by Jim C. Hines
Snow picked up the pigeon and handed him back to Danielle. “Here’s your bird,” she said brightly.
“The death of Snow’s mother pushed Allesandria toward civil war,” said the queen. “The king had long been under his wife’s spell, and her death left him in no condition to rule. Snow was too young to rebuild her nation. The more power hungry of her kin saw her as an obstacle to the throne, and wanted her hanged for matricide.”
Snow glanced down. Ebony hair hid her eyes as she fixed her shirt. “Queen Beatrice and King Theodore helped my cousin Laurence take the throne.”
“He was a less bloodthirsty choice than the others,” the queen said. “We did what we could to help his cause. But by the time he took control, Snow’s guilt was too firmly established in the minds of her people. When we attended his coronation, Laurence disguised Snow as a servant and helped me sneak her out of the country when we departed.”
“I always liked Laurence,” Snow said.
“I’m sorry,” Danielle said, not knowing what else to say. Her own stepmother, for all her flaws, had never tried to murder her. “I thought . . . I thought it was only a story.”
“It is,” Snow said. “That doesn’t mean it’s not true. Just ask Sleeping Beauty there.”
Talia sighed. “You know how I hate that name.” “Yes, I do,” Snow said, grinning.
“Sleeping Beauty?” Danielle turned to Talia. At first, all she could think to say was, “Aren’t you married?”
“Hardly,” said Talia.
“But the stories, your prince awakened you with a kiss, breaking the fairy curse and—”
“Sometimes the stories are wrong,” Talia interrupted. “Snow, have you had any luck finding the prince?”
The amusement vanished from Snow’s face. “No.”
Danielle’s stomach tightened. “What’s happened to Armand?”
“He disappeared sometime last night,” Beatrice said softly. She looked away, and in that moment, Danielle saw a tired aging woman, not a queen with the strength and confidence of royalty. Queen Beatrice was afraid. “By the time I knew he was in danger, it was too late.”
“Nobody told me,” Danielle whispered.
Back home, such an unspoken accusation would have landed her in the attic, locked away for the rest of the day. Beatrice looked . . . not angry, but sad.
“We needed to know you weren’t involved,” said Talia, her words striking like knives. “There have been other attempts on the royal family over the years. Beatrice trusted you, but—”
“I do trust you,” the queen interrupted. “But where my son is concerned, it’s hard for me to trust myself. With so much at stake, I took Talia’s fears to the king, who agreed. I’m sorry for that, and you have every right to be angry.”
“I’m not angry,” Danielle said automatically.
“You should be.” Beatrice stepped closer, her fingertips closing gently around Danielle’s shoulders. “One day, I hope you’ll feel safe enough here to express that anger.”
“Just don’t express it as much as Talia,” Snow said. “Or as violently. I’ve already had to replace three shelves down here.”
Talia stood with her arms folded, watching Danielle like a falcon waiting for its prey to make a move. “The odds were against you being involved, but we had to know. When your stepsister arrived today, I thought she had come either to conspire with you or to issue her demands for Armand’s release.”
She couldn’t blame them. Danielle was still an outsider here, an upstart girl who had dared to marry a prince. How could they not suspect her? She clutched the wounded pigeon close, automatically stilling her face to keep the hurt from showing. “Snow was the one who helped you get back inside the room?”
“I can do a lot through my mirrors,” Snow said.
“For which I’m in your debt.” Beatrice gave a slight bow in Snow’s direction, then turned her attention back to Danielle. “I knew as soon as I awoke that Armand was in trouble. Snow confirmed it with her mirror. Theodore has already dispatched scouts to search the port where he disappeared, but they won’t arrive for another day.”
“I tracked Armand’s movements after he left the ship,” Snow said. “He dined with his men, then retired to his room for the night. He never came out.”
“What does that mean?” Danielle asked. She stepped away from the others and stared at her reflection in Snow’s mirror, as if her will alone could force it to show where her husband had gone.
