We ran.

And ran.

And ran faster, farther. Passing walls of scarlet and sable. Skidding down black-and-white tiled floors, maroon carpets, grainy gray pathways.

Ysac wasn't running, not quite—he was flying. Every movement was graceful; unlike the caricature of jesters I'd read about in books. Those creatures joked at their own expense and hobbled around singing insulting songs; but not Ysac. His nimble, long legs carried him onward without so much as a flinch. His muscular arms moved in rhythm with his paces as he guided us far, far away from that garden. Far from Otho. Far from death.

I was panting so much I wasn't sure I had any air left in my lungs. Sweat poured down my temples and dripped through my thick lashes, clogging my vision. My thighs still ached from riding across this weird world atop weird animals that made weird sounds. My calves cramped, my feet throbbed, my back flared in pain. If it wasn't for Ysac's fingertips enclosed around my wrist—

Ysac.

We were together, fleeing peril together, saving ourselves together.

I attempted a quick peek at him as we barreled down a set of steep steps, and arrived in a dim, dank, underground corridor. Our exhausting excursion across the castle hadn't affected him much. He'd discarded his hat along the way, leaving his mop of molten hair to gush around his neck. His mouth parted to let out a few breaths, and not a single trace of perspiration glistened over his skin. He didn't slump like I did, didn't show any sign of being out of shape.

How was he not terrified? Sir Otho had to have recovered from the powder trick by now. After all, it was meant to clear progress through a fog, not obstruct one. Did it incapacitate him? Was he storming after us this very minute? How did we escape? Where were we?

My heels dug into the ground as something impeded my movement. Something that wasn't real, wasn't palpable. It was like the air itself threw up a blockage and prevented me from proceeding.

Next I knew, I was falling face-forward, as if I'd been tripped from behind. The worn-down, cracked tile was inches from my nose. Close, closer. I winced, prepared for the breakage, the suffering, the ungodly screech that would erupt from me once the agony settled in.

But I didn't face-plant. Instead, I levitated, one inch above the ground.

"Eh?"

Something shoved me upright again. A force, an energy—

Oh, crap. Sir Otho found us, didn't he?

I squinted down the unlit hallway, which seemed to go on for miles and miles. As I regained my senses, a stench of stale dust lingered in the atmosphere.

Footsteps approached from the darkness in front of me; cautious, quiet, non-threatening. Not Sir Otho—

"Sir Sym?" I gawked at him, his shoulders squared, his lengthy feathered cloak swaying in the breeze his magic created.

He gaped at me, assessing me. "It's okay. You're okay," he said, seeing my expression writhe in discomfort, delusion, dread. He blew into his palm, sending a surge of sparkles onto Ysac and I. We were gently lowered to the ground. "They can't detect you...not for now."

"They?" Ysac wriggled beside me as the sparkles floated through the air and settled on his flushed face.

"The culprit." Sir Sym squinted at him. "Culprits?"

I snorted. "Plural, for sure."

"Arden? Otho?" Sir Sym peered between us both, hands settling on his hips. I noticed the smears of fatigue beneath his eyes, and the normal glow in his skin had faded.

"Otho," I muttered, sneering at the memory of him towering in the guest room threshold, threatening Mother and I. "Arden is...was..."

"Not who they claimed to be?" Sir Sym studied me, his gaze particularly interested in my forehead, as if to read through it.

I stopped my jaw from dropping. "You...you know?"

Something dark flashed over his eyes. "I don't know who they are, but they're not our original Arden. Something's been off about them for a while now."

"For five years?" I gulped. "Because five years ago, my mother came through the same mirror as me, and was warped into becoming Arden. Your Arden is...gone. Deemed dead in my realm."

Sir Sym nodded. "I see."

I still struggled to catch my breath as a second figure floated closer, coming from the depths behind Sir Sym.

Her prismatic eyes and glistening skin lit up the dreary passage we loitered in. "Arden was your mother?" Ossenna's voice was tentative, though it too betrayed her knowledge that something had been up for a long time.

I winced, giving her the quickest nod before lowering my gaze to the ground. "She made it back through the mirror. She's home now."

"We sensed much amiss after you left with them, to go to your room. A loss of power...I assume that's when she revealed herself to you? Then the castle was steeped in cold, and every inhabitant disappeared. There was an explosion of negative energy, too, which drew us out of hiding," said Lady Ossenna. Her arms were crossed, and her lengthy, chromatic nails tapped on her biceps. "Someone departed, and someone lost their mind?"

I opened my mouth, wanting to explain, wanting to detail...but I couldn't. My heart pulsated and banged in my chest, preventing my vocal cords from functioning.

