Faerietale

by Stephanie Rabig

  He sat down a few feet away, arms crossed to ward off the chill in the air. Far above them, an unknown animal screamed out a death cry.

  “Are you terrified?” the Prince asked. “Because I'll admit it. I'm terrified.”

  “Yes.”

  Hesitantly, he held out an arm, a silent question as much as an offer. Equally hesitant, she edged closer, then leaned against him.

  In the morning, he looked equally as haggard as he had the previous evening. “Did you sleep?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Wasn't tired.” That drew a smile from her, and before he could think about whether or not he should start this conversation now, here, of all places, he blurted out, “I'm sorry.”

  Catherine blinked, surprised, and he hurried on. “I scared you. And I never meant to. I-- no, that's not quite accurate. I didn't even stop to think about you at all. I was so caught up in my own miseries I didn't consider yours. You were dragged to the palace without even being asked and. . ." He trailed off, his expression dark. "When we get you new hands--"

  "If they can'--"

  "When we get you new hands,” he repeated, smiling. "Where do you want to go afterwards? Which Village? You are, of course, welcome to stay in the palace-- well, assuming that I'm welcome back there after all this-- but you must have family somewhere?"

  "Yes. But I . . . I am not so certain I wish to return there.” She had meant to say 'return there right away', because of course she was going to go home in the end. But the last two words refused to be voiced.

  "Oh."

  She could tell he was curious, anything he felt was always plainly written on his face, but he didn't ask.

  "Well, then of course you'll return to the palace,” he said instead. “Though I'm going to stay with my sister for a time. Would you rather. . .?"

  "Yes. I think I would."

  ***

  Snow awoke to shouts outside her tent.

  Soldiers, she thought, her heart sinking in her chest. We've been found.

  Still only half-awake, she grabbed for the nearest weapon – a sword in this case. Stumbling to her feet, she gripped it by the pommel and forced her way out the flaps of the tent. She had to shield her eyes for a moment from the brightness of the fire.

  When she lowered her arm, she couldn't see any soldiers. But the camp was certainly astir. The Seven were gathered, arms crossed and thunderous gazes focused towards the darkness of the forest. And somewhere ahead of them, Alice was shouting.

  “I don't care what you say,” she yelled, her voice echoing loudly among the trees. “You're a selfish little prick and I just know you're here to betray us.”

  Someone responded, quietly – a man's voice, if Snow was any judge. White-knuckled, Snow pushed her way through the crowd. Many of them glanced side-long at her before stepping aside, bowing nervously. Snow frowned. It had been a long time since anyone in this camp had looked so nervous around her. What was happening here?

  Snow broke free of the crowd, only to be faced with Wendy and Alice's backs. Alice's shoulders were tense, her hands curled into fists; Wendy's stance suggested equal tension, but less anger-- more uncertainty. Wendy turned and caught sight of Snow, the light catching on her black eyes.

  “Alice,” said Wendy, softly.

  “No,” Alice snarled. “I'm not going to let him ruin everything just because – ”

  “Alice,” Wendy repeated, more forcefully. “Step aside.”

  Alice turned. Her face was flushed with anger, her eyes glowing. But the color drained out of her face when she saw Snow. Gritting her teeth and lowering her head, Alice stepped away.

  And it was then that Snow came face to face with her brother.

  Snow gasped and stared, incredulous. It was impossible. He couldn't have found his own way here. He wasn't motivated enough to even leave his harem, let alone survive in a place as dangerous as the forest.

  The Prince's eyes were glassy and wide; his once-perfect face bore scratches and scars. He was filthy. From head to toe, he was muddy, torn up, and bloody; and there was something about the way he looked at her, something almost . . . broken.

  “You're safe,” he said, his voice soft and solemn. “I'm so glad you're safe. I thought-- I thought for certain you'd be dead.”

  Snow looked uncertainly to him, eyeing him up and down. It was only when she glanced to his right that she noticed the girl under his arm, a small, frail waif with large lips and large eyes. She wore a torn dress, obviously of harem-make, that hung so far down over her arms that it covered her hands. The girl was just as dirtied and torn up as the Prince, and was looking at Snow with something like hope.

