Before the Snow

by Danielle Paige

  “You mean, if you’d met me when the beautiful sun wasn’t shining? I dare say, I look better in the relative kindness of Ora’s shadow.”

  Lazar opened his mouth to protest.

  “I didn’t think that princes apologized. I wouldn’t want you to do something that is not in your nature,” Nepenthe echoed his words from their “meeting” in the study.

  He laughed, at ease again. Nepenthe wondered why she had let him off the hook. Perhaps she still held some regard or pity for the little boy she’d walked out of the Throne Room and into the light.

  “I know I am not much to look at,” she said matter-of-factly. She turned away from him.

  But Lazar’s words stopped her.

  “I remember you. That’s why I want to see you. I want to see you because . . . I remember.”

  “What do you mean, you remember?”

  “‘You may be able to freeze me for a while, but you can’t kill me.’ You said that to me once.”

  “I wanted to tell you. I thought you deserved to know. But the way the magic works . . . if I were to break the spell and the binding . . . there would be a curse.”

  Nepenthe searched his face for a reaction.

  He knew. He remembered. And he had kept it from her.

  Lazar was putting away his pain—packing it away—but his ice was like her water. There was no storing it, no bottling it, up. It had to come out.

  There was an explosion of snow in the distance. And then another. Almost like fireworks.

  “My father was ashamed of me, afraid of me, all those years. I was dying for him to look at me with pride. But it isn’t pride . . .”

  “I’m sorry, Lazar.”

  “I’m sorry you didn’t tell me. If I had known, things would be different for us . . . ,” he said gently.

  He wanted to see her—the real her—and despite the fact that they were on the road looking for the girl who he was supposed to elope with, Nepenthe knew Lazar’s request had nothing to do with him being a king in the making and everything to do with him being a man.

  She had shown him her true self before when they were small.

  But this felt different. This was different.

  Back then, she had shown him her inner River to prove a point. She had shown him to get him out of the room with the people he had frozen into human ice sculptures. The ones he had made and could not bring himself to leave.

  But now they were not children. And now he wanted her to reveal herself to him. If she did it, Nepenthe would not be proving a point. It would be her sharing herself. Something that she had never done with anyone outside her family and the Coven.

  She closed her eyes and felt her skin disappear under a steady stream of water. She felt her arms fade into streams and then return into tentacles. The River Witch opened her eyes and watched her tentacles stretch toward the sky. Their shadows played across the ground and finally across Lazar’s face.

  “Is this really what you want to see?”

  Nepenthe showed him what the water—what she—could do. It felt personal, intimate. And when he stepped into the water, she felt a little part of herself retract.

  What will he think when he sees all of me? she worried. The gills, the tentacles.

  She twisted away, but the Prince turned her back to face him.

  “I am so glad you showed me . . .” His eyes softened and widened.

  No one had ever looked at her like that.

  “Don’t mock me . . . I am not like Ora,” Nepenthe said.

  “You are magnificent. Power has a beauty all its own,” he said simply.

  Her heart swelled. She had never wanted or sought such a compliment. But when he said the words, she knew he meant them.

  Lazar reached out and touched her face. She was aware that he could freeze the pond. She was aware that he was as powerful as her.

  “You are just as beautiful as Ora…maybe more,” he added.

  Nepenthe took a step back, and the current parted for her. She had forgotten about Ora. She had forgotten about the witches. All there was was Lazar and Nepenthe. Standing inches apart in the water.

  “Nepenthe,” he said urgently.

  She stepped back again.

  He was trying to call her to him. He had forgotten about Ora, too. He had forgotten about Snow.

  He stepped forward toward the River Witch. This time, she didn’t move away.

  What would happen if he touched her? If he kissed her? If she was honest with herself, she wanted to know. Being a witch was not being a saint. But being a sister meant a fair amount of respect and honor. Was she trading that now for love?

