A few hours before dawn, there was a knock at the door, and Mina jumped again, hoping her father wouldn’t notice how tense she was. He had decided to stay with her for the rest of the night, and with Felix elsewhere, Mina was almost grateful for any company other than her own.
Mina went to the guard at the door. “You have her?” she asked in a low whisper.
The guard nodded. “She’s unharmed. We locked her in the tower, as you ordered.”
“Good,” Mina said. “Give me the key.”
He handed it to her just as Gregory appeared beside them. “It’s done?” he said once Mina ordered the soldier away.
“She’s in the North Tower,” Mina said. “I’ll go see her now.”
But before she could step out the door, she felt Gregory’s hand clamp around her arm. With the candlelight behind him, he seemed to glow red. “Don’t disappoint me, Mina.”
Mina pulled her arm away from him, but she didn’t trust herself to respond. Even as she was climbing the stairs of the North Tower, she still didn’t know what would happen when she and Lynet were reunited. She took a breath to steady herself, and then she unlocked the tower door and stepped inside.
Lynet was standing at the boarded-up window, peering through the gaps out at Whitespring’s grounds below her. When Mina entered, Lynet turned to face her.
Lynet’s hair was shorter now, and she was wearing southern clothes, the bright red silk standing out against the faded blue furniture and the pale moonlight coming from the patches in the tower roof. Anyone else would have been shivering from the cold dressed like that, but not Lynet. Mina had the urge to touch the red fabric, such a vivid reminder of her home, but she stopped herself. I should have been the one to show her the South, she thought. That was mine to give her.
The Lynet who faced her now had none of the restless energy—that sense of always moving, even just to tap her foot or play with her hair, like she’d jump out of her skin at any moment—that she’d had before. Instead, Lynet was completely still, especially compared to Mina’s trembling hands.
Most startling of all, though, was that Lynet was alive. Mina could still see the corpse in her mind when she closed her eyes—it had been her last image of Lynet, an image that was so much like her and yet nothing like her at all, because there was no life in it. For those few moments after walking into the room, all Mina could do was stare at Lynet and marvel that she was standing there, alive.
She was suddenly back in the chapel, the night of Lynet’s birthday, reliving the moment when she discovered that Lynet had heard all her secrets. How can we ever move forward from this? she had wondered then, and she thought it again now. They could never walk in step together again—one of them would always have to lose ground, until there was nothing left to do but fall.
Mina took a step toward her. “Don’t be afraid,” she said.
She’d expected Lynet to respond to that simple phrase as she always had—I’m not afraid, spoken quickly, defensively, trying to convince herself as well as anyone else—but Lynet simply returned Mina’s stare. Her lips formed a word, almost too low to hear: Mina. And then she said, more loudly, “There’s something I have to ask you, something that’s troubled me. Were you with my father when he died?”
Mina was surprised by the question, but she said, “Yes. He asked for you.”
“Did he … did he die because of me? Because he thought I was dead?”
She started to fidget with her dress, some of her old restlessness creeping in, and Mina knew that she would have lied to her if she had to, rather than allow Lynet to carry any of the guilt of her father’s death. “No,” Mina said. “I tried to tell him, but he didn’t believe me. He was a little delirious toward the end, and he thought you were coming to see him.”
Lynet’s face scrunched up for a moment as she struggled not to burst into tears, and Mina wanted to reach out and smooth the lines on her forehead. You don’t want to spoil your beauty.
Why didn’t she go to Lynet at that moment and hold her, or let her cry onto her shoulder as she’d done so many times before? But she knew why this time was different—before, she’d always known how long to hold Lynet before gently pushing her away, so that she wouldn’t notice the silence where Mina’s heartbeat should have been. But now Lynet already knew, and so it was already too late—too late to push her away, too late to hold her at all.
Lynet composed herself, smoothing her hands over her dress. Now that she had asked about her father’s death, she seemed lighter, like she had shed her last remaining doubts. But how could she seem so sure, so confident? Mina almost felt like she was the one who had been captured instead of Lynet.
