by Jim C. Hines
Gerta led her to the northern drawing room, a smaller chamber often used for entertaining royal guests. The walls were a garish green, covered in a textured paper imported from Morova. A fire burned in the hearth, countering the chill from the windows. Danielle sat with Trittibar and Ambassador Febblekeck at the tile-topped table in the center of the room.
Danielle rose, but before she could speak, Gerta set both of her bottles on the table and jabbed a hand at the fairies. “Out. Both of you.”
Trittibar’s brows shot up. Febblekeck flew from his chair, shedding glowing dust onto the carpet. “You forget your place, human.”
Danielle watched Gerta as though trying to read her intention. “Can this wait, Gerta?”
“No.” Gerta folded her arms and waited.
“Very well,” said Danielle. “Trittibar, Febblekeck, if you wouldn’t mind?”
“Of course, Your Highness.” Trittibar rose and bowed.
Febblekeck reached out to pluck a grape from the platter of bread and fruit at the center of the table. “ I mind. This girl is-”
“She is a member of my household,” Danielle said softly. “And a friend.”
“She’s not even real,” Febblekeck protested. “Any fairy can smell the magic on her. She’s but a changeling, cobbled together by human magic, her soul a torn and crudely-stitched quilt of clumsiness and haste.”
Gerta flinched. Talia twirled the wine bottle in her hand. Given the pixie’s size, the bottle should be heavy enough to smash him from the air.
Danielle stood, smiling a too-sweet smile. “You should leave now,” she said softly.
“I am here as a representative of the king of Fairytown,” Febblekeck countered.
Danielle’s smile vanished. “And I would be most grieved to have to tell your king that his ambassador was snatched and devoured by a hungry owl.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“I ask the animals to leave our guests alone, but I can’t be blamed if one refuses to listen.” Danielle stepped around the table. “Owls are so quiet in flight. The prey hears nothing, no warning at all before the talons pierce the body.”
Febblekeck brightened. “You can’t-”
“We can continue our conversation later, Princess Whiteshore.” Trittibar snatched Febblekeck’s arm, tugging him away before he could say anything further.
Danielle pursed her lips and sat back in her chair. “I sometimes suspect Febblekeck was appointed to this position because his king wanted an excuse to kick him out of Fairytown.” She rubbed her temples with both hands. “He and Trittibar have been helping me to understand the Duchess’ bargain. She agreed to raise him as her son, and to protect him from harm, but fairies view ‘harm’ differently than-”
“Your bargain called on you to give Jakob to the Duchess six months after your return to Lorindar,” Gerta interrupted.
Danielle frowned, looking more confused than annoyed. “That’s correct, and therein lies the problem.”
“It’s a problem that will still be waiting in the morning. You’ve more than five months to find a solution.” Gerta wrapped a hand around one of the wine bottles and whispered a spell. The wax seal softened, and she plucked it neatly from the neck. The cork followed, jumping into her palm.
“You interrupted my meeting for wine?” Danielle asked. Talia could hear the warning in her words, similar to the tone she used with Jakob.
“Yes.” Gerta glanced at Talia. “Sit down.”
Talia shook her head. “You told me Danielle ordered me here.”
“I lied.” Gerta gestured at a chair, which swiveled on one leg as if to invite Talia to sit. Gerta nibbled her lower lip, her confidence vanishing. “I have the memories Snow gave me, but they’re a puzzle with only half of the pieces. Mostly I remember a childhood that never happened. I… I was hoping you could tell me about her.”
She took a drink, then offered the bottle to Talia. When Talia didn’t move, Gerta sighed and slid it to Danielle.
“Snow giggled too much,” Gerta said. “She always thought me too dour, and sought to cheer me up. When we studied magic, Snow would read the incantations in the voices of various Lords. It made our mother so angry… There was one noble, I forget her name, who spoke with a horrible lisp. Snow was mimicking her while casting a spell which was supposed to purify a goblet of poisoned wine. Snow slurred the words so badly the wine exploded from the cup. Everyone it splashed developed the most awful rash.”
