The Glass Queen

by Gena Showalter

  “Please. Purchase magic from a witch.” For the right price, a witch would share a portion of her magic with an infant, imparting a single mystical ability that would manifest at the age of sixteen. The more powerful the witch, the stronger the impartation. While you never knew what ability you’d get, you could select the type of magic you wished to wield. Charlotte’s ability to grow plants with a wave of her hand had come from a witch with power over the four elements. “With every fiber of my being, I believe Ashleigh’s heart will heal if she wields her own magic. At the very least, it’s her best chance of survival.”

  “Your certainty is misplaced,” Philipp snapped with a shake of his head. He began to pace once again. “If she could be healed, she would be healed by now.”

  Charlotte bit her tongue to silence a sharp retort. Calm. Steady. If she began to screech, he would simply take the baby and go. “As I told you before, the magic within us is far more potent than the magic that comes from outside us. Something you do not know firsthand because you’ve never actually wielded your own magic.”

  Red infused his cheeks. “As I told you, witches demand an exorbitant sum for such a service. Why save a sickly daughter with no future? No, far better for us to leave her in the forest, as fate intended. I will give you another baby. A healthy son.”

  “I don’t want another baby,” she cried. “I want this one.”

  “Why can’t you see the truth? I’m thinking only of our well-being,” he said, using his most cajoling tone as he strode over and knelt beside the bed. “Try to understand. Your brother is heartsick over the death of his queen and eldest son. Everyone agrees King Challen is no longer fit to rule Sevón. Your young nephew cannot take his place—Prince Roth isn’t old enough. No, I am what the kingdom needs. I can lead Sevón in addition to Fleur. If I’m saddled with a sickly child, I will appear weak. My enemies will feel confident enough to strike at long last. Our enemies. Do you wish to raise a child in a time of great war? Of course not. What good mother would? My way is best, my sweet. Trust me in this. Why tax your tired mind further?”

  Reeling. So many insults, so many wrongs, all to make her feel foolish for refusing to back down. “My brother won’t allow you to rule his kingdom.” At sixteen, Challen had manifested battle magic. No one could defeat him now. “If you try, he’ll kill you and raze all of Fleur in retaliation.” She only wished she exaggerated.

  Philipp traced his tongue over his teeth. “There is always a way. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day. It is a duty I cannot eschew. The needs and wants of many must come before the needs and wants of one.”

  Why did his needs and wants always count as the majority, then?

  Heart beating with more force, Charlotte searched for a response that would both appease him and change his mind. Her daughter’s very life was at stake. Finally she settled on, “Please, Philipp. Please summon a witch. Please give our daughter a chance to live. Just one chance. If you do, I’ll... I’ll...help you defeat Challen.” A desperate lie or a desperate truth? She wasn’t sure. She hardly knew her brother, but family was family. On the other hand, she’d meant what she’d said; she would do anything to save her daughter.

  A muscle jumped in her husband’s jaw, a sign his volatile temper neared eruption. “The matter is closed. I’ll hear no more arguments about the baby. Say your goodbyes.”

  Charlotte swallowed a whimper. “Summon another oracle, then.”

  The muscle jumped faster. He sighed. “Why would I bother?”

  Thinking fast, she said, “Because the royal oracle was a gift from Challen. She probably sensed your aspirations to rule Sevón.” Yes, yes. A play on Philipp’s greed. “What if she kept Ashleigh’s prophecy to herself to prevent our daughter from one day aiding your military successes?” Or your defeat...

  “Now you are being ridiculous. Oracles cannot lie.” And yet, he pursed his lips, as if he was considering her words.

  Not exactly bright, Husband? “The oracle remained silent. She didn’t lie, but she might not have admitted the truth, either.”

  He narrowed his eyes, the gears in his mind churning at a faster speed.

  Desperate, Charlotte pressed her advantage. “Will you risk your future on the silence of a single oracle? Why not find an unbiased one, just to be sure?”

  This time, he nodded. “Very well. I will return shortly. If this oracle doesn’t see a fairy tale in the babe’s future, she goes to the forest with no more argument from you. Agree. Now.”

  What else could she do? “I... I agree.”

