A White So Red

Home > Other > A White So Red > Page 4
A White So Red Page 4

by Krystle Jones


  A dark shape flitted over the greenhouse. The raven was back, circling overhead.

  Via paled and turned. “I must go.”

  “Wait!” Natalia called. “Where are you going?”

  Via didn’t reply. She was running away, glancing up at the sky every few seconds and heading for a wall.

  Natalia started forward. “Stop! You’ll hit –”

  Via never smacked into the pane of glass.

  She went straight through it, as if it were made of water, and vanished into nothing.

  Chapter Three

  Omens and Doppelgängers

  Natalia wasn’t sure how long she stood there, mouth agape and still as a statue. The night seemed to hold its breath. She blinked several times, but the result was always the same. She was alone. Via was gone, as if she had never been there.

  Natalia wondered if she had imagined it and looked at her right hand. Her skin glowed under the moonlight; it was white as alabaster, looking smooth, flawless, and whole. Her fingers flexed, moving easily without pain. Twisting at her hips so she could pop her back, she braced herself for the expected flare of angry cuts, but it didn’t come. It was the loosest her back had felt in months.

  An uneasy feeling settled in her stomach, accompanied by a little voice in her head that urged her to run.

  Tucking the knife in her boot, she wheeled about, leapt over the remnants of the trellis, and dashed for the far end of the greenhouse. A canopy of dead roses lay against the wall, which she promptly pushed aside, revealing a door. It swung open with a sigh, and she sprinted through the tunnel and into the vast labyrinthine hedgerow maze. She flew through the twists and sudden turns, the path to one of its many exits blazing in her mind like a map, thanks to all the times her mother and she played hide-and-seek there.

  She knew exactly where to stop. Skidding to a halt, she bent over, felt for the loop, and pulled. The earth opened up, revealing a small, dark square in the middle of the ground. Silver light dusted the stairs leading into the passage, and she hastily descended, letting the door slam shut above her. She might as well have been blind for all she could see, which was nothing. The underground passageway was solid black.

  Her brain was so preoccupied with thoughts of ghosts that she missed the ladder and nearly fell forward. Swearing, she gripped the railing, climbed the shoddy ladder, and pressed her hands against the brick wall at the top of the stairs. Throwing her shoulder against the wall, she pushed with her legs, feeling it slide open.

  The kitchen was empty and quiet, except for tiny scampering and squeaking along the floor and in the cupboards. She listened. After several seconds of not hearing any voices, she stepped into the room. The wall slid back into place, looking perfectly ordinary.

  She stood in the kitchen for a few seconds, letting her eyes adjust to the dark. Orange flickering light spilled under the door, and she slipped to the other side of the room and cracked the door open. Torches hissed in the hall, and the muffled sounds of snoring and crying floated toward her.

  Shutting the door behind her, Natalia quietly padded toward her room. Her fingertips brushed the door when it swung open, and Verika stood poised in her doorway.

  Natalia nearly hissed. “What are you doing in my room?”

  Verika leaned against the door panel, with one hand in front of her and the other behind her back. “I came to see how you were faring. We wouldn’t want our resident princess sleeping in blood-soaked sheets, now would we?”

  “What did you take?”

  Verika grinned. “Nothing.”

  Natalia’s eyes narrowed. “Show me your hands.”

  Verika held out the hand that was in front of her body and opened it up. Her palm was empty.

  “Show me your other hand.”

  “You know,” Verika said, her mouth turning up at one corner, “it’s not my fault there aren’t any locks on the doors down here. I interpret it as an open invitation.”

  “Show. Me. Your. Hand.”

  Verika pursed her lips. “Fine.”

  Natalia didn’t like the smirk on Verika’s face as she brought her other hand around and peeled back her fingers over what looked like a brown pile of leaves.

  Slowly, Natalia’s eyes widened. “Mother’s rose,” she breathed.

  Verika’s cat-like grin sharpened. “This was supposed to be a rose? Aren’t they extinct?”

