by Andi Adams
The Girl in the Glass Box
Andi Adams
Copyright © 2016 by Andi Adams
Rights held by Firefly Hill Press, LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, Subject Line: "Attention: Permissions Coordinator," at company's email address below.
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Printed in the United States of America
Firefly Hill Press, LLC
4387 W. Swamp Rd #565
Doylestown, PA 18902
www.fireflyhillpress.com
[email protected]
Print ISBN: 978-1-945495-08-3
E-Book ISBN: 978-1-945495-00-7
Praise for The Girl in the Glass Box
“This is a fresh new take on the Snow White story we all know and love. The unpredictability of the story made it a fun read that kept my attention throughout. The twists and turns kept the story engaging while the overall story had me wanting more. The story starts more like the traditional tale of Snow White and morphs into something completely new and different adding a lot more magic and mystery. By the end of the story you'll be asking yourself just whose side you're on...”
Cranky TBC
“That first chapter?! Wow it grips you right away and you can feel your heart break alongside Agrippine’s. I promise you, the ending is just as good - Adams knows how to deliver!”
Physiux
“Andi Adams has done something with the Snow White story nobody's done since the original: told an original, compelling story. I was hooked from Page 1, and the revelations in those first pages told me I was in for a rare treat. The story grabbed me by the apples and kept me engaged through every twist... Including the harrowing conclusion. Imaginative and engaging, this book will satisfy purists and those looking for something different alike.”
Vince Rayburne
For all those who still believe in fairy tales
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Review Request
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Part I: The Castle
"By the will art thou lost,
by the will art thou found,
by the will art thou free, captive, and bound."
Angelus Silesius
1
“Feed me." The king leaned forward in his throne and opened his mouth wide. Agrippine scooped a bit of lumpy stew onto the spoon and, with a steady hand, raised it to his mouth. The king slurped it up, smacking his lips together, and opened for another bite. Even though the ceramic was too hot for her to hold comfortably, Agrippine tightened her grip on the bowl.
The bones in her knees ached against the marble floor and she hesitated to shift her weight, careful not to spill a drop. Ignoring the stinging in her left hand and the pain radiating down her legs took intense concentration, but she dared not flinch. She remembered what happened last time she faltered. She could still feel the biting whip against the flesh on her back. The scars prickled at the memory.
A small towheaded boy came bounding through the Great Hall and interrupted her focus. He ran up behind her and smacked the bowl from her hands, flipping it into the air. The steaming liquid spilled into her lap and Agrippine, crying out, jumped to her feet. The bowl bounced to the floor and smashed upon impact, the thick liquid soaking her dress. It stuck to her legs like sheets of fire.
A raucous laugh filled the Great Hall. The laughter of the king.
"Oh, my dear boy. Come to Papa, here. That's it, come sit upon my lap." He hoisted the child off the ground and positioned the cherub-faced boy upon his knees. "Agrippine, fetch another bowl of stew before changing yourself out of that mess. And draw up Alaricus' bath once you are cleaned up." He turned to the prince and crooned, "My handsome boy needs to wash, don't you, son? We can't have you looking like…," he eyed Agrippine before continuing, "…the rabble, now can we?"
Agrippine mopped up the chunky puddle at their feet with the apron that had been tied around her waist. She crumpled the soggy material full of the bowl's shattered bits into a ball and turned to dispose of the garment in the kitchen. In a quiet voice, she said, "Alaricus, I'll send for you when your bath is prepared."
Alaricus kicked his feet in protest. "No! I won't bathe. And you can't make me! Tell her, father. Tell her she can't make me. She's just a bastard." The air caught the accusation and let it hang for a moment. Agrippine couldn't ignore the tisks and whispers of the royal court, their stares searing her back. They were laughing at her. Agrippine's skin itched and she forced down the lump lodged in her throat with a hard swallow. She glared upward at the king and the boy still poised on his bouncing knee.
"Of course, you must bathe, my sweet boy," the king said, his voice stern, but soft with affection. "I told you that cleanliness is next to godliness. I will not have a ragamuffin child running about my castle."
Alaricus pointed at Agrippine. "But you let her run about like a ruffamuffin." The tittering of the lords and ladies swelled behind her, and she became flushed with heat. Her cheeks reddened and her tongue felt swollen in her mouth. She lowered her head and stared at the ground.
"Enough, son, this is not to be debated. You must go and bathe. Agrippine, draw up the bath, and when it's ready, come fetch your brother."
