A White So Red

by Krystle Jones

  “It’s how I arrived here,” she said excitedly, ignoring his tone. “I fell into the fountain in the catacombs and ended up in the river.”

  “If the princess takes the Mirror to the castle,” Ivan said, “then we can draw them out and free the inside from obstacles.”

  “That’s mad enough to possibly work,” Malachite said, his eyes sharp and thoughtful.

  “But of course,” Ivan said, rather indignantly. “I am a centaur. Tactics are a specialty of ours.”

  “Snow,” Malachite said, looking at her, “I’ll send twenty of my men –”

  “And I shall send thirty,” Ivan added.

  “ – and you will head toward the pond. The rest of us will start making toward the castle. Don’t make your move until the sun breaks the horizon. That should give us enough time to surround her fortress and begin the diversion.”

  “I will send over the small party and begin forming regiments immediately,” Ivan said, galloping off. Malachite followed suit, heading down the steep path along the side of the cliff, shouting names and directing people to different groups.

  Natalia took a ragged breath. It was happening. The war was set into motion in a few seconds. She found she wanted nothing more than to dig her heels in while the others dragged her to the pond. Her legs were shaking; she did not know if she would be able to make it there otherwise.

  “Breathe,” Caspar said. “And try to think of something that makes you smile.”

  Without really meaning to, she looked at him. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

  “Snow!”

  She whirled around, spotting Tristan running toward her with a stricken look on his face. “I’m going with you.”

  Wormwart muttered something rude under his breath, and she discreetly elbowed him in the ribs right before Tristan came to a stop before her.

  “No, you aren’t,” she said, gently but firmly.

  “But,” he protested, “who will protect you? I could be your knight!”

  Caspar snorted, and she shot him a warning glare. “Tristan,” she said, noticing the sword at his belt, “while I appreciate the offer, I will be fine. I’ll have fifty of the best fighters in Thesperia guarding me.”

  Or so I hope.

  He opened his mouth to argue, and she pressed a finger to his lips, making him fall silent with a blush. “It’s of the utmost importance you stay here. If we fail –”

  He started to interrupt her, but she held up a hand and he pressed his lips together, scowling. “If we fail,” she continued, “the Thesperians will need someone here to guide them. Do you know the mountain pass to Elyon?”

  He nodded. “My father has a map. I’ve seen it before.”

  “Then if we do not return, you must promise me you’ll lead our people there. The Elyon King will give us sanctuary if we seek it, at least, that’s the way the law used to be during my father’s reign.”

  “He will still honor that law,” Caspar said, reaching to his neck and removing the dragon brooch. “Give this to him, if need be.”

  Tristan stared at the brooch before finally taking it, his face stony with the kind of acceptance that comes from knowing you cannot change fate.

  “Will you do it?” Natalia asked, pleading with her eyes.

  Finally, he nodded. “I promise,” he said, his voice barely audible.

  She nodded once, unblinking.

  “The sky is brightening,” Caspar said. “We should make for the pond before dawn breaks.”

  Her heart skipped a beat, and she looked at Tristan.

  He didn’t speak, but neither did she. She reached down and hugged him, kissing him softly on the cheek. His face immediately stained red, and she straightened, smiling warmly and praying he couldn’t read the fear in her eyes.

  Good-bye.

  Then with Caspar at her side, she turned and walked away, toward the path that would lead to her destiny.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Into the Catacombs

  Dawn soaked the sky in blood, setting her nerves on fire.

  They were gathered by the pond, completely encircling it. Upon seeing the sky bleed, the others rose from their spots, patiently waiting for her to open the portal.

  She stood by the pond, feeling like she was standing by a great precipice, for once they entered the Mirror there was no going back. Her reflection caught her gaze, and what Natalia saw made her pause; it astounded her and made the rest of the world fade away. The woman staring back at her was extraordinary. She was no longer a servant girl, or an exiled princess. She was a warrior, fierce and wild.

