The smell was even stronger inside the shop. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the ceiling, and behind a long counter were shelves full of bottles and vials. There were a few other people inside the small shop, and Lynet waited her turn until she could speak to the apothecary. He was an old man, but he had a youthful air, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he handled his products with loving care. Lynet approached him with a smile and asked him if he knew where she could find the magician Gregory.
The glimmer in the apothecary’s eye instantly went out as he peered at her over his desk. “Why would a young girl like you want to speak to the queen’s father?”
But Lynet had been scared off once before; she had promised herself she wouldn’t let that happen again. “That doesn’t matter,” she said, not breaking the old man’s gaze. “I just need to know where to find him.”
The apothecary shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know, or you don’t want to tell me?”
He almost smiled. “He comes here often enough, but I don’t know where he goes after he leaves my shop. He keeps to himself.”
Lynet thanked him for his time and left the shop, wondering what she should do now. Before she’d gone more than a few steps, she felt a hand start to clamp around her arm.
At once, Lynet pulled her arm away and brought out her dagger, whirling around to face whoever was accosting her. The memory of being robbed in the woods was still fresh in her mind, and she was determined to put up a fight this time.
A young man with messy dark hair was facing her, his hands up to show Lynet that he meant no harm. She recognized him as one of the other customers in the apothecary’s shop, and she lowered her dagger. “What do you want?” she demanded.
“I heard you asking about the queen’s father,” he said with a roguish smile. “I know where you can find him.”
“Then tell me where,” she said, and for a moment she didn’t recognize her own voice. It sounded deeper to her, stronger, without any hint of uncertainty, and she wondered if it was because there was no one else to speak for her anymore. She couldn’t afford to be anything but certain now. Perhaps she was slowly shifting, just like the snow, transforming into someone else.
The young man looked her up and down with an appreciative lift of his eyebrows. “I thought we could go together.”
Lynet studied him more closely, noticing that despite his confidence and his height, he looked only thirteen or fourteen. “Thank you for the offer,” she said, her voice softening, “but I’m not looking for a guide. Do you really know where he lives?”
The boy shrugged, his posture easing a little now that his attempt at flirtation had failed. “Sometimes he asks me to deliver things for him. When I do, I always leave them on the steps of the abandoned church behind the university.”
“Thank you,” Lynet said. “You’ve been very helpful.” She pulled out a couple of coins from her purse and held them out to the boy, but he shook his head and backed away.
“No need,” he said. “Just seeing your pretty face was payment enough.”
Lynet hid a smile as he strolled past her and she set off to continue her search alone, but she soon began to wish she hadn’t dismissed the boy’s help so easily. Lynet traced the university walls around to the back of the grounds, and as promised, she found an old, abandoned churchyard down a short, dusty path, hidden behind some oak trees. But when Lynet marched up to the door, she found it locked.
Hands on her hips, she looked up at the church, thinking of a way to make it give up its secrets. The stone facade was water stained and overgrown with moss, and some of the higher windows were broken. A bird’s nest peeked over the edge of the shabby tiled roof. Lynet had seen people come and go from a newer church with a high bell tower on the other side of the university, and she supposed Mina had funded it, considering the disrepair of the old church. But why, then, would Gregory ask that boy to deliver anything to him here?
Lynet gave the door another angry tug, but by now, the sky was growing dark, and the church was taking on a sinister appearance in the shadows, the water stains making the stones look like they were weeping. She was the only one on this hidden stretch of road, and she grew aware of how alone she was, not just in the churchyard, but in the whole city. There was no one here to help her, nowhere to go except for her room at the inn. Her heart lurched, and she felt like she was hanging out the tower window again, suddenly aware of how far she might fall. There was no one to pull her back inside this time.
I wish Nadia were here, she thought. She’d tried not to let herself think about Nadia before, but now the longing for her friend was fully formed and relentless, forcing her to acknowledge the shadows at the edges of her thoughts, the doubts she tried to drown out with the bustle of the city. Somewhere inside her mind was a dark void that had started to form the night she left Whitespring, and she worried that if she wandered too near it, she would fall in and never escape.
She headed back to the inn, looking for comfort in the light and movement of the city, but not even the city lights seemed as bright as Nadia’s smile.
* * *
Her head was resting on something hard. She opened her eyes, and she saw only stone above her. I’m in the crypt. As soon as the thought struck her, she knew it was true. I must be dead if I’m in the crypt.
She sat upright on her stone bier, and all around her, the spirits of the dead sat up in their coffins. To Lynet’s right was her mother, sad-eyed and insubstantial, like she was made of smoke. The dead queen waved shyly to Lynet.
“I don’t remember how I died,” Lynet said, but the words came out of Emilia’s mouth instead. “I don’t remember who I was.”
She tried to speak again: “Where’s Mina?”
“Mina is asleep. You forgot to wake her.”
Lynet knew that voice. She turned to see Nadia on her left, sitting beside her on the bier. Her hair was loose, falling all around her shoulders. Mesmerized, Lynet reached out to touch it, but Nadia shook her head with a sad smile. “The dead can’t touch the living. You left me behind.”
