The Last Huntsman: A Snow White Retelling

by Page Morgan

  The guard holding me dug his knee deeper into my spine as Frederic entered his chambers. I collapsed right in front of the warrior I’d fought in the dark. Vacant eyes stared up at me, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. Grigory Karev had my dagger in his chest and an expression of utter confusion. He’d thought he’d won. Instead, we’d both lost.

  “Take him to the dungeons,” Frederic ordered, and then slammed the door.

  Killing Mara would have been easier. If I’d done my duty, if I’d simply slain the princess, I would not have been inside a rat-infested dungeon awaiting my death.

  I crouched against the far wall of the dungeon cell, steeped in dank darkness. I’d taken many lives, but I could never have taken Mara’s. Just as I could never have allowed Ever to live her life as Frederic’s mirror without so much as trying to free her. I lowered my head and breathed in the rancid stench of the dungeon floor: the piss, the excrement, the rot of human skin and blood.

  Stripped of my weapons, I was bare. Useless. Without my vengeance, I had nothing. I listened to the constant moans of the other prisoners. To the guardsmen in the dungeon, I must have seemed just as pathetic, if not more so. A renegade huntsman, come back to kill the emperor. One man who stormed an entire fortress, expecting to make it out victorious and alive. They were having a fine laugh at my expense right then. But I didn’t regret one second of it, not even the mishaps that had brought me here, to the cavity of the fortress.

  This dungeon had brought me closer to my own brand of justice.

  Hiding in Rooks Hollow these last weeks, meeting Ever, coming to care for her—maybe even love her—had changed everything I thought I’d wanted. It changed everything I’d existed for. By now, if Ben had been successful, Ever was free. I ran my hands through my hair and stood up. But if Frederic remained alive, she would not be free for long. He would hunt her down.

  The guardsmen at the head of the corridor of cells broke into another round of laughter.

  “It looks as if the huntsman’s run out of all his arrows, eh?”

  “Broke his little bow.”

  I let them have their fun. After all, it was what I wanted them to think. It was what I wanted Frederic to believe. The truth was this: The huntsman had one arrow left. And it was nearly time to let it fly.

  35

  Ever

  A cloud of cotton and linen cushioned my landing as I hurtled out of the chute and into the steamy laundry. I hit with a whump inside a deep-bottomed wooden cart, setting the whole thing rolling forward. Taking stock of the poor lighting in the laundry and the absence of alarmed shouts, I gathered no one was on duty this late at night washing, drying, pressing, or starching.

  The cart rolled some more as I scrambled out and landed on the floor with my bare feet. I couldn’t move. I didn’t know what to do. My father…Tobin…they wanted me to run from the fortress to save myself, but what would become of them? I love you. I’m sorry. Why would Father be sorry? Because he knew he would likely never see me again? I could not just leave. I had to do something.

  I spun on my heels, taking in the racks and shelves. Pipes ran along the laundry’s walls and ceiling. They gurgled and spurted intermittent blasts of steam. One rack held what looked like Frederic’s clothing, and another, more of Princess Mara’s dresses—probably washed and pressed for me. Hanging in the corner, on a much smaller rack, were three servant dresses. The grayish blue fabric was plainly and chastely cut to cover the shape of the wearer’s arms and all of her neck. I’d seen the handmaids in these. They had also worn head coverings.

  I stood on the tips of my toes and peered onto a shelf above the rack of handmaid’s dresses. There! I snatched one. Long flaps of matching gray-blue fabric hung low, likely to the chin.

  With trembling hands I tore one of the pressed uniforms from the rack and changed out of my nightdress, keeping the blade tied around my thigh. The light wool was too hot for such a steamy room, and I broke into a sweat as I put on the headpiece. I kicked my nightdress underneath the rack, and realized I still didn’t have shoes. But the dress hem was long; it brushed against the stones as I hurried toward the doorway.

  To get to the courtyard, Father said to take a left into the hall. I peered in that direction and bit my bottom lip. He and Tobin had risked everything to save me. If I didn’t follow their instructions, I might be tossing all of their sacrifices to the wind. I might end up ruining everything. But if I did run, if I left them…

  Trust in Tobin’s plan.

