Chapter One

ZEMYRA THE WEAVER was not what Sterling expected to find when he’d started his search for the Mirror King.

Not that he’d had any idea of what to expect, really. He’d just known the Mirror King was a threat. So he’d set off up the mountain, certain he needed to find answers before more danger befell his pack.

Now, Sterling was halfway up Mount Acaelum, looking for the strange, reclusive woman who lived on the last edge of civilization. All because a tipsy local insisted that’s where he’d find out more about the Mirror King. And about the Taken.

Sterling shivered, thinking of the stories he’d already collected as he made his way up the mountain.

Of the children who’d disappeared for days, only to return with a bagful of coins and no memory of where they’d been. Just vague impressions of a thin, crowned specter and the Ice Trolls he commanded.

Worse, though, were the tales of those who never returned.

And of the bodies found so twisted and mutated by magic they could never be identified.

Sterling had started his quest for the Mirror King with the intention of protecting his pack. Now, he was determined to stop the monster before he hurt and traumatized any more of the mountain’s residents.

Zemyra the Weaver was one of the Taken who’d survived. At fifteen, she’d also been older than most of the others when she fell into the Mirror King’s grasp. Which gave Sterling hope she might remember a few more details. A path or trail or anything that might lead him to the monster’s lair.

Unfortunately, Sterling hadn’t been able to find out much about her from the locals beyond a few whispered rumors.

The weaver was renowned and sought after for her fabrics. Beyond that, he’d been assured in quiet, hushed tones that sleeping beneath one of Zemyra’s blankets could heal the sick. Or bring good fortune to one’s home.

He’d also been told that her evil eye was fierce and uncompromising. That he should take care when approaching because she’d been known to curse strangers on a whim.

Undeterred, he’d walked to the end of the Winding Road and hiked through a couple of miles of forest in search of the local legend.

Sterling had expected some dilapidated shack and a raving, reclusive crone.

The cottage, though tiny, was well-built and well-kept, with a sturdy lean-to on one side sheltering neatly stacked firewood. The  autumn
 leaves carpeting the ground and clinging to the roof made it look like a pastoral painting.

The newer shed, built a few yards away from the main house, was even more impressive. Nearly as big as the cottage itself, its wide double doors stood open, revealing the biggest loom Sterling had ever seen. Wool, yarn, and a variety of odds and ends he couldn’t identify filled the shelves surrounding it. A sturdy iron brazier sat in one corner, unlit in deference to the unseasonably warm late autumn afternoon.

It was the young woman seated at the loom, however, who took him most by surprise.

Definitely no insane hag.

Her brown hair was pulled back in a long braid and her dark eyes watched him suspiciously. Her hands never stopped moving, though, as she continued to work the yarn in her grasp.

Sterling hesitated for a moment, adjusting his expectations. Then, with a polite smile, he moved across the yard under the woman’s continuous, watchful gaze.

When he stopped a few feet from the shed, her hands finally stilled and her shoulders tensed. One eyebrow lifted into a sharp, mistrustful angle and her gaze narrowed.

“Can I help you, stranger?”

She didn’t raise her voice, but it carried easily, filled with questions and wary curiosity.

Honesty was in Sterling’s nature, and he preferred a straightforward approach. But he learned a long time ago that the truth could be costly in his profession. Often, a half-truth or even outright deception was easier all around.

And he had no doubt Zemyra the Weaver would ice him out if he explained the true purpose of his visit right away.

So he slipped into his best horse-trader impression, a guileless smile revealing just a hint of greed, and announced, “I’m looking to buy some blankets.”

“You’ve come an awfully long way just for some blankets.” Her voice was light, but her expression remained suspicious.

Sterling, however, allowed a sliver of his own suspicion to rise to the surface. “How do you know how far I’ve traveled?”

“There’s only a handful of villages on this side of the mountain. I used to travel to the markets of every one when I first started selling my blankets. I know almost every villager by sight. You’re not one of them.”

She paused, tilting her head to give him an appraising once over.

“Your garments are a mix of styles from Ardell and Glicien. Few inhabit the inhospitable lands between the kingdoms and the foot of the mountain. The only person I know who travels the distance between is the merchant who buys my blankets to sell to the city shops. And he visited here just last month.”

