Snow Whyte and the Queen of Mayhem
Page 11
Later that night, the queen returned from her journey to shut the mouths of the “traitors” she had seen in the mirror earlier, the two men we had viewed on the road to Mischief. One had escaped, but the other had been tracked down. And when I say the queen had his mouth clasp shut, I’m not exaggerating. Smiling, she forced a soldier in her army to sew the man’s lips together with a needle and embroidery thread. Most unpleasant.
I glared at her as she entered the comfort of her room, removed her gloves, and changed into her bedclothes. Such pure evil; the horror of her actions never even fazed her. After brushing her hair—sitting so close to me I could have spit in her face had I not been bound by the powers of the mirror—she leaned forward and asked to see how Trevor fared on his journey. I assure you she had no pity for him as he huddled in the thicket, trying to keep from freezing to death.
“That’s what I get for sending a beast carter,” said the queen through gritted teeth. Such beautiful teeth she had, when they weren’t gritted.
“Actually, that’s what you get for sending anyone out in the dead of winter,” I answered.
“Shut up,” she snapped. “I’ll take care of that.”
Queen Radiance drew herself up into a regal stance and began to utter a spell.
I will remind you about spells and how they work. Though talented, the queen could not force any words she uttered to come to fruition. Spells decide for themselves whether or not to be birthed and which characteristics spoken from the mouth of their creator to actually embody. For example, the queen’s spell to lock me in the mirror worked for that purpose alone; the spell decided not to enforce the request that I be unable to tell lies to her majesty the queen.
Even still, Queen Radiance’s gift astounded me. Few of her spells failed to come to life in some form or another. She closed her eyes and spread out her hands, moving her arms away from her body and upward in a dramatic pose, as if a person’s stance had anything to do with it. The threat in her voice made me shiver as she began:
“Spring breezes flow
Sun warm the earth
Winter go to sleep.”
“That’s it?” I said. “That’s your all-powerful spell to help that poor boy kill your only daughter?” Did she think the sun would actually come up at night?
“I hate you,” she said to me. Then she swirled around, her sheer white, ruffled nightgown and matching robe swaying behind her as she left the room.
A Collision
In the morning, I had to eat my words, for the snow began to melt even before the sun came up, as if it radiated all the way from the other side of the world and up through the ground. Trevor woke to warm horse’s breath blowing across his face. He rolled over, damp earth sticking to the clothes Queen Radiance had provided him.
“So you’ve come back, have you? That was brave—leaving me here alone to die in a brutal storm.”
Trevor stood and patted the animal.
“What do you think about the queen of Mayhem?” He peered into the horse’s large, glossy eyes.
“What, no answer? Are you afraid of her too? Well, I’m not.” Trevor mounted the beast and began the journey to Mischief Market.
Accepting the advice of the queen, Trevor took his time. He kept the horse at a leisurely gallop, pausing well before sundown to rest each night and taking long breaks during the day, in which he attempted to distinguish between edible roots and horrible tasting plants. I marveled that he had no survival skills, and laughed when he spit out a mouthful of green, partially chewed leaves. Would he make it to Mischief without starving to death?
Finally, late in the morning, three whole days after he’d left the private bedchamber of the queen of Mayhem, the distant sound of voices found their way to the boy.
“Do you hear that?” he asked the horse. “I think we’ve arrived at last.”
And sure enough, they suddenly exited the forest, greeted by the road they’d lost long ago, less than a hundred yards from the fringes of Mischief Market.
Few shops remained open through winter—the ones made of brick or logs that could keep a relative amount of heat—but with the warmer weather, a few tents were being set up as well. Trevor purchased a warm loaf of bread and gobbled it up. I can’t say I blame him; warm bread cannot compare to the cold roots he’d been forced to eat on his journey. Then he asked where he could get food and lodging for the horse.
“Stable’s down the road a ways,” the baker said.
“Do you know of a girl that lives with . . .” Why did he hesitate to say it?
“Yes?” the baker asked impatiently.
“That lives with little men? I mean, men that are smaller in height?” He whispered it, and I wondered if he was trying to be secretive or if he was ashamed to mention such poor creatures.
“Oh, sure,” replied the baker. “Comes to market regularly when the weather’s right. Speaking of weather, what a warm spell we’re having lately.” He pulled a fresh loaf of bread from the oven, setting it on a small table and stoking the fire. “I’m going to roast in here today.” His large belly shook as he turned to face Trevor again.
“Yes,” Trevor said, his eyes flinching. “Strange, isn’t it? I nearly froze to death in Fluttering Forest the other night and now it feels like spring.”
“Well, let’s enjoy it while it lasts. I may even get some business today if it stays like this.”
As Trevor turned to head for the stables, the baker added, “The girl hasn’t been to my shop all winter, but maybe now that things are warming up, she’ll start comin’ around again.”
“Thank you.” Trevor led his horse to the stables and paid for a week of food and lodging for the horse.
