“The public role of handling death within the agency has traditionally fallen to either the director or one of his immediate subordinates. Jorik’s choice to appoint me to that role might have been malicious, or it might have merely been practical. I have no way of knowing the truth, but I have my suspicions.”

~ Bek Trent, M.A.S.O

Night; it was night. Silver could not tell how she knew, not with the darkness all around, but she knew. Her eyes skittered upwards, finding a twinkling like stars overhead, swirling in a vast ocean of black on black, lost again and again beneath waves of shadow that obscured all light from her vision. She squinted to no effect.

But she did not dare to move. Trapped in whatever limbo she had stumbled into, she still felt a hint of the searing pain that had driven her there. Fear of that pain flaring up again at any second kept her on edge. She felt every pulse and ebb of her heartbeat, holding her breath in case the pain returned, exhaling with relief when it did not.

Eventually, though, desperation won out over Silver’s fear. Something had caught her attention. She turned slowly, peering into the blackness around her. No light. No sound. No orientation. She had a curious sense of vertigo. But she knew the scent of smoke, and, drawn by budding curiosity and the nagging anxiety that she needed to wake and leave this dark world behind, she stole forward into the blackness. It enveloped her like a cold shroud, neither frightening nor stifling anymore. Desolate, yes. But she sensed more in the emptiness; the pulse of life. She knew where it was. How many times had she walked this corridor in her sleep, after all? How many times had she found her way, groping in the blackness, shivering with the chill?

Gradually, the scent of smoke faded to be replaced by something else; a wafting breeze fresh with the scent of the outdoors, crisp and damp with something that sent a shiver of excitement up her spine.

Snow.

When she sensed it was time, Silver stopped and took a moment to probe the waiting darkness with her hands. She turned right, walked a few paces, and then rapidly left. She had found the maze. The walls were as shifting and intangible as smoke, and she could walk through them, but that would not bring her to her destination. So, she followed the maze instead, reveling in it where before she had been afraid. Her heart sang with anticipation. There was no cold today. Her body was like air, like smoke, like fire. She was queen of this domain.

The maze sang with her. A lullaby. A lovely serenade.

In time, she found herself standing before a pair of fallen silver gates, their metal softly aglow with a pale light. Parts of them were melted beyond recognition. Parts remained beautiful, ornate. Parts were beginning to separate, to fray, to rust, twisting like a living thing. She had done this to them, when she forced them open.

But she was not here to stare.

Silver stepped over the twisted metal, coming to a door carved from ghostly pale wood. She pushed it open, meeting no resistance, and then let it close behind her, already ogling the room beyond.

She had been here before. An oddly pale room with a single mirror, directly across from the door. It was also eerily similar to the tower room she had visited within the Castle of Divides. The walls were carved of white stone, the floor was a deep rosewood, stained dark. Laid out was a lush crimson rug embroidered with a great golden dragon, curled around on its own tail and breathing a great golden stream of fire. The insignia of the Juran, Illian’s band of rebels, some time in the distant future. It lent the room a sense of warmth where otherwise there would be none.

There was a window, too, that she knew was the object of her search. Cold, white light streamed in through it, thick white flakes of snow fluttering slowly past. Silver rushed over, her elbows easily finding a comfortable groove on the windowsill so she could lean out into the afternoon air.

It was bright. The skies were overcast, snow falling in gentle flurries that hushed the world. There was no motion except the snow. Her eyes traveled through the snow haze, seeing what appeared to be a town nestled among the rolling drifts of white, disappearing off into the distance in what she thought might be fields or forest. Through the haze, it was all the same; a blank white that settled like a veil at the edge of the world. There were trees on the edge of the town though, grand, high-growing trees weighed down with snow and ice.

Taking a large gulp of the frigid air and feeling it burn against her lungs, she leaned out, hand extended, to catch a couple of snowflakes in her cupped palm. They were as cold and solid as she could have hoped. In a moment, they had melted. Smiling, Silver withdrew from the cold, wiping the melt water against her clothes and turning, just slightly, towards the mirror. Uncertainty prickled at her scalp and raised the hairs on her arms. She remembered what had happened the last time she looked in a mirror. Without thinking, she raised her other hand to rub her once injured knuckles.

