by Taryn Tyler
Gran.” If the cottage were nearby either she hadn't left or I had missed her somewhere in the dark. “Gran.”
“Run.” “Go.”
Specter voices fluttered through me, drenching me in chills, but I didn't care. I pushed each of their stories back with the forward movement of my feet. I could see streams of moonlight where the trees opened into a clearing up ahead.
“Stop.”
A hand of pale, silvery fingers whisked past my ear in the moonlight. I waved my hand to shoo it away. My toe hit the edge of the footbridge. It caught in the woodwork and I tumbled forward.
I smashed into the forest floor. My knee hit a rock. My palms scraped against the earth. The spindle in my cloak pocket bounced against my hip bone as my basket skidded forward and sank into the dark of the water. I bit back a cry and sat up, opening and closing my fingers over stinging prickles of blood. I shivered. My cloaks and skirts were soaked through with snow.
I picked myself up, turning to flash an embarrassed smile at Boris, but he was gone. “Boris?” I must have lost him in my hurry.
Never matter. I didn't need him to defy the spirits. Not when Gran could be in danger.
I bit my lip and stepped forward once again. I went at a slower pace this time. The ghosts wouldn't trip me more than once. My feet crunched against the untouched snow. The water slithered behind me in a quiet trickle.
That howl again. Hungry and as exciting as it was frightening.
The clearing dipped down into a tiny valley. The long logs of a fence cast shadows over the ground as I neared. I hadn't realized how much protection the trees gave from the wind until I stepped out of their sanctuary. Ice cold air shivered through my damp clothes. I clenched my teeth to keep them from chattering.
The moon glowed overhead, a perfect sphere. The path was blocked by ragged fragments of wood that had once been a gate. I climbed over them, avoiding the splintered edges where they had been ripped from the hinges. Thorny plants twisted up and down the path, pulling at the fence and cottage like greedy fingers. Chopped logs lay cluttered over the ground in dark lumpy silhouettes.
My heart pounded as I moved forward. I didn't like the silence. I had always imagined Gran's cottage would be filled with sound. The singing of winter birds. The roaring of a fire. The warm gentle hum of Gran's voice as she sung the whole earth to sleep. But all was still. Not even the faintest thread of smoke trailed from the chimney.
“Gran.” It came out a breath more than a word. A prayer I was afraid to give voice to.
I reached the cottage door. It was cracked open so that I could see the pitch black inside. I pressed my palm against the worn wood and pushed it all the way open. A stream of moonlight poured over the floor, lighting my way as I stepped inside.
“Gran.” It was a real word this time. Just barely. “Gran, it's me.”
My eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness of the room. Everything was exactly as it should have been. A stool and chair next to the fireplace –a real fireplace not an iron stove like Greta had. A warm, thick rug. A cluttered china cabinet. A wardrobe with the door swung open, shifts and linens hanging from the wrong side. A large featherbed beneath the loft because, of course, she couldn't climb the ladder every night at her age. Everything was right except . . .
I wished I could close my eyes and shut the sight out of my mind but my eyes were stretched open as if by force.
There, on the bed, lay Gran. Her eyes bulged wide. Her mouth hung open, unmoving, as saliva dripped down her chin into the blood blackened gash in her throat. Claw marks ran down the side of her head. The top half of her ear dangled over her jaw. My stomach wrung at the sight of the carnage but I couldn't move.
Snow
I didn't sleep that night. I ripped off the purple silks Constanze had decorated me in and put on the first black gown I could find. The laces running up the back were too complex to tie without Constanze's help but it didn't matter with only me in my chamber. I let the dark velvet sleeves slide over the shoulders of my chemise.
Dusk blurred my vision with a smoky gray. I looked for a candle and flint to light it with. The flint was in the usual drawer but there were no candles. That was odd. The servants had always been so diligent at keeping the stores filled. I surveyed my chamber. Weeks worth of laundry draped across the furniture. Dust coated the shelves and cupboards. Grime smudged across the window glass. How long had it been since the servants had been up here?
