The Missing of Clairdelune (The Mirror Visitor, #2)

by Christelle Dabos

“We simply can’t allow ourselves to be enemies,” cut in Thorn. “You’re making my life difficult with your resentment; it’s imperative that we become reconciled. I’m not permitted to enter the Gynaeceum; meet me at the Treasury, insult me, slap me, smash a plate over my head if you feel like it, and then let’s never speak of it again. Name your day.

“You wanted me to be honest with you. You will thus learn that you are not just a pair of hands to me. And I don’t give a damn whether people find me suspect, as long as I am not so in your eyes. You will return this to me when I have kept all my promises,”

“Would you prefer to hear me say that I would like to be your reason for staying?

another to draw his pistol. He aimed it first at Gail, then at Fox, then at Philibert. “Which of them put you in that state?” he asked Ophelia.

From the floor, Ophelia couldn’t raise her eyes as high as his face; she did, however, have a great view of his shoes.

A spurt of blood spattered Ophelia’s glasses. She saw five gloved fingers fall to the floor, right beside her, in a cascade of rings. Baron Melchior looked, incredulously, at his mutilated hand. “I . . . What?” “Cancel your illusion.” Thorn’s voice came from deep within, like an animal’s growl.

Ophelia didn’t finish her sentence. Thorn had wrapped his arms around her with a vehemence that took her breath away. She opened her eyes wide on this darkness, which was making her blink rapidly. She didn’t understand. Thorn should have hurled reproaches at her, shaken her furiously. Why was he hugging her?

Thorn swallowed against her shoulder. “Oh, and by the way, I love you.”

“It’s . . . it’s a little harder than I thought it would be.” He pushed his pale hair back, his eyes studiously avoiding Ophelia’s. The rims of his eyes had reddened; this sight, more than all the rest, moved her as she’d never yet been moved.