“At first, they tried to co-exist. The Good and their Mirror. The firstborn and the twin that emerged immediately after...”

In a world where every person has a Mirror twin capable of doing only bad things, Quiver is the only one born Mirrorless. Along with his best friend, City, the two must navigate a society ruled by a tyrannical queen and threatened by a dangerous rebel. And, when City’s Mirror escapes from her island prison, a chain of events is set in motion that thrusts Quiver, City and her Mirror into a dangerous struggle for power and survival.

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Available: August 11, 2025
Teen

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Excerpt

Chapter One

 

The rag in the pregnant woman’s mouth does nothing to drown out her screams. Her time has come, and her body is wracked with contractions. Three midwives hold her down, taking turns to sponge her forehead and talk gently to her but her eyes are wild. She cannot stop thrashing. 

“Bring the candle closer,” snaps the eldest midwife. “It’s as dark as the devil’s armpit here! Hold it steady, girl.” This is as close as it gets to anger for the Good.  

“Push, my dear,” the second midwife urges. “The sooner you push, the sooner it’ll all be over.” 

“I see a head,” the eldest midwife says, more calmly. “Come on now, Elegance. Push!” 

It’s Elegance’s first pregnancy and she screams as she pushes harder. The feeling that her entire body is being pulled wide open and ripped apart only makes her scream louder. Sweat is dripping from her forehead into her ears, and her breath comes in gasps. There’s a moment of relief and then a spasm of agony, over and over again. Relief. Agony. Relief. Agony. Relief. Agony.  

And then relief. Only relief. And an eerie silence that makes her spine tingle. Something must be wrong with the child. He should be crying. She struggles to sit up, but gentle hands push her down. “Easy, Elegance, take this.” Liquid slips down her throat and she doesn’t want to swallow but they’ve told her she must, and they know best. She swallows and the world seems to fade. She can just make out voices, hushed. 

“Where’s the second child? Where’s the Mirror?” 

“There isn’t one. It’s just him.” 

“The Lawkeepers are waiting outside. There must be a Mirror.”

“Well, there isn’t!”

A cry, thin and reedy, punctures Elegance’s stupor and she knows instantly it’s her child. She fights the medicine, though she knows she should submit. “My baby...” she gasps, hoarsely. “Let me hold him.”

A tiny bloody bundle is placed in her arms and wrinkly fingers clutch at her. Her child. Her boy. He’s perfect. She’s lost in him, and it doesn’t matter that he has no Mirror. He’s alive, breathing, sucking hungrily at her milk, as healthy as could be. That’s all that counts, surely?

Epoch, her husband, is not so sure. The next day, when the midwives have gone home, he says: “There has never been a child born without a Mirror. Not ever.”

“Well, now there has and he’s our son.” Elegance tightens her grip on the child that she has yet not allowed out of her sight.

“It’s not right. People will talk.” Epoch shakes his head and purses his lips.

“Let them.”

“Are they quite sure there was no Mirror?”

“What do you think, Epoch, that it’s still in there? That the midwives just forgot to let him out?” Elegance gestures at her mid-section. “There was no Mirror, Epoch. He’s a normal baby boy.” 

Epoch’s brow furrows. “What if they try to take him from us?”  

Elegance’s heart jolts at his words. The same fear has been gnawing inside her, but she has never dared acknowledge it and she’s angry at Epoch for saying it aloud. “They won’t,” she says, brusquely. “He’s ours. Mine. They don’t take the Good. Only the Mirrors.” 

“And, in the absence of a Mirror, maybe...” 

“No!” Elegance stamps her foot, shaking the baby. He stirs and starts to cry. It’s a bad sign. The Good rarely cry except when they’re first born, except to pull the air into their tiny lungs. This little boy shouldn’t be crying.   

Her husband’s words are relentless. “They’ll be watching, Elegance. They’ll be watching us closely. Making sure he is Good. And if there’s the slightest sign he might be a Mirror, they’ll take him from us. You know this.” 

“Yes, Epoch, I know this.” She stands up, rocking the child. “Let’s make sure it doesn’t come to that.”  

They do watch her. Eyes are always on her. She’s given birth to a freak. People whisper behind her back as she visits the market, as she goes about her business. People are scared. People are worried. But there’s nothing to worry about. Quiver is a beautiful child, a boy with blond curly hair and innocent blue eyes. He is entirely unaware that there’s anything unusual about him and his obliviousness makes Elegance’s heart swell with a visceral urge to keep him safe from anything and everything. She stands in front of him, protecting him from inquisitive glances. She holds her hands over his ears or raises her voice to drown out the gossiping whispers, glaring at the busybodies. There is nothing she wouldn’t do for her son.  