I shook my head. As if it mattered. I had probably sent them all away in my fog of grief. I would have sent Constanze away too if I hadn't been hungry.
I used some writing paper for kindling and re-lit the half charred log Constanze had left in the fireplace when she had dressed me for dinner. It gave off a sick red glow, all but impossible to see by, but at least it offered me some warmth.
I wouldn't lie down and let oblivion take me. Not tonight. I pulled the knife Hans had given me out from under one of the pillows I hadn't mutilated and sat on my bed, waiting for dawn to arrive.
The night seemed to go on forever. A deep black void filling itself with every nightmare I'd ever had. Thorns tightening around my breast. My chest swelling with ice. My dreams crawled over my skin, seeping through to my lungs but even they were better than my memories.
Eventually morning would come. Hans would greet me in the courtyard and . . . and we would throw knives. Not even the coldest memories mattered when I had a target to concentrate on. The focus kept my limbs steady even when they wanted to shake like shattering glass.
I listened. Footsteps in my antechamber. Slippers shuffling across the carpeted stone. Probably Constanze, flopping herself onto the sofa for the night. The sound stopped next to my door then scuffled away, leaving the chill of silence in its place.
The night wore on. The fire's dark glow sank moment by moment until all that remained was a lingering splattering of embers. I watched them cool, one by one, until even they were gone. Shadows stirred on my ceiling overhead but the ones in my mind were stronger, playing over and over inside my mind.
Soft, delicate hands rolling round eyes shut. The velvet curling of Lucille's lips as my eyes met hers.
Papa had told me that the tonic the physicians had given him tasted like Christmas, rich and tingling against his tongue. Lucille had laughed at him and asked the physicians to bring him another to toast the coming of winter –and the improvement of the king's health.
I shivered inside my room. A draft rushed through the fireplace, filling the chamber with icy air. Winter had come that night, almost as if Lucile had summoned it with her toast. A frost had settled over the land. It burrowed deeper than a simple season's chill.
I rose and went to the window, gripping my knife by the hilt. The manor's courtyard rippled with the pale gray of moonlight. Empty. Silent.
Lucille's smile had been welcoming as I had entered the hall to dine with her and her son tonight. Warm. Almost sweet. Why, then, had it turned my stomach like a roasting sow when I had been the one to defile Papa's memory with ribbons and color?
My breath shortened. I turned and paced back and forth over my chamber's rug, examining the inky black and white swirls. I studied the creatures embedded into the ceiling overhead. Their teeth seemed to gnash at me. Their coiling limbs seemed to reach for me with open claws. I almost wished they could. At least then I would be spared the relentless rhythm of my feet pattering against the carpet.
At last dawn spread over the sky. The clouds oozed a pale red around the edges, casting a haze of gold over the courtyard. The season's first sprinkling of snow lay scattered across the ground. Untouched. Unscathed.
I laced my boots quickly and threw my cloak over my shoulders. Almost shaking, I placed my hand over the iron door handle and pushed. The door stood still, solid against the pressure of my palms. I bit back a scream and pushed again, harder this time. The ebony wood rattled against the lock but the door didn't budge.
Soft hands rolling amber eyes shut. The lifting corners of her m
outh. What could they have been but a smile?
No. I shut my eyes and shook my head as if I could rattle the memory away.
Soft hands. Amber eyes. She knew what I saw. She knew and she had smiled, sealing the secret forever. She knew everything that I had seen.
I pushed against the door a third time, pressing hard against the wood with my hip and shoulder. It didn't move.
A toast to winter? No. Lucile had toasted to tears. To sorrow and pain and grief. I should have drunk it with him. I should have thrown it in Lucille's face rather than let a drop of it touch his lips. I had known what she was. Why hadn't I spoken?
I held back a scream and sank onto the floor. Tears streamed down my face in a hot salty rush. They burned the surface of my skin, scorching themselves into my being like molten iron. They poured down my nose and cheeks onto my wrists and the palms of my hands as Lucile's smile tightened around my memory.
