voice talking about, of all things, weeds ...

A flicker of color passed over the surface of the mirror. Mhera's heart pounded in her breast, and trepidation trickled down her arms, raising gooseflesh and turning her cold. But this time, she did not look away.

It was Koreti's face, young and smiling, just as she remembered him from the days before he disappeared. He looked as if he'd just said something cheeky and teasing—proud of himself, amused at his own joke. Unbidden, tears welled up in Mhera's eyes. It was so good to see his face. She'd forgotten the little details of it, like how his nose would crinkle when he grinned like this and how a lock of his brown hair would always seem to fall the same way across his forehead.

A blood-red haze suddenly washed across the image and swept it away, and in its wake was left a vision of a battered boy lying bleeding on a flagstone street. She saw the boots of faceless men, two of them—three?—surrounding the pathetic figure. The boy turned his head toward her. His disheveled brown hair fell across a face that was red and abraded with abuse; one cheek bore an ugly scrape, as if he had been dragged across the ground. His nose bled freely, and an eye was already swollen closed. He reached out blindly to grasp the toe of one shining boot. His bloody lips moved, as if he were pleading for mercy.

Someone reached down and grabbed him by the hair, wrenching his head cruelly back. There was a flash of silver and—

Mhera dropped the mirror, putting her hands up over her face. From somewhere behind her, she heard Gella's voice: "Lady Mhera!"

She couldn't respond. She was crying, racked by helpless sobs. Unseeing, she felt Madam Gella pull her into her stiff embrace, felt the old woman's hand on the back of her head, pressing her wet cheek to an unyielding bosom. Mhera put her arms around Gella's narrow waist, clutching at her bodice.

"Careful, child. You'll cut your foot. Sit still, Mhera. Sit still."

The mirror had shattered. As she struggled to gather herself, Mhera watched her governess bend down to pick up the pieces. She leaned over to help, but had to stop; her hands were shaking so badly, she risked cutting a finger instead.