by Jim C. Hines
He bent to address the king. “Chancellor Crombie can make the announcement, if you wish.”
King Theodore shook his head. Standing silently in the corner behind him, Talia pursed her lips in distaste. She and Crombie had never gotten along.
“It was her choice,” the king said softly. “Beatrice’s injury was the result of her efforts to help another in need. She never resented that choice.”
Danielle would have to send word to the undine. Beatrice had saved the life of the mermaid queen Lannadae. Lannadae would want to know of Beatrice’s passing.
Armand’s hand tightened around Danielle’s. “Where is your friend Snow? She deserves to be here as well.”
Talia’s scowl deepened. “Snow had . . . other duties to attend to.”
“What duties?” Danielle asked. The prisoners had been taken care of, and Snow had no further responsibilities. Even if she had, Snow would have ignored her duties without a second thought to be here with Beatrice.
Distant crying from the hallway drew her attention toward the door.
“Jakob,” said Danielle. The sound was coming closer.
“He’s supposed to be napping.” Armand opened the door and peered into the hall. “Nicolette has him.”
“He knows,” she said. Even as a baby, Jakob had shown signs of inheriting his grandmother’s visions, seeing things he couldn’t have possibly understood. He had cried the day the mermaid stabbed Beatrice, refusing to settle down until Danielle and Armand returned to the palace with the queen’s unconscious body.
Servants had already begun to gather in the hallway, waiting for news. When Danielle stepped out to take her son from Nicolette, Jakob kicked and twisted in her arms, trying to peek into the room.
“He kept asking about the queen.” Nicolette was making an obvious effort not to peer past Danielle. “When he wouldn’t go back down, I thought perhaps—”
“It’s all right,” Danielle said. Jakob had awoken only a short time ago. His hair was a sweaty mess, and red lines from the wrinkles in his sheets marked the right side of his face.
“I want Gramma,” Jakob said.
“I know you do.” Danielle moved him to one side, resting his head on her shoulder.
Nicolette shifted her feet. “Is there anything you need, Your Highness?”
Danielle heard the unspoken question. Nicolette knew Jakob well enough to trust his gifts. It wasn’t Danielle’s place to announce the queen’s passing, so she let her tears speak for her. “No, thank you.”
“God watch over her.” Nicolette bowed and turned away.
Danielle carried Jakob into the room. He squirmed in Danielle’s arms until he faced the bed. “I want Gramma,” he said again.
“So do I,” Danielle said softly. She started to say more, but a flash of light caught her eye. Something silver had fallen from the stained glass window on the far wall.
Armand followed her gaze. He stepped past the bed and picked two small fragments of glass from the carpet.
“A mirror,” Danielle said. The square pane had been the size of a small coin before it broke. This had to be one of Snow’s mirrors. She glanced at the window. A simple illusion would have concealed it as just another colored pane.
“Snow?” Armand sucked air through clenched teeth and switched the mirrors to his other hand. He stuck his index finger in his mouth, but not before Danielle saw a thin line of red where the glass had cut his skin.
Danielle had never seen one of Snow’s mirrors simply break before. Snow could use her magic to destroy them when necessary, but this was something different. She glanced at Talia. “Other duties?”
“She wouldn’t say anything more.” The concern on Talia’s face matched her own.
Armand set the broken mirror on the windowsill, then reached over to take Jakob. “Go.”
Danielle kissed him and Jakob, then stepped into the hall. The servants parted, clearing a path. For once, Danielle didn’t stop to greet them.
Talia caught Danielle by the arm after only a few steps.
“What is it?”
Talia held up her wrist, showing a copper bracelet with a small mirror in the center. A tiny web of cracks covered the mirror. Talia pushed back Danielle’s sleeve. Danielle’s bracelet had suffered the same fate. Talia carefully removed both bracelets, slipping them into a leather pouch at her belt.
Danielle’s heart pounded harder. One broken mirror was unusual, but for three to crack at the same time? “Something’s wrong.”