  After giving her another stiff nod, he stalked out the door.

  The second his footsteps faded, Charlotte told the room’s other occupants, “Leave me. I wish to be alone with my baby. And close the door behind you. I’m not to be disturbed.”

  As the midwife and healers scurried out, shutting the door as ordered, she shifted Ashleigh in her arms, resting the now-sleeping baby’s cheek upon her shoulder. Ignoring her aches and pains, she worked her legs over the side of the bed and lumbered to her feet, unsteady but determined.

  With the first step, dizziness struck, and she almost toppled. Concern for her child kept her upright. Deep breath. She remained in place, giving her head time to clear. But all the while, her breasts leaked, wetting her nightgown, and a warm trickle of liquid ran down her legs. Blood? She didn’t care. Hurry. No telling when Philipp would return.

  With no money of her own, Charlotte had to find a witch as desperate as she was, someone willing to accept little in exchange for a great infusion of power. And she knew just where to look...

  Using a hidden passageway she’d discovered when Philipp snuck out of their room one night, Charlotte made her way down, down, down. The farther she went, the colder the air became. By the time she reached the royal dungeon, she was shivering and her teeth were chattering, goose bumps rising on her limbs.

  What a horrid place. Crumbling walls lit by the occasional torch. Webs in every corner, insects unable to escape. The pitter-patter of rats accompanied a constant drip of water. This was where Philipp liked to lock away anyone who had wronged him. How many times had he bragged about the powerful witch he’d defeated in battle years ago?

  What had the witch done wrong? Think, think. Murder? Theft? Had she merely insulted the king’s unending pride, like so many others? Though Charlotte racked her brain, the answer remained at bay. Did the woman’s crime really matter? If the witch agreed to share her magic with Ashleigh, Charlotte would agree to set her free, regardless of her past actions. A promise she had the means to ensure.

  As a child, her father the king had beaten his two sons for any wrongdoing. Charlotte, however, he’d locked in small, dark spaces, a nightmare come to life. One day, her mother had secretly bought her a magic key able to open any lock. A key she still carried around her neck, just in case.

  Charlotte readjusted Ashleigh to carefully cover her face with the wolf’s fur. Nerves on edge, she shuffled along a wide corridor. The scent of mold, waste, and decay hit faintly at first but soon grew overpowering, creating a fetid stench that stung her nostrils and watered her eyes. Down here, there was no hint of the bright sunshine and sweet perfume of rose that permeated the rest of the kingdom.

  A strange clack, clack, clack registered. A chorus of pained moans followed, becoming louder and louder only to quiet when she turned a corner and came upon the occupied cells. Haggard, emaciated prisoners hobbled to the bars.

  Pleas rang out next.

  “Help me.”

  “Please, ma’am. Please.”

  “Spare a drop of water.”

  Though her heart squeezed, she kept her gaze straight ahead. There, at the end of the corridor, loomed a wall of bars and a witch who looked exactly as Philipp had described her every time he’d recounted the tale of their war.

  Even with matted blond hair and dirt-smeared skin, even with a tattere
d rag that hung on her too-slender frame, the witch with ice-blue eyes possessed an undeniable beauty and grace.

  For some reason, Philipp and his guards hadn’t removed her only piece of jewelry before locking her away. A metal ring with a rose etched in the center.

  “Well, well, well,” the witch said. “Could it be the high-and-mighty Queen Charlotte in her expensive nightgown? Bards sing tales of your great beauty. The dark-haired enchantress soon to give birth. Well, who has just given birth, it appears. Are you here to honor your husband’s prisoners with your exalted presence? To introduce us to the new princess, perhaps?”

  Charlotte stopped a few feet away and exhaled. Mist wafted in her face. “I am Queen Charlotte, yes. What’s your name?”

  The witch blinked, as if surprised and a little miffed by her ignorance. “Most know me as Melvina, but I prefer Leonora.”

  Why would she wish to be called Leonora, a name associated with one of the oldest and most notorious cautionary tales in all of Enchantia? “What crime did you commit against my husband?” Not having grown up in Fleur, Charlotte wasn’t very familiar with the local legends and histories. At least she sensed no hint of evil from the witch.