I worried about what he planned to do. Would he really kill the princess if given the opportunity? He showed lack of fear, but lack of sense as well. I knew Queen Radiance would kill him if he failed. If he had any hope to live, he needed to carry out her orders. She’d told him to take his time, but he seemed so relaxed and careless about the whole thing, like he’d get around to it if he ever felt like it. I hated not knowing what would come of it all. I didn’t think I could bear to wait and see.
^-]
Katiyana came to Mischief Market the following day with Pokole on her hip. They approached a tent where hand-carved wooden wind chimes were sold. Now that warm, gentle spring breezes blew, Katiyana and Pokole had decided that hanging one outside the dwarf house would bring all sorts of fun, including, of course, the griping of Jalb. They whispered to each other about it and laughed as they moved closer and closer to the shop.
And who stood just outside the tent, munching on an apple that most likely came from Barney’s orchard? Trevor squinted when he spotted the princess and her precious dwarf, until seemingly recognizing that Pokole was the child from the image I had showed him in the mirror—the child that sat upon the table. He stopped eating the apple and threw it out of sight, turning away from Katiyana and toward the various chimes that hung from the tent ceiling. With an air of forced civility, he asked the shop owner to pull down one of the wind chimes.
“This one?” the shop owner asked.
“Yes, yes,” Trevor affirmed, pulling a coin from the black velvet bag he wore tied to his belt. The day before, he’d gotten cleaned up and purchased additional clothing to supplement what the queen had provided. He ate lavishly, and spent a fair amount of time at the pub. It seemed to me he sought to waste time and the queen’s money. If I could have placed a bet with someone, I would have guessed he’d fail at his task and be dead as soon as the queen learned of his indulgences. Lucky for him, she kept busy with the affairs of her crumbling kingdom.
Trevor slapped the money into the owner’s outstretched palm and grabbed a wind chime carved with birds. Turning rapidly, he appeared to lose his balance and nearly fell, slamming headlong into the princess and her favorite breakable little man.
“I’m so sorry,” Trever exclaimed, a little too exaggerated, in my opinion. I suspected his act, just like his apology, had been an intentional way to get the girl’s attention.
But Katiyana had eyes only for her companion. “Are you all right, Pokole?” Katiyana asked him anxiously, ignoring the perpetrator entirely in her worried examination of his little frame.
“I think my arm is broken,” warbled Pokole, his voice weaker than usual.
“Broken?” Trevor asked. “How could your arm be broken? He sure does talk funny, doesn’t he? Don’t worry, little man. As soon as you get a little older your voice will deepen.” He spoke to Pokole as if he were a small child, and his comments brought only disapproving stares.
“His bones break easily,” Katiyana explained. “Sometimes they break just from standing up.”
“Are you being serious?” Trevor asked, but Pokole’s facial expressions were all the answers he needed. “Can I do something to help you?”
“No, I’d better get him home,” Katiyana said, turning away.
“And watch where you’re going next time,” Pokole wheezed over Katiyana’s shoulder between long, painful breaths.
Trevor reached out and gripped Katiyana’s arm.
“Let me at least walk you home,” he coaxed.
Instantly, my spell began once again to take life, just as it had when the queen sent Trevor after the princess. It must have been resting, sleeping all those years until need of it arose. The princess’s arm began to turn white—snow white—at Trevor’s touch. The blanching of color spread to her face, which was usually tan, even in the winter, from all the time she spent working outdoors in her uncle’s orchard. It made me wonder again if Trevor really could do the job Queen Radiance had asked him to do.
Trevor pulled his arm away. “You’re freezing cold,” he said.
Ice crystals began to form on Katiyana’s eyebrows.
Pokole reached out to touch them. “You’re growing snow on your face.”
The princess stared at her pallid arm.
“It’s not just your arm,” Trevor said. “Your face is the same.”
“Are you okay?” Pokole asked.
“Let’s go home,” Katiyana said, the look of worry barely distinguishable on her colorless face.
Trevor watched her walk away. From behind, she appeared normal: long, dark stringy hair, dress swaying as she walked, child—or rather, little man—in her arms. But from the front, her crystal white skin had only just begun to melt back into its natural color; I could see that the farther she walked away from Trevor Blevkey, the more she looked like herself. I didn’t know exactly what my spell was doing, how changing the color of her skin would protect her; at this point, all I knew was that Trevor Blevkey was a danger to the princess.
I let Kat escape from my view as she quickly and carefully exited the market and entered Fluttering Forest. My focus remained on the boy sent to kill her. He stood there, his feet poised as if considering going after her, until the shop owner interrupted his thoughts.
“Sir, can I help you with anythin’ else?” he asked.
Trevor glanced back, irritated. “No. Thank you.” He turned his focus back to Katiyana, who could now only just be seen through the thick brush.
“Now that I look at you closer,” the man began again. “Have we met before?”
Trevor Blevkey flinched, but otherwise kept his eyes steady on the diminishing target. “No, I don’t believe so.”
“Prince Iden, is that you?” the shopkeeper asked, tilting his head to the side and scrunching his bushy eyebrows close together.