“Are you armed?” Talia asked.
Danielle reached beneath her overdress, pulling out an ivory-hilted dagger. Talia grunted her approval.
“Where was Snow going?” Danielle asked.
“She didn’t say, but she kept looking to the northwest tower.” Talia began to run. “She could have been heading for the royal bedchamber.”
“The secret passage in the fireplace?” Danielle guessed.
Talia glanced back. “So you found that one, did you?”
“Snow’s not as careful as you are. She leaves ash fingerprints on the hidden door leading into the armory. Who do you think ends up cleaning up after you two, anyway?”
“What about the hidden tunnel in the courtyard?”
Danielle frowned. “You’re making that up.”
“Maybe.”
Danielle did her best to keep up as Talia dodged a page, then shoved her way past an older man who was loitering in the hallway. He cursed them in passing, then gasped and bowed, begging forgiveness as he recognized Danielle. She was already past, heading for the spiral steps of the northwest tower.
When they reached the royal bedchamber, Talia flung open the door, eliciting a yelp from the chambermaid who was sweeping glass from the floor by the window.
“You realize that was Lord Grimsley you plowed through downstairs?” Danielle squeezed past Talia. “Catherine, could you please excuse us?”
“Of course, Your Highness.” Catherine whisked the last of the broken glass onto a metal shovel. “Second mirror I’ve cleaned today.”
Danielle forced a smile, working to steady both her breathing and her composure as she escorted Catherine toward the hallway. She slid the bolt into place the moment the door closed.
Talia was already ducking into the fireplace, jabbing the bricks at the back. A panel to the side of the fireplace slid open.
The stairway was short and narrow. Talia hadn’t bothered to bring a light, but the passage was so cramped it would be difficult to fall. Danielle hunched her head, keeping one hand against the stone ceiling.
They couldn’t have been more than halfway to the bottom when Talia whispered, “Wait.”
Below, the orange glow of candlelight slowly brightened, illuminating Talia’s silhouette. Talia had a knife in each hand: one held by the tip to throw, the other low and ready to strike.
“I know you’re there.” It was Snow’s voice, soft and weary. “Toss those toys at me, and I’ll turn you into a toad.”
Talia’s knives vanished into her sleeves as Snow stepped into view. Talia’s breath caught. Danielle moved closer, peering past Talia’s shoulder.
Her first thought was that Snow had been attacked. Bloodstains covered her white cloak. Bandages bound her palms, and Danielle could see cuts on her legs and torso as well. Her face was the worst. A gash across the side of her nose still oozed blood, and a large cut slashed the skin from her left eyebrow down to her cheekbone. The white of her eye had turned pure red.
Talia took the candle from Snow’s hand. “What happened? Who did this?”
“I did.” Snow examined her hands. “I was careless.”
Danielle waited, but Snow said nothing more. “Your mirrors—”
“Broken.” Snow lifted a clinking leather sack. “Shattered into a million pieces.”
“How?” demanded Talia.
“Nothing lasts forever.” Snow smiled, but it was a forced expression. “A spell went wrong. My own fault. I was too distracted.”
&
nbsp; “What spell?” Worry and anger deepened Talia’s words. “What could be so important?”
“I thought I could save her.” Snow’s voice was flat. She sagged against the wall. “I thought . . . I was wrong.”
“‘Save her?’ You mean Beatrice?” Talia caught Snow’s arm. “How?”
“I failed. What does it matter?”
“We have to get you to Tymalous,” Danielle said, cutting off Talia’s response. She should have guessed it was something like this, but she had been so focused on Beatrice, and on Armand. Whatever Snow had done, they could discuss it later. “Those cuts need to be cleaned and stitched.”
“Don’t bother the healer on my account. I can tend my own wounds.” Snow dabbed blood from her chin, her good eye boring into Danielle’s with such intensity that Danielle took a half step back.
Talia looked past Snow to the darkness below. “What about the mirror? We should—”
“You should stay away until I’ve had a chance to clean up. There was . . . there could be . . .” Snow’s voice trailed off. She looked confused. “It’s a mess,” she said weakly.