After disposing of her apron and picking up a tray of herbs and oils for the prince's bath, Agrippine walked the familiar path up the staircase and down the corridor to the young prince's bedchamber. She muttered to herself and tried not to think about the raw skin chafing against the rough fabric of her skirt. The prince's outrageous behavior wasn't anything new, but its persistence weighed on Agrippine like a noose tightening around her neck.
A loud commotion in the courtyard outside disrupted her thoughts. She moved to one of the large picture windows that lined the corridor and stood on her toes to peer out into the darkness. Her gaze fell to a riotous congregation. The orbs of yellow and orange flames dancing off their torches mesmerized her. She watched, not quite understanding—
She dropped the tray and sprinted back down the staircase. Her feet moved faster than they ever had in her sixteen years. She leapt down two steps at a time and rounded the corner back to the Great Hall.
Agrippine burst through the heavy doors and shouted, "We're under attack!"
Her warning was met with a moment of silence. Then the laughter of the lords and ladies rang out in echoes against the walls. The king, again, was the loudest.
"You stupid girl," the king said, "we are not under attack. And how dare you shout such false
claims without proof. Are you trying to incite panic in my court? Do you think I would not know if we were under attack? God, I knew I should have spent more time and resources on your education." The comment warranted more sneers, and she felt small and foolish.
"But…but…I saw a crowd gathering outside in the courtyard. They were holding torches and assembling for what seemed like an attack. They sounded angry and restless. I didn't have time to verify what I saw. I was just worried for…for our safety." As she spoke, her voice shrunk smaller and smaller. How could she have been so stupid?
The king huffed and shifted his son to his other knee. "You are right about what is going on, but not the reason why? They are preparing a hunt."
"A hunt? At this time of night? Why not wait for dawn?"
"Because we hunt a witch, my dear." His smile was knowing and devious.
Dread, low and heavy, turned her stomach like a sickness. And without another moment's hesitation, she took off running the familiar course toward town.
Agrippine dismounted her horse and didn't even bother tying her to the usual spot where she'd often fasten the reins. She was winded from the hard ride, but the fierce panic coursing through her veins forced her to move intuitively. Without even a knock, she plowed through the cottage's front door, nearly tripping inside from her exertion.
A frail woman sat on a rocking chair in front of a crackling fire. The incandescence lit her pale face and highlighted the streaks of grey in her auburn curls. A threadbare shawl draped around her shoulders. Silent and calm as the night sky, she rocked slowly, as if a soft breeze was responsible for the movement.
"They are coming for you!" Agrippine said. "You must go." She fell to her knees in front of the rocking chair and squatted low to face the woman. "Did you not hear me?"
"And where would we go, Agrippine? What is your plan for us to escape?"
"Well, I… I don't know. We just need to run. We can figure the rest out later. We'll—"
"No, my dear. I will not leave. I told you this day would come." The woman seemed to stare through Agrippine, her eyes fixed and focused.
"Look at me. I will not let them kill you. Please, take my horse. I beat them here, but only barely. It is only a matter of time before they arrive. Please, I'm begging you, you need to go."
"Do you remember the story I told you about Pithia's crow and—"
"What? Are you even listening? I'm telling you they are coming to kill you, and you are asking me about silly fables and old wives' tales?" Agrippine took the woman's bony hands in her own and gave them a hard shake. "Mark me! This is serious. If you don't move now, I don't know if I can stave them off. I don't know if I can save you."
For the first time, the woman locked her coal colored eyes with Agrippine's. "You can't save me."
Agrippine's insides quaked and black spots speckled her vision. As a wave of nausea washed over her, her weight shifted and she fell to the floor, deflated, still holding the woman's hands. Pressure built in her chest and climbed up her throat until she couldn't hold the tears back any longer.
"Please, you cannot leave me! I…I need you. Please…."
"My darling girl, there are wonderful things in store for you. A lifetime of power and riches. But listen to me carefully. You must continue our lessons. The magic will take care of you, but you must keep it a secret or else you could be subject to the same fate as I will meet today. Practice often and listen well. Magic will be your greatest ally in this life where no one is worthy of your trust." She stood from her chair, slowly but with purpose, and hobbled over to a small drawer in her kitchen cache. She pulled two items from the drawer: a jewel-encrusted dagger and a battered mirror, its metal frame rusted and scratched. Agrippine recognized the dagger. It was the same one they had used to perform rites and spells since the beginning of her education in the Arts. But she had never seen the mirror before.
The woman turned and handed the items to her. "These are for you."
