by Jim C. Hines
Gerta turned away, searching the water. “Snow was jealous of you, you know.”
Talia stared. “I don’t understand.”
“When you returned from Arathea with your friend Faziya. She watched the two of you, saw how happy you were together.”
Talia’s breathing and heartbeat had gradually slowed as her body realized she was safe, at least for the moment. Now both increased again. “Why? Snow had—”
“Companionship, yes. Not love. When Faziya returned to Arathea and you retreated to your room to pout, that’s when Snow prepared her love potion, one which would allow her to love you the way Faziya did.”
“I wasn’t pouting.”
Gerta rolled her eyes.
Talia relaxed, concentrating on the feel of the frozen spikes of her hair that jabbed her scalp. “So why didn’t she?”
“You know why.” Gerta sounded distant. “She’s always enjoyed the company of men, but have you ever known her to fall in love?”
“Only once. Before she came to Lorindar.”
“Roland,” Gerta agreed. The hunter Snow’s mother had sent into the woods to find her, to cut out Snow’s heart and return it to the queen. Instead, he had fallen in love with Snow, and they had lived together for a time . . . until the queen found them. Snow had never shared the details of that encounter, only that her mother had tortured Roland to death while Snow lay helpless to stop her. “She was scared, Talia. Scared to lose you the way she lost him. Scared to feel that pain again.”
“I’m not that easy to lose.”
“So I’ve noticed.” Gerta placed her hand over Talia’s, weaving their fingers together. “Look at me, Talia. What do you see?”
Talia looked up. The light Gerta had conjured still glowed faintly from her right hand. Her red hair hung in tangled waves, thicker than Snow’s, but falling in the same way. Dirt smeared her pale skin. Her brown eyes never left Talia. Eyes that held much of the same sadness as her sister’s, though Snow rarely allowed anyone to see it. “I don’t understand.”
“You look at me, and you see her. Like I’m nothing but illusion, and eventually the spell will break and Snow will emerge, safe and whole once more.” She traced her fingertips over Talia’s arm. “She created me from the memories of a sister who never existed. Am I just a repository of her dreams? Am I a weapon to use against her? I don’t know anymore, Talia. But the way I feel when I think about you, when I hear your voice . . . when I touch you . . . that’s real.”
“You’d be better off asking Father Isaac those questions,” Talia said. “Even our two-headed friend knows more about magic than—”
“I don’t care about magic. I want to know what—who you see when you look at me.” Tears dripped onto Talia’s chest. “I want you to see me.”
Had Snow ever cried in front of her? Talia instinctively tried to reach for Gerta’s face, but the ice held her fast. “I do see her. The way you lecture me. The excitement and fear in your eyes when you do magic, your forehead wrinkled in concentration, your teeth nibbling your lip.”
Gerta looked away, but not quickly enough to hide her pain at Talia’s words. “It’s intoxicating, rewriting the laws of the universe.”
“Not for you,” said Talia. “You don’t love it the way she does.”
“It frightens me,” Gerta admitted. “If I was created by magic, I can be destroyed the same way. I keep wondering when the universe will realize I was never supposed to exist and take steps to correct that mistake.”
“You’re not her,” Talia said softly. “Snow would have joked about the universe being full of mistakes, like manticores.”
“You have to admit, they’re bizarre-looking creatures,” Gerta said with the hint of a smile.
“I always envied her ability to joke in the midst of danger. Anger, fear, she never let them control her.”
“Snow wouldn’t have run away.” Gerta stared into the darkness.
“She wouldn’t have told me how she felt about me, either.” Talia shivered. The cold felt like it was penetrating to her bones. “Courage comes in different shapes.”
“Maybe I’m just not as smart as her.”
“Go easy on yourself. You’re only two weeks old.”
That earned a laugh, so similar to Snow’s, only somehow . . . lighter. More free. Gerta pulled away. “Do I look like an infant?”
“No,” Talia said softly.
Gerta reached out again, this time touching her fingertips to Talia’s lips. Her fingers carried the taste of saltwater. She brushed Talia’s chin, sliding down to the hollow in her throat.
