Mother's mind-conversation with Ysac didn't let much transpire, except that she was more than agreeable to him being my protector while she hurried back to Springport. If she made it. I didn't need to read her mind to know that she was panicked, unsure whether she had the power to open up that mirror.

So Mother knew of my affections for Ysac...and accepted them? She hadn't reacted to his deep gaze at me, hadn't shown a single sign of disgust earlier, when we'd all but confessed our feelings for one another. She either didn't care, or endorsed it, or perhaps she had her doubts since Ysac had betrayed us, but...

Had she ever met a man who liked women and men? And had she ever envisioned her only son would tend towards the latter?

"We will continue to make them think you and I are both going through," she said to me, her voice echoing within my head.

It was still so weird, no matter how much she'd done it in the past few minutes—to have one's mother's words creeping around inside was off-putting. Deranging. Would I ever get used to it?

I never knew that was the sort of power mages could have. In truth, I'd never wondered much about powers since I'd showed up here. And this was another of Arden's powers, one in an array I'd likely never discover more about. The real Arden was gone, and the fake one was about to be, too.

But I hung on to her words. Mother's counsel was the only way we'd survive this. Otho was out for blood—fresh or old or magical, I didn't think he cared. And his messed-up future bride concealed blood-coated teeth under her pretty, pouty lips.

Luned. I seethed. The fiend was her, all this time. An actress, a foul little—

"Teo, concentrate." Mother nudged me. "I'm going to voice my plan out loud, and you both need to be ready for it."

I gave her a hasty nod, and she cleared her throat.

"I'll go first. I doubt I could keep the mirror's portal open long enough for both of us to pass at once." She shifted her weight, focusing on her reflection. Despite the fear in her timbre, she stood tall, proud. Bracing for the worst.

"You two need to formulate a plan," she said, switching to mind-speaking. "A means to evade them. If this works, they'll be distracted when Jack comes back. Take advantage of that." Her gaze moved to Sir Otho and Luned, a few dozen feet behind us. They huddled close, their bodies smashed together and their noses touching. Sir Otho had to stoop down to reach his beloved—I gagged again—and the toxic yet oddly sparkling aura around them made my stomach growl.

What a match made in the depths of hell!

Mother's hand, wrapped around mine, conveyed all the emotions she hadn't managed earlier, when we first reunited. The five years of questions, of sorrow, of missing her more than I ever imagined I would. The regret, so poignant that weighed down on her shoulders like several tons of rocks rested there.

I had to forgive her before she left. I had to make it evident I still loved her, no matter what. "Mother, I—"

"—it's okay, Teo." A heavenly heat radiated from her fingertips. It swirled around my wrist, my forearm, my elbow, skidded up my bicep, skipped over my shoulder, slid up my neck.

Was it magic? Or the effects of a mother's touch?

"All right, let's get moving!" Sir Otho, with his icy hollows of madness fixed on me, prowled over. As usual, he had no trouble ruining the moment; my last one with Mother. He carried an unlit candle in one hand, and with one sharp stream of air from his pinched lips, he ignited it. Shadows danced across his flawless features. "I figured you might need one of these," he said, handing it to Mother. "The real Arden uses many candles in their incantations."

Mother gulped as she wrapped her hand around the thin, wax-ridden candle. "I don't know what to do."

I pinched my lips to not respond to her out loud. Would Otho hear her thoughts, being so up close? Or was she still able to target the mind her words reached? "Put a few sentences together to make it sound like you're trying, at least?"

She returned to the mirror and let out a deep breath that fogged up the glass. I could have sworn I saw a tiny ripple across the surface; but it must have been the candle's reflection playing tricks on me.

"I'll only be able to allow one person through at a time," she said, sounding as confident as I'd ever heard her. But would it fool Otho?

Luned meandered over, her brows snapping together. "Just get Jack back," she said, her tone like poison, thick and nefariously aromatic. Her skin scintillated as if dusted with tiny diamonds. "That's all that matters. Whether or not you actually go through doesn't."

My turn to gulp. They didn't care about our fates, but those of us who stayed...we'd be at their mercy, wouldn't we?

I wanted to plead with Mother to let me go with her. Or for us to run, to take a chance by surprising Otho and Luned. Surely they wouldn't expect us to try something as bold as an escape right now.

Mother squeezed her eyes shut and reached forward to touch the mirror's edges. "I hope my remnants of power will be enough."

"Can it work?" I couldn't speak my concerns out loud. If Otho knew how Mother hesitated, he'd harm her, torture her until magic spilled out of her against her will.

She approached this task with a tremendous amount of trepidation. I knew that without reading her mind.