Quiver could not be a more normal child. He laughs amiably at everything. He is fascinated by everything. He tries to eat everything, including stones. Despite this, he grows strong and healthy and soon he is learning to walk and talk.  

People stop watching. They’ve found new things to talk about. Epoch and Elegance’s son blends in among the other children his age and soon they will be going to school.  

Elegance cannot shake the worry knotting up her shoulders on Quiver’s first day at school. Children are not so tactful as adults, the Good in them yet to fully develop. They might be more ruthless in pointing out the differences between Quiver and themselves. If there’s the slightest abnormality in her son, they will notice it, they will pick it out like a dropped stitch and pull at it until the whole thread unravels and if the thread unravels, her son will be taken from her and inside her there will be an ache so deep and a chasm so wide that nothing will be able to console her. 

Elegance walks Quiver to school herself, although it’s customary for every child to be collected by the tutor and walk en masse to the schoolhouse. She grips his hand tightly, as he points out anything that takes his fancy, from strangely-shaped stones to birds flying overhead.  

All too soon, they’re outside the schoolhouse and Elegance is kneeling down to hold her son. “My love, do you remember what we said?” 

Quiver recites the words she has drummed into him.  “I’m to watch the other boys and do what they do.” 

“That’s right.” She ruffles his blond curls with her fingers, squeezing his round cheeks. “Quiver, have you ever told a lie?” 

“What’s a lie?” 

“It’s something that’s not true.” 

“Like if I said the sky was orange when it’s blue? That’s a lie?” He isn’t looking at her but is watching the clouds with his big blue eyes.

“Yes, exactly.”

Quiver’s attention has been taken by a dragonfly, and he watches with awe as it glitters above his head.

“Quiver? Have you ever told a lie?” she repeats, urgently. 

“No, Mother,” he replies dreamily. But is he telling the truth? 

“Elegance?” Supine, the tutor, stands in the doorway of the schoolhouse. “We’re about to begin.” Elegance smiles and gently leads her son inside. “You may leave us, Elegance. We find the children learn better without the distraction of their parents.” Supine smiles but her meaning is clear, and Elegance knows it’s time to go. Waving a reluctant goodbye to her son, she walks back along the dusty road.

Six hours of pure worry will take its toll on anyone, and Elegance is no exception. The closer it gets to three o’clock, the more worried she is. She cannot concentrate on the chores. She has swept the same patch of floor eight times. Then she hears the clang of the bell and drops the broom. Rushing to the door, she finds Supine waiting outside, holding Quiver’s hand and that of another child. Elegance vaguely recognises the child as City Rose, a girl who was born to her neighbours about two weeks after Quiver. 

“How was he? How did he behave? Did he do well?” Elegance stammers. Without waiting for an answer, she bends down to inspect her son. “My love, are you alright?” 

“Quiver was very well behaved. I’ve absolutely no concerns about him. And he made a new friend. Little City here.” City tries to smile but she’s sucking her tiny thumb, and her grin just looks slightly inane. 

Relief bursts through Elegance like a rain cloud finally releasing its moisture. Immediately, she feels lighter, as if she’s put down a weight she didn’t even know she was carrying. It’s not just City whose grin is inane. Yet Elegance has to be completely sure, has to check one last time. “Nothing I should know about?”

“Nothing at all,” Supine smiles. “In fact, he’s one of our star pupils.” 

Elegance doesn’t point out this is no great distinction, since Supine calls every pupil one of her star pupils. But it doesn’t matter. Her son, her Quiver, made it through his first day of school with no problems. He is one of the Good. He has to be. 

“I’ll collect him tomorrow, Elegance,” Supine is saying. “No need to disturb your activities. It’s all part of my job.” 

Elegance nods. “Thank you.” 

Supine looks down at the little girl beside her. “Wave goodbye to your new friend, City.” 

City obediently waves and Quiver solemnly does the same thing. He waves until City and Supine are out of sight.  

As the days go on, Elegance becomes more and more relaxed. The worry lines gradually soften, and she no longer dreads a knock at the door or a clang of the doorbell or a Lawkeeper telling her Quiver has been taken away. Quiver has settled happily into class, loving his schoolwork. He has made a small circle of friends, but his closest friend remains City. They’re both eight now and it’s Quiver’s birthday in a few days.  

Elegance has baked bread and managed to scrimp up enough flour and sugar for a modest cake. Quiver will be having a gathering, with about ten of his school friends. Elegance’s heart warms every time she sees him smile.   