  Angry tears stung Natalia’s eyes. “Give it to me.” She reached for the remainder of the rose, but Verika swiftly pulled her fist back, out of reach. The sound of crackling leaves made Natalia want to cry out and tell her to stop and be gentle.

  Verika quirked a brow. “What will I get in return?”

  It must have been the look on Verika’s face, or perhaps it was the arrogance in her voice. Before Natalia knew what she had done or what she was saying, she retrieved the knife from her boot and pointed the tip at Verika’s stomach.

  “You’ll get another day to live,” Natalia said. “And that’s generous, considering all you’ve stolen from these girls. They have nothing as it is.”

  “I don’t know why you bother to protect them. They hate you.” Verika’s eyes turned murderous. She grabbed the hilt of the knife, laying her hand directly over Natalia’s, and pushed the point in a bit deeper. Natalia resisted, knowing she was close to breaking skin.

  “You think a knife can scare me?” Verika hissed. “After I watched that witch sentence my parents to death? I was there. I looked them in the eyes as the executioner’s ax fell across their necks. Don’t you dare speak to me about what is fair, Princess.”

  A rough crackling sound came from her fist, which she lifted above Natalia’s head.

  “Here.”

  Flakes of the disintegrated rose fell around Natalia, making her blink as they roughly brushed her face. Her breath trembled as she lifted her shining eyes to Verika’s pitiless gaze.

  “Now neither one of us has any memory left of our mothers,” Verika said.

  The girl shoved the knife to the side and stepped forward, knocking shoulders with Natalia as she passed.

  Natalia watched the girl slink down the hallway. Heat scorched her face, while her teeth ground together so hard her gums hurt. Without thinking much about it, she flipped the knife so the blade was in her hand, preparing to fling it the way her father had taught her when she was a girl.

  Verika was only about fifteen feet away. It would be an easy hit.

  The knife was in the air. Her forearm rose behind her head, preparing to let the blade fly.

  Natalia froze.

  If she killed Verika, she would risk waking the hall. Which would attract the guards when the girls started screaming, which would awake Maxime, and ultimately, the Queen. Natalia would be beaten.

  So could Rose.

  The knife lowered. Natalia’s fist shook as she broke her gaze away from the retreating girl and dropped her eyes to the floor. The petals and broken stem of the destroyed rose were blurry thanks to the tears brimming in her eyes.

  She knelt, tucked the knife inside her boot, and began scooping up the remainder of the rose. Cupping the pieces in her hands, she nudged the door open with her elbow and went inside her room, gently kicking the door shut with her heel. Threads of white light poked through the curtain, reflecting off the mirror shards. Not knowing where else to put it, she crossed the tiny room and dropped the rose onto the pile of glass on the floor.

  She sat down on the end of the bed, falling back with one hand above her head and the other draped across her stomach. Thoughts of Via danced through her mind, along with something her mother told her a long time ago. Queen Irynis had a fantastic imagination; she would whisper stories and fairy tales to Natalia right before she went to sleep.

  “Doppelgängers,” Irynis said, “are not ghosts, exactly. They are copies of yourself that appear right before your death, like a warning. So if you ever see your twin, be wary, my little snowdrop, for death doesn’t lurk far behind.”

  Natalia closed her
eyes, which were starting to become dry and itchy, and took a deep breath. That was nonsense. The protection spell wouldn’t let her die. The scar at her wrist was a reminder of that. So if Via really was her doppelgänger, she could not bring Natalia any harm.

  She scooted back and rested her head on the pillow, bunching it up so it wouldn’t feel so flat. Staring at the door, she reached down into her boot, pulled the knife free, and slid it under her pillow.

  Against her will, her eyes soon fluttered shut, the lilt of Via’s voice echoing through her memory. Via was talking about the spell, being Blind, and the end of something, but Natalia succumbed to darkness before she could remember what it was.

  Chapter Four

  Ace of Arrows

  The bell was tolling.

  Natalia cracked her eyes open and sat up with a groan. The smell of sour sweat emanated off the shift, making her nose want to shrivel up. She wished her washing day were closer. The servant girls were only allowed one bath a week, to conserve on water so the Queen could have her two baths a day.