“It means whoever took Armand is powerful enough to block Snow’s spell,” Talia said. “Charlotte knew the prince was missing. She has to be involved.” She handed the broken stool leg and the bloody feather to Snow. “She used her magic on both of these.”
Snow grimaced as she took the feather. “Do I look like some sort of magical hunting hound?” She stepped past Danielle and brushed the feather across the mirror, painting a faint circle of blood. The circle dried and flaked away an instant later, leaving the surface as clean as before. “Someone else cast these spells. At least, it wasn’t Charlotte alone.”
“She had a necklace,” Danielle said. “She touched it right before the stool shattered.”
“So she had an accomplice,” said Talia.
“Stacia?” Danielle frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.” Charlotte would hardly trust her sister with something as important as protecting Charlotte’s life.
Snow seemed to agree. “I doubt either of your stepsisters are strong enough to do all of this by themselves. I watched them both at the ball, then later at your wedding. If they had this kind of power, I would have felt it.”
“If they had that kind of power, Danielle never would have made it to the ball,” Talia added.
“So who was it?” Danielle asked.
“Probably witches,” said Snow.
At the same time, Talia said, “Fairies, I’d bet.”
Snow shook her head. “If Charlotte brought fairy magic past the wards in the wall, I would have known. Besides, no fairy would dare work magic within the palace. Malindar’s Treaty prohibits it.”
“And where are you going to find a witch strong enough to hide the prince from that?” Talia pointed to the mirror. “Ten shillings says it’s fairies.”
“Done.”
“Why didn’t your wards sense Charlotte’s necklace?” Danielle asked.
“Because until she activated it, it was just a rock. Witches do magic. Fairies are magic. That makes fairies a lot easier to detect.”
“Snow, can you use these things to find Charlotte?” asked the queen. “If she does know about my son, it becomes even more urgent that we find her.”
“I’ll try,” said Snow. She took the broken stool leg and turned back to the mirror.
Danielle stared at the gold wedding band on her finger. Simple and modest. Armand had wanted to give her a heavy, diamond-encrusted monstrosity as a memento of their love, but Danielle had insisted. This thin ring was a duplicate of the one she remembered seeing on her mother’s finger.
Beatrice touched her shoulder. Danielle turned, and the fear and pain on the queen’s face were a match for her own. “We will find Armand.”
Danielle’s throat tightened.
“South,” said Snow. “Charlotte fled south.”
“We’re on the northern edge of an island nation,” Talia said. “Do you think you could narrow it down a tad?”
“I can’t. She’s hidden from the mirror, the same as Armand.”
Danielle cleared her throat. “My house . . . I mean, my father’s house is south of here.”
Talia shook her head. “Charlotte knows we’ll be hunting her. To hide in such an obvious place would be the height of stupidity.”
Danielle folded her arms. “Charlotte let her mother cut off part of her heel because she believed that would be enough to convince Armand she was me.”
“Good point.” Talia snorted. “Come on, Snow. Let’s go visit the de Glas house.”
“I’m going, too,” said
Danielle.
“Charlotte already tried to murder you once today,” said Talia. “If we find her, she—”
“I lived with Charlotte and Stacia for most of my life,” said Danielle. “I know them. I can help.”
Talia turned to the queen. “Bea, I’ll have my hands full keeping this one out of trouble.” She jerked a thumb at Snow, who rolled her eyes. “I can’t be a nursemaid to both.”
Danielle folded her arms. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but your son is also my husband. My own stepsister may have taken him. The question isn’t whether or not I’m going after her, it’s whether or not these two are coming with me.”
The queen studied her for a long time, until Danielle began to think she had overstepped herself. “Three extraordinary girls,” she whispered, with another of those soft, sad smiles. “I can see why Armand was drawn to you.”
“Your Majesty—” Talia began.
Beatrice raised one hand. “My dear Talia, this is the girl who snuck from her house for three nights to attend the winter ball, under the very noses of her stepsisters and stepmother. When they discovered the truth, they locked her away. Yet when Armand appeared, she again escaped her prison to find him. Would you have me lock Princess Danielle in the dungeons to prevent her from doing what she believes is right? Do you think even that would stop her?”