  Natalia was vaguely aware of the men, centaurs, dwarves, and Fey behind her, all rapidly notching their arrows and sharpening their blades, preparing to make the journey.

  “Well,” Wormwart said, a torch flickering in his hand, “are yeh going to wait for the Queen’s permission? Let’s bloody well get this mission started!”

  Suppressing the butterflies in her stomach, Natalia gazed into the water.

  The sun broke the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and gold.

  With trepidation, her eyes met her reflection’s, daring her to look away.

  I’m coming for you, Rose. Just hang on a little bit longer.

  Natalia glanced over her shoulder at Caspar, who flashed her a reassuring smile. Jaw set, she closed her eyes and imagined the castle, its dark turrets sharp against the gray sky. Her muscles tensed with resistance at the first pull of magic.

  She breathed, deep and slow. Relax. Trust yourself.

  Gradually, her muscles unclenched and magic flowed like water through her blood. She heard the pool ripple as the gentle breeze grew stronger, whipping her braid about her face. She thought of the catacombs, imagining every detail in vibrant color.

  Gasps floated up behind her, and she smiled, knowing what she would find when she opened her eyes.

  Feeling the magic swell and disperse, her eyes snapped open and she immediately frowned.

  Caspar came up beside her, the distrust in his eyes mirroring her own. “Where do you think it leads?” He pointed to the pool, which was not much of a pool anymore. The water had parted, revealing a dark stairwell that sank into a black hole.

  “I’m not entirely certain,” she murmured. “But I was trying to think of the catacombs since there was another Mirror there.”

  Wormwart snickered. “How fitting. Maybe we’ll end up down there with the rest of the Queen’s victims.”

  Natalia turned and glared at him.

  Caspar wasn’t paying the dwarf any attention. His green eyes had a far-off look, like he was already two steps ahead of the rest of them in thinking things through. “The catacombs run directly below the castle, am I correct?”

  She nodded, eyes sparkling. “Nobody ever goes down there, at least, not to my knowledge. The Queen was able to corner me easily enough.”

  “You won’t be alone this time,” Caspar said, taking her hand. It felt strong, like he wouldn’t ever let go, and the depth of emotion in his eyes made her heart stutter.

  Taking a deep breath, they descended the stairs into the crypt.

  ***

  Upon a rather rough landing, Malachite swore he would never again ride a winged horse. After the princess left, the horse had approached him, as if seeming to read his thoughts when he began wondering about transportation. The fact that it knelt, lowering its back nearly to the ground so he could mount, was charming.

  “Never should have ridden that horse,” he grumbled, still dizzy. He didn’t know what had possessed him to climb atop that beast; heights terrified him more than facing the Queen’s armies.

  The pegasus stomped its silver hoof, snorting indignantly.

  They were on the outskirts of the Silver Forest. The castle was still, a great black silhouette against the bloodstained sky. Beams of tangerine light spurted from around it, making its shadow seem that much darker and taller, like sharp nails clawing at the land.

  Seeing the castle brough
t the situation into stark relief. In a few precious minutes, the field of dead flowers before him would be soaked with blood. He wasn’t afraid, exactly, though he had never seen true battle, not like this. Death did not frighten him; many times had he looked into the eyes of a dead man, ushering his soul up to heaven with fervent prayers.

  Thank God my son won’t be here to see this. Malachite would miss Tristan dearly if he perished, but he knew how much the boy had seen and how strong he was. Still, a father’s fear for his only living child was untamable.

  Please, please, watch over him, Heavenly Father.

  “Lord Malachite.”

  Malachite turned as Ivan cantered toward him. “My archers are ready,” said the centaur.

  An elegant woman with dragonfly wings landed beside Ivan. “The walls are clear,” the faery said. Her voice was like wind chimes. Just listening to it set Malachite’s nerves at ease, but he knew it was only the faery magic working its charms on him. “It’s strange. I did not see anyone when I scanned the area.”

  Malachite frowned. Years of resorting to stealing from the royal storehouses meant knowing the guards’ schedules inside and out. There was always someone on duty.

