by Jim C. Hines
The mirror went dark. Danielle leaned closer, and her stomach twisted. “What does that mean? Why can’t I see anything? Is he dead?”
“No,” said Snow. “If he was, we’d still see the bod—” She bit her lip and glanced at the queen. In a softer voice, she said, “We’d still see him.”
“He’s been hidden,” Beatrice said. “Through magic. The same thing happened when Snow used me to try to find him.”
Danielle grabbed Snow’s hand. “You said you could find him.”
“Armand is twenty years old,” Snow said. “The bond between parent and child weakens over time.” She pulled her hand free and placed it on Danielle’s stomach. “The babe in your womb is another matter. He’s a blending of your essence with Armand’s. Over time, as he grows into his own man, the bond will fade. But for now, that child is the most intimate connection we have to the prince. Even more intimate than your own, Princess.”
The queen cleared her throat. “Please, Snow. A little less lecturing, and a little more magic, if you would be so kind.”
“Sorry.” Snow brushed her fingers along the platinum frame of the mirror. “Mirror, mirror, with power so wild. Show us the father of Danielle’s child.”
The mirror brightened. Clouds rushed past, so fast Danielle reflexively pulled back. She would have fallen right off the stool if Talia hadn’t caught her shoulders and held her in place.
Danielle found herself looking down at a great chasm, as though she were a bird circling far overhead. A silver bridge spanned the gap, sparkling like a spider’s web in the morning dew. Slowly, the mirror drew back, revealing elaborate palaces to either side of the bridge. Spires of ebony and gold stretched into the sky, reaching to touch the clouds themselves. She saw great, thick forests and cities of such color they looked like a rainbow had shattered and fallen to earth. A group of winged horses circled an empty field, carrying glowing men and women so small that six could ride on a single horse.
“I can’t get any closer,” Snow said. “There’s too much magic.”
“That’s enough,” said Talia. “I told you it was fairies.”
Snow rolled her eyes. “Just because he’s in Fairytown doesn’t mean—”
Fairytown. Danielle squinted, trying to see through the whirling images in the mirror.
“Enough,” interrupted Beatrice. “I’ll talk to Ambassador Trittibar tonight. He will arrange for the two of you to enter Fairytown. You leave in the morning.”
“I don’t understand,” said Danielle. “If we know where he is, why can’t we go to the fairy king or queen and ask them to find Armand? Doesn’t the treaty—”
“If we could prove that one of their subjects had taken a citizen of Lorindar to Fairytown, we could present evidence to the fairy court,” Snow said. “The treaty requires them to respond to any request for such a hearing within seven days.”
“But even if we had proof that one of their people was involved, we don’t know which court to go to,” Talia added. “The king and queen aren’t on very good terms. We could spend days arguing our case to the queen, only to find it’s the king’s people who helped your stepsisters.”
“So we go to both courts.” Danielle looked from one to the other, then turned to the queen. “Ask them both to help find Armand.”
“And they’ll help us why?” Talia asked. “Out of the goodness of their hearts? They lost the war. Humans forced the treaty on them. They’re not exactly our friends, Highness. If we want Armand back, Snow and I need to go get him.”
“Then I’m going with you.”
The queen was already shaking her head, as if she had anticipated Danielle’s words. “No, Danielle. The demon in that tree nearly killed you. I’ve already lost my son. I won’t risk losing my daughter-in-law and grandson as well.”
“You haven’t lost Armand,” Talia said. She was already heading to the other room, gathering weapons from the wall. “We’ll bring him back.”
“I know my stepsisters,” Danielle said. “I know how they think. I can help.”
Beatrice touched Danielle’s cheek. “I do understand how you feel. If it were up to me, I’d be on a horse to Fairytown this very moment. But we have other responsibilities, Princess. I trust Talia and Snow with my life. They will find Armand.”
“Fairytown is a big place,” Danielle said. “And what will they do if Charlotte and Stacia decide to move Armand elsewhere? Without me, they’ll have no way to find him.”