“You’re in shock,” Danielle snapped. “You look like you can barely walk, let alone treat your injuries. You will let Tymalous help you. If I have to, I’ll order the guards to carry you.”
Snow smiled, but it was a forced expression. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Will you be able to rebuild the mirror?” Danielle asked as she and Talia guided Snow up the steps. So much of Snow’s magic was mirror-based. She must feel as vulnerable as Talia would without her fairy-gifted grace. Snow had smuggled that mirror onto a ship when she fled Allesandria. It was the only thing she had kept from her former home.
“I don’t think I want to.” Snow tilted her head to one side, as though surprised by her own words. “My mother created that mirror. I’ve spent half my life relying on its power. On her power.” She touched her throat. Thin red lines showed where the mirrors of her choker had cut her skin when they broke. “So long as I used her mirror, I was chaining myself to her memory. But now, after all these years, I’m finally free.”
The following day left Danielle little time for grieving or for worrying about Snow. Nobles from throughout Lorindar were beginning to arrive to pay their respects. Chamberlain Dennen and his staff handled much of the arrangements, but tradition required that a member of the royal family greet each visiting noble in person. It was one of the many duties Beatrice had performed, duties which now fell to Danielle.
By midday, she wanted nothing more than to throw away the crown of braided silver and gold that pressed upon her brow, and to trade the formal black gown with its layered skirts and satin lining for something—anything—that allowed her to bend at the waist.
Her mood lightened somewhat as a herald announced John and Heather Jeraldsen. For the first time all morning, her smile was genuine. She waited for them to approach, waving a hand as they started to bow. “None of that from you. Welcome to Whiteshore Palace, my old friend.”
John touched a hand to his graying hair. “Not that old, I hope.”
Danielle had known John for most of her life. Her father had crafted the glass replacement for his right eye. John came from a good family, and had married into the nobility only a year before, but he had always treated even the poorest souls with respect. Danielle gestured to one of the pages waiting in the corner. “Andrew will see that your belongings are taken to your room in the guest wing.”
“Thank you, Princess.” There was genuine pain in his wife’s voice as she said, “I was sorry to hear of the queen’s passing. I remember when she and King Theodore were married, though I was only a child.”
Everyone had recited some variation of those words, but Heather was one of the few who truly appeared to mean them. Others were more interested in taking Danielle’s measure as the future queen, or figuring out how Beatrice’s death would affect their own fortunes in Lorindar.
“It’s good to see you both again,” said Danielle. Looking at the two of them momentarily eased her grief. John and Heather stood so close that no light passed between them, holding hands like newlyweds.
“Princess Whiteshore?” A girl in the green cap of a page bowed to Danielle and the Jeraldsens both. “Please forgive the intrusion, but Lord Montgomery wishes to meet with you and the prince tonight to discuss an extension of tax relief for the coastal towns.”
“Tonight?” Danielle shook her head in disbelief. “Elaine, do I look like the Royal Treasurer?”
Elaine flushed. “No, Your Highness.”
Danielle yanked off the crown and rubbed her forehead. “I’m sorry. Please go on.”
“Lord Montgomery said, since the tax exemption was given to help the towns recover from the merfolk’s attack, and since you knew the situation better than most . . .” Elaine took a step back, like a rabbit preparing to bolt.
“Please tell Montgomery that he can take his petition and—” No. A funeral should be an opportunity for friends and family to comfort one another and remember the one they had lost. Not a time for political squabbling.
Heather cleared her throat. “Your Highness, it occurs to me that most of Lord Montgomery’s fortunes come through trade and fishing.”
“That’s true,” said John. “I wonder what would happen if someone were to warn the fish to avoid his waters.”
Heather tilted her head. “Or simply send rats to warm his bed?”
Danielle fought a smile. “I can see why you married her,” she said to John. “How long did you search to find a woman as evil-minded as yourself?”