“I see.” Danielle held up the bottle. “Should I be worried about this?”
Gerta grabbed the second bottle, using magic to open this one as well. “Not about poison or magic, no. The taste, on the other hand.. . Arathean wine is far too sour for my liking. Much like some Aratheans I know.”
Talia ignored the barb. She set her own bottle on the table and backed away. “I have duties to attend to. If you need anything-”
“One of your duties is to guard the princess.” Danielle took a drink from the bottle. “With this much wine, I’ll likely need your protection by the time this night is done. Join us, Talia.”
Talia didn’t move. “Is that an order?”
“Does it have to be?”
Reluctantly, Talia took the chair beside Gerta. Gerta slid her a bottle hard enough to make it tip. Talia caught it instinctively.
“What would you like to know, Gerta?” asked Danielle.
“Everything.” Gerta drank several swallows of wine, then made a face. “I have my memories, and the things I’ve learned going through her library, but I want to know her. Who she was in your eyes.”
Danielle pursed her lips. “With the exception of Armand and his parents, Snow was the first person to make me feel truly welcome here.” Danielle stared at one of the windows. “I first learned who she was in the library, shortly after Armand was kidnapped.”
Talia forced herself to listen as Danielle described their first journey together into Fairytown, to rescue Armand from the Duchess and Danielle’s stepsisters.
Gerta spoke next, describing a time she and Snow had snuck through the palace to visit their father. Snow had rarely spoken of him, save to describe him as crippled by her mother’s magic, little more than a puppet of skin and bone. Gerta and Snow had brought him wildflowers, which they wove into his hair as he slept. “He looked so pale, almost colorless.”
“Like Beatrice,” Talia said, the words slipping out.
Gerta glanced up, then nodded. “Snow gave me very few memories of Beatrice, but yes.”
Talia raised her bottle, drinking deeply and concentrating only on the smooth, smoky taste of the wine. She returned the bottle to the table and used her thumbnail to pick at a bit of wax that clung to the side of the mouth. She had spent far more time with Snow than either of them, but a part of her wanted to keep those memories, to protect them and lock them away.
Talia glanced at Gerta’s eye patch. Talia had lost so much, but Gerta… she had never even known her sister. Not really.
Talia stared at her reflection in the glass. “Snow once made it rain urine in Prince Armand’s bedroom.”
Both Danielle and Gerta gaped. Gerta’s eye was wide, and Danielle’s mouth opened and shut several times before she finally asked, “How did this come about?”
Talia shrugged one shoulder. “It was two months after I arrived in Lorindar. I don’t know what Armand said, but Snow took it personally. Beatrice realized something was wrong when Snow kept sneaking off to get more to drink.”
“More to… ah,” Gerta said, nodding. “Sympathetic magic. She would have needed to cast that spell from a privy. How long did she manage to keep it going?”
“More than an hour.” Talia took another drink, remembering Beatrice’s expression as she ordered Snow to clean up the mess, all the while fighting to keep from laughing. “The smell lingered for a month.”
“I’ll talk to Armand tonight,” Danielle said, smiling. “I have to know what he said to earn such retribution.”
“The best pa
rt came later.” Talia pushed her chair back, staring at the window. “Beatrice demanded to know what good could come of such pranks. Snow looked her in the eye and said, ‘I wanted the prince to know what it felt like to be a peon.’ ”
There was a pause, and then the groans came in unison. Danielle grabbed a piece of bread from the platter and threw it at Talia. “That’s terrible!”
Talia caught the bread and took a bite. “I told Beatrice that whatever punishment she assigned, it should be doubled for that pun.”
Her throat was tight. Even that single bite of bread hurt to swallow. She washed it down with more wine as Danielle started talking about a time Snow had flirted her way onto a ship suspected to be carrying smuggled silks. Talia had been along for that mission, and remembered Snow’s unabashed enjoyment.
That was who Snow had been. That was who Talia wanted to remember. Even now, memories of Snow bleeding onto the ice threatened to suffocate her. She pushed them back, clinging to the laughter. The joy in Snow’s eyes.