  Natalia’s pillow was on the floor, and the shabby blanket was twisted around her legs. One of her boots had somehow come off in the night. An incessant pounding bashed the inside of her skull. Sleep threatened to pull her under again, but she rose from the bed before it had the chance. Finding her missing shoe, she grabbed the knife and slipped it into her boot before trudging toward the door and stepping into the hall right before the twelfth chime.

  The other girls were already lined up, and Maxime was barking orders much too loudly for Natalia’s headache. New assignment scrolls were dispersed between the girls, and at Maxime’s command, they began breaking apart to start their chores.

  Natalia stood there, shifting her weight and eyeing the others, her mind still half-asleep. She wondered if the previous day’s events had completely fried it.

  Two meaty fingers snapped loudly right in front of her face and she blinked. Maxime’s scowl came into focus.

  “You can stop dreaming of that prince now,” Maxime said, shoving several items into Natalia’s arms: a bucketful of water, a brush, a broom, and a rag. “Nobody’s coming to rescue you,” Maxime went on. “You belong to Her Majesty.”

  Water sloshed onto Natalia’s boots as she struggled with the slippery bucket, bristling at the comment. She wasn’t sure what offended her more: the thought of pining away after some imbecile in tights who probably didn’t know how to use a sword as well as she did, or the fact the Queen considered her property now.

  “You won’t be getting a scroll,” Maxime said, “because you have one assignment today, as per special request of the Queen.”

  Natalia managed to keep her brows from furrowing, though her mouth sank into a deeper frown before she could stop it.

  Maxime’s chapped, fish-like lips spread over her yellow teeth.

  “The catacombs.”

  Natalia blanched, going cold all over.

  Maxime’s eye twitched. “If you’re going to be sick, then do so in your room. Make a mess out here and you’ll wish you never woke up.”

  Natalia immediately regained her composure, trying to get a grip on her churning stomach.

  “Now go before I decide to whip you for running late,” Maxime said. Something flashed through her eyes – fear, maybe? – but before Natalia could place it, the woman turned and stalked off.

  It took several seconds for Natalia to make herself move. With leaden feet, she dragged herself down the hall and up the stairs toward her assignment.

  There was only one way to the catacombs – through the main hall. She walked stiffly, finding it harder and harder to drag one foot in front of the other. Up ahead, a group of guards turned the corner, marching alongside the Queen and a tall man Natalia did not recognize.

  Natalia immediately stepped out of the way and curtsied, averting her eyes toward the floor. Her eyes flashed upward for a second or two.

  The Queen was chatting amiably with the man, her voice light and polite. She was stunning, wearing a low-cut, blood-red gown and a black robe made entirely of raven feathers that dragged behind her, the end of which was held up by a page. The man was handsome enough, with dark hair that hung in his eyes and a firm set to his jaw that said he took himself too seriously. His clothes were fine, but the tunic, tights, and hunting boots suggested he spent much time in the woods. Blood stained his clothes in spots, but he walked with swagger, sporting them like a fashion statement.

  The Queen and her entourage didn’t slow as they passed Natalia, not even to spare her a glance.

  “I am to congratulate you, Ace, for your superior marksmanship during last week’s hunt,” the Queen said. “That boar was a nasty creature. If it took out much more of my hunting party, I’m not sure I would be able to hunt at all, for I would have no more guards.”

  “The boar was nothing,” Ace replied smoothly. “All creatures have one thing in common: pierce the heart and you kill them. It’s simple.”

  The chill in his voice made Natalia’s skin crawl. It was similar to the Queen’s, only where hers was frosted sweetness, his was emotionless and cruel.

  Natalia waited until they had cleared the hall before standing and continuing on with all the enthusiasm of one walking in a funeral march.

  The Hall of Solitude came up quickly. She stopped at the corner, waiting, frozen. Her heart began pounding harder, and the air seemed to drop in temperature. Ten years was not enough time to erase her memories of this part of the castle. She swore to herself that if she ever had to come here again, it would be too soon.