Zemyra didn’t ask a question, but the rigid lines of her posture made it clear she expected Sterling to answer.

He spread his hands and shrugged. “I don’t suppose you’ll believe I was intrigued by your reputation and hoping to cut out the middleman.”

“No,” she answered, sharp and sure. “I won’t.”

For a moment, Sterling considered continuing the charade in order to press her for more information. But he doubted he’d get what he was looking for that way.

So maybe it was time to try the truth.

“I’m trying to find the Mirror King’s lair.”

Sterling watched her carefully but, other than a faint tightening along her jaw, Zemyra didn’t flinch or give anything away.

At least not in her expression.

Sterling’s wolf-shifter senses, however, allowed him to sense what others may not.

He noted the way her heart rate doubled. And the way her scent took on the acrid sharpness of fear and anger.

“I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place,” she replied, her tone flat and sarcastic. “He moved his lair out of my weaving shed last week.”

But tension vibrated in her sardonic words and Sterling knew she was trying desperately to hide something.

***

Zemyra kept her chin high, fighting not to show a flicker of the turmoil roiling inside of her. By sheer strength of will, she forced her breath to remain steady and even despite the heavy, anxious thump of her racing heart.

After years of lying, of holding her secrets close and unspoken, Myra understood how to keep her body and her expression from giving anything away. Hiding was something she was very good at.

Yet, the stranger’s eyes brightened as he watched her. His smile deepened a fraction in satisfaction. Like he recognized her deflection and knew he was onto something.

“Too bad. Finding the Mirror King here would have saved me a cold and treacherous trip up the mountain.”

The tone was light and slightly mocking, as if humoring her. But his green eyes remained serious and intense. “The villagers said you were one of the Mirror King’s Taken. I hoped you might point in a direction to start my search.”

With narrowed eyes, Zemyra studied the man in front of her. Trying to read him. Trying to figure out what tack would send him on his way as quickly as possible. Another lie? A partial truth? Stern and uncompromising denial?

He stood tall, assured, and relaxed in her yard, as if he wasn’t alone at the edge of civilization. Streaks of silver glittered at his temples, contrasting his dark hair and giving him a dignified aura.

The broad muscles of his chest and arms left Myra no doubt he was comfortable using the sword at his side.

Despite the confident strength, though, there was a soft edge of compassion and sincerity in his demeanor. A quiet hint of concern in his gaze when he looked at her.

Sentiments that had not been directed at Myra since her mother’s passing.

Part of her wished it was real. Wanted, just once, for something, someone, she could turn to. Someone she could lean into.

But she knew better.

Instead, she waited for the shiver of unease and the premonition of danger that should spike through her at the sight of him.

Except, the foreboding sense didn’t come.

Myra tensed, more unnerved by the lack of warning than she had been when the stranger first appeared.

Not that she trusted her gift.

Even when she listened to it, when she tried to run from peril it warned her of, Myra had raced headlong into something worse.

Like falling into the hands of the Mirror King.

Premonition or no, Myra needed this man gone. She couldn’t risk him poking and prodding until the whole truth came out.

The best chance she had was to answer enough of his question to make him leave. Before he called too much notice to her.

He’d done enough digging to find out she was one of the Taken. So he’d probably heard the stories of others who’d endured the Mirror King’s attention.

Telling him what he already knew wouldn’t give any of her own secrets away.

“I don’t remember much,” she murmured, pushing as much raw sadness into her voice as she could.

In Myra’s experience, men ran from any hint of emotion. It was the fastest way to get rid of them.

“Like the others he’s Taken, all I remember is waking up in a strange cavern. There was a tall thin man in wrinkled robes and a crown that looked like icicles. He stood beside a giant mirror made of frosted crystal.” Myra let her chin droop, eyes dropping to the ground.

“The Mirror King spoke to me, but the words are a blur in my memory. Then he gestured to the Mirror and it glowed so bright it hurt my eyes. But nothing happened and the light faded. He looked disappointed but unsurprised, handed me a bag of coins and told me everything was fine. Then he had one of the Ice Trolls he controls carry me down the mountain and leave me near the end of the Winding Road.”

Myra swallowed hard, not having to feign the harsh fear as the memories tumbled over themselves in her mind.