“I didn’t mean to leave you,” Lynet said. Her own hair was growing, getting longer and longer until it was coiling around her feet like a tangle of snakes. She stared down at the snakes. They were hissing. “How did I die?”
Lynet was lying on her back again, though she couldn’t remember doing so, and Nadia was kneeling over her, strands of her dark hair tickling Lynet’s neck. “You weren’t supposed to die,” Nadia said. She bent even closer, her lips brushing the base of Lynet’s throat. “You never told me what you wanted,” she whispered against Lynet’s skin.
Lynet’s eyes fluttered closed. Just then she wanted so much. Even her heart was beating out the words. She started to say them out loud. “I want—”
“It’s too late,” Nadia said sharply, her head snapping up. Her face contorted, and Lynet couldn’t tell if she was angry or sad. “Don’t you see? Everything died with you.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Lynet tried to say, but she was dead, and the dead couldn’t speak. She tried to get up, but the dead couldn’t move.
“I’m going to cut off your hands now,” Nadia murmured into Lynet’s writhing hair. “But I’ll keep them in case you want them again.”
The pointed edges of Nadia’s saw pressed against her wrist—
Lynet woke, her hair damp with sweat, and she immediately made sure her hands were still attached to her wrists. The dream came back to her in pieces—a mixture of pleasure and fear, but most of all a heavy feeling of regret—and she shoved it to the back of her mind.
It was that church, she decided later when she was walking through the city square. The old church was putting eerie thoughts into her head, but she couldn’t let it scare her away.
But there were musicians playing in the square today, a few children dancing along, and the sky was bluer than she’d ever seen. Before she even knew she’d made any decision, she was sitting on the edge
of the fountain that was built into a wall and watching people as they passed through the square.
She watched freely, openly, reassured by the fact that not a single person here knew who she was. And Lynet was thrilled not to know them, either, so accustomed was she to seeing the same faces at Whitespring. She only fully realized how small her world had been when she saw two young women strolling hand in hand, fingers entwined. One of them stopped to buy a flower from a vendor, and she placed the flower in the other girl’s hair with such tenderness that Lynet knew they had to be sweethearts. Lynet tried not to stare too visibly, but her eyes couldn’t help darting back to them repeatedly as they made their unhurried way through the square. Here was something she had never seen in Whitespring before. Her limited experience had only ever told her that men and women married each other and had children—she had never known there was any other option.
And why are you so interested in this knowledge? a voice whispered in her head. What did it have to do with her?
A loud burst of laughter from the children tore her away from her confusing tangle of thoughts, and she allowed the distraction, watching the children dance and play.
Her feet tapped the ground in rhythm to the music. She’d never danced like that when she was a child, eyes closed, spinning until dizzy. Her father always worried that she’d fall or tire herself, so he would scoop her up and tell her that she could dance all she wanted when she was a little older. But the measured dances of adulthood could never make up for the whirling abandon of childhood that she had missed. And finally she allowed herself to admit that part of her was glad the church had been locked yesterday. She did truly want to help Mina, but the sooner she found Gregory, the sooner she’d have to lose her anonymity and slip back into her old skin. Her mother’s skin.
One of the little girls had spun too violently and nearly collided with the fountain before Lynet lunged to catch her. “Be careful,” she said, but the child’s laughter drowned out her warning.
“My friend thinks you’re pretty,” the little girl said, pushing her tawny hair off her forehead with her wrist. She pointed to a boy her age, six or seven likely, who was staring firmly at his feet, his face a little red. “You should dance with him.”
“Oh, I can’t—” Lynet started to say, but then she wondered—why not? When else would she have the excuse at her age to dance like a child again? “Actually, yes, I will,” Lynet said, and she let the girl pull her by the hand over to the other children.
The boy was even redder now, so Lynet took his hands and said, “Will you show me how to dance? I was never allowed to when I was a child.”
He nodded, and soon they were spinning together in a circle, hands linked. The other children all wanted a turn, and Lynet danced with them all, one by one. She quickly grew breathless, and the heat of the sun weighed her down, but for a while, at least, she forgot that she had ever been anyone else.
And then, as she was mid-twirl, she received a vivid reminder.
Walking across the square at just that moment was Nadia.
That dark braid down her back, the sharp lines of her face—Lynet nearly stumbled over her feet as she fell out of the dance, so sure that she’d seen Nadia. But then she looked more closely, and she didn’t recognize anyone in the crowd. Was her mind playing a trick on her by showing her what she wanted to see? That dream last night—
But if she had seen Nadia, then what was she doing here? The only way Lynet could imagine her leaving the king’s sickbed was if … if the king didn’t need a surgeon anymore, one way or the other. Suddenly all her old fears were upon her again, winding around her like invisible coils.
Lynet left the children behind to follow the apparition in the direction of the marketplace, hunting for one dark head among a patchwork of colors, but Nadia—if it really had been her—was gone.
She was still walking through the marketplace, glancing from face to face, when a large bell rang out. Lynet jumped at first, but then she remembered the bell tower that was part of the newer church. People were starting to head in that direction, and Lynet joined them, curious. By the time she reached the churchyard, she heard the sound of cheering, and she saw the same children dancing outside the gates.