  She knew Ora had castles in the sky. She’d been dreaming of being a princess all her life. Nepenthe saw Lazar and wanted him, but there was no destiny or future with him. There was him and the water and her desire to close the distance between them. There was no future; there was no past. There was only this.

  “Lazar, we can’t.”

  “I asked you once how the River made you feel. You make me feel like my Snow . . . limitless . . .”

  He kissed her then. Not the girl on land; but the girl in the water. And she could feel her tentacles wrap themselves around him. She could feel herself sinking into the kiss. His lips were cold. But so cold that they were warm.

  “We shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have done that . . . ,” she whispered.

  “Nepenthe—”

  The blood compass he had taken from the boat was moving again. She knew they needed to go.

  19

  They followed the blood compass through the yellow wood until they reached a two-story tavern in the middle of nowhere. There was no road.

  “So what do we do to get her out of there?” asked Lazar.

  “We don’t do anything. I can handle this. I’ll call you if I need you.”

  “I promise I’ll behave. I just need to know that she’s okay.”

  Nepenthe relented. It was the second time in as many days that Lazar had given her his word.

  They entered the tavern. It was a robber haunt filled with low-grade magic. A hush fell over the place the second they entered. Everyone there knew they were different. They knew they didn’t belong. Weapons were reached for. And then a murmur went through the place.

  “Your Highness . . . ,” someone said.

  Nepenthe had forgotten about the Prince’s jacket that hung over her shoulders and about the Prince’s face, which had been drawn a million times in portraits and printed in the papers.

  She nodded at Lazar. She knew she could not stop this many people, but he could. She would only let him if it came to that.

  “Do not kill anyone,” she whispered.

  “We’re here looking for a witch called Ora. She’s a pretty blonde. About my height. We don’t mean any harm. We’re willing to pay a handsome reward for her safe return.”

  The crowd remained quiet.

  “No offense, but can’t you just hocus-pocus your way to her?” a boy behind the bar joked.

  Laughter reverberated through the room.

  “I know that she has been here. So just tell me what you saw, and who she was with, and we’ll be on our way.”

  Nepenthe zeroed in on the boy behind the bar who had made the joke. “Speak!” she commanded.

  There was a gurgling sound in his throat. He opened his mouth and closed it again. She knew what was happening to him. What she was making happen.

  “He’s drowning!” someone assessed.

  The boy was turning blue.

  Lazar looked at her with surprise. She assumed that he did not think her capable of what she was doing. He was either impressed or horrified. She didn’t look back at him for confirmation. She didn’t think she wanted to know. She had to focus. The task at hand was what was important. She had to get Ora back. In the woods she had let herself forget everything. She had forgotten Ora and herself. But it wouldn’t happen again. She wouldn’t let it . . .

  “Someone tell me where the girl is.
Now.”

  “I suggest you listen to her,” Lazar added.

  “We don’t have her, but she has been here,” a waiter offered.

  “And you know who does,” Nepenthe commanded.

  “Yes, yes. Just let him go. Don’t kill him. Please!”

  She released the boy. He fell to the floor and coughed, trying to regain his breath.

  The waiter continued his story. “They were on foot. They couldn’t have gone far. She wore a hood. I didn’t get a good look at her. But she paid with this . . .”

  He opened the money drawer and handed over a tiny coin.

  “I don’t know what it’s worth, but the girl looked hungry and she was so pretty. I think I would have given them whatever they wanted.”

  Nepenthe took the coin, closed her fist over it, and focused her mind. And then she opened her eyes.

  “I know where they are . . .”

  The boy behind the counter choked up water and finally caught his breath. “Witch,” he said.

  She felt herself smile. The boy thought it was an insult. But it was the opposite. She turned to head for the door. Behind her she heard the sound of a blade being unsheathed.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she saw it was the bartender. He was back on his feet, holding a sword—a sword he would be holding forever. Lazar had frozen his arm solid to save her.