  “You mean your husband needs a reason to incarcerate innocent people?” Leonora replied airily.

  No. No, he didn’t. This witch could be a good person who’d met a bad end.

  Or a bad person with a just end.

  Did Charlotte’s plan have risks? Yes. Many. Would those risks deter her? No. “If you grant my daughter a magical ability, I will give you what you—”

  “Let me guess,” Leonora interjected with a wry tone. “You’ll set me free.”

  She patted her daughter’s back and explained, “According to the healers, Ashleigh’s heart is malformed, her body fragile. To survive, she needs an infusion of power from a witch.”

  “Don’t we all?” Gaze unwavering, Leonora canted her head and peered at Charlotte. “This world is cruel. Perhaps she’s better off not surviving, hmm?”

  Rearing back, Charlotte snapped, “Everyone deserves a chance.”

  “Are you sure? There’s a breadcrumb trail of heartache and misery, and it leads to what my life used to be. Betrayal. War. Pain. Greed. This is the future you want for a sickly child?”

  “You mention nothing of love, joy, merriment, and pleasure.”

  Leonora pursed cracked lips. “Oh, but I did imply those things. They are what led to the others, after all. And yet, you’ve convinced me. I will help you. After you free me, of course. These bars are magically enhanced to stop me from using my powers.”

  Charlotte rocked from one bare foot to another. Is she manipulating me as I manipulated Philipp? Maybe. Probably. Again, did it really matter? How many hours—minutes—until Ashleigh’s heart forever stopped?

  Must proceed. No other choice. “I will do it. I will set you free first,” Charlotte said, raising her chin. No reason to demand a vow. The witch either would or wouldn’t keep her word, and a vow wouldn’t change her mind one way or the other.

  Leonora stiffened, as if she dare not hope. “You’ll need the key to the cell. Your husband carries it, and he never parts with it.”

  Yes, she’d seen his key. His prize. “I do not need his. I have my own.” Always best to have your own of everything. No need to tell her what else the key could do; the witch might try to steal it. Objects enriched with magic were more valuable than gold.

  Charlotte stepped forward once. Twice. Again. She frowned. Why drag her feet now? She’d fought for this. Needed it.

  “Hurry.” Leonora crooked her index finger. “Before I change my mind.”

  Oh, yes. She manipulates me. Even still, Charlotte removed the key that hung from a chain around her neck and inserted the metal tip into the lock. Hinges creaked as the door swung open, the witch free, just like that.

  Leonora rolled back her shoulder, lifted her chin, and sauntered through the doorway as if she hadn’t a care, a grin blooming.

  Every heartbeat reminiscent of an ax splitting wood, the queen removed the fur from Ashleigh’s face. Oh, no, no, no. Her baby was bluer than before and struggling to breathe.

  Leonora glanced at Ashleigh and stumbled back with a gasp, her air of casual disregard gone. “She...she’s her.” Those icy blues widened, as round as saucers.

  “If you mean Princess Ashleigh, then yes. Please. You must save her.”

  “Yes, yes. I must heal her as soon as possible.” Trembling, she cupped the baby’s pristine cheeks with dirty hands tipped by ragged nails.

  Charlotte halted a protest. This had to be done.

  The witch mumbled under her breath, and a strange wind kicked up, whirls of dirt gusting through the dungeon. Magic sparked, here, there, crackling like little lightning strikes and—

  Charlotte moaned, a thousand daggers seeming to prick her skin. That magic...it was pure evil. The kind of evil she’d encountered only once before, as a little girl. The royal oracle had stopped what she was doing, her eyes turning milky white as she announced that a phantom—an invisible dragon—would pass through the palace that day, searching for those whom she might consume.

  The oracle wasn’t wrong.

  Later that day, an evil just like this one had hovered near Charlotte for hours, only to disappear in a blink, as if bored.

  What have I done?

  “You cannot stop this,” Leonora intoned. “Not without killing the child.”

  “You’re not a witch.” Charlotte’s voice had gone hoarse, nothing but a croak. “You’re...you... You’re a phantom.” Others believed phantoms were nothing but a myth parents used to scare their children into behaving, but Charlotte had known better. She’d studied phantoms, learning everything she could.