“You’re the only family I have left,” Lynet said. “I was hoping…”
“Hoping for what? That we could be as we once were?” Mina hadn’t known how harsh her words would sound until she saw Lynet start to shrink away.
“No,” Lynet said. She took a breath, held it for a few moments, and then she straightened up again, looking Mina in the eye. Her voice was rich and clear as she continued: “I don’t want things to be as they were. You kept so much from me, and I … I wanted to be you without really knowing who you were.”
Mina tensed. “But I suppose you know now, don’t you? You know exactly what I am. Of course you don’t want to be just like me anymore.”
“That isn’t what I meant. We can’t go back to the way things were before, but maybe…” She took a step toward Mina, walking right into a patch of moonlight that illuminated every scrap of hope and determination in her eyes. “Maybe we can make something new. I know more about you now than I ever did before, and I still want you to be my mother.”
“Your stepmother.”
“No,” Lynet said. “It was always you I wanted, from the first time you found me hiding in that tree. My mother is the woman who watched me grow, who combed my hair every night with her own hands. You’re the mother I chose, the one I love.”
Lynet stepped toward her again, offering so much, asking so much, and all Mina could do was take a step back and look away from her. “You can’t love me,” she muttered. “You can’t.”
But Lynet was in front of her now, taking her hands, holding them tightly. “How can you believe that? During all these years, didn’t you see how much I loved you?”
Mina pulled herself out of Lynet’s reach, her back against the door. She had allowed herself to be cornered, and she resented Lynet for doing this to her, for making her words sound so true, so real, when Mina knew they never could be.
“You don’t understand,” Mina said. “You don’t know me as well as you think you do.” She swept Lynet aside so she could pass around her, almost tripping over the dusty armchair to reach the center of the room.
Her back was to Lynet, but Mina could still hear her say, “That’s why I went south. I wanted to know more about you. I wanted to know myself, too. I thought Gregory could give me those answers. I thought he could help me find a cure for you, for your heart.”
A laugh escaped Mina, scraping her throat. She turned to Lynet slowly. “And were you successful in finding a cure for my heart?”
Lynet shook her head, still standing tall, but her eyes betrayed her fear, her doubt. “If I failed, it’s because I looked for answers in the wrong place. Gregory doesn’t know you at all. He’s never understood either one of us, or the bond we’ve shared. My father didn’t understand either.”
“So is there a cure for me, do you think?” Mina said, trying to sound cynical, but unable to prevent that one note of hope on the last word.
The silence that followed seemed endless, and Mina wanted to say something else, to stop her from saying anything at all, when Lynet answered, “I’m not sure that you need one, but—” Her voice wavered, and she took a breath before continuing. “But I brought something for you—a letter. Your guards took it from me when they found me in the woods, but it’s for you. I wanted you to read it. And … there’s something else I thought of.” L
ynet was fiddling with her dress, smiling shyly. “It’s … it’s childish, maybe, but…”
Lynet dropped the piece of fabric she was playing with and looked up at her. She walked over to Mina in the middle of the room and held one hand up in front of her, her palm facing Mina. “Hold your hand up, like this.”
Mina didn’t understand, but she held her hand up to mirror Lynet’s, palms facing each other.
Lynet brought her hand closer until her fingertips were pressing against Mina’s. “Now push,” she said.
They pressed their fingertips together, forming a web of flesh with their fingers. “What is this for?” Mina said.
“Just wait,” Lynet said. “Close your eyes.”
She waited until Lynet had closed her own eyes before doing the same. More time passed, and she was beginning to wonder if Lynet was setting some kind of trap for her.
And then she felt it.
There, in the tips of her fingers, she felt the steady beat of Lynet’s pulse. But the longer she held her fingers there, the harder she pressed back, the more it seemed like the pulse was coming from inside her own body. Or rather, it became impossible to tell whose body it came from. It was Lynet’s pulse, she knew, but it was also, miraculously, her own. It reverberated through her hand, down her arm, into her chest, and she wondered how she’d lived all these years without that gentle rhythm.
