The Mirror's Tale (Further Tales Adventures) by P. W. Catanese Page A

must be hard for you,” she said. She put the dish on the wooden table and sat in one of the chairs beside it. Bert slumped into the other seat.
    “I’ve asked your uncle about letting you out again,” his aunt said. “But he hasn’t budged yet.”
    And I hope he doesn’t.
“Oh well,” Bert said. He heard a creak and realized he was rocking back and forth in his chair. He grabbed the seat to make himself stop.
    “You poor thing,” Aunt Elaine said. “You’re going crazy in here, aren t you?”
    I’ll feel better if you just shut up and leave,
Bert thought. He fought back a powerful urge to scream at her. Thenhe took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair.
Calm down, Bert. What’s the matter with you? She’s always been nice.
    “You must be hungry. Here’s your dinner,” said Aunt Elaine. She uncovered the dish. There was a bowl of soup, teeming with green leaves, and a fat slab of bread with a gob of half-rnelted butter, “I get the feeling you want to be alone, Bert. But haven’t you had enough of solitude?”
    Bert shrugged. “I really don’t mind. I prefer it, in fact.”
    Aunt Elaine stared at him, frowning, for too long. “Is there anything else troubling you, Bert? This confinement is terrible enough, of course. But … you seem different somehow, Is there anything you want to tell me?” She reached out to pat his hand, but Bert jerked his arm away. Again he had to bite off an angry shout. It was infuriating, the way she seemed to look right into his mind.
    “Why would I have anything to tell you? I’m fine, Aunt Elaine. I’ll stay all summer in this room if I have to.”
    Aunt Elaine stood and smoothed the front of her dress. “All right, Bert. But I’ll talk to your uncle again. Can I at least tell him you’ll apologize for being rude?”
    Bert ripped off a hunk of bread and popped it into his mouth. It had no flavor. “Tell him whatever you like,” he said without looking at her. His aunt left, not saying another word. He heard the bolt snap back into place on the other side of the door.
    Finally,
Bert thought, exhaling loudly. He looked longingly at the tapestry that concealed the Tunnel ofStars. He wanted badly to run down those stairs, right away. But he knew it wasn’t safe. He had to wait until everyone else had gone to bed. Two hours? Three? The minutes would feel like years.
    At least, with the door bolted shut, he figured his uncle wouldn’t bother to check on him. As far as Lord Charmaigne knew, Bert had no way out.
    He closed his eyes, hugged himself with his arms crossed, and rocked back and forth in his chair, no longer caring about the noise it made.
Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.
    “I’m here, Mirror,” Bert said, running to the throne. He wiped the perspiration from his brow. His teeth hurt from clenching his jaw.
    I am glad you are here. I have been thinking about you.
    Bert settled into the chair. A surge of pride warmed his veins.
The mirror was thinking about me!
“You have? What have you been thinking?”
    How you must miss your brother.
    Bert leaned to one side and rested his chin on one hand.
My brother.
In truth, he’d been feeling something toward Will that he’d never felt before. Resentment. Jealousy. It grew by the hour, consuming his thoughts.
    Would you like to know what he is doing?
the mirror whispered.
    “What he’s doing? Sleeping, probably,” said Bert, lifting his head from his palm.
    I can tell you what he is doing.
    “Tell me? How?”
    You must ask.
    “Ask?” Bert’s brow furrowed. He straightened from his slouch and gripped the arms of the chain “You mean, like ‘Tell me what Will is doing’?”
    The mirror flickered, like lightning inside a distant cloud. Its surface took on that liquid appearance again. Ripples started from the center and disappeared under the frame. There was a humming, whining sound, like a moistened finger circling the rim of a crystal goblet.
    The mirror spoke.
    The hour is late. Most in Ambercrest are