“Evil sorceress.” “White hair.” “Is she the one?” “Does she have the mark?” “Is our kingdom saved...or doomed?”
What mark?
So everyone reviled me. So what? Their opinions meant nothing. I just...
I hadn’t fit in at home. I hadn’t fit in with Violet, and I wouldn’t fit in here. When would I ever find my place?
“You.” Vikander pointed to one of the soldiers. “Escort Princess Truly to her chamber.”
I shared a final look with my twin. Trust and help me, or share my fate. The choice is yours.
She went with option two, blanching and glancing away. As she vanished around a corner, I heard her say, “Forget my chamber. Take me to Princess Farrah.”
Familiar pangs of rejection cut through my chest. Very well. Her life, her loss. I’d lived seventeen years without her; I could live the rest without her, too. And I would. I wouldn’t even miss her. Really.
An older man with dark brown skin, wild blue hair and a short stature hurried over, a stone tablet in hand. He wore a velvet robe. “Vikander. Nice to have you back.”
One of the Seven Protectors?
“Roycefus,” Vikander said with a nod. “Where’s the king?”
“In the library.” Roycefus looked me over. “Is this the Apple of Life and Death?”
“I prefer Everly. Or call me Glorious One. Roth does.” I offered my hand for a shake.
He arched a blue brow in question, then lifted my hand to his mouth and kissed my knuckles, surprising me. I detected no malice, only welcome. “I am pleased to meet you. I am King Challen’s chief advisor.” His dark gaze swung to Vikander. “Shall I inform the king of your arrival?”
“Yes. I’ll head to the library as soon as I’ve secured the prisoner.”
“Her room is ready,” Roycefus said. “I selected the best suite in the east wing.”
“No.” Vikander shook his head. “She’ll stay in the tower.”
Despite the advisor’s protests, Vikander ushered me down a maze of hallways and up a different flights of stairs.
At the top of a turret, we came to a circular hallway, with no added adornments anywhere. The stone walls were crumbling, the floor dusty. Seven doorways loomed.
Each door possessed a small barred window. Through all but two of those bars, prisoners watched us, projecting fear, loathing and hope. No one uttered a word.
My stomach sank, and my blood flash froze.
A new guard stepped forward and bowed his head. “We welcome you, Vikander. We have prepared the biggest room for the prince’s...guest, as his messenger requested.”
So, Roycefus had ignored the prince’s order? I liked him even more.
“Ooh la la,” I said, hiding my dismay behind a smirk. “I get the biggest room in the dungeon—sorry, tower. How lucky am I?”
The fairy trailed the guard, dragging me along. We stopped at the last door on the right. Keys rattled. The lock unlatched. Hinges squeaked and dust swirled. Suddenly, nothing separated me from my captivity.
“What’s the number for room service?” I asked. “And I’d like to lodge an official complaint with management. If this is prepared, I’d hate to see unprepared.”
Vikander nudged me inside while remaining in the hall. Squeak. Thud. Rattle.
My heart made similar noises. “I won’t forget this,” I told him.
“I’m certain you won’t.” He peered at me through the bars, saying, “I won’t apologize to a sorceress.”
“That speaks of your flawed character, not mine.”
He shrugged, unconcerned. “You will stay here until Roth’s return. As ordered.”
I heard him issue orders to the guards. “No one goes inside. No one talks to her. No one looks at her. If there are any problems, you will summon me, and only me. Understood? I will oversee her care.”
A chorus echoed. “Yes, my lord.”
I tuned them out and scouted my accommodations. A narrow cot with a ratty blanket. Scratched up walls splattered with flecks of dried blood. A dirty stone floor. An unlit fireplace with heaps of ash. Lastly, a bucket. The toilet?
Inhale, exhale.
Look on the bright side. Time alone means I can spy and plan.
I stumbled deeper into the room and sat in the farthest corner from the door, with my nose facing the wall. Wasting no time, I withdrew my sliver of enchanted glass.
27
A lock is a lie, an illusion of capture.
The real jailer is desire, oh, the rapture.