Talia returned, tucking small knives about her person. “They murdered your mother. They would have murdered you if I hadn’t saved you. Twice. Come with us, and you’re more likely to get yourself and your son killed than to save your husband.”
“The first attack was in my own bedroom,” Danielle said. “Do you truly think I’ll be safer here than I would with the two of you to protect me?”
Both Snow and Talia watched the queen, waiting for her to choose. Deep down, Danielle could understand their protests. She was no warrior, and the thought of putting her unborn child in danger made her want to weep.
“My mother died when I was too young to know her.” Danielle stepped down from the stool. “She stayed with me, but all my life I’ve been unable to touch her, to hear her voice or wrap my arms around her. Her loss broke something deep inside my father. I began to lose him the same day I lost her. When he died years later . . .”
“You’re risking the prince of Lorindar,” Talia said.
“I know that.” Danielle shuddered, remembering the way Brahkop had reached for her. If it were her alone, she would have gone without a second thought. She closed her eyes and turned away. “I also know that if my father had been given the chance to save my mother, and he had refused that chance because of me, I would never have forgiven him.”
“I could order you to stay,” the queen said.
Danielle pointed to Talia and Snow. “You said you trusted them with your life. Do you trust them with mine? Mine and my son’s?”
The queen’s lips pursed. “I think I liked you better when you were the obedient servant girl.” A smile softened her words. She turned to Talia. “I’m asking you to be responsible for Danielle’s safety.”
“I knew you were going to say that,” Talia muttered.
Danielle wrapped her arms around herself. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Talia ducked back through the doorway and studied the map on the ceiling. “We’ll need a ship. The Phillipa is fastest, but they’re halfway around Lorindar, escorting a silver merchant. Of the ships moored here, Silver Wind is probably the best choice. We should send a runner down to tell Captain James to prepare.”
“Trittibar will send you on your way first thing in the morning,” the queen said. “You should eat dinner and prepare for tomorrow.”
Talia shook her head. “They took Armand to Fairytown. That means the fairies are involved. We can’t go to their ambassador and expect him to help us over his own people.”
“Trittibar has always been a friend to Armand,” the queen interrupted. She stared into the mirror, her eyes unfocused. “The two of them used to sneak out of the palace together, visiting the taverns and gambling with the people. I’m told my son developed quite an arm for darts.” She smiled, momentarily lost in the memory. “He needed time away from the palace. Time to see what the world was like. And every boy needs to believe he’s pulled one over on his mother and father from time to time.”
“You knew they were sneaking off?” Danielle asked.
The queen’s smile grew. “My dear child, who do you think gave Trittibar the idea?”
Talia didn’t say another word until they returned to Danielle’s room. As before, she searched the room herself before gesturing for Danielle and Snow to follow. When she did speak, her words were curt. “I’ll fetch something to eat from the kitchens. The two of you stay here. Remain quiet, and stay away from the window.”
She opened the door, then stopped in mid-step. “Your Majesty.”
“Talia
, isn’t it?” King Theodore stepped inside. Danielle saw two guards waiting in the hallway. His expression was almost playful. “Strange . . . I knocked a short time ago, but there was no answer.”
Danielle started to respond, but he held up his hand. “No need. I came to congratulate you, not interrogate you.”
The king was taller than his son, his brown hair dusted with gray. The padded shoulders of his jacket made him appear even more imposing, as did the heavy boots that clomped against the floor. His beard was neatly trimmed, framing a face which was longer and narrower than Armand’s. But when he smiled, his cheeks dimpled in a way that left no doubt he was the prince’s father.
“Beatrice said she would send you to see me, but I grew impatient.” He stepped forward to give Danielle a gentle embrace, as if she were made of porcelain. When he backed away, his brows lowered. “You’ve had a busy day, I see.”
Danielle looked down at her clothes, still stained from the filthy water of Fisherman’s Canal, and covered in dust from the secret passage. “Very busy, Your Majesty.”
