The Serpent's Shadow

She left the dacoit in the hands of her body servant and retreated to her own quarters. There was still the mirror to try, and that was the third option; she had not troubled the servant of the glass for a few days now, and he should be cooperative after a rest in the darkness.

She smiled to herself. A 'rest,' indeed. With the mirror swathed in silk and muffled in spells that kept the servant from leaving the little, dark pocket of reality that enclosed him, he became very, very eager to please her. It was pleasantly easy to control this servant, at least.

She lit incense, picked up the box that held the mirror and settled into a pile of cushions, then removed the mirror from its container and unwrapped it.

The black surface was utterly blank, which was precisely as it should be, for the slave could no longer show himself until she summoned him. He had not yet found a way to break through her confining spells. There was a chance that one day he might, but that chance was remote, and grew more distant with every hour that passed. She sometimes wondered why she had never made a mirror-servant before this. They were so useful, and it grew easier to control them, not harder, with the passing of time.

'Mirror, mirror in my hand,' she said softly, gazing at her own reflection in the black glass. 'Come in haste to my command.'

The wavering image of the mirror-slave appeared immediately, and his desperately coaxing tone left nothing to be desired in the way of obedience. Oh, mistress, how may I please you? he fawned.

He must have found this last bout of enforced inactivity very trying. No more did he vex her with wailing or protests, there was only instant obedience. He had broken at last, and it was high time, too.

'You know where my sister's child dwells; can you penetrate her defenses to show me her and her household?' she asked.

The image blanched; all color drained from it, and it became transparent with anxiety. I beg of you, do not be angered with me, the slave begged. I cannot. Indeed, I have tried, but I might as well seek to penetrate a wall of steel with a knife of paper. But— He brightened, and color came creeping delicately back into his visage. But I can show her to you as she is when she walks outside those protections.

'Show me!' Shivani demanded imperiously, eager for a sight of the girl she had sought for so very long.

The mirror clouded briefly, then brightened and cleared, revealing the interior of a very large room with many windows along one side. Shivani brought it closer to her eyes and studied the image moving therein.

There was a young woman, slender and not over-tall, dressed in English clothing of some white fabric, with her long, black hair bound up in some formal English style on her head. There was a great deal of Surya in the girl; the likeness showed in her eyes in particular, large and seeming-wise, dark with secrets. Her complexion was of a shade between those of her mother and her father, Shivani noted with disapproval; a mark of the tainted blood, dusky rather than dark.

She moved among low beds, each containing a single person covered with a clean, white sheet. The room was full of these beds, closely crowded together, sunlight streaming down upon them. This must be the hospital where Simon Parkening encountered her. She seemed most attentive to the occupants of those beds, also to Shivani's disapproval. Her expression was intent as she ministered to them; there was no sound, only a picture, but it was clear that she spoke to them with kind and gentle courtesy rather than issuing the orders that one of her exalted blood should have found natural.

There was little doubt that she had thrown her lot in completely with the English; it seemed that only her servants and her pets were left as reminders of her homeland, for in all else, she was Western to the core. This must be why Shivani could neither break nor subvert her magical protections. She had surely learned the magic of the West, which was completely alien to Shivani's own. This—was unexpected. And it could prove a major stumbling block.

Shivani ground her teeth in rage. How dare she? How dare she squander that precious gift of power in Western magery? How dare she reject the magic of the people who needed it?

She was just like her mother, turning her back on her own people to consort with, and to aid, these arrogant usurpers.

The image blurred again, and Shivani saw the girl in another place, one that she recognized from the descriptions of her servants as one of the great parks, the one with the large body of water in it. Overhead, a sky far less blue than that of the homeland; around her, trees and flowers that were the wrong shapes and colors. She was not alone.

There was a man. And from her scandalous behavior with him, permitting him to put her hand in the crook of his elbow, laughing up at him, she was not indifferent to him.

Worse upon worse! Now she would throw herself away on an English Sahib! Had she no pride? Was she to follow in her deceitful mother's footsteps?