  I wanted to. I did trust Tobin. But I also knew him. And I knew he didn’t plan to leave this fortress alive.

  I stepped into the corridor and turned right.

  A minute went by as I walked, turning corners and avoiding open doors, searching for a mirror to command. If I could see where Tobin was, or my father, I could go to them. But there wasn’t a single mirror to be found, and with every passing second, I began to wonder if I had made a terrible mistake.

  I was lost in the bends of the fortress when I heard garish laughter coming from a doorway up ahead. My bare feet, though stinging with cold, were a blessing. They made no noise on the floor as I went past the open doorway. It led down a spiraling set of stairs.

  A voice drifted up from the base of them. “Broke his little bow,” he chuckled to the apparent delight of the others.

  “Won’t be hunting any more,” said another.

  I pressed my hands against the wall beside the doorway, a new rash of sweat forming beneath the woolen dress.

  “Lo, there, huntsman! Which would you like, a dagger to the eye, like the one you gave Johannes, or a gaping neck like the one you gave Neil?”

  I shut my eyes, feeling sick. I’d found Tobin. They had him. These were the stairs to the dungeon. He’d been caught and locked up. But Father…where was he?

  Everything inside me wanted to rush into the dungeon and battle my way through the guards to Tobin. But it was impossible. The only thing I’d accomplish would be getting myself thrown into a cell as well. Or straight back into Frederic’s hands.

  Frederic had not already killed Tobin, so perhaps there was still time yet. Time to do exactly what wasn’t clear. But the reason I was here, why Tobin was here, was Frederic. It had always been Frederic.

  “I bet his majesty does him slowly,” a guard said from down the twisting steps.

  “Be fun to watch,” another added.

  I opened my eyes to the melancholy corridor as something settled inside me. Like a weight in my hips, it grounded my feet firmly to the floor. My vision sharpened and steadied.

  There was only one way out of this. I had to stop Frederic once and for all—not just from harming me, but from harming Tobin, or my father. I could do it. I had to.

  It was as if I’d broken free from vines that had grown up around my ankles as I padded away from the dungeon door. I didn’t want to leave Tobin, but there was nothing more I could do standing still, listening to the guardsmen’s taunts.

  I needed to find the emperor, and I needed to put Tobin’s blade to use.

  36

  Tobin

  I was comfortable in my cell. So comfortable I was afraid I had lost my mind. But this place, behind these bars, felt right. For years, the bars I’d lived behind were invisible. It seemed only natural and right that I should be able to see them in reality before I joined Mother and Kinn.

  I missed my little brother; his long, tousled hair, and gap-toothed smile. His lanky arms and legs, and his ticklish, narrow feet. His feet. Burned black and shriveled. I closed my eyes and exhaled, dousing the flare of anger. It didn’t matter now. I wouldn’t be alive long enough to see Frederic fall, but he would fall. I’d already seen to it. My last arrow.

  “Oy,” one of the guards said just after suggesting another grisly method to bleed me out slowly. “There isn’t a change in guard ‘til—”

  The unmistakable spring of a crossbow hinge opened my eyes. The sound of a bolt ripping through flesh and bone took me to my feet. The guardsr
oom erupted into pandemonium as another bolt fired—another target hit. Then came the clash of steel.

  I crossed the cell and pressed my cheek against the bars to try to see. Two men were down, a third toppling as a longsword withdrew from his navel. The remaining guard and the attacker, who wore Morvansk colors, crossed blades. But the guard was no match. The assailant sliced him deep across the chest, and then dealt him a final blow to the back of the neck.

  The moans of the other prisoners hushed. They pressed themselves, as I did, against the bars and watched as the man dressed in Morvansk scarlet unhooked the ring of iron keys from one of the fallen guard’s belts. He hurried down the dim hall.

  His loping gait stopped just outside my cell door. I stared at him, my jaw loose. “You just killed four Morvansk warriors.”

  Ben flipped through the iron keys, inserting each in the massive lock until the correct one clicked.