“Don’t tell me. My wife’s secrets are her own.” He glanced at Snow and Talia, and his voice turned somber. “Have you learned anything of my son?”
“The queen believes he might be in Fairytown,” Snow said carefully.
“I see.” He studied each of them in turn. When those hazel eyes met Danielle’s, she felt as though he was peering into her mind, reading her thoughts as though she were one of the books from Snow’s shelves. “I would lead my troops to Fairytown tonight if I thought it would get him back.”
“It would only get him killed,” said Talia.
“Yes.” The king embraced Danielle again. “I’m sorry, Danielle. Today should have been a joyful day. Will you—” He jumped as the pigeon hopped across the floor, bandaged wing dragging beside it. He started to speak, then stared again.
“He fought Charlotte. He helped to save my life.” Danielle picked up the bird and stroked its neck. “It will take time for his wing to heal. He’ll need food and a place to rest. Could you . . . ?” Her voice trailed off as she remembered who she was talking to. She started to stammer an apology.
“Of course.” The king reached out to take the pigeon, who began to struggle.
“It’s all right,” said Danielle. “He’s going to take care of you.” The pigeon settled warily into the king’s arm.
“Will you be joining us for dinner?” he asked, still staring at his new companion.
“Perhaps it would be better if the princess dined here,” Talia said, her words a careful balance between statement and request. “She has been feeling unwell.”
“I haven’t,” Danielle protested. She had been a little queasy after leaving Brahkop, and she could do without traversing that ladder again, but she certainly wasn’t ill.
They ignored her. “I understand,” said the king. “In such cases, it’s often best to rest. I’ll let the staff know you may be indisposed for several days.”
“Thank you,” said Talia.
“I trust you to take good care of her in her . . . illness.”
“Naturally.”
He nodded, then used his free hand to take Danielle’s, planting a quick kiss on her knuckles. “Be well, Princess.”
Talia followed the king out of the room. In the hallway, she turned back to say, “Try not to get yourself killed before I get back, please.”
The door slammed shut. Snow was already dumping her bags and moving to the fireplace. She blew on the embers to revive the flame. “I can’t believe you asked the king to watch over your pigeon,” she said. “The expression on his face was worth half the gold in the treasury. I wish Bea had seen it.”
“Talia resents me,” Danielle said.
“Talia resents everyone.” Snow poked a stick into the fire. “Don’t take it personally. She . . . she’s not very good with people.”
Danielle moved to the window, listening to the cries of the birds outside. “I should have known Charlotte would do something like this.”
“Probably,” said Snow.
Danielle blinked. “What?”
“You should have known. You lived with Charlotte and Stacia for years. But you wanted to think that everything would be fine. That your stepsisters would go off and have their own happy little lives, and you’d spend the rest of your days basking in the warmth of your love, while little birds sang songs of peace and joy.” She tossed another stick into the fireplace. “I made the same mistake. The next thing I knew, an old woman was slipping me a poisoned apple.”
Talia returned a short time later, carrying a platter of baked eel and asparagus, along with a dusty bottle of wine.
They ate in silence. Though the chefs had done a magnificent job as usual, Danielle’s stomach rebelled at the smell of the eel. She made do with asparagus and bread, barely tasting either. She kept thinking about Armand, and what Snow had said.
Ever since her father remarried, Danielle had believed a day would come when she would be free, when her life would again be her own and she could be happy. She clung to that belief like a shield after her father died, protecting her from her stepmother’s wrath and her stepsisters’ cruel games. Just as she now clung to the belief that she would see Armand again, that her son would know his own father.
As she ate, she kept seeing her mother’s tree, burned and dead. The smoke from the fireplace made her think of the Chirka wolf ripping its way from the broken hazel branches.
