A Thief of Nightshade(55)
“Aubrey! It isn’t real! Listen to me!”
He yelled but she didn’t respond, not in the mirror’s reflection or in the flesh beside him. Furious, he jumped through the looking glass.
Chapter Nineteen
GIVEN
CLAPPED
HER
THIGHS
AGAINST HER horse’s flanks. The stallion broke from the stable at a full gallop, Ian hard on her heels with a second companion behind him. The other Griffins were in flight above them, their figures barely visible in the waning light of day.
For a long while, nothing but the constant thrum of horse’s hooves could be heard.
Then, Ian signaled that they slow with a sharp whistle that he was lucky Given heard.
“Are you ready for this?” Ian asked.
Given pulled the sword from behind her, the ringing of steel her only answer.
“I don’t know how long this will last.” He quickly whispered the words for a glamour and cloaked them both. “Pray it is long enough.”
The two of them made their way into the south entrance of Koldavere amid the panic that the sight of the other Griffins had caused. A brilliant distraction, most of the King’s forces were busy fighting winged assailants,
leaving
little
opposition for Given and Ian.
They found the dungeons easily enough, though it was for naught. “They aren’t here,” Given whispered.
“Who’s there?” an oddly mechanical voice cooed.
Ian frowned at her and pointed down the hall, away from the nearly empty cells.
“Are you looking for the human?”
Given watched as what she’d assumed was a pile of junk moved and unfurled in front of them until it resembled a living thing. “Yes. And the bear. Where are they?”
Ian clenched his jaw, clearly about to reprimand her when he leaned forward with a disgusted look on his face. “Cain?”
The creature wheeled backwards and clinked against the railing. “Show yourself!”
“What are you doing?” Given watched in amusement as Ian unveiled himself and approached the rolling garbage pile, anger evident in his tight-lipped expression.
“Where are they?” Ian pressed his booted foot against the creature, pinning it to the wall.
“If I tell you, will you free me?” Cain asked.
Ian laughed. “After you disobeyed Oberon? And me, for that matter? No, my old friend, you’ve made your own bed.”
Given marveled at the amount of time Ian was wasting. “Could we come back to this reunion later? Say, when we’re not trying to fight the Goblin King and save the Prince?”
Ian twisted around and for a split second, Given thought he would say something to her about her tone of voice, but he appeared to think better of it. “If they aren’t here, then they’ve been taken to the mines or to Cedrick himself.” He stared hard at Cain. “If there is any honor in you at all, you’ll tell us right now which it is.”
Cain rolled his metallic tongue around in his mouth in thought, then answered, “She requested an audience with the Goblin King.”
Given didn’t wait on Ian to ask.
“Which way do we go?”
Cain looked around, confused by where her voice was coming from, as she still hadn’t removed her glamour. “Past Koldavere and into the Keep. You’ll know his throne room when you see it. Go through the door at the far end of the room and you’ll come to three doors. Take the middle one.”
Ian reached to take Given by the arm but pulled his hand back to his side after she turned from his touch. “Follow me,”
he said.
“Wait!” Cain yelled. “You can’t just leave me here.”
“Watch me,” Ian said nastily.
Chapter Twenty
AISLINN HAD NO SENSE OF HIS LOCATION.
HE could only tell that the room he’d seen through the looking glass was not where he was currently. It appeared to be a home —though more like a modest castle. He saw ornate twin staircases that spiraled down either side of a grand entryway to frame an expansive but shadowed parlor.
He could make out two leather couches and two smoking chairs and the bare outline of a large fireplace. The stairs he would guess to be marble or something similar. The floor was made of intricately carved stone, laid out into the most exquisite pattern. Plush rugs and royally upholstered furniture gave the impression of old wealth. It reminded him a little of his own childhood home, though on a much smaller scale.
When he still saw no sign of Aubrey, he decided to ascend the staircase on the right. But as he reached for the banister he froze. Expecting the paw he’d grown so used to, he was stunned to see his hand, his true hand. He held it up, stared at it dumbly, then looked down at his human form. He raked his hands over his stomach and with shaky fingers felt his face for the first time in ten years.
He was about to go upstairs when he heard a noise from beyond the dimly lit room ahead of him, to the left of the fireplace. “Aubrey? Aubrey, please tell me where you are!” Still, he heard no response. He walked through the living room and down the hall at the far end of the house, listening as he went.
Finally, after trying several doors, he found one that was unlocked. It was a little girl’s bedroom, painted pale pink and adorned with elegant children’s decor that