Zedekiel frowned, his violet eyes fixed on the transmission mirror resting in his palm. Its glow had dimmed, leaving only a faint shimmer across its surface. “That’s… strange,” he murmured. “No one’s answering.”
“Maybe they can’t,” Talon said from his place near the hearth, where he was meditating to replenish his energy. He had expended a lot to burn the last fragment of Murrowbane in Zedekiel’s heart and the rest of the Dark magic in his bloodstream. His scarlet eyes flicked to the mirror before narrowing. “For all you know, you could be calling at the worst possible time. Fucking turn it off before you get someone killed.”
Zedekiel sighed, his grip on the mirror tightening. Talon was probably right. Whoever sent the mirror had likely stolen it from his library and he could only think of one person who would do that.
Cordin.