by Jim C. Hines
“What’s wrong?” Danielle asked.
“Charlotte. When I was younger, I would have killed her to make sure she didn’t follow.” Talia sighed. “I think you’re rubbing off on me, Princess.”
The space between the wallboards and the rough-carved rock was cramped and filthy. Gravel and dust littered the ground, along with rat droppings, the empty shells of insects, and a healthy crop of mildew. The wooden planks of the wall were unsanded on this side. Splinters pricked at Danielle’s clothes as she fought her way past a cobweb. “How did you find me?”
“Rode a rat,” said Talia. “Nearly stabbed the thing in the eye before I realized it was there to help. I assume it’s a friend of yours.”
She reached back to help Danielle past a rock the size of a grown man’s thumb. At their current size, it might as well have been a boulder.
“Even so, it took several days to sneak up here from the water. This is not an easy place to infiltrate. Whoever designed it knew what they were doing.” Admiration warmed Talia’s words. “I don’t suppose you can call up anything more substantial than a rat? Maybe a team of manticores?”
“Sorry.” From the sound of trickling water, they were directly beneath the pipe which circulated water into the fish pool. “Talia, what happened after you fell into the river? How did you break Stacia’s spell?”
“Your aviar dragged me out. I assume I have you to thank for that. I finally managed to pull myself onto her back. I clung for dear life and told her to take me back to the pixies.”
“They helped you?”
“Not exactly. Arlorran was gone, and the pixies were pretty mad when I told them what had happened to the other two aviars.”
“Were they—?”
“Midnight and Socks were both alive the last I knew, but neither one was up for flying. The pixies sent a group back to get them. I don’t know if they survived.” Talia sighed. “I headed for the road, but it was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other. I’d have been lucky to make it a quarter of a mile without twisting my ankle or wrenching a knee. So . . . I asked for a guide.”
Danielle grinned. “Don’t you know you’re never supposed to ask for a guide in Fairytown?”
Talia stopped walking. A tall wooden beam blocked their way. “Yeah, well, it worked. I met up with a strange little girl who had a duck’s bill instead of a mouth. Don’t ask. She removed the curse, and here I am.” She rapped the beam. “This is where we’ll need help, Princess. If you could call a few hearty rats, we’ll be on our way.”
“What aren’t you telling me, Talia?”
“What do you mean?” Faint light penetrated the rathole behind them, but Talia was barely more than a shadow.
“You’re the one who told me fairies never do anything for free,” said Danielle. “What did you give that girl in exchange for her help?”
“Nothing important. Come on.”
Her nonchalance only confirmed the worry in Danielle’s gut. “Tell me.”
“Princess, we don’t have time for this.”
“You can’t reach Snow without my help.” Danielle waited.
“Without your rats’ help, you mean,” Talia muttered.
Danielle didn’t answer.
“She wanted what they all want,” Talia snapped. “My unborn child.”
Danielle felt like someone had reached into her chest and squeezed her lungs. “You didn’t—”
“That’s why I didn’t want to tell you,” said Talia. “I knew you’d overreact, especially given your current condition. Don’t worry about it, Princess. Just conjure up some rats and let’s get going.”
“But you’re not pregnant.” Danielle’s eyes widened. “Are you?”
“Not hardly. But fairies think about things in the long term. That’s why they outbargain humans nine times out of ten.”
“I’m sorry,” Danielle whispered, touching her own stomach.
“Don’t be. Now come on. The sooner we get Snow free, the sooner we can snatch Armand and go home.”
She was too eager. Danielle reached out to touch Talia’s arm. Talia jerked away.
“What else aren’t you saying?” asked Danielle. There was no response. “Wind would have gotten you back to the pixies that same day. You hadn’t gone far when you called for a guide. That was more than a month ago. What else did she ask of you?”
“Nothing.” Talia’s voice was so soft Danielle could barely hear.
“Was it the pixies? Did they punish you somehow?”