I should have drunk the tonic with him. I should have died in Papa's place.
I do not know how long I crouched there, my spine pressed against the door, my head held in my hands. When I moved again my bones ached. I rose unsteadily to my feet and turned toward the door. I didn't realize why until light poured in through the crack. A moment later it was open. A thin pale woman stared at me with a disapproving gaze.
“Constanze?” I squinted at her but it was not Constanze. This woman was shorter with pale gold hair and tiny wrists that looked too thin for her hands.
“Constanze is gone.” The woman said.
Gone. Like Papa. Like Elise and Dana. Where was it that they all went?
The pale woman held out a platter of cold fruit and sausages. I recognized them from last night's supper. “Your breakfast M'lady.”
“I'm not hungry.” I mouthed. My lips and tongue were too swollen with snot and tears for speech.
“You may change your mind.” The pale woman placed the tray on the ground next to my feet and left. The lock clicked into place behind her with such force that I wondered how I had managed not to hear it in the night.
I turned and stared at the platter. I had lied. I was hungry but it wasn't the kind of hunger that fruit and sausages could cure. Unless . . .
Would they taste like Christmas?
I sat down, examining the food more closely. The fruit and sausages were from last night's supper, I was sure of it. I imagined the rich savory spices and sweet juices breaking apart inside my mouth. They wouldn't last long but perhaps they would quiet the battle raging like a bubbling cauldron inside my belly. Perhaps they would quiet the memories in my head, leaving Lucille's secrets forever unspoken.
Quiet. Silence. That was what the queen wanted. It was what I wanted.
I lifted a grape between my fingers, squeezing it just enough to rupture the skin and expose the naked flesh inside. The juice dripped onto my hand, thick and saturated like blood.
Gone. I could be gone too. It would only take a moment. A sweet treat followed by a sweeter oblivion. Just like Papa.
No. I drew my hand away. Not like Papa at all. It hadn't been his choice. He hadn't known. I shoved the tray away.
I spent the rest of the day in my chamber. I watched the soldiers drill in the courtyard, careful not to be seen from my grime covered window. They stomped out the first thin layer of snow with their heavy boots. Tiny remnants of ice glittered unnoticed beneath the shadow of the well.
At last the sky began to fade to a pale gray. It burst into a brilliant splattering of golds and purples, then faded until there was nothing but darkness. The manor yard emptied itself as the last of the scullery maids and errand boys scurried inside and all was quiet. I knelt at my door, bundled in layers of cloaks I couldn't remember putting on, and listened through the crack for the pale woman's light, pattering footsteps.
Nothing.
I climbed back to my feet and placed my hand on the iron handle. It was foolish to hope but somehow it seemed more likely in the dark silence. Perhaps the pale woman had forgotten to lock it when she left. Perhaps . . .
I nudged at the heavy ebony. The wood creaked. I winced at the sound, sinking my teeth into my lip. A thin trickle of light leaked through the crack.
I choked back a gasp and pushed the door open wide enough to peer out.
The anteroom was empty. There was no sign of Constanze. No sign of the pale woman. Why . . .
But I wasn't about to squander my chance with questions. I snatched Hans' knife off the ground where I had left it and slipped through the door.
The corridors were empty. I had never seen the manor so quiet. Silent. Like a tomb. Papa's night guards had always hummed to themselves as they kept watch. I had gone to sleep as a child listening to them laugh amongst themselves in quiet whispers. But tonight I had to strain to hear the deep flow of my own breathing.
The glow of torchlight flickered up ahead. The silhouettes of a pair of guards danced against the wall like Papa's shadow puppets before bed. One guard kicked his toe against the ground. The other spat next to his boot, his hands thrust in his pockets.
I turned down a different corridor. There wasn't much chance the main door would be unguarded but I wasn't going to fail for want of trying. Not this time. I quickened my pace. My pulse swelled through my limbs. At last I could see the high wooden beams of the manor's main doorway.