“I could stop her,” Talia muttered under her breath.
“That’s enough.” Beatrice leaned forward to kiss Danielle’s forehead, then did the same to Talia and Snow. “Danielle must be a part of this. I feel it in my heart.”
Talia shook her head. “I hope your heart doesn’t get us knifed in ours.” With a sigh, she turned back toward the doorway. “Come on, Princess. Let’s get you ready.”
“Find my son,” Beatrice said, turning back to the mirror. “And stay safe.”
CHAPTER 3
CLIMBING UP FROM the secret chambers beneath the palace was less disconcerting than the descent, but by the time they reached the top, Danielle’s hands had cramped into claws. Years of servitude had given her strength, but climbing used different muscles than cleaning. Beneath her, Talia muttered impatiently as she waited for Danielle to open the hidden panel.
Danielle started to step into her room, but Talia moved past her. She searched the room, then dropped to the floor to check beneath the bed.
“What now?” Danielle asked, once Talia waved for her to follow. The pillow Talia had stuffed into the window frame blocked the sunlight, giving the room a cold, evening feel. She moved the pigeon to the center of the bed, then bent to retrieve a chunk of bread from the floor. Everything was as it had been, from the scattered mess of her meal to the bloody dove staring sightlessly at the ceiling.
Danielle picked up the dove, moving him to the desk next to the books. She took off the scarf she had used for the pigeon and wrapped it around the dove’s body to make a crude shroud. Once they returned, she would see about giving the bird a decent burial, perhaps by the bakery, given how the dove had taken to swooping down to swipe whatever fresh-baked goods he could get his claws on.
“You’ll need to change your clothes,” Talia said, eyeing Danielle’s dress.
Cobwebs had turned the blue velvet gown a dingy gray. The heavy skirt had probably dusted the entire height of the pit. Dirt and grass streaked the shoulder, where Talia had pushed her to the ground earlier. Dots of ink and blood stained the side. Danielle’s hand traced the design on the bodice, a soaring gull outlined in tiny pearls. Armand had commissioned the design for her.
“Why do I always have to carry everything?” Snow asked as she stepped out of the privy. Two large sacks hung from her back, the straps crossing over her chest.
“Because you’re the one who insists on bringing your entire wardrobe every time we leave the palace.” Talia took one of the sacks and brought it to the foot of the bed. A rainbow of silk, satin, velvet, and linen began to pile onto the mattress as Talia dug through the clothes, until the pile threatened to topple onto the poor pigeon. Danielle squeezed past Talia and moved him to safety.
Eventually, Talia produced a faded pair of trousers and a loose-fitting yellow shirt. A matching cap followed. “Wear those, Princess.”
Snow dumped the other sack at the foot of the bed. She watched the pigeon hop back, and smiled. “He’s moving well. I doubt he’ll be flying for at least a month, but he should recover.”
“Let me know when the two of you are finished worrying about birds,” Talia said. “Some of us would like to try to save the prince, too.”
“Oh, hush,” said Snow. To Danielle, she added, “The body can recover from almost anything, given time and strength. You just have to help it along.” She reached out and patted the pigeon’s head.
“Thank you,” said Danielle. She pulled up the trousers, then took the calf-high boots Talia had produced from the second sack. They smelled like rotting grass.
“Carry this as well,” Talia said, handing her a slender, sheathed dagger. The hilt was gold and ivory. Leaping dolphins adorned the black leather hilt. “Dolphins are dangerous creatures. They look beautiful enough, but they can kill a shark.” She arched an eyebrow. “Get the point?”
Danielle strapped the knife to her hip. A brown vest with a poorly mended seam hung low enough to hide the weapon from casual view.
“Good enough.” Talia turned to Snow. “If you’re finished with the bird?”
Snow clapped her hands and hurried to the bed. Danielle turned away as Snow began to strip, tossing her clothes to the floor. Talia did the same, though she at least moved around behind the curtained bed for modesty.