That earned a weak snort. “Those uptight glowbugs are lucky I didn’t go back and shove them all into a jar.”
“I thought you must have drowned,” Danielle said. “I was afraid Wind hadn’t reached you in time.”
“No, she reached me. Saved my life.” Her tone was an equal mix of anger and pain.
“Something else happened to you on the journey back,” Danielle guessed. “Arlorran warned us it was dangerous to cross Fairytown without help. You were making your way to the crevasse, and—”
“I wasn’t,” Talia whispered. “I wasn’t coming back.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I left, dammit. I left Fairytown. I followed the road the other way, between the dwarven towers, out of the hedge, and away from this cursed place. I got as far as Little Hill.”
Little Hill was a trading town about ten miles south of Fairytown. Danielle leaned against the stone, trying to understand. “You weren’t going back to the palace.”
“How could I? I had failed, Princess. Armand was still trapped. You and Snow were both lost.”
“That wasn’t your fault,” said Danielle. “The queen would have understood. She—”
“Will you please stop being so damned nice?” Talia’s voice had grown loud enough to make Danielle wince. She wondered if Charlotte could hear them through the walls. “I abandoned you.”
Danielle started to reassure her, then bit her tongue. For whatever reason, it was clear Talia didn’t want comfort right now. “Why?”
“Because of Rose.” Talia drew a deep breath. “You saw what she did to Snow. How easily she stripped my ‘gifts’ from me. I . . . I couldn’t take the chance of falling back into that never-ending sleep. I just couldn’t.”
“I understand,” said Danielle.
“Do you?” Talia made a snorting sound, somewhere between a cough and a laugh.
“I know what it’s like to be cursed,” Danielle said.
Footsteps crunched in the dirt as Talia returned, until Danielle could feel her breath.
“Armand took you away from your stepmother’s home,” Talia whispered. “The kiss of your mother’s blade freed you the second time. Do you know what broke my spell, Princess?”
“The stories—” Danielle stopped. If she had learned anything, it was the difference between stories and reality. “No, I don’t.”
“I was awakened by the agony of childbirth,” Talia said, “as my twin children were expelled from my womb.”
Danielle could see her shaking.
“My prince wasn’t as kind as yours,” Talia said. Her words were like knives. “I’m sure he began by planting a royal kiss on my cold lips. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right? But it didn’t work. I didn’t open my eyes and fall madly in love with him. So instead, he indulged another fantasy.”
“Oh, Talia.” Danielle reached out.
“Touch me right now and I swear I’ll break your wrist. Princess or no.”
Danielle drew back her hand.
“The thorns and vines died the day I awoke. The prince returned, ready to claim me for his bride. He found more than he bargained for.”
“What happened?” Danielle asked.
“He brought me to his palace. And then I ran away.”
The emptiness in those simple words made Danielle want to weep. “But your children—”
“They weren’t my children,” she whispered. “He sent them to be raised at one of the temples. I never learned which
one.” A bitter smile quirked her lips. “He said he would forgive me for being so crass as to bear children before we were married, but that it was better for everyone if the people never learned I was impure. That night, I killed him while he slept.”
Talia shuddered, then wiped her face. When she spoke again, she sounded steadier. “To sleep is to be helpless,” she said. “So when Rose threatened to revive my curse, I ran. Again. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let her—”
“She won’t,” Danielle said. “I promise. I won’t let her.”
“Don’t make oaths you can’t keep, Princess.” Talia tilted her head to one side. “Is there anything more you’d like to pry from me? Shall I entertain you with further tales of my cowardice?”
“What made you return to Fairytown?” Danielle asked.
“The farther I went, the more I imagined you sitting here waiting for me to show up and save you. Right up to the moment they cut your throat, you’d still expect everything to work out, for me to rush in and help you rescue Armand. I kept seeing the disappointment in your eyes when you finally accepted the truth, and I couldn’t stand it anymore. The world doesn’t work like that, Princess.”