“Show me Hartly,” I whispered, my chest tight.
My sister’s image appeared in an instant, love for her swelling my heart. She was alive and well, as promised, but confirmation was my undoing. Hot tears streamed down my cheeks.
She huddled in the corner of a tent, petting Thor. Mud caked her hair and smeared her dress. The same dress she’d worn in the last vision. Thankfully, she wasn’t chained or bound.
A female troll I’d call Trollina (because why not?) meandered about, tidying up and chattering. “I like you, I really do. You are so nice. That is why I’m going to be honest with you, even though lies would make you feel better. I don’t know if anyone has ever had the courage to tell you but...you are hideous. Probably the ugliest girl I’ve ever seen.” She winced. “I am sorry! I know the truth stings. But you don’t even have tusks! Maybe if we cover your face, he’ll forget about your ugly exterior and fall in love with your beautiful interior?”
Hartly? Hideous? You’ve got to be kidding me!
“Thank you for the tip,” Hartly said and rolled her eyes.
Trollina continued, sounding genuinely upset on my sister’s behalf. “I believe we can be best friends. I don’t care how ugly you are!” All eagerness and innocence, she nodded. “Yes. We’re going to be best friends. I’ll fight anyone who makes you feel bad about your grotesque face.”
A big hand tipped with claws shoved the tent flap out of the way. In stalked a large troll with horns, features carved from granite, and bulging muscles covered in tattoos and piercings. Fury crackled in his eyes as he stepped closer to Hartly.
I tensed. To my sister’s credit, she didn’t cower or cry. In fact, she remained calm and met his stare.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” she said, blowing my mind.
Trollina bowed. “Please be kind to her, brother. She can’t help her ugliness.”
“Enough.” Gaze locked on Hartly, he dismissed the other girl with a tilt of his chin.
As soon as they were alone, Hartly rushed out, “Did you harm my sister?”
“I did not.” He unsheathed and dropped weapon after weapon, leaving a pile on the floor. “Centaurs attacked her camp. She and the other female escaped, but their avian friend sustained injures during his capture. The prince gave chase, but he was injured, as well.”
Roth was injured? I don’t care, I don’t care.
Hartly paled. “Where are Everly and Truly now?”
“You may rest easy. They are in the Empire of Sevón, where the centaurs cannot reach them.”
“Can you?” Hartly asked, setting Thor aside. “Will you?”
“I can, but I will not. I’m too busy taming my war prize. You are here to please me, so please me. Bathe. Finally! Your stench offends my nose.”
“Well, your face offends my eyes, so we’re even,” she said, then sniffed. “I’m sorry. That was mean. And false! I’m lashing out because I’m worried about my sister. Until you forgive her for killing your brother, I’m on strike. I won’t bathe. I won’t eat. I won’t sleep.”
“I could make you do those things,” he announced.
Two griffins swooped through the hole in the roof, took a post at Hartly’s side and squawked, daring the troll to approach.
“Go ahead,” Hartly said with a sugary sweet tone. “Try. Dare yo
u.”
Go, sis, go!
Excitement blended with eagerness, pulsing from the troll. He wanted to cut through the griffin. Then he stiffened and turned, searching the tent. “Who dares to watch us?”
Gah! He’d sensed me? Oh, right. Noel had warned me of the possibility. You see, they sense. I stroked the glass, saying, “Show me Roth.”
The prince appeared, blood dripping from gashes in his forehead, shoulder and side. Despite his obvious pain, he wielded two short swords against three centaurs, moving with savage elegance and expertly sidestepping blows.
Tension stole through me, turning my muscles to stone. A group of centaurs surrounded him. One horseman used a spear to distract, while another reared up and kicked him in the sternum. He flew up and back, flipping midair and crashing into a tree.
My breath caught in my throat. Why didn’t he use his magic and command the centaurs to turn on themselves? I knew he hated the ability, but come on! If you had a skill, use it. Otherwise, you’d end up torque’d and locked in a cell.
