The Assassin Princess (The Legacy Novels Book 1) by Blake Rivers Read Free Book Online

quick wave, hot blades of grass sneaking between her toes. “Graeme? Don’t mow over there, you’ll cut down my roses!” Ami’s dad killed the power just in time, and noticing her, he plucked one of the red flowers from the bush and brought it to her. “Hello sweetheart, had a nice day?” He kissed her cheek and presented her with the flower. Ami smiled and took it, lifting it to her nose, smelling the sweet fragrance. “Would look lovely in your hair,” a voice said. “Such love he shows you.” Ami turned and caught a fleeting glimpse of pale skin, long black hair; but then he was gone, through the swarms of people on the street. It was grey and cold, and her scarf hardly kept the cutting wind from her neck. She pulled it around her tighter and pushed her gloved hands deep into her coat pockets, joining the flow to her right and heading back toward the college. Was that thunder? She looked up, but saw nothing but grey. It was an English winter. She walked down the street, avoiding those who did not see, avoiding those who looked too long. A man stepped in front of her, blocking her path, his face white, his lips red and parted— what’s up with his teeth? She passed him quickly. “Can’t ignore me, I’ll find you.” Turning the last corner, Ami looked up from her sketchbook. He was there, walking toward her, a smile playing on his lips. He looked good. Better than good. He was every bit as handsome as she remembered. He stopped in front of her. “Hi,” he said and bent down, placing a kiss on her lips. Ami blushed. “Hi there,” she returned, unable to take her eyes from him—but something wasn’t right. His eyes were too green, his skin losing colour. With his long white finger he drew a heart in the air, his sharp teeth parting.
    She turned to the full length, gilded mirror behind her. In the reflection was a beautiful young woman—grubby, her clothes tattered and torn—but beautiful. Her hair was long and brown, mussed from much travelling.
    She smiled. The reflection smiled.
    Another mirror appeared to her left, one to her right, each reflecting her own image—though no, that wasn’t quite right.
    The reflection to her left was slipped into a pink dress of lace, frilled and to the calf. It looked amazing on her, she had to admit, something a princess would wear, but it did seem rather odd. On her right the reflection wore a curve-hugging black dress that reached above her knee; black boots reached just below. She looked dangerous! Her reflection smiled and swept her hair back behind her shoulder.
    Thunder rolled somewhere, but was unimportant.
    She reached to touch the image on her right, and as the girl’s finger touched hers, a ripple passed through the glass like water. It hit the frame of the mirror and the gold painted wood shook free, falling to the ground of darkness.
    The girl stepped aside and beckoned her forward.
    There was a walkway beyond her, daylight pouring through stone arches to the left, a gentle breeze blowing through the glass, touching her face. She could smell grass, trees, flowers—the girl beckoned her again.
    Behind her was nothing but darkness and the only way forward was the mirror, the glass doorway, the girl who was her.
    She stepped forward, cool ripples whispering across her skin.
    Now she saw the sun through the stone archways, the walkway long in front of her. She looked to her booted feet on the white stone, her black dress tight; oh yes, this felt dangerous.
    From the arches she saw short grass and a rosebush the other side of the wall, and she dared to reached out and pluck a flower, blood red and dangerous , like her.
    Smiling, she continued along the walkway, vaguely aware of a purpose, vaguely aware of a fear. The sky was a deep blue, and the sound of thunder echoed in the distance. There was a voice—but it didn’t matter. Eyes in front, she walked to the doorway at the end of the sheltered walkway.
    A large canvas stood on the last stone ledge