“But you did come back,” Danielle pointed out.
“Shut up.”
Danielle searched for something more to say, something to let Talia know it would be all right. That Danielle didn’t despise her for leaving. She could hear the pain in Talia’s voice, and she would have taken back her questions if she could. “You’re not weak,” she said at last. “And I trust you.”
“Idiot.”
Danielle smiled. “Maybe.”
That earned a short laugh. “If you’re finished with the interrogation, Princess, would you mind terribly if we rescued Snow and Armand?”
CHAPTER 13
DANIELLE WATCHED WITH ever-increasing skepticism as Talia unwound the line of her zaraq whip. She approached the gray rat who had responded to Danielle’s call. Thanks to Trittibar’s magic, the rat appeared roughly the size of a horse.
Talia reached out. The rat promptly snatched the weighted end of the whip and tried to chew it. “Would you mind?”
“Give that back, please,” said Danielle. “She’s not going to hurt you.” She felt a twinge of guilt at that, remembering the last rat who had come to her aid. But like the others, this rat appeared to trust her. His eyes tracked Talia as she looped the line around his chest, tying a crude harness, but he didn’t try to stop her. Talia tied a second length around her own waist.
“Don’t worry.” Talia leaned down, grabbing the harness in her hands so her body pressed flat against the rat’s back. “The only thing you’ve really got to worry about is fleas. At this size, they can take a nice chunk out of you.”
Before Danielle could answer, Talia and her rat were scrambling up the support beam. Danielle waited in the darkness, listening to the scritching sound of claws on wood. The rat climbed in fits and starts, pulling himself and Talia up, then stopping to sniff the air before continuing.
“Made it,” Talia called out at last. “I’m out of the harness. Bring him back down.”
Danielle nodded and summoned the rat. His descent was far less graceful. He climbed head down, one paw on the rough stone for balance, and his hindquarters seemed forever on the verge of flipping forward over his head. When he was halfway down, one of his paws slipped and he tumbled through the air, hitting the ground next to Danielle.
Danielle knelt to check on him. “Are you all right?”
The rat emitted a short squeak and began to clean his whiskers. He seemed unhurt, if a bit dusty.
“Hold still,” Danielle said as she climbed onto the rat’s back. She drew the extra loop over her waist as Talia had done, then grabbed the harness in front of the shoulders. The rat’s back pressed uncomfortably against the bulge of her stomach. “I’m ready. Take me to Talia.”
Riding a rat was very different from riding an aviar. Talia’s makeshift harness held her securely to the rat’s back, which was an improvement over the winged horses. But with Wind, Danielle had never worried that her mount would suddenly lose her grip on the sky. The rat had already fallen once. She kept herself as still as she could.
The worst point was when a millipede the size of her leg crawled onto one of the enormous bolts securing the beam to the stone. Fortunately, the rat let out a long, broken squeak, and the millipede backed down. Magic sword or no, Danielle wasn’t ready to battle giant insects while mounted on ratback.
“Give me your hand,” said Talia.
Danielle reached up, and Talia helped pull her and the rat onto a horizontal beam. Talia had taken out a glass bottle, which she shook vigorously. The water brightened into the same blue light Danielle had seen in the pool below.
“Handy stuff,” Talia said. She handed the bottle to Danielle and began untying her whip from the rat. “The more you stir it up, the brighter it gets. I wouldn’t want to drink it, though.”
Like the walls, the space between the wooden ceiling and the stone above was full of cobwebs and dirt and dead bugs. Thick planks were nailed to the beams below. Dried plaster welled between the cracks like whitecapped waves frozen in winter.
Danielle hopped onto one of the planks. The ceiling held her weight easily. “The common room is this way.”
They walked in silence, with Danielle occasionally giving the bottle another shake to renew the light. Her clothes were already damp with sweat, thanks to the warm, musty air. The extra weight of pregnancy didn’t help either. Such a tiny thing, but her lower back already ached.