  “I planned. I plotted,” Ben said, his voice breathy as he levered the door ajar. I stepped out into the corridor and grasped his shoulders.

  “And you trained,” I said. He gave me a lopsided grin. “What happened with sticking to the plan?”

  He arched one of his bushy brows. “If you hadn’t noticed yet, the plan needed rearranging.”

  We picked up as many weapons as we could between the two of us, including the crossbows Ben had somehow gotten a hold of. My makeshift belt hung from a peg, most of the knives still snug in the loops. I brought it down and tied it around my waist.

  “Ever?” I asked, hoping he’d been successful with the tea tray.

  Ben nodded. “She went down the chute like you said. From there, I don’t know.”

  His uncertainty reflected my own.

  “You don’t believe she went to the courtyard,” I said. Ben didn’t answer, and I sighed. “I don’t think she did either.”

  37

  Ever

  The corridors were quiet as I made my way to the emperor’s chambers. Only a few guards hurried by, and fooled by the handmaid’s dress I wore, they gave nothing more than polite greetings. Within minutes, I had ascended a flight of twirling stone steps, and finally, came to a stop just outside his chamber doors, guarded by three warriors.

  “Hold there, miss,” one of them said.

  There was no reason a handmaid would visit the emperor. No trick I could use to coax the guards into letting me see him. The only woman Frederic would consider admitting right now was his Mirror. That settled it then.

  I lifted my head and pulled off my headpiece. One guard’s brows, knit in confusion, went flat with recognition. His heavy fist pounded the emperor’s door.

  The emperor’s attendant cracked the door an inch. “What is it?”

  “She’s here,” the guard said. “The girl, she’s right here.”

  He grabbed my arm and hurled me inside the emperor’s chamber. I gripped the handle of Tobin’s blade tighter, fearful I would drop it. The handmaid’s sleeves were long and wide enough to cover my hands, and so I’d taken the knife from the ribbon around my thigh and now had it ready, in my palm. I just had to get close enough to the emperor, and take him by surprise.

  The attendant parted the thick red drapes and the guard pushed me into the room.

  Frederic stood at his balcony doors, regarding me with a cool glare. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, one hand gripping his shoulder.

  “I have half my warriors scouring the banks of the moat and dragging chains through the water in search of you,” he said flatly.

  The buzzing in my head set in; the creaking churn of my stomach, too. The gold mirror. It was behind me, hidden by black drapes, and yet I could already feel it, like sticky fingers against my skin. And yet, I wanted to look into the surface again. I wanted to see if my mother would appear. If I could see more of her this time.

  Frederic jutted his chin toward the guard, who released my arm. Both he and the attendant disappeared.

  “You would not have escaped for very long, Mirror. But tell me, why have you returned on your own accord?”

  There was something changed about him. He was less sure of himself as he came away from the doors, still holding his shoulder firmly. He’d been injured. By Tobin?

  “To prove to you that I can be reasonable,” I lied. But it might have rung true to him. After all, I’d turned myself in the first time, too.

  Frederic walked past his four-poster bed, dressed in quilts, sheets, and pillows, all red, like the waiting tongue of some Silent Ranges beast. He continued to the sofa and chairs arranged near the hearth. I didn’t turn to follow him with my eyes. It would have only brought the mirror into view, and as much as I wanted to see my mother, I also needed to keep my strength.

  “A sensible young woman, are you?” he said, as if mulling over the idea of it.

  “A young woman who doesn’t want to be sent into a mirror,” I replied. At least that part was truth.

  “Come to me,” he said.

  I stood frozen for a moment, bile climbing my throat. He’d been about to touch me earlier, before my father appeared with the tea. Is that what he planned to do now? I had to turn around. Had to go to him. How else was I going to get close enough to slip the blade from my sleeve and… My breath drew short. And kill him. His throat. I had to get to his throat.

  Turning on my heel, I faced the emperor, the hearth, and beside it, the golden mirror. I sucked in a breath. The drapes were already parted, the dead black surface of the mirror, exposed. A knock on the door saved me from taking my first step.