Danielle was watching her as she talked. Talia scowled. “This was your idea, wasn’t it?”
Danielle shrugged. “Gerta suggested the wine. I merely gave her my blessing to drag you here by whatever means necessary. After two hours with Trittibar and Febblekeck, I needed the break.”
Talia wadded a bit of bread into a ball and flicked it across the table, bouncing it off the center of Danielle’s forehead. Danielle stuck out her tongue. Gerta simply laughed.
Danielle grabbed an apple from the platter. “Tell her how Snow and Beatrice found you.”
Talia groaned. “It’s embarrassing.”
Danielle grinned. “I know.”
Talia threw more bread, but she told Gerta how she had hidden away in a ship, hoping to slip unnoticed into Lorindar. How Beatrice and Snow had discovered her… and how Snow had used magic to knock her senseless.
At some point during the evening, servants quietly carried in a dinner of roast pork and mushrooms, and a pot of chilled strawberry soup. Talia hadn’t had much of an appetite since returning to Lorindar, but tonight she found herself devouring the meal.
Many of the stories she shared made her smile, remembering arguments and antics she hadn’t thought about for years. Others brought tears. It was hours after sunset when Danielle finally stood to excuse herself. Her face was red, her hair loose and disheveled. She hugged Talia from behind. “Make sure Gerta doesn’t drink too much.”
“I’ll do my best,” said Talia.
“Thank you.” Danielle kissed her on the cheek, then moved to embrace Gerta as well.
Once she had gone, Talia turned to Gerta. “You owe me a door.”
“Your door is fine. Mostly.” Gerta stifled a yawn.
Talia stood. “I can clean up here, if you need to sleep.”
“Sit down.” Gerta smiled. “We’ve almost an entire bottle left, and I haven’t even told you about the time Snow snuck out to hunt a unicorn.”
“A unicorn?” Talia raised her eyebrows. “How did she plan to hold one?”
“I don’t know that you could call it a ‘plan,’ really…”
Talia sank back into her chair to watch Gerta talk. In her mind, she heard Snow teasing her, asking again why she hadn’t yet kissed Gerta.
Hush, Talia said silently. There would be time to sort such things out later. For now, this was what she needed. A friend who could help Talia to remember and celebrate Snow’s life. It didn’t change the pain in Talia’s chest whenever she thought of her death, but it provided a buffer, something to help her through that pain.
The sun had risen when Talia finally escorted Gerta back to her room, one hand on her elbow to keep her steady. Gerta stopped in the doorway, scowling at Talia with mock anger. “Have you made your choice yet?”
Talia blinked. “My choice?”
“Whether or not you’re going to leave.” Gerta kept her voice steady, but Talia could see the way her face tightened as she braced herself.
Oh. Talia stepped back. “Someone has to keep an eye on you and Danielle. Snow would never forgive me if I let something happen to you.”
Relief suffused Gerta’s face. She jumped forward, throwing her arms around Talia’s neck and kissing her cheek. “Good.”
She slipped into her room and shut her door, leaving Talia alone in the hallway. Talia touched her cheek with her fingertips. With her other hand, she reached into her pocket and pulled a single sharpened steel snowflake from its flat leather sheath. She turned it until she could see her reflection.
“Yes,” she said softly, remembering her final exchange with Snow. “I’ve made my choice.”
CHAPTER 25
Six months from the day Danielle brought Jakob home, she strode through the courtyard toward the chapel. Talia and Gerta were already waiting outside the door. Talia was armed, a curved sword on one hip, her zaraq whip on the other. Heaven knew what else was tucked away beneath her red cape.
Danielle wore only her glass sword and the dagger Talia had given her years ago.
“You think those will be necessary?” Gerta asked.
“Always,” Talia said before Danielle could respond.
The others waited inside. Father Isaac stood before the altar, looking troubled. Trittibar sat beside Armand, who rose to greet Danielle with a quick kiss.
“Jakob?” she asked.
“In his room. Isaac has warded it to the best of his ability. He’s as safe there as he is anywhere in Lorindar.”
