Free empress of storms by nicole m cameron Page A

footboard. The dim buzzing had grown stronger, but it wasn’t coming from the bed.
    Finally, she went to the largest of the shrouded pieces in the queen’s dressing area and pulled off the dusty sheet. It turned out to be a tall armoire in the same wood as Matthias’s but with delicate fretwork of leaves and vines around the edges. “Queen Hanne’s?”
    Mohrs bobbed his head. “Yes, your majesty. As far as I know it hasn’t been opened since her funeral.”
    Cautious, Danaë touched the fretwork, extending her senses. The armoire wasn’t the source of the buzzing, either. She moved to the next shape, pulling its drop cloth free. A beautiful changing table was revealed, its inlaid top still holding cut glass bottles of perfume and silver-backed brushes. The elegant mirror featured beautiful engraving along the edges, but was dull from lack of polishing. Danaë ran her fingertips through the fine layer of dust that had settled underneath the drop cloth, imagining the fine wood clean and glowing as the late queen sat before her mirror.
    But it still wasn’t the source of that infernal buzzing. Turning away, Danaë went to the last covered piece. As her hand touched the drop cloth a chill went through her. The buzzing rose to a hungry crescendo. If she hadn’t known better she would have sworn that the cloth covered a bloated carcass serving as a feast for carrion flies
    She yanked the cloth free. An oval cheval mirror stood there, its elongated glass gleaming and spotless. The difference to the mirror at the changing table was like day and night.
    Danaë slammed her mage shields up, flinching back from what she could hear in the mirror. The buzz had turned into sibilant whispers. You killed your father. You know you did. Your fault, your fault.
    She swallowed past sudden nausea. “This is it,” she forced out. “This is what’s poisoning the king.”
    The commander joined her, glowering at the mirror. “How? I can’t hear anything.”
    “You wouldn’t. But if you slept in this room you would hear something in the night, something horrible.” She gritted her teeth. “I need a mage, the strongest Aqua in the city.”
    “I know the one you want,” Flavia blurted. “I’ll go myself.”
    Danaë nodded, unwilling to turn away as her maid left. All of her attention was focused on keeping her shields up against the swirling horror she could sense on the other side of the mirror. 
    Bardahlson fingered the sword at his hip. “Should we break it?”
    “No!” Danaë ordered. “All that will do is open a gate between their world and ours.”
    “Their world?”
    “A place of demons, dark and foul.” She shuddered. “A very skilled mage bespelled this mirror and turned it into a conduit between our worlds. The demons wait on the other side until the room is dark. Then they start whispering, sinking hooks into their victim’s mind. They call forth a person’s deepest guilts and terrors, turning them against their victim until he or she dies in terror. Then they feast on the life force.”
    “My gods!” Mohrs stumbled back. “But it’s been in here for years!” the little valet said, horrified. “The king—”
    “Is still alive and sane because he had it covered. If the demons cannot see their victim, they can’t kill them. But they can still whisper.” Still focusing on the mirror, she waved at the door. “Both of you go. I don’t want you anywhere near this thing until the conduit spell is broken.”
    Light footsteps pattered to the door and into the hallway as Mohrs beat a hasty retreat. But Bardahlson remained where he was standing. “I will not leave you alone with this evil thing, majesty,” he said.
    The buzzing grew again, invisible fingers scratching at her shields. Murderer. Patricide. “You cannot help me, commander,” she said through her teeth. “If you value your king and wish to serve him best, go and guard the door. Don’t let anyone in here, especially his majesty, until the