“Forty years,” said John. “And it was worth every one.”
To Elaine, she said, “Please tell Lord Montgomery I would be happy to consider his request. Please also inform him that we will need to conduct an audit of his finances to determine his needs. A thorough audit, including all shipping logs and cargo manifests.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Elaine bowed again and disappeared.
“You suspect him of padding his treasury?” John’s words were playful, but there was a glint in his eye that gave Danielle pause. No matter how friendly John and Heather might be, they were also nobles of Lorindar, with their own agendas.
“No,” Danielle said. “Lord Montgomery can be . . . difficult, but he’s never struck me as dishonest. His men, on the other hand?” She shrugged. “Who can say? If I’m fortunate, this will keep him busy reviewing his own affairs to make certain there’s nothing for us to find. And John?”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I know you. If you sneak alum into Montgomery’s food like you did with Bette Garnier that time—”
“You have my word,” John said. “Though Montgomery would be hard-pressed to voice his complaint with his mouth pickled shut.”
“What about a nice senna seed tea instead?” offered Heather. “He’ll have to bring a chamber pot to any meetings.”
“Leave the man in peace. That’s an order from your princess.”
John was the only person she knew who could convey laughter with a simple bow. As the two of them left, Danielle heard Heather saying, “We have to leave him alone, but what if a third party were to sneak in and coat his codpiece with lard?”
Danielle met with three other noble families before finally escaping at midday. She grabbed a quick meal from the kitchen and made her way to the chapel, where Beatrice’s body had been laid out in preparation for the funeral.
Honor guards stood to either side of the entrance. Danielle greeted them in passing and ducked inside. Sunlight shone through the stained glass windows at the tops of the walls. The air smelled of incense, a mixture of lavender and cypress, which rose from silver thuribles, incense burners suspended from the ceiling behind the altar.
At the front of the church, Queen Beatrice’s body rested upon a waist-high platform to the right of the altar. Her hair had been left loose, framing her face in gray. She wore a formal blue gown, and her gold crown rested upon her che
st.
Danielle wiped her face. Beatrice never wore her crown when she could avoid it. She had always been happier in a sailor’s jacket, her hair catching the ocean winds. It was as though an imposter lay in Beatrice’s place, as if this were all some cruel jest.
Armand and Jakob stood beside the body, talking to Father Isaac. Jakob looked like a miniature version of his father. Both wore tailored black jackets, dark trousers, and polished boots. But where Jakob was sniffling and wiping his nose on his sleeve, Armand’s face was stone.
“She looks so fragile.” Danielle scooped Jakob into her arms. Loose threads hung like the legs of an insect where he had managed to lose the top button of his jacket. His small fingers gripped Danielle’s cloak.
“Why won’t Gramma wake up?”
Danielle kissed him, unable to answer.
“Because your grandmother is dead,” Armand said.
“Why?” Jakob burrowed his head into Danielle’s shoulder. “Why is she dead?”
“Your grandmother was sick for a very long time,” Danielle said. “She was hurting, and she was very tired. She’s not hurting anymore. She’s at peace.”
Jakob turned his head, peeking at Beatrice from the corner of his eye. “Will you die?”
“Yes,” said Armand. “Everyone dies.”
“But not for a long time,” Danielle said sharply. “Armand, what’s wrong?”
“You’d prefer I lie to my son?”
“I’d prefer you remember he’s not yet three years old. He doesn’t understand—”
“What is there to understand?” Armand stepped away, turning his back on the queen’s body. “These empty rituals we perform to comfort ourselves? We will spend these days paying our respects to a broken husk. We will share pleasant memories, ignoring her flaws and making her out to be a saint called back to Heaven. We will cry false tears, though all knew she was dying. We will ‘celebrate her life’ and pretend death doesn’t wait to take us all at any moment.”
There was no compassion in his voice. He spoke as though to a stranger. Momentarily speechless, Danielle turned to Father Isaac. Isaac had known Armand for years, long before Danielle came to the palace