“Thank you.” Armand’s words weren’t as reassuring as she might have hoped. “I’m sorry.”
He waved the apology away. He had been angry when he first heard of Danielle’s bargain, and angrier still when he learned of the Duchess’ warning from years before, which Danielle had kept from him. They had fought three times, each worse than the last. Looking back, Danielle realized now how much of that anger had come from grief and fear.
Today she fought to keep that fear under control. If this didn’t work-She kissed him, perhaps a bit harder than was considered proper, but Danielle didn’t particularly care. She held him close, allowing herself another moment of comfort before turning to Father Isaac to ask, “The chapel is prepared?”
“I’ve opened the wards to allow you to speak with the Duchess,” Isaac said. “If things go wrong, I’ll do my best to protect you all, but I can make no promises.”
“I understand.” Danielle drew a deep breath. “I’ve already made my promise.”
“Good luck,” said Armand.
Danielle walked to the front of the church, rested a hand on her sword, and spoke the Duchess’ name three times.
The wooden floor warped and split, boards appearing to fall into endless shadow. The Duchess appeared soon after. “Greetings, Your Majesty. My congratulations on your coronation.”
Danielle gave a slight bow. Theodore had stepped down four months after the death of his wife. He remained in the palace, but now spent his time advising his son and spoiling his grandson. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“To King Armand as well,” the Duchess added. “Given your new responsibilities, I’m flattered you remembered your obligation to a lowly fairy such as myself.”
How could she forget, when she had thought about her oath every day since making it? “What was your plan for Jakob? To enchant him as you once did Armand? Or to force him to swear loyalty to you, to enslave him as you did the fairies of Speas Elan?”
“It was your stepsisters who attempted to steal your husband,” the Duchess corrected. “As for my plans, I’m afraid they’re none of your concern. Unless you’d care to bargain for that knowledge?” When Danielle said nothing, she laughed softly. “Once Jakob passes through this portal, he will be safe. Safer than he would be anywhere else in this world. You have my word. Six months from today he will return to you unharmed.”
Six months… that was the loophole Trittibar had discovered. So long as only six months passed in the mortal world, the Duchess would have kept her part of the
bargain. Danielle knew the stories of mortals who passed into a fairy hill and were lost in their realm. They could wander for years and return to find only a single day had passed. To manipulate time was difficult, but within the Duchess’ power. Jakob would return in half a year’s time, but he might have aged years. And after so long in the Duchess’ care, he would have little or no memory of his human life.
“I remember our terms.” Danielle folded her arms. “You’ve expressed so much interest in my son. I wanted you to be among the first to hear the news.”
“What news?” Wariness sharpened her question.
“Yesterday evening, in this church, my son Jakob was wed to Princess Rose Gertrude Curtana of Allesandria.”
Gerta stepped forward and raised her hand, flashing a gold wedding band where all could see.
“An… interesting match,” said the Duchess. “Though his father was equally daring in his choice of bride. Had I known, I would have sent the boy a gift.”
“Man, not boy.” Danielle glanced at Armand, who nodded. “Under the laws of Lorindar, once married, my son is officially a man. As our bargain was only until Jakob came of age, that bargain is now ended. Lorindar thanks you for your aid.”
The chill that followed was so palpable Danielle expected to see frost rising from the hole. She and Armand had spent many long hours discussing this move with Febblekeck and Trittibar. Both agreed with this interpretation of fairy and human law, but there was no way to guess how the Duchess would react. Danielle glanced at Talia, who slipped her hands into her sleeves. If things went badly, silver-bladed knives would be flying into the hole before anyone else could blink.
The Duchess simply reached out, fingers spread as if searching for something unseen. According to Trittibar, had they been within the bounds of Fairytown, the Duchess would have sensed the instant the bargain was fulfilled. But Jakob had been wed in human lands, shielded by Father Isaac’s magic.
The Duchess tilted her head in salute. “Well done, Queen Danielle. Perhaps your fairy blood is stronger than I realized.”
“Perhaps,” Danielle said evenly.