  Snow looked back to the Prince, narrowing her eyes. “What are you doing here?” she managed at last. “Did mother send you?”

  The Prince winced, almost sagging. The girl glanced at him, eyes filling with concern, and shifted against him, straightening as though to be a brace for him. “She didn't send us,” the girl said, turning to look at Snow. “We left in the dead of night. Only a few in the harem know we've gone.”

  Snow bit her lip, studying the girl. She returned her scrutiny, lifting her chin defiantly. “Then why did you come?” Snow asked. “And who are you exactly? I've never seen you before.”

  The girl glanced at the Prince. Wearily, he nodded to her. Turning back to Snow, she said, “My name is Catherine. I was a . . . I guess you would say a gift to your brother.” She cringed visibly at the word 'gift.' “I was frightened at the thought,” she continued. “I didn't want to be touched. It's just that it was always me and my mother and my grandmother and sisters in my house – my father, he liked to hurt my mother, and so my grandmother just . . . made him disappear.” She drew in a deep breath, closed her eyes tightly, and seemed to force herself to keep speaking. “When I was brought to your brother,” she said, “I thought he would hurt me. Hurt me like my father hurt my mother. So I . . . I chopped off my hands to keep him from touching me.”

  A gasp rippled around the camp. Wendy flinched. Alice visibly gaped at the girl, then turned an accusing glare on the Prince. “You made this happen?” she growled.

  “No!”

  Catherine's sharp cry cut off the murmurs of the crowd. She looked pleadingly to Snow. “It was my own choice,” she said. “I was afraid. But the Prince-- he has helped me. He saved my life, and he brought me here to see if the Seven could fix me.”

  She stepped out from under the Prince's arm and came forward. She flicked back her sleeves with a sharp gesture of her forearms – or rather, what was left of her forearms. Only half of them remained, and ended in rounded stumps. The flesh was not scarred, as if she had been born with the deformity.

  Snow stepped forward and gently touched Catherine's arms. The skin there was flawless and unmarked – some kind of magic had been performed to keep her from bleeding out. Snow looked up and met Catherine's earnest gaze. “We can help you,” she said, nodding firmly. “The Seven will see to your comfort. They cannot make you hands of flesh and blood, but they are skilled. They'll come up with something.” She turned, gently guiding Catherine towards the cluster of dwarfs gathered around the fire. “Sorch,” she said. “See to it that Catherine gets some food. Tomorrow we'll discuss what can be done for her.” She turned to the rest of the camp. “And the rest of you,” she said, her voice echoing in the clearing. “To bed. I wish to speak with my brother alone.”

  For a moment, no one moved. Then, slowly, the rebels began to filter away, murmuring quietly among themselves.

  “Come on,” Wendy said, taking Alice's hand. “I'm making another trip to the Shadow Realm in the morning. Help me go over the list of people to look for?”

  Alice shook her head, her focus remaining on Snow. Wendy moved away.

  Snow sighed. “Go, Alice,” she said, her voice cracking with exhaustion.

  “I'm not leaving you with him. If you're out here alone, you're vulnerable. You can't just – ”

  “I know how to handle my own brother,” Snow sai
d, cutting Alice off. She winced at the anger in her tone. “Alice, please,” she said. “Just . . . let me do this. Please.”

  Alice bit at her cheek for just a moment, hands clenching and unclenching. Finally, she sagged and gave a short nod. She reached out, and took Snow's hand. “Just be safe.”

  Snow half-smiled and nodded. “I will,” she said. “I promise.”

  Alice squeezed her hand, then released Snow and hurried off. Wendy paused, gave Snow the smallest of nods, and then walked after Alice.

  Snow drew in a deep breath, released it, and turned to her brother.