"I have no idea, son." She straightened up, squared her shoulders, and moved her fingertips to the reflective surface. "Again, I don't know what to do. I've tried playing with this mirror's magic for five years. Even wearing the cloak and veil, I was never able to decipher anything other than that this item isn't from this world. I have no idea how to manipulate it, to make it work."

Otho watched with eager eyes, flashing a quick smile at Luned. She leaned into him, her cheek pressed to his upper arm. "Hurry," she whispered, her lips lifting into a gentle, almost beautiful grin. "We need Jack."

Otho flinched. "We do. Fast."

Her peachy pitch and his booming baritone united into a haunting, horrific melody, which made me want to gag for the fiftieth time in five minutes.

After a wink at me, and a brief jut of her chin at Ysac, Mother focused on the reflected image of herself. "Device of dimensional travel...open your curtain, and let me pass," she said, her voice slick with confidence I wasn't sure she had. "And to replace me I beckon Jack, Knave of Spade Island."

The mirror's surface moved.

She let out the tiniest rasp, shocked that her rhythmic words had done anything.

"That's not me," she said to me, and from Ysac's subtle eyebrow raise, I assumed she'd clued him in, too. "My magic isn't doing that."

Tiny ripples raced across the glass, as if a small pebble had been thrown into calm waters.

Mother gripped my hand, her voice now a chilly whisper whisking into my ears. "I was supposed to die, son. I escaped fate in my sickly daze, and the universe is mad at me. However this mirror opened...it has recognized that I must travel through it. It's time for me to go, to reestablish the balance. To rule our kingdom, not play at throwing magic around in this one."

The ripples grew in number and thickened, fluttering faster across the silk-like facade.

"Fix this world, Teo. Perhaps you never belonged in ours. Perhaps your father was wrong to impose his choices of brides on you, because you weren't meant to find a queen. You needed someone more unconventional." She opened her eyes and glanced at Ysac; neither Otho nor Luned noticed, but I did.

Breaths stalled, I watched as the mirror became a satin veil that ripped apart, revealing a pit of darkness. Dangerous depths, dizzying drops, crazy curves that would lead Mother away.

"I love you, Teodric."

Her body faded, as if erased by the air itself. She was yanked into the mirror, through its hardened exterior, and into its tenebrous tunnel to Springport.

The flame she'd been holding fell to the ground, landing sideways. It flickered, then extinguished.

She was gone. For real, and likely forever, this time. I wasn't positive I'd ever see her again.

I had three, four, five seconds to gather my wits, to sniffle away my sadness. To rehash my options to avoid plunging into the reflective surface like Mother had.

My respite ended too soon. Another figure morphed into existence, slipping out of the mirror, and taking the spot Mother had vacated.

This new arrival lacked her warmth; it was cold, as if its limbs were coated in ice. It pried into me, making me cold, as if I'd been dipped into a frosty lake.

I saw eyes dark as the night, like onyx jewels devoid of light, reflecting malice. Then, bulky bristles of black brows sloped downward. A hooked nose with flaring nostrils. Lips tinted a natural mahogany, their corners drooping. A cool but deep tawny complexion, reminiscent of the desert sands I'd once seen during an excursion out of Springport, with Father. A slash of a scar across a cheek.

Chills cruised up my lower limbs and paralyzed me as Knave Jack appeared at my side.

His body formed. Broad shoulders, of a similar height with mine, but more muscular. Long, chiseled arms covered in black fabrics. Calloused, cruel-looking hands that tightened into fists. Sturdy legs swathed in crow-colored, tight-fitting breeches, and dirty, knee-high boots with ruby and emerald buttons. Last was the hair—sleek waves of ink that dangled above the shoulders, streaked with magenta and copper. And a crown—silver and gold, decorated with garnets and sapphires.

My crown. Or more like Mother's.

Sir Otho's rigid posture was a show of premeditated prudence. "Jack?"

The knave scratched at the scruff sprawled across his jawline and removed the crown but held on to it. "Otho. Haven't seen you in a while, have I?" His voice was laced with scorn, sharp like a jagged blade. He whipped around, shoving me aside as he glared at the mage. "No, because I was stuck in another damn dimension! What took you so long, hm? Don't get me wrong, sitting on a throne in that weird world was fun, but it interrupted everything. What's the situation?"

I cleared my throat—a stupid nervous tick of mine, apparently—prompting him to realize I existed. I regretted it at once, as his dagger-like gaze pierced through me, its venom finding my heart and inundating it.