She kept one hand on her sword as they walked. Distance was impossible to judge, shrunken as they were with no landmarks. How far did they need to walk?
She turned back to the rat and whispered, “Take us to the common room.”
The rat chittered and tilted his head. He turned around, obviously confused. Of course. He wouldn’t know what the common room was.
“The sleeping girl in the glass box,” Danielle said. “Take us to her.”
The rat darted ahead, leading them through a narrow gap above the junction of three support beams. Danielle held her breath as she clawed her way past dusty cobwebs.
“Ah, the glamorous life of a princess,” Talia said, combing web from her hair. “I can see why your stepsisters were so envious.”
Danielle grinned and hopped onto the ceiling boards on the other side.
“So how do we get down?” Talia asked. “I watched the rat climb down to get you, and I don’t think I want to try that ride.”
The rat was already scrambling over the next beam, running toward the far end of the room. A faint dripping echoed through the cramped space as they passed another pipe.
They climbed over four more beams before reaching the end of the room. The rat hurried ahead, stopping in front of a protrusion of square-cut stones. “The fireplace,” Danielle said. “That must be the chimney.”
She turned around, trying to orient herself. If the fireplace was there—She ran to the left, where the chimney disappeared into the rough rock of the cave, presumably carrying the smoke and heat to a nearby crack in the stone. “Snow should be right beneath us.”
The rat squeaked and darted to a spot near the corner of the chimney. Danielle followed. As she approached, the planks grew grittier where bits of plaster had crumbled.
“It’s probably been weakened from the heat of the fireplace.” Talia drew her knife and jabbed it between the planks, gouging a chunk the size of her fist. “The plaster is dry and brittle all through here.”
Danielle covered the glowing bottle. A thin crack of light shone from one side of the chimney, where some of the plaster had fallen away. The planks were poorly fitted to the chimney, resulting in a large space which was nothing but plaster. “We can get down over there.”
Between Danielle’s sword and Talia’s knife, they soon widened the hole enough for a person to pass through. Talia squeezed her head and shoulders through the hole. She drew ba
ck a moment later, her face tight. “Stay here. I’ll see what I can do for Snow. I’ll be able to help you down once I’m back to my normal size.”
“What are you going to do?” Danielle asked.
Talia drew her whip. She untied the lead weight on the end of the line and tucked it into another pouch at her waist, digging around until she came up with a sharper, barbed weight. She tied a quick knot, gave it a tug, and grunted. She fished one of the spores out of Trittibar’s sack and handed it to Danielle. “Just in case I have trouble getting back to you.”
With that, Talia began sliding headfirst through the hole. A sharp thud vibrated the ceiling beneath Danielle’s feet. Moments later, Talia’s legs shot out of view.
“Talia!” Danielle lay flat and poked her head down. She nearly got kicked in the face as a reward.
Talia had embedded the end of her whip in the plaster, and now swung back and forth like a pendulum, kicking her legs to increase her speed. Once, twice . . .
On the third swing, Talia let go. Her tiny body compressed into a ball, turning in a slow, backward somersault as she flew toward Snow’s coffin.
Danielle tensed. If Talia misjudged, she would smash into the side of the coffin, where the mirrored shards could cut her to shreds.
Talia twisted like a cat, bringing her hands and legs beneath her. She cleared the side of the coffin by a hair, landing squarely in the middle of Snow’s ample bosom. She bounced down to Snow’s belly as smoothly as any acrobat.
Danielle let out a sigh of relief. “She’s a madwoman.”
Behind her, the rat squeaked in agreement.
Talia climbed on all fours to the top of Snow’s right breast, where she stood on her toes and peeked out over the edge of the coffin. She slid down, toward Snow’s neck. There she stopped to look up at Danielle. She acted uncomfortable, almost nervous. She twined her fingers together, then wiped her palms on her trousers. She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something.
“What are you doing?” Danielle asked, trying to keep her voice quiet so it wouldn’t carry.