  He was regarding her with a boyish smile, but all traces of the cocksure grin she was used to were gone. He leaned heavily against the tree beside him, dark circles under his eyes. Groaning in relief, he dropped to the ground and settled against the tree. “I see you found yourself a spitfire,” he said, waving vaguely in Alice's direction. “Good for you. I'm happy for you. Happier still to see you alive. When you didn't come to scold me for weeks, I thought something truly nasty had happened.”

  “Something almost did,” Snow replied, warily. She studied him through narrowed eyes, incredulous. Could this really be her brother? He looked the same, she supposed, and the way he talked . . . but there was something so different about him. Something defeated. Something lost. “Mother ordered my death.”

  He nodded weakly. “I know.”

  Snow frowned. “You know?” she repeated. “Who told you?”

  The Prince half-grinned. “A little birdie just happened to fly in my window and whispered the secret to me,” he said. The grin disappeared. “Actually, it was a mirror,” he said. “Did you know mother has a magic mirror? I hadn't realized, until I ran across it while wandering.”

  “Wandering?” Snow said, both eyebrows raised nearly to her hairline. “You never wander.” She dropped onto the ground in front of him, staring intently into his face. “What happened to you? You're not like the brother I've had all my life anymore.”

  He closed his eyes, smiling thinly. “Maybe because I'm not your brother.”

  Stiffening, Snow reached for her sword. “I should have known it was an enchantment,” she growled. “Some kind of trap to lure me out, is it?”

  The Prince opened his eyes, startled. “What?” he exclaimed. “That's not at all what I meant.”

  Snow regarded him suspiciously. “You don't act like him,” she said, keeping her hand on her sword.

  The Prince sat up and leaned forward, reaching out to cup Snow's cheek. “Snow,” he said firmly. “I am the boy you grew up with. I am the boy you beat with sticks. I am the boy whose sheets you cleaned that night I had a horrible nightmare and wet the bed when I was five. Your favorite fruit is the peach, and when you were seven you wanted a battle camel instead of a pony for your birthday, and you cried when you didn't get it.”

  Snow sagged. Her fingers slipped from the pommel of her sword, and before she even knew what she was doing, she was embracing her brother, clinging to him and half-crying against his neck. His arms tightened around her, and for a moment they held each other, brother and sister at last.

  “Don't scare me like that,” Snow exclaimed fiercely, pulling back and wiping her eyes. “Saying you weren't my brother . . . I thought for certain you were Mother Miriam, or – ”

  Snow trailed off when she saw the look on his face. All the joy had gone out of him. “Snow,” he said. “That mirror that told me what had happened to you-- it told me something else. It told me I'm not the Queen's son.” He hung his head, trying to hide his face, but he wasn't quick enough to hide the anger and confusion that flashed across his features. “Mother wanted a child and didn't think she would ever have one. But then you came along and . . . well, I don't know that she was prepared for a child as like her as you are.”

  Snow had been silent and staring in shock through most of the Prince's revelation, but at those last words she was startled out of silence. “I'm not like her,” she said, eyes narrowing. “I'm not cruel, and I would never order one of my own children dead, and – ”

  The Prince cut her off with a sharp shake of his head. “That isn't what I meant, and you know it,” he said. “You're both smart. You both care about politics and you're both aware of the people. You're involved. Not like me.” He looked away, closing his eyes tightly. “Me, I just sit locked away in my harem all the time while the kingdom falls apart around me, eyes closed and letting everyone die because I just don't want to see. I just don't want to look at it and know it's my fault.”

  Snow's heart broke. Strangely, at the same moment, she felt a swell of relief rise within her. She wanted to cry with both joy and sorrow. All these years, she had tried to convince her brother to care-- and somehow, he'd come to do so when she wasn't even there, when she hadn't even been pushing anymore. “Oh, Prince,” she said, smiling and leaning forward to hug him.

  Uncertainly, he hugged her back. “It's . . . it's Alec, actually,” he said. “At least, that's what the mirror told me.”

  Snow smiled and squeezed him tightly. “Alec,” she said. “I like that.” She pulled back, but kept her hands on his shoulders. “Alec,” she said. “It isn't that you're not like us. You are. And I know you are, because-- well, look at you. You're here. If you came to find me, if you braved all this for that girl, and for me, well then, I'd say you've proved you care a great deal about what happens.”