“How do I look?” asked Snow. She wore a low-cut gown the color of blood. She tossed a light riding cloak over her shoulders, pulling the rabbit fur trim to her cheeks. She smiled and curtsied. “The Lady Anneliese Elina O’Dette of Emrildale.”
Talia shook her head. “That is . . . atrocious.” To Danielle, she said, “Call her m’lady. Anne of Emrildale, if anyone asks. I trust you’ll have no trouble pretending to be a servant?”
“I think I can manage,” Danielle said, matching the dryness in Talia’s voice.
Talia finished pulling on her own boots, then began to dig through the second sack. She donned a shoulder bag, inserting the spindle whip she had taken from below. She also produced a pair of slender, metal-topped sticks which she used to twist her hair into a tightly braided knot at the base of her neck.
“Let’s get moving.” Talia paused at the door. “I doubt we’ll find anyone at the house, but if we do, you stay behind me, Princess. If I say run, you run. Understand?”
Snow clapped her hands. “Come along now. I’ll have no bickering among my servants.” She slipped past Talia and stepped into the hall.
As she followed, Danielle heard Talia muttering, “Next time, I get to be the spoiled wench.”
Not a single guard appeared to notice as they walked through the palace. Several times as they passed servants or guards, Danielle thought she saw a flash of light from the mirrors on Snow’s choker. Each time, whoever they were passing would stumble and blink before moving on.
The soldiers at the southern gate barely glanced at them. Apparently, the queen had warned them that Lady O’Dette would be going for a stroll this morning. As for Danielle and Talia, they were simply two more servants. They might as well have been invisible.
Danielle found herself slipping into old habits with disturbing ease. She kept her head down and her gaze fixed on her shadow, a shrunken doppelganger of darkness trudging along the worn cobblestones of the street. The sun warmed her back and side, drawing beads of sweat from her brow. She stepped closer to Talia. “My stepsisters’ home is—”
“The Merchant’s Quarter, on High Street,” Talia said. She gave Danielle a small smile. “You don’t think Prince Armand came looking for you with only a single carriage and a few guards to defend him, do you?”
Snow hummed as she led them down the street, keeping to one side to avoid a mule-dr
awn wagon and other traffic. Young children scurried about, running errands or carrying messages for their masters. Servants hurried past with groceries for the day’s meals. Danielle barely stopped herself from waving at a hunched woman selling fruit. Old Mira had been a friend of her father, long ago, and she always used to slip sweets into Danielle’s basket when she was out running errands for her stepmother.
Snow’s appearance drew more than a few appreciative stares. She wasn’t helping matters, the way she smiled at everyone and deliberately wove about to splash through the puddles left from last night’s rain.
“Dignity, m’lady,” whispered Talia.
“Oh, save your stuffiness for the palace,” said Snow. Raising her voice, she began to sing an old drinking song about a sailor and a four-armed mermaid.
“We’re hunting a possible murderess,” Talia said.
“And if anyone looks too closely, I can always distract them one way or another,” Snow said, touching her choker.
“Finish singing the verse about the seaweed, and you’ll be distracting half the town,” Danielle said.
“I love that part.” Snow drew a deep breath, glanced at Talia, and bit her lip.
As they turned east, a gust of wind carried the smell of bloody meat through the street. Most of the butchers and tanners and furriers all crowded together along the same stretch of road. Blood ’n Guts Lane, the people called it.
Danielle had grown up within sight of the palace, but on a bad day the smell could carry all the way up to the Merchant’s Quarter. She smiled, remembering the first time Charlotte had left her window open after an especially hot summer day.
Up ahead, a black-furred mutt lapped at a puddle. He glanced up as they approached, his teeth bared. Danielle smiled and reached out to scratch his neck.
“Careful, Princess,” said Talia.
“Hunter wouldn’t hurt me.” Danielle rubbed the dog’s neck so hard his ears began to flap. Hunter gave one last snarl at Talia and Snow for good measure, then rolled onto his back in a puddle so Danielle could scratch his belly.