“You spoil that child,” Epoch often remarks, but there’s affection in his eyes and more than a hint of relief. Perhaps he too worried about Quiver, more than he revealed to his wife. 

“I’m just glad he’s happy. And here with us.” 

“He’s excited about the gathering,” comments Epoch. 

“I know.”  

They’re in bed. She wonders if Quiver is already asleep.  

“You know, if he ever becomes like a Mirror, we have to say something.” 

Epoch’s breath tickles the back of her neck. She shivers. “You can’t mean that.” She turns round to face him.  

“Of course I mean it. It’s treason not to.” 

“He’s not a Mirror, Epoch! He fits in with the other children. Supine loves him! Everyone loves him! He’s not like other children, that’s true, but he’s not a Mirror.” There’s fire in her eyes and ice in her voice. “I can’t believe you’d suggest turning in your own son.” 

“I will do what I need to protect my family and that includes you.”

“And I will do everything I can to protect my son, even if it’s from you.” She rolls over. Neither of them speaks again. 

When Elegance wakes, Epoch has left. Maybe he’s gone to work. Maybe he’s gone for a walk. Maybe he decided to make himself scarce with so many excitable children soon to be in the house. The Good rarely argue, and Elegance feels a pang of guilt. She soon puts it out of her mind as she busies herself putting the final touches to the cake. 

City is first to arrive. Elegance doesn’t miss the shy way she initiates a hug with Quiver. Is it their first hug? City is clearly more than a little smitten with Quiver and it makes Elegance smile. It’s very likely they’ll pair one day and have babies of their own. But that’s many years away and right now she has guests to greet and things to do. 

The children go outside to play. Elegance keeps an eye on them from her window. No other parents have stayed. Everyone knows their children will come to no harm. Even so, Elegance can never quite shake the need to watch her son, to scrutinise him for any hint that Mirror traits might lurk inside him.  

But he seems happy. He is showing City his tree house, then helping her gently down from the ladder. Someone has suggested a game of hide and seek, they’re all scrambling to find the best hiding places.  

Elegance smiles. She’s worrying over nothing. Quiver is a normal nine-year-old boy. He will go through school, choose his trade and marry his first love. Elegance will look after their babies and watch them grow. It’s been this way for generations, ever since the Good won the Mirror War and made the world safe.  

The second her mind finishes framing the thought, a scream punctures the silence. Elegance freezes for a second. The Good don’t scream. They have no need to. Nothing bad happens to scream about. But it sounds again. A little girl is screaming, high and shrill.  

Elegance’s limbs move of their own accord, her feet carrying her out into the garden, into the warm summer air. The children are gathering, forming a tight circle around something on the ground, they’re pointing and whispering. Maybe it’s Quiver, maybe he is a Mirror, maybe he hurt someone, maybe he never was Good. 

But as Elegance gets closer, she sees it’s not a child; that Quiver hasn’t brutally mutilated one of his friends for fun. Lying on the ground in front of them is a pigeon. Its neck is twisted at an impossible angle and there is blood speckling its chest but it’s still alive, its tiny heart pulsing too fast. Its round dark eyes blink in panic. 

“Get away from it,” Elegance orders. “What happened?” 

“A bigger bird was chasing it,” City whispers. “It nearly caught it. Nearly made it dead.” 

“It’s going to die.” Quiver’s voice is steady. He’s not shocked. He’s not crying, like most of the other kids. “It needs help.” He glances up at his mother. “Can it be saved?” 

Elegance bends down to inspect the bird. She sees a dark, jagged wound leaking blood. Already, she sees the life draining from the tiny creature. “No,” she says, gently. “I don’t think it can.” 

“Is there no hope?” Quiver looks up at, her scanning her face.

“No, Quiver. I...” 

Elegance never finishes her sentence. Her son has picked up a rock and brought it down on the bird's head in one swift movement. Clean and clinical. The blood spatters on his face and on the faces of his friends. Elegance can feel it speckle her own cheeks, warm and thick. 

There’s a moment of silence and then the screaming starts. Blood-spattered children are running, panicked, their eyes wide like startled horses. They have never seen death like this. Animals die, of course they do, but at the hands of other animals or bad weather or accidents. Nobody has ever killed them.

The Good cannot kill, but Quiver has just killed a bird with dispassionate efficiency. He is staring up at his mother, like he can’t understand why everyone is screaming. Only City stands beside him, and she takes his hand in hers, but even her face is white with shock. 