Whirling, Trevor at last turned and faced the man squarely. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you remember me?” A beaming smile appeared on the shopkeeper’s face as he used all his fingertips to point toward his chest. “I used to work in the castle when you were a child, before the king and queen sent you off for your seven years of servitude. The name’s Ryan. Don’t you remember? Have you returned to the castle?”
He looked over Trevor’s clothes, pausing to scrutinize the thin, braided rope that he used for a belt. “Are you still serving your time? Hasn’t it been seven years yet?”
Trevor Blevkey gazed steadily at the man, staring him down with his dark eyes, face expressionless. But I noticed his chest rising and falling heavily beneath his shirt. Was he nervous? At last, he responded in a firm—dare I even say commanding?—tone. “I told you. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Undeterred, the man continued on. “No, I’m sure of it. You’re taller perhaps, and a bit bulkier, but I’d know that face anywhere. I made some of the toys you played with as a child. I still remember when I came to the castle to construct your new bedroom furniture when you turned ten years old. I’ll never forget that—what a privilege and honor to work for the royal family.”
A thoughtful expression, tinged in what could only be anxiety, crept over Trevor’s face. Or was it Prince Iden?
“I do remember you,” he finally said, glancing back over both his shoulders. Was that fear in his eyes? “Can I pay you for your silence?” he murmured, reaching into his pocket.
“Pay me? Silence? What are you talking about?”
Trevor, er, Prince Iden fumbled to open the pouch, his hands trembling furiously. “Nobody can find out,” he hissed. “My years of poverty are not up. Not yet. I’m on an errand given from my master, but I could lose the throne forever if my parents suspect that I’ve left my station.”
Only now I remembered a tradition that existed in the kingdom of Mischief. Every boy or girl in line for the throne was expected to leave the royal castle at the age of twelve and live in poverty for seven years. The tradition went back for hundreds of years—generations upon generations. Personally, I think it’s a sound idea; it gives the future king or queen a chance to learn what it is like to be poor, thus instilling compassion, thwarting selfishness, and empowering them with the ability to see beyond themselves and their station. This must have been the reasoning behind it all, and it seemed to work; no king or queen of Mischief had ever been as tyrannical as Queen Radiance.
“Now don’t fret, Prince Iden. I won’t take your money. I can keep a secret.”
The prince’s wary eyes flicked from the man in front of him to the shoppers nearby and back. “Are you sure?”
“Sure I’m sure. I won’t tell a soul.”
“You promise?” the boy asked, ducking his head as a group of children ran past the tent. I had only known him as Trevor Blevkey, servant to the queen of Mayhem. Now he was Iden, a prince of Mischief. I tried to let the apparent reality of it all seep in.
“I promise.” The man nodded.
A sudden breeze burst through the tent, jiggling the wind chimes in a cacophony of whistles and clinks.
“Is there anything you need? Anything I can do for you, Prince Iden?”
“No. But I’ll keep your offer in mind. Thank you.”
Iden turned full around, taking one more long look after Katiyana, who had long since disappeared. He meandered away from the tent, carrying the wind chime he’d purchased with the money of his father’s enemy.
Iden, Prince of Mischief, a servant in Mayhem—it made me laugh. It must have been a joke. The king and queen of Mischief must have sent him to be a servant in Queen Radiance’s castle as a joke, determined to succeed at tricking her without punishment, as long as the queen of Mayhem never found out. I wanted to applaud the king and queen. Oh, the irony! What are the chances this prince would be the servant she chose to kill the princess? Sent to his own kingdom to slaughter the princess of Mayhem? I suddenly felt much better about the whole situation, guessing a prince of Mischief would be far less li
kely to follow the orders of Queen Radiance than anybody else. And all this time, Queen Radiance’s interest in Mischief had encompassed the king and queen and the plans and training of the royal army; I’d never been asked to show her their children—I’d never previously known whether or not they had any. My quiet chuckles turned to laughter; it rang out loud and true as I realized the queen’s efforts to have Katiyana killed may soon result in her own ruin.
^-]
Later, when I had finished wiping away the tears my mirth had brought to my eyes, I began to wonder what on earth would come of it all. How long did Prince Iden think he could evade the queen? Would he continue to try to interact with Katiyana? How would she act toward him after his carelessness with Pokole? Avoiding Queen Radiance for even a month or two would be impossible. I knew she’d come to check on him soon enough. I resolved to watch Iden closely. Time alone could reveal what I wanted to know.
A Princess
Katiyana returned home safely. I watched her wince as Kurz tried to splint Pokole’s arm, as if she could feel the pain herself.
“I’m so sorry, Pokole. We should have stayed home today.”
“Please don’t feel bad. It’s not your fault. It’s that stupid one’s fault.”
The other dwarves stood around watching until Kurz couldn’t take it any longer. “Would the rest of you get out of here and give us some room to breathe? This isn’t as easy as it looks.”
“Come on, everyone,” Duan said. “It’s still nice outside. Let’s go for a walk.”