Terror of the madman nonchalantly experimenting on her with magic. Of the towering, white-furred creature with cruel eyes and enough strength to take down a bear. And, worst of all, fear of having her deception discovered. Of not being allowed to leave at all.

“The troll moved so fast, everything blurred. I was so cold and scared that I barely remember following the Winding Road back into the village of Benhalle.”

Myra paused, letting her voice drop and go hoarse, calling on pain she usually left buried to bring tears and true sorrow to her expression.

“I was one of the lucky ones, though. Some don’t make it home at all.”

Story finished, Myra risked a peek through damp lashes.

Compassion softened the stranger’s features, and he raised his hand partway, as if he wanted to offer comfort, despite the distance separating them. His eyes had darkened and the lines around them drew tight with an echoing anguish.

“I’m sorry to dredge up such painful memories,” he murmured, with a raw edge of guilt and compassion that could not be feigned.

For a moment, Myra felt a slice of guilt for playing on his emotions so ruthlessly.

Then his hand dropped back to his side and speculation slipped into his expression side by side with the empathy.

“I was hoping, since you were a little older than most when you were Taken, you might remember events in greater detail.”

He said it matter-of-factly. Not a question. But an invitation to share further. An expectation that she had more to give.

A trickle of uncertainty stole into Myra’s heart.

The few who’d come looking for stories of the Mirror King were either bards hoping to add another song to the legend. Or trophy hunters seeking to make a name for themselves.

Both types were happy enough to walk away with superficial details.

But Zemyra had a feeling this man wasn’t going to skim the surface and go away quite so easily.

“Who are you?”

She hadn’t meant to ask. She shouldn’t care at all. Yet something about him drew her. Something in her wanted to know him. And that was a dangerous impulse. One she needed to snuff out. Because getting to know someone meant letting them get to know her.

That was a risk she could never allow.

A hint of embarrassment eclipsed his curiosity and speculation.

“Apologies,” he murmured in response to her question before offering a graceful bow. “I seemed to have forgotten my manners. My name is Sterling.”

Myra waited a beat, but nothing more was forthcoming. No mention of place or occupation or family lineage that usually accompanied an introduction.

Just a single name that told her nothing about the man.

“Why are you looking for the Mirror King?” Myra demanded in frustration. “No one’s been able to find him. And the few who might have gotten close have never been heard from again.”

His expression closed off and Myra had no doubt that, this time, Sterling was the one who wouldn’t be telling the whole truth.

“I work with a team of treasure hunters. Discovering the Mirror King and whatever magic and artifacts he has would be a coup for a group like mine.”

Myra’s blood ran cold. Men seeking magic oddities was the last thing she dared let close to her.

Carefully smoothing down the front of her dress, Myra forced a tight smile.

“Well, Sterling the Treasure Hunter, I’m afraid all I can tell you is to start looking where the Winding Road ends.” Her words were icy and flat as she moved away from the loom and stepped out of her shed. “If you’ll excuse me, there’s a storm coming. I need to prepare for it.”

Ignoring the doubtful glance he gave the cloudless sky and shining sun, Myra turned her back on him to shut the heavy double doors of her shed.

Silence followed, lingering heavily in the warm autumn air. But she refused to turn around even though she felt him watching her and trying to put the pieces into place. She refused to give him any more keys to the puzzle.

After a moment, he called out, “I’ll be staying in Benhalle for a couple days. If you remember anything else, you can send a message to the Dragon’s Aerie tavern and I’ll be happy to come back for a visit.”

Myra considered pointing out she had no way to send a message other than walking to the village herself. But talking to him only encouraged him, so silence seemed the safest course of action.

Instead, she set the bar in place across the doors and moved to the side of the shed to close the shutters over the window. Keeping her attention firmly on task, Myra resolutely ignored his continuing presence.

Finally, the soft tread of boots moving down the track told her he was leaving. When the sound faded completely, Zemyra let her forehead drop against the closed shutter with a thump and she exhaled with sharp relief.

The man was dangerous in so many ways. No matter how much she longed for comfort and understanding, she could never let him find the truth.

Only Zemyra knew what really happened at the top of the mountain, when she’d woken in the Mirror King’s lair.

No one else could ever find out.

Or the contented life she’d managed to create with the Mirror King’s loathsome coins would be gone in a breath.