  “Perhaps they are all sleeping,” Ivan suggested, raising a quizzical brow.

  “Believe me, that castle never sleeps,” Malachite said, casting a glance at it. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”

  The next sentence never had the chance to leave his mouth because right then an arrow came flying out of nowhere, piercing the faery in her heart. She screamed, gripping the arrow and trying to pull it out as she keeled over, dead before she hit the ground. Her fingers loosened around the arrow. Malachite examined the shaft.

  Raven feathers.

  “Damn! They’re here!”

  “Look! There!” Ivan shouted, drawing his sword and pointing it toward the field.

  Black shapes were coming out of the ground, rising from covered holes and pits disguised as parts of the field. Malachite’s breath stuttered as hundreds of black armor clad knights banded together, raising their weapons in the air with fierce battle cries.

  A horn blew in the distance and the great black gates of the fortress cracked open. Trebuchets rolled forth, pulled along by great horned animals with leather hides and massive feet.

  Ivan was the first to recover. “Archers! Fire!”

  His soldiers were already assembled in several straight rows, their arrows aimed toward the field. At Ivan’s command, they loosed their arrows. The volley arced upward then curled through the air, gaining speed as the arrows sailed toward the knights.

  As one, the Queen’s minions raised their black shields, though a handful was too late. They cried out in pain as the arrows ripped through them while the rest embedded themselves in the wall of shields, each bearing the raven crest of the Black Witch.

  The horn blew again and the knights rose, marching forward in blocks, their footsteps making the earth tremble.

  Without waiting to be told, the giants let forth a terrible roar and came charging out of the woods, barreling toward the surprised army with more agility than Malachite would have thought them capable.

  Myths and legends poured out of the forest, angry and vengeful as the Queen’s trebuchets launched fiery ammunition at them. The men along the front-line of the Queen’s army faltered, clearly caught off guard and visibly shocked by what they saw.

  Hellfire rained down from the sky toward the forest. “Take cover!” Malachite yelled as flaming bulks exploded along the ground around him. Screams filled the air, along with the scent of melting metal and burning flesh.

  Faeries, hawks, and all manner of winged creatures took to the air. They glided over the dark army, hurling balls of fiery magic and arrows and knives. Dragons roared as they sailed through the skies in dizzying arcs, leaving behind trails of smoke in their wake as they unleashed hell upon the masses below. Chaos erupted on the field as the Queen’s knights began fighting wildly, sent into a panic.

  More of them poured out of the castle like ants from a mound, saturating the field in metal-clad bodies. The sky filled with swirling figures, moving on the wind as if dancing to a symphony of cries and wails.

  “Yes,” Malachite murmured, watching desperately from the tree line with Ivan. “Beat them down. Distract them.”

  An armored knight was stabbed through the middle by a gremlin, and he pitched forward with a strangled cry a few feet from Malachite’s perch. The man lay still, and Malachite was about to look away when the corpse’s fingers twitched. Malachite squinted, not believing what he was seeing. He tried to talk himself into thinking he had imagined it when the man’s head turned and he rose. Looking at his impaled stomach, he pulled the gremlin’s blade from his abdomen and pitched it to the side as the hole in him closed up with a snap of purple lightning.

  Astounded, Malachite watched as the man retrieved the bloodied blade from the ground and ran off, disappearing into the crowd.

  The gears slowly began to turn in Malachite’s head, accompanied by a heavy sinking feeling. He looked at Ivan, who responded before he could ask the question burning along his tongue.

  “I saw him,” Ivan said grimly. “The Black Witch enchanted her army.”

  Malachite watched the battle. The more he paid attention, the more he noticed how the armored knights seemed to be multiplying, doubling their numbers while more and more of the woodland creatures fell. His eyes searched the ground, doing a body count and finding only slain unicorns, Fey, and a few of his men.

  An eerie sensation like dread crept over him. “The Queen knew we were coming. Someone has betrayed us.” He gulped, which was hard to do considering how tight his throat was. “We’re not the distraction – they are.”