  They were spirits born in flame and ash, able to possess anyone they desired, stealing their life.

  Now, to meet a phantom named Leonora, the star of a cautionary tale that featured a witch who’d led an army of dragons against an avian king and burned an entire kingdom to the ground...

  “You are correct. I am a phantom, born when dragons burned a village and everyone in it and oh, it’s so wonderful to share my story with another. I never get to brag. Because my form is intangible, I’m able to jump from body to body, seizing full control, living the other person’s life as long as I wish.” Leonora’s grin returned, slow and wicked. “Your husband went to war with the witch named Melvina, who spurned his advances. When I took over her life, I didn’t know your husband had laid a trap for her that same day. I drank her sweet wine and fell into a deep sleep. When I awoke, I was here, the guards singing lies about some great battle Philipp had won against me. Believe me when I say I will make him pay for his crimes. I’d thought to overtake you—to start—but the child... Her fate is mine, and mine is hers.”

  Charlotte shook her head, locks of hair slapping her cheeks, and backed up, severing contact. “She’s just a baby. Please don’t—”

  “So sorry, Queenie, but it’s as good as done. And don’t bother telling anyone what has occurred here. They won’t believe you. And if they do, they’ll murder your precious Ashleigh just to kill me. Oh, and just in case you think to do the same, don’t. It never works.” Leonora released a final breath and collapsed in the dirt, her body unmoving.

  Knees threatening to give out, Charlotte tore open Ashleigh’s blanket to discover bronze glowing with health. She would live? She—

  Ashleigh’s eyes. They’d brightened to an icy blue, the same color as Leonora’s eyes, before darkening again. Horror doused the flare of elation. Leonora had done it. She’d jumped into Ashleigh. And I let her do it. I helped her.

  Charlotte didn’t...she couldn’t... No. This wasn’t unfixable. She might be able to buy some kind of magical extraction. Surely someone specialized in that. If not, she would buy...what? A spell to keep Leonora contained?

 
; Though she had no gold of her own, she had the key. Yes. She would offer the key as payment, and a witch or a warlock would help Ashleigh.

  She swaddled Ashleigh anew, then used the bottom half of her gown to anchor the child against her chest. Then, drawing on a reservoir of strength she hadn’t known she possessed, she crouched down to feel the witch’s body for a pulse. Dead.

  Charlotte hung her head. Then, she got to work, dragging the witch’s body back into the cell. The next time Philipp checked on her, he would think she’d died of natural causes.

  A ring hung around her neck, capturing the queen’s attention. Something inside Charlotte shouted, The ring belongs with Ashleigh. My daughter must have it, now and always.

  Though she sensed the wrongness of such a thought, she claimed the necklace for Ashleigh, anyway.

  As she hurried to the secret passage, her emotions got the better of her and she sobbed. But she never slowed her pace.

  Just as Charlotte crawled back into bed, arranged her nightgown and her daughter, the door opened and Philipp marched inside, another oracle close to his heels. A pretty woman with guarded eyes and a strained smile.

  “Well?” the king demanded, waving in Ashleigh’s direction.

  Charlotte trembled as the woman sidled up to the bed. Ashleigh was...was...possessed by a phantom; what if the oracle prophesized a terrible end, placing the child in the same predicament as before?

  Voice soft and soothing, the oracle stretched out her arms and said, “Come now. Let’s see the little precious.”

  The moment of truth had come.

  Terror and hope held the queen immobile as the other woman opened the blanket that covered Ashleigh...

  A milky film spilled over the oracle’s irises, the first sign the fairy was having a vision of the future. In a monotone voice, she announced, “Woe is she. Woe is she. The Glass Princess, born twice in one day. Two heads, one heart. To purge or merge? One heart, two heads. To merge or purge? One brings a blessing. One brings a curse. Only she can choose. Only she can fight. The ball. The shoe. Diiiing. Diiiiing. Diiiiiiiiing. At midnight, all is revealed. Who will live and who will die when past, present, and future collide? Let the fire rage—let the flame purify. Let the world burn, burn, burn.”