Maybe he couldn’t use his compulsion? What were the parameters of his ability? Or maybe the centaurs were protected in some way?
I needed to know! The more I knew about Roth’s weaknesses, the better I could defeat him. And I would defeat him. Me. Not these centaurs. Come on, Roth! Win this.
With a roar, he threw himself back into the fray. His speed wowed me, and his skill left me reeling. Though the odds were stacked against him, he landed more blows than he received.
Where was Saxon? I scanned the surrounding trees. A blue feather balanced atop a pink leaf, the end soaked with blood. My chin trembled, a single thought knocking me for a loop: Schrödinger’s avian.
“Give us the fugitive,” a centaur said, “and we will give you the avian.”
“I don’t want you to give me the avian,” Roth countered, sinking his sword into the speaker’s torso and twisting the blade. “I’m going to take him from you.”
As blood and guts spilled, the sound of footsteps reached my ears. Someone approached my cell! I tossed my cloak on the cot and hastened to hide the sliver of enchanted glass, just in case someone gave me a pat-down. Where, where? There! Behind a loose stone in the wall. Then I stood. Just in time.
“Open the door.”
That voice! Princess Farrah Charmaine. A whisper of hope drifted through me. What if Truly had changed her mind about me and convinced the princess to set me free?
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” the guard began, “but Vikander ordered us not to let—”
“I am your princess, and you are subject to my rule—and my punishment,” she interjected with a slight tremor, clearly unused to taking charge. “If you force me to issue the same command twice, I will force you to live the remainder of your days in a cell of your own.”
I gave her a mental standing O.
The soldier mumbled something to someone else—I thought I heard Vikander’s name—before obeying the princess. Keys clanged together, hinges squeaked and the door opened.
Tremors rocked me. Farrah entered, my angel in the flesh. I released an embarrassing whimper. For months, I’d considered this girl a friend. I’d watched her help others time and time again. If she turned her back on me...
She was resplendent in a pale pink gown and a thousand pounds of jewelry. The sparkle... No! Focus. Two other girls followed on her heels. Truly, who kept her gaze downcast, and Ophelia, who stared at me with unwavering satisfaction.
My warm fuzzies turned to rage, and my hands fisted.
Truly had yet to wash off her travel grime, and Ophelia wore more armor than usual. Expecting a fight?
Farrah stopped a few feet away from me and, to her credit, she appeared unafraid. “I am Princess Farrah of Sevón, the only daughter of King Challen, and sister to Prince Roth.” Pride layered the words. She was even more beautiful in person, with flawless skin the color of porcelain, bright green eyes a shade darker than Roth’s, bloodred lips, and hair so black it appeared blue, braided into a towering crown.
Remember the mission—heal the king, escape. “I’m Everly, captive of Prince Roth, potential healer of King Challen. Unless I’m too late? How badly has he deteriorated?”
Fear flashed over her expression, reigniting my guilt. The modern-day nightingale had done nothing to earn my wrath. I just... I needed her cooperation.
I’d make it up to her later.
“My father is deteriorating at an alarming rate.” Head tilted to the side, eyes like wounds, she said, “But according to Roth, we are not to host the healing ceremony until his return.”
“Ceremony?” No one had mentioned a ceremony. I could syphon and use whatever magic I gained, no more, no less.
Farrah advanced on me, the epitome of grace. She trusted me not to attack?
“I do not know what the ceremony is supposed to entail,” she said, “and I’m sorry. Our witch and oracle have been vague.”
I flicked Ophelia a quick glance. “What a shocker.”
Taking my hands in hers, Farrah said, “I’m also sorry for the horrors being done to you. You are a sorceress, yes, but I will never cheer the suffering of another.”
“Free me, then.” I could have begged, but pride kept me silent.
“Noel says you are needed here, in this cell,” Ophelia said.
Oh, she did, did she? My narrowed gaze slid to the witch, the oracle’s best friend. Not a single glimmer of remorse.
“Everly.” Farrah squeezed my hands, an offer of comfort. “If I do it, if I go against Noel’s advice, will you submit to Ophelia? She will bespell you, ensuring you never again need to syphon power from another.”