The pulse that was and yet wasn’t hers seemed to dislodge something in her, her blood flowing more freely now, and she felt everything at once—the grief of Lynet’s death combined with the shock of hearing she was alive, the shame Mina had felt in seeing her again, together with the hope she’d heard in Lynet’s voice as she insisted that she loved her as a mother.
Mina’s eyes stung—she was crying.
Startled by Mina’s tears, Lynet moved her hand away, and Mina was overwhelmed with the sudden emptiness of their broken connection. Lynet was staring at her with worry, and Mina could have embraced her then, this girl whose heart was so strong and so full that it could beat for the both of them.
Mina ran for the door, needing to get away from Lynet before she gave in to fear and her father’s voice, always whispering in her head.
“Promise me you’ll find that letter,” Lynet called after her, her own voice ragged with the start of tears.
Mina fumbled for the door, ignoring her.
“Mina, please promise me you’ll read it!”
But Mina was shutting the door behind her, muffling Lynet’s voice. She started to lock the door out of habit, but then she stopped, leaving the key in the lock. What Lynet did now was up to her.
Lynet’s last words still rang through her head as she went down the tower stairs. Promise me you’ll read it. There was a letter, something she supposed Lynet had written for her. But when Mina came down from the tower, she went straight to the chapel, some invisible line pulling her there whenever she needed refuge. She fell to her knees in front of the altar, and she put her hand over her chest, half believing that she would feel the gentle pressure of her own heartbeat, transferred from Lynet to her.
But there was nothing, of course. Nothing had truly changed. The truth still hung like a vicious blade between them: Only one of them could be queen. Only one of them could win.
32
LYNET
She’ll read it, Lynet told herself as she paced around the circular room, biting her thumb. She’ll read it, and she’ll come back to me and everything will be all right.
Lynet hadn’t wanted to tell Mina the letter’s contents or even that it was from Dorothea, unsure that Mina would believe her unless she read the letter herself. But there were still so many dangers. Did the guard who had taken the letter from her still have it? Would Mina track him down and read it? And even if she read it, would it make any difference at all?
Lynet had tried to reach out to Mina as best she could, with her words and with her heart. Ever since the night under the tree when she and Nadia had pressed their hands together, Lynet had wanted to see if she could use the same trick to give Mina the sensation of a real heartbeat, even if only temporarily. But Mina had hurried away, and now, as Lynet stood alone in the empty tower, she knew the letter was her last chance. She stopped pacing, standing in the same spot where she had first noticed that Mina was crying. She had never seen Mina cry before—surely that meant she had stirred Mina’s heart in some way.
Each time Lynet went around the room, it seemed to grow smaller and smaller, the boarded-up window making her feel like she couldn’t take a full breath. She wondered if there was anyone guarding the door, if they could bring her some water, something to make her feel like she wasn’t inhaling the same stale air. She tried knocking on the door, but instead of hearing an answering voice, she heard something clatter to the ground. Lynet frowned, listening with her ear against the door for sounds of movement. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought it was a key that had fallen from the lock.
Mina had left so quickly … was it possible she had forgotten to take the key with her? Had she forgotten to lock the door at all? Or had she chosen to leave the door unlocked? Hardly daring to believe that she would be successful, Lynet slowly turned the door handle, amazed when it gave way, the door starting to inch open. She didn’t let it open fully, though, in case there were guards waiting outside. She still wasn’t sure this wasn’t some kind of test or trap.
But now she had a choice—she could stay here, waiting and wondering what would happen next, and where the letter was, if the huntsman had found it, or if Mina would read it, without any control at all. If the unlocked door wasn’t a trap, though—if Mina had really forgotten or chosen not to lock the door—then Lynet could sneak through the castle and look for the huntsman. She could try to retrieve the letter and hand it over to Mina herself.
