Legend has it, if you stand in front of a mirror, shuffling an enchanted deck of cards, you can open a doorway between dimensions.
***
Prince Teodric of Springport remembers the promise he made his father: to *not* try to reenact the legend of dimen...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Once our visitor, Prince Teodric, managed to fix his hyperventilating—the poor sod, overwhelmed by the newness of his situation—Ysac escorted him out of the throne-room.
I ushered the mages into the smaller, more private meeting room. We had much to discuss after this magical turn of events.
"Certainly not what I'd expected," said Arden, surprisingly the first to speak once the guards closed the door behind us. I'd barely settled into my seat and ordered us snacks.
"You mean when you felt that shift?" Ossenna lowered into her chair, her movements luxurious, cat-like, as always. Though I had the golden eyes of a feline, she had the moves, the attitude of a fierce lioness. It pleased me that she'd reigned in that attitude, and more so in front of our newcomer.
Intimidate him, in case he's a threat.
Arden nodded. "You were right—it wasn't negative. It must have been so violent because a foreigner tore into our atmosphere, via that mirror." Even without seeing their face, I knew they frowned. "We must look into that as soon as possible. If others were to find out about this mirror's properties, that it can bring in folk or transport to other realms..."
"Indeed." I clasped my hands atop the table. "Why was it in the indoor garden in the first place?" I shook my head. "We'll need to speak with Ysac about that. It shouldn't have been there. Do any of you know where it came from?"
Ossenna shrugged, and Otho combed his fingers through his hair, his expression vacant.
Arden cleared their throat. "I'd have to look at it to be certain, but I believe it was once...mine." Their veil moved in a way that suggested they'd wrinkled their nose, twitched it. "I've owned mirrors with magical properties before. I thought I'd discarded or destroyed most of them."
I arched an eyebrow, twisting in my chair to better glimpse Arden, who remained to my far left. "Most of them. That's concerning. But how would Ysac have come across it?"
A shrug was their only physical response. "Ysac is a spy, Sym." They set their gloved hands on the table, and had I not been looking closely, I'd have missed their subtle shaking. "I wouldn't put it past him to find a way to sneak into my lair to steal a few items he'd consider fun."
"Wouldn't be the first time," said Otho, studying his nails. "Ysac is a feisty little culprit, always was. Even when Hendry was still alive—"
I hoisted a hand up to cut him off. When Otho got started with criticism, he took forever to stop. And with Otho being so unbelievably perfect in every way—according to him, of course—he tended to criticize a lot. I let it slide, because he was a powerful mage whose abilities were essential to our proper functioning. But most days, Otho's comments were misplaced and, frankly, unkind.
Ysac was a spy, yes. He'd had a troubled upbringing, between playing the jester role for the eyes of the court, but being Hendry's go-to and spy behind-the-scenes. He'd come to Acewood as a youngster, deathly skinny and frail, abandoned by whoever his true parents were. He was non-magical, I'd determined myself. Hendry raised him almost as his own; he kept him aside at family dinners and never hailed him as his son, but his ward. When questioned by nobles and advisors, he was pressured, and in his panic, he called Ysac his jester, instead.