It was cold after all.

Her breath clouded in front of her, filling the space between her and the mirror. Sparing another brief glance for the outside, Silver raised her hand, willing glass into the empty space that might normally house a window. It pleased her to see the air warm and shimmer and then settle into a solid surface.

Look.

Silver glanced towards the door, certain for a moment that it was open, just a crack.

The mirror….

She eyed the reflective glass from the side, feeling her feet carry her forward despite herself. Her toes dug into the warm carpet as she tangled her fingers in her clothing. What was she wearing? A dress. Silver furrowed her brows, confused.

Look.

Looking up, she blinked into the glass. Her reflection blinked back, staring with unusual intensity, tense and defensive. Nothing happened. She leaned closer, intent on the glass that did not quite seem to be glass. Beneath her scrutiny, her eyes, their usual vibrant hazel green with the heart of gold around her pupil, began to change. Not all at once. Not suddenly. Slowly, slowly the edges were turning a deep and burning crimson, and the longer she stared, the further the crimson spread, encroaching inward on her pupils in a wave of fiery scarlet.

Silver leapt back, too late, suddenly afraid of the reflection. Furious, frightened, seeing her own red-eyed glare directed back at her, she continued to stare. The glass buckled, fractured from top to bottom. A perfect crack.

Her breathing was growing faster, shallower. The pain was returning. Her blood was hot, racing through veins already throbbing with disease. Within seconds, the room slipped away as her hold on consciousness ebbed and then strengthened, drawing her beyond the point of dreams and back into the world of solid reality. Her pain was blinding in every sense. She was numb to the world, unable to move, unable to breathe. Then she felt her fingers twitch, and it sent a fresh stab of agony through her arms.

Sucking in a panicked breath, Silver felt her eyelids flicker. Once. Twice. Light poured into her undefended eyes, sending fire rocketing through her brain. Sucking in another desperate breath, she forced her eyes open, staring blankly at the familiar ceiling – familiar but not right. She should not be here. Not in Illian’s house.

Struggling to ignore the pain, she stiffened her muscles and pushed with all of her might until she somehow sat up, hunched over the bed with her legs under her and her breath coming in ragged gasps. Silver had never felt anything so terrible, and yet…her eyes flickered rapidly around the room, coming to rest on the mirror set up against the wall.

I have to see. I have to check. I have to know.

Lurching to her feet, she swayed at the edge of the bed, gripping the side of it for balance. It was no use. One step and she was on her knees, feeling the strength leave her limbs when a fresh bout of pain caused the muscles in her legs to seize. Her body curled over of its own accord and she stifled a cough, not wanting the others to come and see her like that. They had to be close.

Sound beside her drew her eyes up into the face of the wolf. It whimpered at her, ears working, nose working. For once, she could not hear its words.

Fire wracked her chest, burning her already parched and raw throat, and when she coughed it was blood that filled her mouth. Unable to stop the bout of coughing or even to fight against it, she sank down, gasping more raggedly than before, trembling as sweat beaded against her clammy skin. When her vision cleared and focused, it was to find a small pool of blood soaking into the floorboards in front of her. Without a doubt, that was bad. Lethal bad. If she had been thinking straight, she would be back in bed, not moving. But an insane necessity drove her forward.

I have to see, she demanded of herself as the wolf pressed its cold nose to her forehead, trying to get her to listen. Tears streamed down her face. She felt deaf, somehow, as she grabbed at the wolf’s silvery fur, trembling as she struggled to push herself up. It growled when she let go, forcing herself to crawl towards the mirror, not daring to give herself a moment of rest despite the stick of sweat that had already formed on her arms and legs. Up.

She heard the wolf go to the door, heard it open.

Up.