  The castle suddenly seemed that much darker, the angles more dangerous against the glory of the rising sun.

  The princess.

  She was walking into a trap.

  ***

  Natalia was right; the stairwell did lead to the catacombs, though at first she did not think the stairwell would ever end for them to find out.

  Once again, she was reminded of the catacombs’ peaceful beauty as they walked along the pearly floor. Candlelight bounced off the crystal fountain and the bejeweled tombs, making colors dance along the sunset-painted walls.

  There was something off about the place; the shadows seemed darker somehow. She quickly dismissed it to her imagination, not wanting any distractions.

  They walked quietly and carefully, with her in the lead. She gave the flickering shadows once-overs before deciding they held no hidden dangers, and took another cautious step forward.

  “This is incredible, Snow,” Caspar said softly, walking up beside her.

  She nodded, feeling safe here despite the fact they were now literally under the Queen’s nose. “Yes,” she murmured absently, “it truly is amazing.”

  They walked in silence before her breath caught in her throat.

  Caspar looked at her sharply. “What is it?”

  Eyes transfixed, she slowly walked to the glass caskets and stared down at the still faces of her parents, both of whom were lost in peaceful sleep. Without warning, she was dragged into a memory.

  She was only a young girl of ten, dressed from head to toe in black. The ghost of her younger self knelt next to her father’s casket, silent tears pouring down her face. A woman robed in black silk, with a black lace veil over her face, reached out and placed a stark white hand on the child’s shoulder as a younger looking Malachite began reciting his closing prayers and the lid was drawn closed.

  Long blood-red nails dug into her shoulder. “It’s all right, little snowdrop,” purred the velvety voice of the Queen.

  Young Natalia tensed, squeezing her tiny hands into fists upon hearing her mother’s nickname for her, but she dared not say anything.

  The Queen smirked. “You have me now.”

  Shivering, Natalia shook her head, pulling herself from the memory. Caspar laid a hand
on her shoulder. “Are you all right?” he asked softly.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed hard. “Yes, I’m fine. Bad memory, that’s all.”

  Caspar didn’t pry as she abruptly pushed past the caskets, quickly marching toward the opposite end of the room, eyeing the spiraling staircase that led up to the exit.

  A rustling, like feathers, made her draw up short as the candles blew out, leaving them with just the light of their torches to see by.

  Everyone froze.

  “Did you hear that?” Caspar whispered, his voice so soft it was barely audible.

  Heart pounding harder, she gave him a tiny nod. Her eyes searched the darkness, as if expecting something to leap out of the shadows.

  For a few long seconds, all was completely still and silent. Just as she was about to dismiss the sound to a bat, she heard the telltale scraping of marble against marble coming from the back of the crypt, where they had come from.

  Hairs rose along her arms and neck. They all slowly turned and gazed in the direction of the sound.

  She swallowed hard. “What was that?”

  Caspar stepped in front of her, gripping the rapier. “Whatever it is, we’re not alone down here.”

  Fighting to keep her rising fears at bay, Natalia froze, peering past Caspar’s shoulder. Her heart rate picked up speed as the scraping grew louder, surrounding them in a cacophony of eerie scratches and loud thuds as several things too dark to see crashed onto the floor. As the scraping grew closer, she could pick up movement within range of the torch light.

  Her heart sank to her stomach. The lids of the tombs were actually moving, as if pulled off by an invisible force. Her small band of unlikely heroes shrank away as the tombs closest to them began opening up, spilling their lids onto the floor together with one last resounding boom.

  Something soft, like feathers, brushed against her arm, and she whirled around, slashing at the empty air with her sword and causing Caspar to jump.

  He gave her an odd look, as if to ask, “What’s wrong with you?”

  She pointed to the darkness with her sword. “It was there, a bird or something!”

  Raising a skeptical brow, he smirked, a sarcastic remark no doubt on his tongue, when the single lonely caw of a raven floated toward them. Her blood froze.