Talia’s hand clenched reflexively into a fist, breaking free of the ice.
Gerta jerked back. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t—”
“I know.” Talia’s voice shook. “I don’t like being helpless.”
Gerta folded her hands in her lap. “And I don’t like being told my only purpose is to die.”
Talia closed her eyes, tempted to lie, but Gerta would never believe her. “I can’t leave Snow like this. Even if it means—”
Gerta rubbed her eyes. “I know. I can’t either. She’s my sister.”
The cold was seeping deeper into Talia’s body, making her shiver. “So what do you plan to do with me?”
“What will you do if I free you?”
“I can talk to Bellum and Veleris. Well, to Veleris, anyway. Assuming they don’t kill us on sight. There has to be another way to—”
Gerta put a hand on her lips. “If there were, don’t you think we’d have found it already? Noita, Laurence, Father Isaac . . . Veleris is right. I’m the key.”
Talia sighed. “I have to save her. But if there’s any way to do so without hurting you, I promise I’ll do it.”
“Thank you.” Gerta stretched out beside her on the bridge, the warmth of her body pressing against Talia’s side. She moved her hand over Talia’s arm. The ice cracked and broke. Talia started to sit up.
“I’ll go back with you,” said Gerta. “But please let me have this.”
Talia bent her arm, causing bits of ice to flake away from her sleeve. Pain shot through her elbow. She did her best to shut it out as she gently wrapped her arm around Gerta’s shoulders and lay back, closing her eyes. Gerta rested beside her, using her free hand to remove the remaining ice.
“What if one of those dragons comes back?” Talia asked.
She could feel Gerta’s smile. “Let the dragon find its own woman.”
CHAPTER 20
THE SNOW-AND-ICE WALLS OF THE PALACE swallowed the sounds of Snow’s footsteps as she prepared to greet her visitors. Tiny frozen servants scurried about, buffing every imperfection from the surface of the frozen lake. They swarmed behind her feet, a tiny cloud erasing all evidence of her passing. The room was empty of furnishings, save for a throne of ice in the very center. Simple, uncluttered . . . this was the closest she had felt to comfort since leaving Lorindar.
Prince Jakob sat beside the throne, manipulating the ice shards Snow had given him. He had managed to fit three pieces together, forming an irregular shape roughly the size of a hand mirror. The longer he worked with the shards, the more the edges scratched his palms, and the more his blood and power seeped into the ice.
The polished floor let her see everything that took place within the palace. She watched impatiently as white-furred mounts that had once been human stepped out of the woods, carrying the six nobles who had accepted Snow’s offer.
They had left their weapons behind, but none were truly unprotected. Two had taken potions to strengthen their magic. Another had swallowed a pearl to help him resist mental control. Nor were their magics purely defensive. Snow could see the charms on one man’s fingers, the nails sharp and hard as talons, and coated in some sort of magical toxin.
She gathered her cloak around herself as her creatures escorted the men into her throne room. One of the men stepped forward and knelt. “Queen Ermillina. I am Stevan Tirill, Lord of Kettunen.” His companions followed suit. “I w
as there when your cousin claimed your throne. I spoke against him, but the Nobles’ Circle chose to grant the crown to Laurence.”
Snow didn’t bother to conceal her revulsion. Tirill was a yellowed husk of a man, a minor noble whose ambition had always exceeded his ability. He dressed in the gaudiest of fashions, silk and silver clashing with his foxskin jacket. Greed and fear spilled from his words, soiling all who heard them.
Like the others, he wore powerful magic. His protective spells had been tattooed onto the bone of his skull. It was a painful and archaic process, once performed upon noble children when they were first born. He was well guarded against outside influence or attack, but the skull shifted as it grew, introducing imperfections into the spell. Snow studied his magic through the mirror until she found those flaws.
“Your Majesty, Allesandria will soon fall into civil war.” He paused for effect, then shook his head. “No, war is too neat a term for the chaos spreading through this land. Laurence means to disband the Circle and give the crown to you. Half the provinces have already spoken out against him.”