Agrippine took them and, as soon as she held the mirror, a jolt of energy ignited her skin all the way down to her toes. The woman continued, "They both are magic talismans and they will help to continue your lessons in the Arts when I am gone. Be careful with them, as there are no others like them. Promise me you'll care for them and that you'll heed the mirror's advice."
"I promise, but—"
"Shh. Go now, child. Go."
"I can't leave you. Please, we can run away. We could—"
"Agrippine, I already explained that I knew this day was coming, and I tried my best to prepare you. But you are on your own now, and you cannot be seen here with me or else you too will be in danger. This isn't a request. I command you to leave right now."
Agrippine wanted to obey, but couldn't force her feet to move no matter how hard she tried.
"I love you," Agrippine said through sniffled sobs.
"And I you... now, go."
Agrippine clasped the mirror to her chest before she jammed the two items into her bag and headed for the door. She swung it open to feel a blast of cool air awaken all her senses. She took one last look back over her shoulder to see the woman reassuming her position in her chair by the fire, rocking back and forth like a metronome, waiting.
Agrippine turned back toward the night and moved swiftly out the door. She grabbed for her horse's reins, clutched the horn of the saddle and, in one fluid movement, hoisted herself upon the mare's back. She gave a forceful kick with her heels and took off in the direction of the forest. The horse snorted with each lengthened stride, sweat glistening off its hair. Its powerful body galloped hard beneath her as she thundered further from the cottage.
The night air was brisk and seemed even colder as the wind whipped her clammy face. The bellowing ruckus of the mob rumbled behind her, marking their closing distance. Shielded by the woods and the black veil of night, she hid in the shadows and panted, watching the puffs of her breath turn to fog in the cold air.
A mob fifty-men strong charged the small cottage. The men yelled angry words and horrible accusations. They spit at the house and asked the Gods for the witch's eternal damnation. It didn't take long for them to touch their torches to the walls of the cottage.
"Mother! Noooo!" The words tore from the depths of Agrippine's soul. The angry mob raged on, deaf to her heart-wrenching plea.
Agrippine grabbed the mirror from her bag and clutched it to her chest. She watched the arm-like flames reach high into the blackness. Showers of sparks lit the night like a galaxy of fireflies. Desperation and hatred pealed through her body, tearing her apart layer by layer.
Pain burst inside her, and she doubled over, gripping the reins tighter to maintain her balance. While she continued to watch the scene in horror through bleary eyes, she could feel the fire licking at her own skin. Turning the mirror to look at her own face, she could see her flesh begin to char. She watched it turn black and flake like paper. Even though she remained hidden in the shadows, away from the commotion, she could feel it as real as her heart pounding in her chest. Agrippine writhed in agony.
Worst of all, she couldn't tell if she could hear the sound of her mother screaming, or if the screams had become her own.
2
Startled by the sound of trumpets, Agrippine dropped the basket of clothes she had been carrying. She rolled her eyes and humphed before bending down to pick the garments up from the floor. In the two years after her mother's murder, Agrippine hadn't slept much. The echoes of screaming still resonated in the corners of her mind.
She had already been awake for hours and slogged through her daily chores until the noise of the brass' resounding blast pulled her out of her daze. The trumpet's fanfare was familiar; it was the tune to herald a royal announcement. A proclamation to outline the details of the king’s latest intrigue was a mandatory event. Agrippine couldn't even skip it if she wanted to.
The herald sounded the trumpet and everyone made their way to the castle gates to listen to the news of the day. Agrippine knew she had to ge
t a move on if she was to deliver the basket of cleaned garments to the prince's quarters and make it to the gates before the herald began. She quickened her pace, the basket held so tightly in her grip that the wood wove braided lines into her palms.
A thin man with a milky beard climbed to the podium and raised his hand to signal for quiet. He was dressed in an azure uniform, trimmed in gold. His cap held a long gilded feather to match. Agrippine couldn't help but snicker at the man's sense of self-importance.
"On behalf of King Wilhelm, King of Heiglet, to mark Prince Alaricus' ninth birthday, a game has been set to procure the most extraordinary gift to add to the prince's collection. For this race, participants will be given one full day to travel as far as they can to scour for the most unique gift. They can go on foot, on horseback, by carriage, by whatever means necessary." He took a moment to pause for dramatic effect. He cleared his throat and continued.
"The rules are simple. First, participants may not thieve from their own village, to avoid pillaging. Second, no one under the age of 18 may compete. And, of course, women are barred from entry. Each of the kingdom's three villages will send their best representative to enter. The race will take place in three days time. Best of luck to those who volunteer. Für das blut Heiglet!"
