Alica doesn’t waste any time on small talk or threats, just springs forward, knife concealed at her side.
“No.” The lady is faster, a tilt of her hand and her mirror is aimed at the child, stopping her as effectively as it stopped both mercenaries. “And that leaves Gholloth’s twins . . .” She faces them: Garyus hunched in his chair, the Silent Sister beside him. She ignores the boy and meets his twin’s gaze. “We’ve met already, dear.” Again the motherly smile, though I see something harder behind it now. “Quite the stare you have there, young lady. But if you go looking in places we’re not supposed to look . . . well, let’s just say the future is very bright.”
The Silent Sister makes no reply, just stares, one eye pearly blind, the other dark and unreadable.
“This whole thing.” Lady Shival waves her arm at the mercenaries, still struggling, grunting with effort, making quick readjustments of their feet. “It’s very inconvenient. I have to move quickly now, so you’ll forgive me if I don’t stop to talk.” She moves her mirror into the line that joins her eyes with the Silent Sister’s. “It’s a hole,” she says. And it is. In place of the silver and reflections there’s nothing but a dark and devouring hole, sucking in light and sound and air. I feel myself drawn forward, drawn in, the very essence of me bleeding from my skin and pulling away toward that awful void.
The Silent Sister holds her open hand toward the mirror, blocking it from her view, and closes her fingers with slow purpose. She’s a yard short of touching it but the bright noise of breaking glass rings out and blood runs from the fist she’s made. The hole shrinks, closes, and is gone.
“Remarkable,” the lady says. She takes a step forward. Her eyes are blue. I hadn’t seen it before. Deepest blue. A blue that bleeds into the whites and makes something inhuman of her. Another step forward and she holds out her hand toward the Silent Sister, clawed, palm forward. A blueness suffuses the light about her. “Impressive for one so young, but I don’t have time to be impressed, child.” Her lip trembles in a snarl. “Time to die.” And something that was coiled tight inside her is released so suddenly that the shock of it runs through the air, pulsing out, almost visible as a ripple.
The Silent Sister reels back as if struck. Only her grip on Garyus’s chair keeps her upright. She struggles back to her position as though walking into a high wind, her mouth set in a grim line of effort.
The Lady Blue raises her other hand and lets whatever venom is in her pour out onto the girl before her who falls to one knee with a noiseless gasp. The Lady Blue advances, my great-aunt bent and helpless before her.
“Get back!” My shout goes unheard and I stand, impotent, wanting to run but having no place to hide in these blood memories.
As the Lady Blue looms above her the Silent Sister reaches one hand up to clasp her brother’s arm just above the elbow. Garyus lolls his head toward her. “Do it.” Two words croaked out, thick with regret.
The Lady Blue stoops, clawed hands closing toward the Silent Sister’s head from either side to deliver the coup de grace, but something stops her, as if the air has thickened. Garyus groans and twists in his chair, his body spasming as his twin draws power from him. They were born joined together these two, and though sharp steel cut them apart there is a bond there that remains unbroken. It seems what makes the Silent Sister stronger makes Garyus weaker, more broken, and given how this boy appears to me, decades later as an old man, it seems that whatever she takes cannot be returned.
“Die.” The Lady Blue snarls it past gritted teeth but the Silent Sister, though bowed, continues to defy her as Garyus sacrifices his strength.
“It’s only a reflection.” Alica pants the words out behind Lady Shival. “It is not my equal.”
Whatever the child is wrestling with it appears to be getting weaker. The mercenaries are having a very different experience, each backed against the wall now, the edges of their swords being pushed inexorably toward their necks, though nobody’s there to wield the blades but them.
Somewhere in the distance there’s screaming. I glance away from the contest of wills to see the maid has fled. It can only be moments before palace guards converge on the battle.
The Silent Sister raises her head, slower than slow, her hair sweat-soaked, her neck trembling with effort, and on her face, as she meets the Lady Blue’s eyes, a grin that I know. Alica has her small knife raised now, her wrist white as if a hand were wrapping it, just as her free hand clasps empty air with a desperate intensity. With tiny steps, each the product of huge struggle, she is advancing on the Lady Blue’s back.