Chapter 16: The Accuser Bleeds

"The accuser does not bleed," Odette said. "That is not the law."

Her voice cracked on the last word.

Tobias took off his spectacles and wiped them on his sleeve, slowly.

"It is the oldest law in the book, my lady," he said. "The glass stands both parties side by side. It simply hasn't been used in forty years."

"Father."

"Do as the Court asks," said the Elder. His jaw was tight.

He had called for it himself, and he could not take it back in front of seven hundred people.

Nobody moved.

I stood at the black frame with my palm still stinging, and I did not say a word.

I had learned something from watching this woman for a month.

If you give a liar enough room, she hangs herself with it.

Odette lifted her chin.

She walked to the glass in her grey wool, with the silver cup swinging on its chain.

She stopped an arm's length from me.

"You think you've won," she whispered.

"I haven't said anything."

"You won't need to."

Tobias held out the keeper's lancet, the small steel one we use for a draw.

She took it. She stared at it.

Then she opened the heel of her hand in one quick stroke, as I had seen her do it in the vault, and pressed it to the Mirror.

The glass drank.

It went dark for a long moment.

Then it lit.

The first thing it showed was a kitchen at night.

A pestle and a green root, and a pale gold plait bent over a stone bowl.

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