They could do that? Permanently hobble me, no torque required?
Panic turned my every inhalation into a dagger, slicing my throat, my lungs. I shifted my gaze to Truly. She was waxen, agitated and close to tears, but she said nothing in my defense.
Walls seemed to close in around me, and breathing became more difficult. I returned my attention to Farrah, to our joined hands. The edge of her glove had rolled back, revealing an apple-shaped birthmark identical to mine.
My jaw went slack. Like me, she was bonum et malum. The most powerful of her kind. No doubt her mother was the second queen, the one who’d worked with Mom and Violet to steal those apples.
A witch and oracle had helped, too. Ophelia and Noel’s mothers?
Of course, I thought next. Our roots run deep.
Grinding my teeth, I said, “I like you, Farrah. I always have. But your offer is not a kindness. It is a cruelty. A lifetime of weakness. I refuse.”
“But—”
“Please, see yourselves out.” I wrenched free and eased upon the cot with as much dignity as I could muster.
Farrah remained in place, wringing her hands. “Everly,” she said, and I got the impression she was attempting to align her thoughts. “I was born to privilege, riches and power. Things most others will never experience. All my life, I have tried to share my blessings with the less fortunate. The thought of hurting someone, anyone, makes me sick. But I must protect myself from you. I will protect myself.”
“Let me go with my magic intact, and you’ll have nothing to fear from me, ever. I—” Realization hit, and hit hard. She’d pegged me as the Evil Queen and herself as Snow White.
Bile burned the back of my throat, eroding my calm. The truth was so clear. Princess Farrah. Farrah. Fair-rah. Fairest. The fairest of them all. Beloved by Prince Charming because of familial connection, not a romantic one. Wielder of ice magic, creator of snow. White snow. Snow White.
Farrah Charmaine was Snow White.
Truly was the Huntsman, who saved Snow White and tricked the Evil Queen.
“That’s right,” Farrah said, sounding both sad and weary. “I am Snow White, Princess of Ice, and you are the Queen of Evil.”
&
nbsp; Just then, breathing wasn’t difficult; it was impossible. Before this, Roth had believed any death on my part would equate to a new beginning. I had agreed with him, hoping against hope. Until now.
“I’ve known about the prophecy all my life,” Farrah continued. “I worried I might become the Queen of Evil, so I worked hard to prove I’m good. I don’t want to war with you, Everly. In war, innocents get hurt. But I meant what I said. I will protect myself, even if I must accept a truth I’ve denied for years—defeating you is my destiny.”
28
Storms might rage in your past,
but the tempest cannot last.
As my world spun off its axis, Farrah and Ophelia exited the cell. Truly lingered behind.
“I consulted Noel,” she said softly, fiercely. “She said I do not have a sister. But—” My twin pressed her lips together, while giving her next words careful consideration.
Ignore the hurt. I was so danged tired of ignoring hurts. “You don’t have a sister but...what?”
“But I could if I wanted one,” she snapped. “She probably meant I could have one if I pressured Queen Violet to have another child.”
Ignore. The. Hurt. But oh, wow, the pain threatened to rip me asunder. “You’re right. You do not have a sister. Not anymore, anyway. I’m disowning you.”
She opened and closed her mouth, then left without speaking another word. What? I’d expected her to fight for a relationship with me? A vile sorceress and unwitting murderess, too weak to defend herself. The devil to Farrah’s angel.
Truly left, and my frustration bubbled over. I threw back my head and screamed until my voice broke. Panting, I tossed my only blanket across the cell. Then I tossed the cot, too, the wooden legs splintering.
My eyes blurred as I beat my fists against the rocky wall, uncaring when I left smears of blood behind. Painful stings flared and faded. I didn’t want to be the Evil Queen. I just didn’t. Like Farrah, I wanted to be a better person and I wanted to keep myself and my loved ones safe. So, what made her good, and me bad?
What was the difference between us?
The Evil Queen (The Forest of Good and Evil) Page 29