No guards. Don't question the impossible. Not when it meant freedom was only a few steps away. My feet scuffled against the stone floor. I almost tripped in my hurry.
A moment later I stood in the courtyard. The cold winter air bit through my cloak with the frightening teeth of freedom. My breath rose like smoke in the air. Hans stood waiting for me, leaning against the stable across the yard. I moved toward him, crunching bits of snow with my feet.
What was he doing up so late? How had he known I would come? The questions formed in my throat but made no sound. I stopped when I reached him and blinked up at his dark familiar beard and fierce eyes. So much like Papa. So different.
His jaw tensed. “You've stopped eating again.”
“Only since last night.” It couldn't have been long enough to make me thinner.
Hans grunted. “Come with me then.” He uncrossed his arms and started up the ladder leaning against the stable wall.
I slid my knife into my cloak's pocket and scrambled up after him. The staves were wide apart and I fumbled more than once on my skirts. Hans held the ladder steady once he reached the top and waited for me to catch up to him. I pulled myself up onto the roof, examining the shades of darkness around me.
“This way.” Hans strode across the roof toward the forest edge. I followed. The manor wall had been damaged here in a siege long ago. The stone had crumbled down until it was level with the stable's roof. Papa hadn't bothered to repair it. It had been so long since we'd had a siege.
Until Lucile.
Hans stopped. He motioned for me to stay back then leapt over the deep gap of darkness, landing without a sound on the stone wall. He stood back, waiting for me to follow.
I hesitated. Hans was too far away for me to see his face in the dark. He stood still and tall, solid like the stones the wall was made of. It was a large leap but Hans had never expected more from me than I could manage. He had always known when a knife thrust was too complex for me to try just yet or when I had been practicing as long as my body could take.
I took a deep breath and stepped back. I rocked back on my feet to find my balance then sprang forward.
My feet slammed into stone. The crown of my head crashed into Hans' chest. My knees hit his shins. I stepped back involuntarily, looking for solid ground but the soles of my feet touched air. I felt the weight of my body falling after them. My arms flailed. My heart jumped as if it thought it could keep the rest of me upright.
Hans's arms closed tight around my back. Half a second and I was securely on the wall again with my cheek pressed against his chest. I could feel his pulse beating inside him like the march of soldiers' feet. He let go and stood ba
ck, silent for a moment as we both caught our breath.
“Alright?”
I nodded.
Hans crouched next to a pile of loose stones. He lifted them one by one, revealing a long coil of rope. I watched him fasten it to the wall and fling it over the side. He tugged at it to be sure it was secure and nodded for me to make my way down.
The rough flax burned my skin as I climbed. My fingers ached from clenching. If my palms hadn't already been roughened against blisters from chopping wood I never would have made it down without letting go.
At last my feet touched solid earth. I let go of the rope. A moment later Hans dropped onto the ground beside me.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
Hans held his finger against his lips for silence. He turned and strode into the woods. I followed.
The full moon shone through the canopy of trees in tiny splotches like stars scattered across the ground. Only bits of snow dripped through. Most of it caught in the treetops, casting a thick shadow over the darkness of night. We had only walked a few paces before we were beyond sight of the manor.
I shivered in the winter cold. How long had it been since I had stepped outside those walls? Weeks? Months? Since before Lucille had come. I strode forward. Each step took me further and further from the cage my home had become.
Or had the cage become my home? I almost missed the locks and silence. Out here I felt exposed. Every tree seemed to have unknown monsters lurking behind it.
Hans stopped. He turned to face me. The lines on his forehead wrinkled into a frown. “Why haven't you run yet?”
I stared up at him. “Run?”
His frown deepened. Silence filtered between us. He raised an eyebrow. “Did you imagine I could get you out of the manor without Lucille's consent?”
I didn't answer.
“Snow,” He stared down at me. “Why did you shut yourself up inside your chamber?”
The deep sinking feeling I had lived and slept and dreampt with since Papa's death clawed at my chest. “Grief.” The lie echoed hollow against the chill of night, stumbling out of my lips in a rush.