"Let me guess—you're Prince Teodric?" With a quiet whimper, I lowered my chin in response. "I don't know what I did, but I was standing there shuffling cards in front of the mirror, and—" he threw his arms out, "poof. I'm back. They said there's no magic in Springport, but I beg to differ."

I blinked at him. "You shuffled cards in front of the mirror..."

Mother was right; that wasn't her magic. Jack unknowingly enacted the legend.

"That's what I said. Are you slow?" He snickered at me. "Glad you didn't stay there to be crowned. They'd have been daft to have let you sit on that throne." He returned to Sir Otho, ignoring my drooping jaw. "Tell me everything before I lose it."

While Otho commanded the room earlier, he almost melted in the face of Jack. I thought Otho was the leader, but Jack's presence was so strong, so intoxicating, even Otho seemed to bow to his will.

"There were some complications, unfortunately, but we can still salvage the situation." Sir Otho fiddled with the collar of his shirt, wincing. "Luned will fill you in; I assume by now the other Aces are on alert, and you must both get to safety. I'll join you soon."

Grumbling some foul-sounding curses, Jack marched up to Luned and snatched her by the wrist, hauling her out of the indoor garden.

I wanted to ask why he manhandled the Queen of Spade Island like so, but Sir Otho's gaze landed on me, stilling my train of thought. "One final issue to deal with." He rubbed his hands together, causing sparks to sputter from his fingertips. "She left you behind, it seems. That mirror isn't opening up again, is it?"

Before I could chance at a reply, he lurched up to me and grasped my shoulders, standing behind me like a father would his son when prepping for his first ball. But it was far from a positive, encouraging sensation. His breath barreled down my neck, hot with greed, yet frigid with hatred.

"Hm, what should we do with you?" His nails dug into me, and I hissed. "I'd say we ridicule you by making you a jester, but we already have one of those, and that's too many." He glowered at Ysac, who'd spaced his legs out in a defensive stance, arms raised, fists tightened. "Oh, lower those, you poor love-struck fool. You have no chance against me."

I swallowed, and my Adam's apple bounced and bobbed.

I had no clue what to do. Stay, Mother had said; but how? How to convince this fickle foe that my presence was in his best interest? How to persuade someone with so much power that I, a foreign prince from a foreign world, might be of use to him? Even if it was a lie—I had to say something.

I hadn't realized I'd slammed my eyelids shut, and they wrenched open when someone slid their hand in mine.

Ysac.

His fingers fit perfectly between mine; like they'd always belonged there. He stood tall, his arm pressing against me. "However you decide to punish him, I'd like to receive the same punishment. Servitude, exile, death; whatever you choose, I'll accept to be with him." He gaped at Sir Otho, asking for approval.

The Ace of hearts huffed. "Whatever. You failed your task, anyway, and I've had enough of your protests. And this," he snarled at me, then at Ysac again, "relationship brewing between you two is making me nauseous." He nudged me in the back of the thigh with his knee. "Choose your punishment, little prince. Make it quick, but make it painful. A slow death? Teleportation to a deserted island across the world? Pay your penance in one of the worst jails in Acewood? I'm sure you can think of something creative that will satisfy my hunger for vengeance."

He let go of my shoulders to pace to my right, muttering incomprehensible half-sentences through tight lips.

Vengeance? What had I done to him? Or did he expect me to pay in my mother's place, since she'd been the one to fool him and fuck with his plans?

In the mirror, I spotted Ysac removing something from his pocket. Something leathery, small but heavy-looking, tied with strings. A pouch. One that I was sure I'd seen before; the same shape, the same chestnut color—

The silvery powder that diminished the consequences of a fatal fog?

Ysac's brows raised as my mouth propped open. I heaved my jaw back up and gave him a nod to make it clear I understood.

Our distraction. Blow the powder on Otho. That was what he wanted, right? It wouldn't save us—if anything, it would anger the mage more, sign our death warrants for sure. But it might give us a minuscule opportunity to escape him. And it was all we had.

I must trust the wild card. In a game of Springport Poker, I always do.

"I think I have an idea," I said softly, ignoring the clump of saliva clogging the top of my throat.

Sir Otho stormed over, each of his footfalls triggering tiny earthquakes under our feet. "Tell me. Hurriedly, please, I don't have all day."

It all happened in slow motion, yet I knew it took mere seconds.

Ysac released me to open the satchel.

I angled backwards as he widened the opening and flipped around to throw the magic dust straight at Sir Otho's face. The Ace coughed, cursed, waved his hands, growled—but the powder wouldn't dissipate. He swerved into a bush while trying to brush it off.

Ysac snatched my forearm.

We ran.

♥♣♦♠