The Shield of Weeping Ghosts (38 page)

A shadow moved on his left, and he pretended to ignore it, careful not to frighten it away.

Taking a deep breath, he reached up and removed his mask, letting cool air wash over his face before opening his eyes and stretching his jaw. A piece of polished dark glass lay nearby,

and he picked it up hesitantly and looked at his reflection in its surface.

His skin was pale—much as he remembered himself since last seeing a real mirror. What he expected to find, however, stared at him through eyes as brilliant and white-blue as ice. He held his breath, unable to look away, unable to fathom the true depths of the sacrifice he had made. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, throbbed in the fingers holding the glass. He exhaled and breathed in, grateful to feel cold air on his throat, his lungs expanding with air. Life still flowed through him—more so than ever it seemed.

A tiny giggle drew his attention, and he lowered the glass. The smallest of the ghosts, the Magewarden’s daughter, stood staring at him, smiling shyly. He smiled back, enjoying this change. She leaned forward conspiratorially, placing her small hands on the edge of the desk.

“You look like him,” she whispered, still smiling and marveling at his icy eyes.

“Yes,” he replied and could only imagine she meant the lost prince, Serevan, though her seeming lack of fear made him wonder at even that conclusion. “Will you help me find out why?”

She thought a moment, screwing up her translucent face in the process, squinting as only a child could, before nodding and spiriting off to find more books.