Talia didn’t bother with a goblet, taking a long drink directly from the wine bottle before passing it to Snow. To Danielle, she said, “Are you sure you want to come with us, Princess? Lone demons or trolls are nothing compared to the dangers of Fairytown. We don’t even know if we’ll be able to find Armand once we get there.”
“He found me,” Danielle said.
“He didn’t have to face a Chirka,” said Snow.
“No, he had to face my stepmother. I’m going.”
Talia walked to the bags Snow had carried up from below. She dug through one until she found a black lacquered pipe and a pouch of tobacco. She packed a bit of the brown leaf into the pipe, then used a branch from the fire to light it. “It’s late. You should sleep, Princess. I don’t know when you’ll be able to rest again, and I’ll wager you won’t have such nice, clean sheets when you do.”
“My husband is missing. My mother is gone. How am I supposed to rest?”
“You’d be amazed what people can sleep through,” Talia said, her voice tinged with bitterness. She blew a stream of smoke toward the fireplace. “You, too, Snow.”
“What about you?” Danielle asked.
The firelight danced red in Talia’s eyes. “I’ve had enough sleep for four lifetimes.”
Something in her expression stopped Danielle’s protests cold. She grabbed a nightgown for herself and another for Snow, and changed in silence.
She didn’t want to admit her exhaustion to Talia, but fatigue weighed her down with every step. She had fought a demon, then crossed half the city to fight a troll. Not to mention the long climb from the hidden rooms below the palace. Only stubbornness had kept her from collapsing on one of the benches down below.
“Don’t worry,” said Snow as she climbed into bed from the other side, taking the spot where Armand would normally sleep. “I don’t snore.”
Danielle swallowed a lump in her throat and forced a smile.
Snow was right: she didn’t snore. But she was a blanket thief, and she tossed and kicked so much she nearly knocked Danielle out of bed.
Danielle yawned and looked around. No sunlight pierced the makeshift curtains over the window. She glanced over at Snow and shook her head. Snow wore her choker even to sleep. Orange light flickered in the oval mirrors.
Beyond the bed’s silken canopy, the fire silhouetted Talia’s form as she danced. She wore tight, knee-high trousers and a black vest. Her feet were bare. A long, sinuously curved blade flashed in her hand, too large for a knife, but not quite lon
g enough to be a proper sword.
Talia spun and slashed the blade in a tight, flat arc. At the same time, her back leg shot upward, the heel snapping out at groin height. Danielle winced in sympathy for Talia’s imaginary foe.
Already Talia had leaped away from the fireplace, somersaulting soundlessly across the floor and rising with her weapon held high, parrying a blow from above. She twisted, drawing the blade across her enemy’s stomach and then pivoting again to strike with her bare hand.
Danielle listened to the hiss of the blade through the air as Talia made her way around the room. Every movement was graceful and efficient in its deadliness.
“What happened to you?” Danielle whispered.
Only the faintest hesitation gave any sign Talia had heard. And then she was turning away, catching a foe’s arm with her free hand and flicking the tip of her sword across his throat.
Danielle studied Talia closely as they crossed the courtyard. She found no trace of weariness or fatigue. Snow still yawned and squinted against the rising sun, and the muscles in Danielle’s shoulders and legs protested with every step she took, but Talia might as well have spent the previous day relaxing in the sun.
Danielle paused to tug her cloak back over her sword, glancing about to make sure nobody had seen. It wouldn’t do to have people asking why the princess was walking about armed. “Ambassador Trittibar lives here in the palace?”
She had seen the fairy ambassador twice in her time here. He was a tall, overly slender man with long white hair and a boyish face. His eyes had a purple hue, and they shone like fresh-blown glass.
“He has an apartment by the mews.” Snow pointed to the tall stone enclosure which housed the royal family’s hunting falcons.
“That’s not common knowledge,” Talia added, her voice firm. “The queen would prefer it remained such.”
Danielle nodded without understanding. The mews were a narrow structure built against the wall, like a miniature home on stilts. From the size, she guessed at least a dozen birds could live comfortably inside.