Ashure chuckled and headed toward his cabin. The crew began to softly sing as they worked, calling on the magic held within the ship, water, and wind to carry them swiftly and safely to their next port of call.
He nodded to the crewman who hurried to open the door that led down to the lower deck for him. His boots didn’t make a sound on the wooden steps. One of the benefits of being the King of the Pirates: he was a virtual ghost when he moved.
With a wave of his hand, the double doors of his cabin opened. He strode down the corridor and through the open doors. A snap of his fingers closed and locked the doors behind him.
He removed his large purple hat and set it on the table as he walked to the cabin’s built-in bar. He pulled out the decanter’s stopper and filled a crystal glass half-full of bourbon. After replacing the stopper, he walked over to one of the plush chairs in front of the fireplace and sank into it.
The memory of sitting in this same chair long ago appeared in his mind, making him frown. He hadn’t thought of that day in at least a hundred years. He pointed at the fireplace, igniting a small, hypnotic fire. He sat back, swirled the amber liquor in the crystal glass, and moodily stared at the dancing flames.
He smiled as he watched two figures appear in the flames—Princess Gem LaBreeze and Ross Galloway were walking hand in hand across the vast grounds of the palace. The sounds of the fireworks could still be faintly heard. The celebration was sure to continue late into the night and throughout the next few days.
“To find such love which not even death could sunder,” he murmured.
He took a sip of the rich bourbon. It wasn’t as good as Nali’s brandy, but it was close. With a slight grimace, he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out the magic mirror. The handle had been poking him in the ribs, as if it was reminding him that it was still in his possession. Fortunately for him, Gant had been impatient to depart the Isle of Elementals with Koorgan’s parents and had forgotten to ask him about it again.
He turned over the baroque-styled silver mirror. On the ornate back, Rose fairies surrounded an old willow tree. He suspected the mirror was either a product of the fairies or it had been a gift from the King of the Isle of Magic to his wife at one time. Wherever it had come from, it was certainly old and pure magic.
“Magic mirror—” he started to say before he stopped. Did he really want to see his one true love? The longing for someone who could quiet the voices that were constantly threatening to overwhelm him was torture. Seeing the face of his salvation would only make it worse.
“Blast it to all the Kingdoms!” he cursed.
He placed the mirror down on the side table and rose to his feet. The whispers in his head became louder. They sensed he was weakening—almost willing to do anything to silence their agonizing pleas for freedom. Unfortunately for them, he knew the truth behind their entreaties. Centuries of torment had not engendered any compassion in their own hearts. They still only wanted revenge.
He lifted the crystal glass to his lips and swallowed the contents before throwing the empty glass into the fireplace. There would be no sleep for him this night. Turning on his heel, he grabbed his hat and placed it on his head as he moved toward the exit.
He was almost to the door when he stopped, turned back, and retraced his steps. He grabbed the magic mirror, cursing when a sharp edge on the decorative backing of the mirror pierced his finger and a drop of blood formed.
“So now even the magic mirror is out for my blood,” he said with a shake of his head. “If only it could grant my wish to go to the location of the one who can quiet the voices in my head, not just show her in the glass,” he muttered.
The words had no sooner left his lips than a whirlpool of energy appeared beneath his feet. He had enough time to glance down in shock at the vortex of swirling colors before he suddenly descended through it. He dropped the mirror and instinctively reached up to anchor his hat on his head as he was spun around by the power of the vortex.
As he spiraled out of control, the memories of those who had once wished upon the mirror flashed before his eyes—Koorgan, the old man he had taken the mirror from, and dozens of others. He blinked when he saw the Rose fairies fluttering around the glowing branches of a willow tree and the face of an old woman smiling at them. His lips parted on a word of protest when he spun past the celestial figure of a golden goddess who smiled at him serenely as he swept past her.
He tried to twist around, searching for another glimpse of her, but the spout opened up, and he was falling through the darkness until he landed, feet first, in a very unfamiliar room. He straightened and cursed when he knocked against something with his foot and sent it bouncing across the floor. He frowned when he saw it was a small silver bowl.
“What in the…?” Ashure muttered before he heard a swooshing sound.
As he turned to look, a wad of damp strings slapped him upside his head, and something hard bruised his cheek, causing his head to snap back and his hat to fly off. He lifted his hands to protect himself when he realized that he was under attack. The shaft of a thin but very sturdy wooden pole connected with his groin, causing pain so intense that there was a display of starbursts in front of his eyes. His knees were the next part of his body to take abuse when they connected with the hard tile floor. He fell sideways, and the wet strings reappeared in his line of sight.
He could feel cold metal pressing against his neck through the damp strings of a mop and closed his eyes. He wasn’t worried about losing his head because the metal didn’t feel sharp enough to give him any reprieve from the pain radiating from his injured manhood.
“Move and it will be the last time you do,” a very feminine, very furious voice threatened.
“My Lady, I have no intention of moving. My poor body is in too much grievous pain, and I daresay it would be a blessing if you were to end my life now,” he responded between clenched teeth.
“My Lady? Why are you talking so weird? Why are you here and what do you want?” she demanded.
“At the moment, I don’t know where I am, so I cannot answer the why. As for what I want—relief from this pain would be at the top of my list,” he hoarsely confessed.
“Don’t move,” she ordered.
He tilted his head back when she pressed the metal shaft more firmly against his throat. The bright light that suddenly filled the room caused him to close his eyes. He swallowed with difficulty. The metal was now pressing against his Adam’s apple, making it difficult to breathe.
“Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my kitchen dressed in a Halloween costume? Are you drunk?” she demanded.
Ashure slowly lifted his eyelids to get his first look at his attacker. Her hair was a wild, tangled mess sticking out around her head. Her eyes were a mixture of blue, green, and brown. At the moment, they were narrowed and held a great deal of warning.
He knew every nuance of her face. He had memorized her features months ago when he first saw her image in the mirror. The slender nose, the full lips that made him want to taste them, and the heart-shaped face that he wanted to caress made him almost forget that he was lying on his back with his hands still protectively cupping his aching testicles.
She gave him another sharp glare of warning before she eased the pressure on his throat. He lifted one hand to brush several of the damp strings away from his mouth. An expression of distaste appeared on his face when he thought of the germs contained within the strands.