  “Just not sure what I can do for you. After all, I'm not even Royalty really. I don't even have Royal blood.”

  Snow gripped his shoulders harder. “You listen to me,” she said, fiercely. “I don't care whose blood is in your veins. You grew up at my side, and you came here to make certain I was safe. You are my brother, and you always will be. No magic mirror is going to change that.”

  And finally, the Prince-- Alec, Snow reminded herself, his name is Alec-- smiled, a real smile, broad and beautiful. “You sure you want to keep me?” he said. “I've been pretty shite as a brother up until now.”

  Snow grinned and hugged him tightly to her. “Well then, I guess it's about time you started paying me back.”

  ***

  Wendy would've thought that anyone would be thrilled to escape from that wretched excuse for a 'city'. But when she offered the chance to a woman she recognized, one of the women from the harem, Cybele said no.

  She'd gotten eight people out so far, based on recommendations from other rebels in the forest, asking her to help friends and family members. As much as Wendy hated this form of punishment, she did acknowledge that some of the people here were truly dangerous and didn't need to be set free upon Faerietale again. This would be her last expedition here-- the Knight who guarded this place had nearly caught her last time. He must have reported her presence to the Queen, because the bounty on her head had grown from fifty silver coins to two hundred gold ones.

  The Queen didn't much like having her punishments so clearly questioned.

  She smiled, then looked back to Cybele. The other person she was getting out, a former guard who'd been turned into a Shadow for stealing food from the palace and taking it back to his former Village, glanced at the door, worry twisting his face into an exaggerated shape.

  She knew he feared the Knight. And while he had nearly caught her, a part of her knew full well that he could have struck her down had he chosen to do so. He was meant to guard the people here, yes. A part of her wondered if he knew more of each prisoner than his stoic demeanor let on; if he had interpreted his job as not only keeping the bad ones here, but making sure the innocent ones found a chance to get to safety.

  Still, that hope did not mean she would take unnecessary risks.

  "I'm certain," Cybele said quietly. "This is where my sister expects me to be. Where the Prince expects me to be. I'll remain here for now."

  Wendy started to explain, to tell her that the Prince at least was out in the forest now, but then the guard took her hand and squeezed it tightly, and she listened to the fear on his face. "We have to go."r />
  "Of course. Be safe, Wendy."

  "You as well."

  ***

  "So I can make you a potion for you to drink later, or-- ooh! It would just be easier to change you right now."

  "Wait!" Tinker Bell said, holding up both her hands. "Not . . . not yet."

  "Why?"

  "Well, I--" she sighed. She'd asked for a meeting with the Faery Queen, had only been here a moment or two, simply suggested the possibility of her turning back to her original state, and here she'd almost gotten zapped without so much as an 'are you sure about this'. The nerve!

  "Losing your magic would be an awfully big step, wouldn't it?"

  "I'd-- I'd lose it permanently?"

  "Well, yes. When a changeling goes back to their human form, there's no switching back and forth willy-nilly, Tink!"

  "And I wouldn't be able to fly."

  "Of course not. Not sure why you'd want to turn human at all, you know. Great lumbering clumsy things. Much better being a Faery. Ooh, look! Snowberries!" she said, grinning as one of the other Fae carried in a knapsack of small white berries.

  And then she was gone, talking with the others, and Tinker Bell knew the meeting was over.

  "Peter?"

  He was lying on his back in a wide clearing near their home, staring up at the clouds. "That one looks like Hook's ship, doesn't it?"

  "Mmm-hm," she muttered. "What do you think about the idea of me turning back into a human?"

  "Back into one? You're a changeling?"

  "Yes, Peter. I've told you that. Remember?"

  He shrugged. "Musta forgot."

  "Perfect," she whispered, dropping down onto a flower. And this was who she was considering giving up her ability to fly for? What was she thinking?

  "Hey," he said, brushing a finger gently over her arm. "Tink?"