  There was a collective gasp as the mass of patrons ran for the door.

  “Nepenthe, you were amazing,” Lazar said.

  But there was no time for compliments. They left the tavern with everyone else. Nepenthe charmed the coin with a Locator Spell, and they followed it through the yellow wood.

  20

  The spell led them to a house—or rather, half a house. It was as if someone had carved off the face of the structure. It was open to the world like a dollhouse. The second story was lit up. And Nepenthe could feel magic emanating off it. A Protection Spell, perhaps.

  “We’re here,” she said, stopping short in front of the building.

  “What are you looking at?” Lazar asked, frowning, as his eyes scanned back and forth.

  She realized then that he could not see the house. He might have magic, but he was a long way from being able to sense it or being able to use anything other than his Snow.

  “Ora’s here in this house. You can’t see it, can you? I don’t have time to show you how, but you need to believe me. There’s a house right in front of us,” the River Witch explained.

  He nodded in agreement. Nepenthe felt a rush of something: trust. She hated that she liked his trust in her. That she knew he would follow her blindly.

  She raised her hand, and a light rain began to fall, revealing the outline of the house. Lazar appreciated the show of magic, and they stepped into the half house together.

  “It feels warm,” he commented.

  “It’s magic.”

  When they got upstairs, they found half a formal drawing room. The room was adorned with a sofa and a couple of chairs. A fire burned in the fireplace.

  And then they saw Ora.

  She was sitting in an overstuffed armchair merrily drinking tea. Across from her on the couch was the Witch of the Woods’s apprentice, Margot. Not an Outlander at all. Not even a stranger.

  Lazar raised his hands and made a trail of ice right toward Margot.

  “Don’t!” Nepenthe warned and headed him off with a blast of water.

  He looked at her, surprised. “Why did you do that?”

  “I know that girl. She’s a friend. At least I thought she was. What’s going on here?” Nepenthe said, taking in the scene.

  She could feel the cold radiating from Lazar. He was the icy equivalent of a powder keg ready to go off.

  “Who are you, and why did you take Ora?” he said, his steely eyes on Margot.

  Nepenthe had to push aside her own anger, her own water, to get at what was bothering her. Why would a former apprentice of the witches trick the Prince? It just didn’t add up.

  Margot ignored the Prince and turned her attention to Nepenthe. “It’s nice to see you again, Nepenthe. I see that your training has served you well. As you know, those days are over for me. The Witch of the Woods cast me aside. I am a Robber Girl now. Those who don’t have magic have to make do,” Margot quipped.

  Margot was a girl who wanted to be a witch. And Ora was a witch who just wanted to be a girl.

  It was ironic, really, Nepenthe thought. But how had they ended up here together? Her eyes fell on Ora for a split second. What exactly was Ora willing to do to get a shot at the Prince?

  Looking at her, Nepenthe could see that Ora’s relief was genuine and so was her love for him. Nepenthe looked away quickly. It was almost too much.

  She pinned Margot down using streams of water.

  “People have all sorts of reasons for the things they do,” Margot said.

  It sounded like a poor defense. But Nepenthe’s gut told her that she needed to play this out.

  “And what do you want, my love?” Lazar asked, now holding Ora.

  The waves of cold Nepenthe felt coming off him had dissipated. Having Ora in his arms had warmed him up and calmed him down. But if Nepenthe gave him the word, she knew that his Snow was still at the ready.

  “Margot didn’t hurt me,” Ora said. “I think that Nepenthe is right. Let’s find out what she knows.”

  Ora reached a hand out to her, and Nepenthe squeezed it. Relief flooded Nepenthe. Ora was okay.

  Lazar sighed a heavy sigh as Ora clung to him.

  Nepenthe turned to Margot.

  “Talk to me, Margot. What happened to you?” she demanded. “How did you end up here, and what do you want with Ora and the Prince?”