In her heart she was praying, dreading, hoping. Let me not see that. Let me not see the truth. Terror gripped her chest in an icy and unrelenting stronghold. It should not matter so much. It meant nothing. Only a dream, only a nightmare. But when she thought of what she had seen weeks ago at the outpost, her heart thundered harder against her rib cage.

It was all real, somehow. Silver knew it was. The room, the window, the mirror. And deep in her heart, she knew what it meant. There were just no words to describe what exactly she knew.

Relsrir was right, anyway. It was magic that was burning her from the inside out. She was sure of it.

Then her reflection stared back at her, scarlet-eyed, irises burning crimson. The red glowed demonically in the light of the room, burning with the magic that coursed unchecked through her veins. The color of blood.

Her body sank down of its own accord, pressed to the cold wood again by nothing more than gravity and her own weakness. Her chest tightened as she felt the cough coming, pulling from the pit of her stomach until she retched and felt the bile rise, only to find that what she coughed up was not the contents of her stomach, but blood again. It pooled below her, glistening in the overhead light, the same deep crimson as her eyes.

A shudder wracked her body.

Dying…I’m…

…Not yet…

She stood, somehow empowered by the very magic that seemed to be destroying her.

I have to...I have to...

She glared in fury at the mirror, watching as it, too, splintered under the force of her stare. But she was already moving on, her mind one step ahead of her. She wanted only to be free of the pain. That meant using the magic that screamed to be free of her. In a moment she was at the window, and she held her hand to the barrier Illian had erected, feeling her consciousness spread out into the wood of the shutters.

Be gone.

The pain ebbed slightly as the wall shuddered convulsively and exploded outward, wood chips and stone embedding themselves into the earth with a mighty crash. The noise did not disturb her.

She stepped, heedless, over the smashed and splintered wood, ignoring the clay that dug into her heels and left bloody gashes in her feet. All of it healed within seconds. There was no pain worse than what coursed through her very blood. She turned slightly, holding her open hand at shoulder level. They must have brought her things. Why wouldn’t they? Sure enough, there was a flash of ebony wood as the tenyan came to her, landing neatly in her palm.

Redirect it.

She nodded, gripping the wood so tight her muscles spasmed. She felt a smile grace her lips, very slight, almost challenging. The pain was more intense now. Insistent. Magic alone moved her. Magic alone kept her standing, her eyes sliding over the farmland of Alti, beyond the trees of the Issurak and the great castle that loomed over them all. Far, far to the north…

She could hear noises from within the house. Her mind reeled.

There’s no more time.

Her fingers still gripped the tenyan, and now she held it out before her, pointed at the dark and silent trees of the Issurak. The magic was already in motion, flying towards the nonexistent blade, burning her hands until she was sure she could smell the flesh and could only hope that her burns would also heal. The buzz filled her before she saw the flash of magic erupt out the other end of the wand in a broad crimson flare. Huge. Inescapable. It pressed the grass flat around her, blowing her hair back away from her face and forcing the trees back away from her. Like water leaving a smashed vase, the magic gushed out of her. The heat searing her bones began to fade, drained away, offering her just a moment of relief. The magic would come back. It had too, or else the tenyan would be destroyed, but she fought fiercely to reject it.

You or me, she thought, biting her lip, and feeling more blood dribble down her chin.

Zeharial’s necklace burned at her neck, and she felt her free hand groping at the hot and twisted metal, felt it burning her fingers with the same intensity as the magic. It left angry reels on her skin that healed only slowly after she released the metal links. It was because Zeharial’s necklace was magical; it was responding to her.

Her vision swam.

And then the wood in her hand began to tremble and crack, sawdust pouring from between her fingers.

She was at her limit. There was nothing more that she could do. She had managed to stop it this time, whatever it was; Silver did not know. She did not remember. It seemed as if she had known in that strange room within her mind.

Her eyelids grew suddenly heavy, her body trembled, but the worst of the heat was gone. The wild, terrible magic was gone. What remained, she could contain. And she would have to contain it, because in those last precious seconds of consciousness remaining to her…all she could think was how much she wanted to live.