"Otho lost his mind," said Ysac, his voice level despite the marathon we'd ran. "He's been the one puppeteering us all, this whole time. He confounded the queens, lied to them to get them here, and now plots to take over Acewood, and the entire realm. With Luned as his bride." From how he bunched his lips and wrinkled his nostrils, I expected he wanted to spit, to scream, to fling out insults.

Lady Ossenna's sculpted eyebrows arched, and her fingers froze. "Luned. Which explains why Sym and Gwenore caught her sneaking around, clearly acting in a suspicious manner." She narrowed her gaze on Ysac. "How long have you known?"

Ysac fixated on the pointed tips of his bell-shoes, redness flaring up and down his face. "A while. Otho blackmailed me. I had no choice, and if I spoke, he would have—"

"—killed you." Sir Sym unleashed a sorrowful sigh. "He organized King Hendry's death, then. And the rebellion?"

"Otho was the one plotting, but ultimately, Jack did the deed. He murdered Hendry. He's in on all this, has been for a while, but he's much more committed. And...he's back. When Teodric's mother went through the mirror, it spat him back out. Turns out, he was the one who manipulated the magic from his side, in Teodric's kingdom." Ysac lifted his chin enough to connect with Sir Sym for a few seconds before throwing himself at his feet. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I loved the king, he was like a father to me, but Otho, and Jack, and Luned—"

Another form emerged from the shadows behind Sir Sym and Lady Ossenna. Undulating ringlets of obsidian framed her sullen, sunken cheeks and draped over the shoulders of her crisp white riding pantsuit.

"My sister took part in all this folly?" Queen Gwenore's words were daggers dipped in disdain, and as she approached us, ice coated my veins. "That two-timing, half-royal blooded mermaid skank participated in tearing my kingdom apart?"

My lashes fluttered and I slapped a hand to my chest—in offense, surprise, and awe of her string of offenses. "Majesty," I whispered.

She barely accorded me a glance before narrowing her eyes at Sir Sym. "The rumors were true, weren't they? She is a half-mermaid?"

He had nothing to say, only nodding once as he crinkled his nose.

Lady Ossenna gripped the woman's shoulder but kept her otherworldly gaze on Ysac. "Where are they?"

"Gone...something about getting to safety?" He shrugged as he looked up, still kneeled before Sir Sym. "We were in the indoor garden and I used fog powder to blind Otho, to distract him...and we bolted."

Sir Sym helped Ysac up, a cold sternness about the gesture. "I forgive you, because I understand that you weren't in control of all this. But we will discuss punishment when we get through this." As Ysac dusted himself off, Sir Sym's shiny beige slippers slid over the dingy floors until he reached Gwenore. "You were ready to fight, Majesty?"

She gave a sharp incline of her head. "More so if it's against her. I'll rip her limb from limb—"

He held out a hand. "That won't be necessary...yet. I doubt they're still around, but if you could try to track them, at least? Your sister and the knave, primarily. Otho will have wiped any remnants of himself." He jutted his chin at the stairs where we'd come from. "I assume whatever spell he placed on the castle is lifted now; the heavy emptiness is gone. Be prudent, and don't alert anyone that something is up. Then go to the bunker."

Bunker?

Gwenore didn't hesitate, and to my surprise she didn't growl at the mage giving her orders. She loathed him, but this situation was bigger than that hatred. Her heeled boots clacked as she took off down the passage Ysac and I arrived from. I pivoted to witness her effortless movements, her silhouette shrinking up the stairs.

"You two—" Sir Sym thrust a thumb behind him, "—I've put a protection spell on you, but it won't last long. The enchanted chambers at the end of this corridor are better equipped against magic like Otho's."

"But," oh, there was my voice, "what are you going to do? My mother—ahem, Arden...they're gone."

Ysac grunted. "He's right. You're down two mages. Jack can't do magic, but we all know how violent and fierce he is. And Luned...well, if she's a mermaid, she's got powers beyond our comprehension."

Sir Sym and Lady Ossenna exchanged a glance. The latter leapt past us, hastening the same way as Gwenore, without a word.

The former cast aside his feather cloak, revealing a golden tunic that stopped at his knees, with matching breeches. "It's still two mages against one, so we'll take our chances. Like I said, he's likely gone, which gives us some time to prepare. But we're still in danger." He gestured toward the obscure corridor again. "We knew this would happen and sensed the betrayal. Now that we know who it came from...we won't let them win." He pulled back his curtain of crow-black curls and tied them into a bun. "Astrida and Tilda are in there already, so you won't be alone. We will handle this."

Before we had the opportunity to protest, he zipped past us, fast as lightning, swift as wind.

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