  Margot blinked up at her sister. “How could I pass on a chance to talk to my witches again?”

  Nepenthe cast a look to the Prince. “You may want to choose your words carefully, old friend. The Prince is not feeling as generous as I am at this moment.”

  “If you must know, the King wanted me to make sure Ora never returned. I thought she made a better guest than corpse. You should be thanking me,” Margot said, looking at Ora.

  “You know how I will thank you?” Lazar lifted his arms, ready to freeze her.

  Nepenthe knew he didn’t want to believe what Margot had said about his father, but at the same time knowing it made perfect sense.

  This time Ora stopped him. “Let her go,” she cooed.

  He relented. “My father,” he whispered.

  Lazar took a step away from them and disappeared in a cyclone of snow and ice.

  Nepenthe grabbed Ora’s hand. “We have to go. We have to stop him from killing his father.”

  Ora looked at her, unsure.

  “Come on. Unless . . .”

  Margot was on her hands and knees. Nepenthe lassoed her hand with a stream of water.

  “You must have something that can get us there quicker,” she said, staring down Margot.

  Margot, getting her meaning, hesitated a beat before handing over a vial of red liquid. “Drink it. It will take you to him.”

  “You can’t seriously trust her,” Ora said.

  “She knows I will track her down and drown her if she betrays us again. Don’t you, Margot?”

  Margot nodded.

  Nepenthe downed the liquid and grabbed Ora’s hand. Nepenthe thought about what Lazar had said once. Trust is a choice.

  Nepenthe then thought about the palace. She took one last look at crafty Margot, who smiled at her. And then they were gone.

  In a blink, they were there. Right outside the palace. But they were too late.

  They raced inside past the guards toward the Throne Room. They could hear loud voices before they got there. Two voices were raised in anger. Nepenthe felt a wave of relief. The King was still alive.

  “How could you, Father? I do not understand,” Lazar said.

  Nepenthe put her free hand on the doorknob, but Ora gripped it tightly and would not let go.

&
nbsp; “You and Lazar . . . Did anything happen?” Ora asked timidly. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. The way you look at him.”

  But nothing had happened. And everything had happened.

  Nepenthe didn’t say anything, which was an answer in itself. And it registered on Ora’s pretty face.

  All the things that Nepenthe wanted to say but could not rose to the surface, but did not come out. Lazar wanted someone who needed him. He and Ora had that in common. Nepenthe did not need him; she wanted him. There was a difference. She would not allow more than that. They both had their limits, their cages. He had broken through his. He said it was for her, but she knew it was for himself. She didn’t mind the lie. But she was not going to take the journey with him—no matter how handsome he looked when he asked.

  “He loves you, Ora. What you saw—what you see . . . He remembered what happened all those years ago. And I was there. That’s all. It’s just a memory.”

  She nodded, seeming satisfied. But she didn’t let Nepenthe pass.

  “Why do you want to stop him?” Ora asked.

  “Because if he kills, he will be exactly what his father is.”

  Ora shook her head. “He will be justified. Just like you would be justified to take out whoever killed your parents.”

  Nepenthe had never heard Ora talk like this before. She didn’t know that vengeance ever had a place in her seemingly soft heart.

  “Are you afraid for him, or are you afraid for yourself, Ora?”

  “What do you even mean?”

  “Margot said that the King might be responsible for more than just your kidnapping.”

  Nepenthe felt the words sinking in with a sickening thud someplace inside. Her parents’ deaths had come on the heels of the ceremony that wiped Lazar’s memories, but she had never made a connection beyond her certainty that she had no use for the horrible things that humans were capable of doing to one another and to anyone or anything different from them.

  Nepenthe, stomach twisting, pulled her hand out of Ora’s grip and pushed into the room. Lazar was holding his father at knifepoint. His ice sword was an extension of his hand, and the sharp tip grazed the King’s neck.

  His father didn’t look scared.

  “Lazar,” she said quietly.