Lynet approached the little boy she’d first danced with, kneeling down to summon him over to her. “What’s happened?” Lynet asked him. “Why is everyone cheering? Why did the bell ring?”
He smiled brightly. “There was a message from Whitespring,” he said. “The king and princess are both dead, but Queen Mina is still on the throne.”
“To the southern queen!” a grown voice called out.
“To the southern queen!” the crowd answered.
The boy ran off then, leaving Lynet still on her knees.
* * *
The news rapidly spreading through the city was that the king had been seriously wounded in a hunting accident, and the princess, in her grief over his impending death, had flung herself off a tower. When the king heard his daughter was dead, he died on the spot.
There were three parts to the story—one Lynet knew was true, and one she knew was a lie, but the third … she had no way of knowing about the third.
It’s my fault, Lynet thought as she wandered without direction through the city. She was barely aware that she was moving at all. He died because of me—because of all the things I told him, because I ran away. She suddenly felt a nauseating rush of guilt for cutting her hair.
Lynet ducked into an alley and doubled over, her body retching even though she had eaten nothing today. When her stomach relented, she huddled against the wall, leaning her forehead against her knees as her whole body shook with tears. It was silly to cry now, she told herself. She had known he would die—that was why she had wanted to leave in the first place. But now she wondered … if she hadn’t decided to run, if she hadn’t gone to the chapel to find Mina, if she had sat by her father’s sickbed like a good daughter, then would he have lived? Should she have had more faith that he would make it through the night? And if he had lived, would she and Mina still have become enemies?
Mina. The gossip was that she had kept the throne in order to prevent a war of succession. Lynet could never go back now, not unless she wanted to fight Mina for the crown. Not that she wanted to go back—she wanted to forget.
But as she rose on uncertain legs and left the alley, she wondered if that was even possible. There was no use pretending she was another person anymore, not when her father’s death had so sharply reminded her of who she was. She was probably the only person in this city who had cried for the king, and that grief defined her more clearly than her short hair or her new dress. She couldn’t forget that the king was her father, or that she had loved him.
Even now, as she continued walking through the city, she saw signs of Mina everywhere, more reminders of the life she’d tried to leave behind. The bridge that she had crossed in the cart that first night was one that Mina had rebuilt. She passed by a group of workers who were digging a new road, on the queen’s orders, so that the main road north would be less crowded. And always in the distance, over the hills, Lynet could see the shine of gold from what could only be the Summer Castle. Mina had moved to Whitespring so long ago, and yet Lynet still kept finding all these pieces of her that she had left behind. What did I leave behind? she wondered now. What pieces of herself were still in Whitespring?
The sound of a child laughing interrupted her thoughts, and she looked up to see a little girl of five or six sitting on her mother’s lap by the edge of the fountain in the square. The mother was braiding the girl’s thick brown hair, and Lynet felt a sudden stab of pain in her chest, her hand reaching for curls that were no longer there below her shoulders. That should have been us, she thought. Mina should be here with me. If they had known each other in some other way, if Lynet’s father hadn’t been a king, or if Mina and Lynet had both been made of flesh alone, no glass or snow in their hearts, would they be together now?
She mov
ed on from the fountain with new purpose. She had delayed this moment long enough, hiding away and trying to forget the ties that still pulled at her heart. She had been relieved to feel alone and untethered before, but now felt herself tumbling into that black and empty void that kept threatening to swallow her whole. And yet there was still one way out from the void—Mina. Mina was her only family now, and Lynet couldn’t let her stepmother go until she knew there was no way to cure her.
No more distractions. No more chasing ghosts or dragging her feet. Tonight, under cover of darkness, she would break into that church. Tonight, she would become Lynet again.
24
MINA
The funerals were over. The bodies of both King Nicholas and Princess Lynet had been laid to rest in the royal crypt beside the late Queen Emilia, the three of them reunited at last. Mina had bowed her head with the rest of the court as they all offered prayers to Queen Sybil in the Shadow Garden and the caskets were carried down to the crypt.
If the people of Whitespring thought her cold or unfeeling, she didn’t care. She knew that if she fell apart in front of them now, they would never be able to believe that she could rule as queen, never trust her to be stoic in the face of hardship. And she knew, too, that if she gave in to guilt and grief, if she let them twist her face into something as ugly as her heart, that image of her would last forever, far longer than her beauty.
And so, though she was solemn, she was always composed, and she tried to distract herself from the sight of Lynet’s casket—so small and confining for a girl who loved to be under the open sky—by designing the Summer Castle in her head. She had lost her husband and her stepdaughter, but she still had her plans for the South.
Her first act as queen was to resume the Summer Castle’s construction. She knew now why Nicholas wanted her to give up her project—even then, he must have been planning to give the South to Lynet—and so she knew that their deaths were the only reason she could continue with it now. But those thoughts troubled her when she dwelled too deeply on them, and so whenever they came, she devoted herself even more to the castle’s completion. When she wasn’t attending council meetings, she was poring over construction plans brought for her approval, overseeing every step.
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