Trial of Magic (The Fairy Tale Enchantress #4) - K. M. Shea Page 0,11

wasn’t going to give up on finding Evariste. Coming home where memories of his voice and laughter teased her only hardened her resolve.

She’d find him. No matter what.

The nauseating scent of blood and smoke made Evariste’s gut churn as he tried to shut his eyes and block out at least that sense.

But the pervasive brown-red shade—the color of dried blood—was everywhere, even under his eyelids.

To think there would ever be a day where I’d long for the boring, gray mirror Liliane once kept me in. At least there the pain was fleeting…and I had a chance to glean even a tiny bit of information off the Chosen.

Another wave of pain hit him—serrated, like a kitchen knife stabbing his belly. The pain intensified as the mirror drained more of his magic from him, tearing it from his soul, through his body, and out his pores with an indifferent delight.

His muscles—which he’d long ago lost complete control over between the endless pain and the icy numbness that was setting in—twitched, briefly making him curl in a ball.

The pain was unbearable, but he didn’t scream. He couldn’t—he’d lost his voice days ago. Or was it months ago?

“Yes, enchanter. Your power was once lauded, and now you can only sit in your own misery,” the mirror whispered, echoing in Evariste’s brain even though he didn’t hear the words with his ears.

Someone groaned. It took Evariste a moment to recognize it hadn’t been him.

“Stepmother?” the voice was warped and warbled as it pierced the fog that surrounded the mirror.

“Is it another headache?” the voice asked.

“I’m fine, Snow White. I just need a little rest—if you would please attend the Cabinet meeting alone?”

Whispers scuttled through his surroundings, and Evariste waited for the princess’s reply.

“Very well.” Taps echoed through the mirror as the princess walked across the queen’s quarters.

Queen Faina waited several long moments before groaning again—this time a sound that was far more feral with pain.

Evariste peeled an eyelid open. Queen Faina, the mirror is affecting her.

Before dumping him in this ancient mirror, Liliane had harped on about a “target” that had managed to fight off their efforts.

It likely was Queen Faina—regent of Mullberg on behalf of Princess Snow White.

He hadn’t been able to see much—the mirror’s surface seemed to have a foggy film over it most of the time that made it difficult to see more than smeared shapes. But he had heard Princess Snow White voice concern for the queen’s health on several occasions.

Another wave of pain rolled through Evariste, striking so deeply he knew nothing but suffering—he couldn’t even think, the sensation was so intense.

He rolled onto his back and tried to breathe through his mouth to block out the smells, but he could practically taste the metallic tang of blood, and the smokey smell was so thick, it dried out his mouth and made his throat crack.

A few moments later, a muffled groan again pierced the cloudy fog of the mirror.

Evariste managed to boost himself to his feet and trudged up to the mirror’s surface. He had to lean against it for support, planting his forehead against it.

He couldn’t make out the queen through the haze of magic in which the mirror wrapped itself. But he recognized the blurred lines of her canopy bed, and he assumed the rumpled pile splayed upon it was her.

A pang of sympathy pulsed in Evariste’s previously-numb chest. She’s been fighting the mirror’s influence for so long. It’s only really since the mirror started feeding off my magic that it has made progress in crushing her.

Evariste panted in pain as he leaned his back against the mirror’s surface and slid down the smooth wall, his legs collapsing in on him.

“Do you think to help her? As if you could be the hero you once pretended to be when you are so weakened you cannot control your own body.”

The mirror whispered deep in Evariste’s mind, but he brushed it off again.

The sentient artifact was able to reach him no matter how he blocked it out. Neither clasping his hands over his ears or trying to talk over it did much. But Evariste had grown extraordinarily skilled at ignoring it.

It was easy to disregard when he was in so much pain he couldn’t breathe, after all.

“You may love another, but you’re not worthy of anything in return. How could you ever hope to match her with your petty pride and weak will?”

Evariste openly rolled his eyes and twisted his head uncomfortably so he could peer over his shoulder at