Lynet stared intently at the door, going back and forth in her mind several times before deciding that she couldn’t lose this chance to regain control of her plan. She didn’t think Mina would design a test for Lynet to fail, especially not after the moment they had shared. Lynet reached for the door again—
But before her fingers had touched the handle, the door creaked open to reveal Mina standing at the threshold, half in shadow. She stood calm and composed, her face smooth and impassive, her hair no longer loose but braided neatly in tight coils around her head.
“Mina!” Lynet said, startled. She hadn’t heard footsteps approaching the door at all.
Mina stepped forward, edging Lynet farther back into the room. Lynet tried to see if her eyes were red or still full of tears, but they were hidden in shadow. She saw that Mina was holding something in her hand, but it wasn’t the letter.
“Did you find the letter?” Lynet said at once.
Mina frowned slightly. “Yes,” she said, her voice perfectly even, “but that’s not why I’m here. I have something for you, something I forgot to give you before.”
Lynet watched Mina in confusion and almost wondered if their last meeting had been just a dream. Mina was acting like none of it had happened, like they’d never shared a heartbeat. But Mina was holding out her hand, unfolding a black cloth to present to Lynet her silver bracelet.
All of Lynet’s worries faded away in a moment. If Mina seemed stiff or formal, it was only because she was nervous to make this gesture—a gift to remind Lynet of the first time they had met under the juniper tree. Mina must have kept it after finding it on the body Lynet had made—she had kept it all this time, waiting to give it back to her.
“Mina, thank you,” Lynet said. “I was worried that … but it’s all right between us now, isn’t it?”
Mina’s lips curled into a smile, and she ducked her head to avoid Lynet’s eyes. “I hope so, Lynet. You’ll take it back, won’t you?”
“Of course.” Lynet took the bracelet and clasped it around her wrist. Its weight was familiar and welcome. “And now we can—”
Her words froze in her throat. An unfamiliar feeling, almost like pain, was
spreading down to her hand, her fingers becoming stiff. Cold, she thought. This is what cold feels like. Mina was watching her, folding up the cloth. Why did she use a cloth? Why not give me the bracelet directly? Lynet had thought it was simply for embellishment, to surprise her, but now she couldn’t stop thinking that Mina had never touched the bracelet herself.
Poison.
She had hoped—had wanted to believe so badly—that Mina wouldn’t hurt her. She’d thought that letter would be the cure she’d been looking for—a reminder to Mina that she was more than what her father had made her. She had hoped, and she had been wrong—naive, even. Weak. This was Mina, standing in front of her, choosing to give her a bracelet coated in poison. Choosing to kill her.
The cold was spreading through all her limbs now, and she had to remind herself that Nadia had switched the poisons, that she wasn’t really about to die. But as her arms and legs grew stiff, she kept thinking of how easily Gregory might have discovered Nadia’s trick. What if he had dropped the original vial and had to choose a new one? What if he had changed his mind about which poison to use? What if I’m really dying? All the risks she had been willing to take seemed foolish to her now, the result of her misplaced trust.
She didn’t want Mina to see how frightened she was. “You won’t go until you see it happen, is that it?” she said, her voice as icy as the poison in her blood. “You want to see me die?”
Mina didn’t respond. She only tilted her head, waiting. In the dim light, she seemed ten years younger, her face almost unnaturally smooth, even the cluster of gray hair around her temples hidden away.
Lynet sank to her knees. She wondered if the poison would stop if she took the bracelet off now, or if it was already too late. It didn’t matter; she couldn’t move her arms anymore. She was turning to ice, freezing from the inside out. It’s not real. I’m not dying. But then why did the cold going through her feel so much like death?
Her vision was blurring, but something caught her attention—a heavy step, a flash of gray near the door. A familiar voice said, “Isn’t it finished, yet?” And then her vision sharpened as Gregory stepped into the room.
Girls Made of Snow and Glass Page 29