“Only half?” Snow asked.
Tirill stumbled. “Your Majesty, Allesandria has seen your power. Word has spread that Queen Ermillina is returned to her homeland to take the crown from her cousin the usurper. I would offer my allegiance.”
“The rest of you would do the same?” Snow approached, her eyes lidded as she continued to examine their magic through the mirror of her lake. “You would swear to me. Yet you each swore an oath to King Laurence when he took the throne.”
“King Laurence now serves you,” said Tirill. “By doing the same, I fulfill my oath to obey him.”
Snow smiled. The man knew full well Laurence was not himself, but this deception served his greed and ambition. “Tell me, Stevan. What will you do if I refuse this . . . offer?”
He spread his hands, the picture of false modesty. “Without the Lords, I’m afraid you’ll never consolidate your hold over Allesandria. Even your mother knew this nation was too large for any one person to control alone.”
Snow watched his wrinkled face as she strode closer, enjoying his battle between arrogance and fear. “My mother believed in control.” She flexed her hand, feeling the stiffness of healing cuts on her palm. “Answer me one question, and I’ll accept your oath.”
He rose and took an eager step closer. “What question is that, Your Majesty?”
“After my mother died, when the Circle called for my execution, to whom did you lend your voice and support?” When he didn’t respond, Snow began to pace around him. “Those loyal to my mother sought to punish me for her death. Others saw it as a chance to free Allesandria from the rule of Curtana, to put a new family on the throne. Not even Beatrice would fight for my birthright.”
He blinked. “Beatrice, Your Majesty?”
“How did you vote, Stevan?”
He bowed low. “I had seen Queen Curtana’s cruelty, both to her people and to her daughter. You acted to protect yourself. I said you were innocent of wrongdoing. Alas, the Circle would not listen to my arguments.”
The lies were foul as spoiled milk. The man wore his greed like a crown. His fat tongue flicked hungrily over cracked lips. Even as he lowered his head, he stared lustfully through his lashes. His gaze crawled over her skin, and the raw desire made her shudder. Desire both for her body and for her power.
“Thank you for coming.” Snow offered her hand. He took it eagerly, his sweaty fingers tight as he kissed her knuckles. Snow concentrated, casting a minor variation of a familiar spell that slipped through the cracks in his defenses. “I remember you well, and had hoped you would accept my invitation.”
Stevan risked a smile, even as he flexed his hand. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” He frowned and shook his fingers. “I’m glad to see you returned home at last. Under your wise rule . . .”
Snow backed away. “I am not my mother, Stevan. Flattery is but another lie, and I’ve no tolerance for such. Nor for groveling cowards who care for nothing but their own fortunes.”
Stevan cried out and clutched his arm. The other nobles backed away. Several whispered warding spells, but none yet dared to act against Snow.
“You say you knew her cruelty, yet you did nothing to stop her?” Snow returned to her throne, settling herself on the ice. “You stood by as she tortured those who displeased her? Burned their bodies to ash while their loved ones looked on?”
He fell, whimpering. By now the blood in his arm had frozen solid. Chunks of ice would be breaking away, flowing through his veins toward his heart. He would be dead long before the rest of his body froze.
Snow turned her attention to the other nobles. “And what of you? How many of you watched and did nothing?”
One man stepped forward. “Your Majesty, I know not what my father did, but he died only two years past. I never knew your mother. Nor did we know you yet lived.”
“Are you hoping to convince me of your loyalty?” Snow asked. “Your honesty? Yet you also took an oath to serve King Laurence, and now you’ve come to me. Or did you accept my invitation in order to discover my location and destroy me? You think I’ve not noticed your failed telepathic attempts to summon help?”
He attacked without warning, but the others were quick to follow. There was little artistry to their magic. A simple spell of flame, a curse to destroy her senses, another to make her sleep . . . one woman did attempt a rather unusual form of teleportation, trying to transport parts of Snow’s body to different locations. Snow wondered briefly where she had learned that particular trick.