Panic rushes through Elegance. Her child can kill. Her child can kill. She herself is just as shocked as the children. If word gets out that Quiver can kill, he will certainly be banished to Mirror Island. That one thought rallies Elegance and she stands up, clapping her hands. The children, thankfully, have not left the garden. They’re huddling together, chests heaving. She calls them inside, tells them to wash their hands and faces. She cleans them, dabs the blood out of the clothes, washes away the stains. She talks to them of cats and how cats are always killing birds and, that’s what must have happened. She hopes they’ll believe her, over their own eyes, because that is what the Good are like. Trusting. Innocent.

Elegance’s mind is racing, desperate to fix this, desperate to conceal what really happened. She hopes that planting the seed of suggestion about cats will be enough. She makes every child swear not to tell about the bird. She knows they will keep their words; they cannot lie. But if something were to unintentionally slip out, what then? What then? 

One by one, parents come to collect the children, and Elegance can only hope that the memories of cake and games will make them forget about the bird. But when she closes her eyes, she can still see the blood splatter across their faces. The shock and terror in their eyes. 

The Mirrors kill out of badness. Out of fun. Almost like second nature. That’s what the legends always said. But Quiver had looked at her and asked her, twice, if the bird could be saved. And then he had killed it. Was it a mercy killing? Or did he enjoy the act of taking a life, the way the Mirrors did? 

Only Quiver and City are still here. They’re laughing over some secret joke. Elegance stands in front of them, bending down to their level. “Quiver, why did you kill that bird?” 

“I stopped it from suffering.” Quiver looks straight at her. “It’s not kind to let things suffer if you can help them.” 

“How did you know you could kill it?”  Elegance asks.

Quiver’s brow furrows, like he can’t quite understand the question. “Why would I not be able to kill it?” 

“I couldn’t,” City says. “None of us could.” 

Quiver turns his eyes towards her. “How do you know? Have you tried?” 

“Yes,” City says. “I tried. I tried to kill a fly that kept biting my arm. I couldn’t. Every time I went to kill it, my arm would drop. We can’t kill.” 

Quiver’s lip trembles. Uncertainty fills his eyes and he asks, “Mother, why can I? Why can I kill?” 

Elegance swallows. “I don’t know, my love. But I do know this. You must tell nobody. And that goes for you too, City. If we want to keep Quiver safe, we must tell nobody. Nobody must know. Do you understand?” The children nod solemnly. Elegance lets her breath out slowly. “Quiver, you must never, ever do it again. You mustn’t do anything like this.” 

Quiver hesitates. “I...” 

“Promise me.” Elegance grips his arm tightly.

“I promise.” 

Elegance’s eyes lock with her son and she realises that his answer was too glib. If he can kill, what’s to stop him telling lies? Now isn’t the time to ask. Now is the time to control the situation. Now is the time to protect her son.  

As soon as City has left, Elegance turns to face her son. “Did you enjoy it?” 

“Yes,” Quiver replies. Nausea twists in her stomach until he continues, “I love gatherings.” 

Elegance fights to keep the impatience out of her voice, reminding herself that her son is only nine. “Not the gathering, Quiver. Did you enjoy killing?” 

“No.” He looks up at her uncertainly, as if wondering if he is giving her the right answer. “I didn’t enjoy it. I did it to stop the bird suffering as fast as I could. It was in pain.” 

“So there’s no part of you that enjoys making creatures suffer?”  Elegance feels a little of the tension leaving her shoulders. That’s a good sign, surely?

“No!” He watches her face as if he’s looking for clues. “Is it bad that I don’t, Mother?” 

“No, my love. It’s good that you don’t. I just...” Elegance doesn’t know what to say. Or how to deal with this. Quiver is so young. Too young to be told the danger he is in. And yet too old to live in innocence now. “Quiver, promise me this. And I want you to mean it this time. You must promise me never, ever to tell your father. Do you promise?” 

“What would he do?” falters Quiver. 

“He would take you away to a bad place.” 

“For showing mercy to a bird?” Quiver looks bewildered. “That doesn’t make sense.” 

“Promise me!” Elegance doesn’t mean to sound so wild, but even she can hear the panic rise in her voice. 

“I promise.” Quiver meets her eyes this time and Elegance feels her shoulders relax a little.  

“Good boy. Good boy.” But is he Good? Is he? 

When Epoch gets home and asks how the gathering went, Elegance manages to avoid mentioning the bird. She makes a good show of pretending everything went fine. Inside, she was shaking, hoping Quiver wouldn’t let something accidentally slip.

From then on, she tries never to let Quiver out of her sight again. A task which is only going to get harder as he gets older.

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