  The attendant entered holding a tray filled with a vine of grapes, a small decanter of dark purple liquid, and a thick glass goblet studded with gemstones. The attendant set the tray on a mahogany table beside the emperor and then poured the wine into the goblet.

  “Two glasses tonight, Jerret.” The emperor’s eyes caught mine, and pressed—he would not allow me to refuse. The attendant bowed and hurried to a far corner of the room; he returned with a second glass, this one smaller, the glass delicate. He poured the wine, and the emperor turned to the sofa, near the fire.

  “Sit with me,” he commanded.

  My head was light with nausea, my eyes struggling to avoid the mirror, but this was my chance. My only chance.

  Jerret handed the emperor his goblet, then extended the second glass to me. I nearly reached for it with the hand that held the blade, but saved myself, and awkwardly took the glass with my left hand instead.

  “I said sit.” The emperor’s voice cracked through the air, and I forced myself onto the sofa, leaving less than an arm’s length between us.

  He sipped from his goblet as he stared at me. “Brambleberry wine, pressed from the vines my ancestors planted in southern Morvansk. Do you reject it?”

  My stomach turned at the thought of taking even one swallow. Every passing second, my body became more and more aware of the mirror, of the languid cadence of my heart. It wasn’t right—my heart should be racing, not slowing.

  His question was a test, to see if I truly was ready to obey him. I lifted the glass rim to my lips, the bittersweet scent of wine racing up my nostrils. His robe was loosely tied, the skin of his throat exposed.

  Do it. Now.

  The command slugged through my brain, to my hand, where my fingers loosened around the glass stem. The wine slopped out of the glass in a rush, splattering down the emperor’s robe and onto his lap. He jerked in surprise, first lurching back, then forward as he tried to stand up and out of the way.

  I unsheathed the blade from my long sleeve, the point catching Frederic’s attention just as he started to stand. Too late. The plunge was messy, desperate, rushed. I buried the blade in the meaty muscle between his shoulder and neck before Frederic grunted, swiped his arm at mine, and shoved me away. I hit the carpet, horrified—I’d let go of the handle. My hands were empty as I rolled onto my feet and turned. The blade was still in the emperor’s shoulder when his closed fist came at my face.

  Pain ricocheted up my nos
e and through my skull. A flickering of bright light stole my vision. And then…nothing but blackness.

  An immovable weight pressed down on my chest, flattening my lungs. Air. I needed more. I couldn’t take a full breath. Panic catapulted me to consciousness, and my eyes opened, but there was still only black. It took my lethargic mind a few moments to realize why: I was sprawled on my side, staring into Frederic’s great black mirror. Beneath me, the golden dais was cold. I hadn’t been lying here for very long, then. Another jolt of panic tore through me at the sight of golden brackets on my wrists. He’d put me in the shackles.

  I gasped for air; it felt like layers of thick blankets had sealed over my lips. Sheer desperation hauled me to my knees, and I then staggered to my feet, the thick chains rattling and shifting as I stood.

  “It’s a shame.” Frederic’s voice came through a cloud of haze from behind me. “I had hoped to enjoy you for a short while before your confinement.”

  I turned, vision spinning. The emperor stood on the carpet beneath the dais, his hand clamped to his bloody shoulder. The blade was gone, a cloth pressed tightly to the wound. We were alone still, with no attendant to see to his injury. With a deep groan, a grimace cut across his face. Spittle formed at the corners of his mouth as he bared his teeth. I frowned. The wound had to be worse than it looked. Good.

  The world moved in slow gasps, and with every one, the mirror behind me throbbed closer. I didn’t want to believe it… This couldn’t be happening. I’d failed. Frederic had won, again. Tears pricked at my eyes as an odd chill spread over my back, and down the backs of my legs and arms. A living nightmare was pulling me in, trapping me.

  The creeping chill reached up the back of my neck, along my skull, and like submerging into a cold bath, closed over my face entirely. I held my breath, afraid. But my lungs screamed and I finally sucked in air. Cold, full breaths made me dizzy with relief. Within seconds, my vision sharpened.