Their spells never touched her. Snow stood upon the largest magical mirror ever created. It absorbed their attacks, reflecting them back not at the casters, who would presumably know how to counter their own spells, but at their companions.
Within seconds, three more nobles had fallen. Snow’s guardians, men twisted into creatures of fur and fang and claw, closed in to deal with the remaining two.
“Take the bodies to the edge of the palace. Spill their blood in an unbroken ring.” Noble blood, full of magic. “I will not be alone, my dear Stevan.”
A flicker of magic tugged her attention to the child. Jakob had finally managed to conjure an image within his makeshift mirror. He sat with his back to the carnage, his shoulders shaking. Snow walked over and tugged the bloody ice from his hands.
When she saw what he had done, she nearly dropped it. Within the ice was Snow herself. Not as she was, but as she had been: her face unscarred, her smile one of genuine merriment. The reflection wore a green jacket, and was sucking frosting from her fingers. This was a memory, from Jakob’s birthday celebration earlier this year. “I’d expected you to summon up your mother or father.”
“Aunt Snow will fight you.”
“She tried.” A flick of her finger should have banished the image. Instead, the reflection turned to stick out her tongue.
Snow yanked the image from the small mirror and transferred it into the ice at her feet. For a moment, that tug echoed within her, giving her the key. Jakob might have instinctively summoned a comforting memory from the mirror, but even with his fairy blood, he couldn’t have given that memory life.
“Much better.” The reflection stretched, then turned to look at Jakob. “He’s smarter than you realize.”
“He’s a child. He might even appreciate being a part of my mirror. Instead of a too-brief mortal life, he’ll live on for all eternity.”
“Eternity?” Snow grinned from the ice. “I’ll wager a hundred crowns you don’t survive the month.”
By now, the last of the nobles had been dragged away, leaving only the sheen of blood to mark their fall. “I know what you’ve done. Cutting out a part of your soul, blotting her from your memories to hide her from me. Using her to protect a fragment of your own soul. Clever, but I’ll have Gerta back soon enough.”
“Just like you had her in Kanustius?”
“That was you.” She thought back to Kanustius, to her confusion.
Her weakness. She had intended to order Danielle and Talia killed, and Gerta placed into magical hibernation until she could be studied. “Gerta’s magic drew you out, gave you strength enough to save your friends’ life. You realize those same friends mean to kill us?”
“They mean to kill you.” The reflection folded her arms. “But I hate waiting.”
The ice cracked beneath Snow’s feet. She jumped back with a curse. Magic pulled at her legs, trying to drag her through, but it was human magic, weak and easily turned away. A wave of her hand sealed the surface of the ice, trapping the reflection within. The next spell it cast was turned back, and the reflection screamed in pain.
Jakob had done her a favor. Whatever remained of Snow’s humanity was now trapped and powerless within the ice. Better to keep it there, where it couldn’t influence her the way it had back in Kanustius.
Satisfied, she turned to study the boy again. Perhaps there was a way to hurry Gerta’s destruction along. “It’s time to find your mother, child.”
Jakob deliberately avoided looking at the puddles and smears of blood on the far side of the room.
“She’s in danger, but fairy magic hides her from me. You have the power to find her. She needs your help.”
“No, she doesn’t.” Jakob spoke so meekly she barely heard, but there was no uncertainty in his words.
The reflection gave a weary chuckle. “Told you he was smart.”
“It doesn’t matter.” To Jakob, she said, “She’s in danger nonetheless. This might be your last chance to see her alive.”
She turned her attention to the ice, showing him the chaos spreading through Allesandria. A hurricane battered one city, courtesy of a possessed weather mage. Another was a blackened ruin, with flickers of green flame still dancing over the wreckage left by her rogue Stormcrows. Hundreds of her servants had been killed, but more than a thousand fought on. With Laurence fallen under her control—
“First Allesandria, then the world?” her reflection asked, sounding bored. “How unoriginal.”