  It was too soon.

  You can do this. Don’t focus on the past.

  Taking a deep breath and steeling her resolve, she stepped around the corner. The hall stretched before her, with its red rug and white walls lit by soft cream-colored candles. What the designer had no doubt intended to be soothing only sent her heart racing.

  She couldn’t remember breathing. She must not have, for by the time her fingers graced the smooth gold handles, her lungs were burning. Choking down a breath, she grasped the handle and pulled. The smell of incense – cinnamon and rose oil – rushed out to greet her. The air smelled of something else, something stale that spoke of death, age, and sadness.

  Her eyes swept over columns of tall white candles lit at even intervals along a spiraling staircase that wove down into a massive underground chamber. As she slowly descended the stairs, she eyed the frescoes painted along the walls. Colors burst from each panel; sweeping green valleys, blue skies, and wildflower meadows surrounded a grand white castle. That’s how she remembered it, as a shining beacon of hope and not some dark dungeon.

  Her gaze dropped down to the pearly, tiled floor as she stepped off the stairs onto a plush red carpet that went clear across the room. Tombs of white stone spread out on either side of the pathway, gilded with layers of gold and precious gems, their lids carved with the likenesses of the great kings and queens of old.

  In the center of the room, directly in the path of the carpet, was a ten-tiered crystal fountain. Clustered in the middle of the pool, statues of mermaids and water Fey wept tears of the bluest water she had ever seen.

  Deep sadness filled her chest, reopening the stitches in her heart. The smell was too much; it was suffocating her. It smelled the same that day, too, when she laid her father to rest beside her mother, the only two glass coffins in the entire chamber. It had been her mother’s idea. Irynis loved the sky and sunlight, and she loathed the thought of being locked away forever in a tomb. “If I must be buried, then make it a casket of glass,” she said. “That way I won’t feel so trapped.”

  Natalia knew exactly where they were, and she planned to stay as far away from their coffins as possible. Picking the first tomb by the stairs, she set her equipment down and dipped her rag in the water, forsaking the brush in an effort to preserve the enamel on the artwork. With loving strokes, she gently polished the tombs, listening to the soft bubbling of the fountain. Though her work was caref
ul, it was quick. The catacombs were her only assignment, and though the hall was grand, it was doable within a few hours.

  Clean. Leave. Forget again.

  Her focus turned to her work, shutting out all thoughts of the day before. Neither ghosts nor omens, nor whip or threat of violence, plagued her.

  The stillness was so soothing that the sound of twine stretching – like an arrow being notched – broke her attention.

  She stood and whirled toward the staircase. After a moment of silence and searching the shadows, she spoke.

  “Who’s there?”

  There was a flicker of movement within the shadow of the stairs. She froze, leaning forward slightly.

  “Via?”

  A shadow stepped forward; a soft orange glow lit up a handsomely chiseled face with hard eyes.

  Her brows steepened as she gazed upon the huntsman. “What are you doing here?”

  His eyes were hungry. And very black.

  “You are beautiful, even in rags,” he said, taking a step forward and eyeing her up and down. “What a waste.”

  She crossed an arm over her chest, rubbing her hand along her other arm. “If you mean the dress, I assure you, sir, I wasted nothing in making it. I would otherwise have no clothes.”

  The huntsman looked around. “This room is impressive, worth a king’s ransom, I’d wager.” His eyes lingered on the gold and gems embedded in the tombs before his gaze shifted back to her. “And it’s quiet.”

  The half-smile on his face had a vicious quality to it. She suddenly wished they weren’t alone, that the Queen cared enough about the catacombs to position guards this far in the fortress. Natalia had never seen or heard of the Queen setting foot in this room since her late husband’s burial.

  “I’m sorry, my Lady,” the huntsman said suddenly. “Wherever are my manners?” He bowed. “Call me Ace.”

  “That’s an odd name.”

  He laughed, but there was no warmth to it. “It’s a nickname. But I don’t suppose you would have heard of me, being a servant girl and all.”

 

‹ Prev