by Jim C. Hines
Snow’s stone dwarf was waiting for them at the other side of the bridge. She stood on a broad platform of wood and metal that circled about a third of the tower. Huge sheets of thick oak had been worn smooth by decades of pacing guards. A lacework of silver metal threaded between the boards like the roots of a willow tree, securing it to the tower. The whole thing appeared delicate and flimsy, yet it supported the dwarf’s weight with no sign of strain.
Two goblins cowered behind the dwarf. Well, two and a half, really. The dwarf hadn’t been gentle.
The two survivors huddled together, their yellow eyes huge. A pile of cards sat forgotten between them. Neither one made any effort to raise the crossbows in their laps.
Talia smiled and scooped up both crossbows.
“We’re here to see the Duchess and her guests,” Danielle said, matching Talia’s smile. “She should be expecting us.”
Talia turned around. Stacia had managed to drive most of the bats back, but the delay had given Snow and her dwarves the upper hand. Stacia had already retreated halfway across the bridge. “Go,” Talia said, nudging the stone statue. “Help her.”
As the dwarf of stone ran to help Snow, Talia handed one crossbow to Danielle. She put her foot in the stirrup of the other, drawing back the heavy string, then raised it to her shoulder. Sighting carefully, she pulled the trigger.
The crossbow bolt rustled Stacia’s gown as it flew past. Talia flung the crossbow over the edge of the platform in disgust. “Shoddy goblin garbage.”
Talia yanked the other crossbow from Danielle’s hand and turned to the goblins. “I’m pretty sure I can hit a closer target, though.”
The goblins glanced at one another. Moving in unison, they stepped out of the way, clearing a path to the arched door behind.
Danielle drew her sword, eliciting panicked squeaks from both goblins. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Nobody’s going to hurt you.”
“That would be a first,” muttered one. Their gazes never left her sword.
Talia studied the edge of the door, then dropped flat to peer beneath. “No lock, and no traps I can find.” She glanced at the goblins. “The lack of traps is probably a good idea. No doubt they’d kill themselves trying to get back inside.”
The door’s handle was polished bronze, cast to resemble a nude, very well-endowed elf. “Don’t let Snow see this,” Talia said. “She’ll want to redecorate half the palace.” Rolling her eyes, she grabbed the lever in the center and lifted.
The door opened easily, revealing a low, round room as wide as the entire tower. A blue fire flickered in the floor at the center. Smoke darkened the air, making Danielle cough. She kept one eye on the goblins, but they seemed content to cower in peace.
“You’d think the Duchess would have better guards,” Danielle said as she stepped after Talia.
“Yes, you would.” Talia stopped in mid-step. “Princess, grab the door!”
Danielle tried, but she was too late. Untouched, the door slammed shut, plunging them into silence.
“The goblins are a ruse. There was no trap on the door because the whole room is the trap.” Talia pointed through the blue-gray haze of smoke. Thirteen doors, evenly spaced, covered the walls. “Typical fairy mischief. I’m betting one of these doors will take us where we want to go.”
“And the others?”
“The bottom of the sea, a dragon’s mating pit, a goblin latrine . . . Fun places like that.”
Danielle grabbed the handle of the door behind her. Thankfully, the handle on this side was shaped like a simple tree branch, so perfectly cast it appeared to be growing right out of the door. She gave it a quick tug. “I don’t think it’s latched,” she said. “We can go back and ask the goblins which door—”
“No!” Talia seemed to fly across the room, slamming her shoulder into the door. “Nothing is that easy, Princess.”
“There has to be a way,” Danielle protested. “The goblins can’t stay out on that ledge forever.”
“What makes you think that door leads back to the goblins?” asked Talia. She knelt, studying the base of the door. “The doors recognize the people, not the other way around. Snow would know how to find the right one.”
Danielle moved to the next door. The hinges showed no sign of use. The metal was as clean as the day it was forged. The only difference was the handle. Tiny buds sprouted from the bronze.
Moving around the room, Danielle realized each successive handle took her further through the seasons. On the opposite side of the room, oak leaves bloomed from a handle so thin Danielle cut her finger on the edge. Acorns hung from later doors, and as she neared the end of the circle, she found withered leaves secured to the doors, as if they had been captured in mid-fall.
“I hate fairies,” Talia muttered. She moved to one of the autumn doors and poked the falling leaves. “I hate riddles, too. It’s early summer, so does that mean we pick one of the summer doors?”
“What about the fire?” Danielle hurried to the center of the room. A sunken circle, rimmed by an unbroken ring of white marble, contained the fire. Thick logs were arranged in a pyramid, though the wood didn’t appear to burn. The smoke smelled of ginger and cinnamon.
“What are you going to do, burn down the doors?”
“I don’t know.” Danielle reached out, but the blue flames were far too hot. “Maybe the fire is a part of the riddle. The flames might change color when we touch the right one, or the smoke might flow toward the door we need, or—”
“I doubt it,” said Talia. “More likely the Duchess uses the fire to spy on this room. We had a spy try that in the palace a year or so back. One of the candles in the throne room was burning with a peculiar pink tinge. We thought it was something in the wax. I swapped it out and brought it to Snow. I wasn’t thinking about anyone using the flames as scrying magic.” She glanced away. “Well, Snow likes pink. But the first time she lit the wick, she told us there was an elf watching on the other side of the flame.”
“Why would the Duchess want to watch us?” Danielle asked.
“For her own amusement, probably,” said Talia. “I’m sure it’s a great show, watching the poor humans stumble around, arguing and trying one foolish plan after another, until we finally open a door and unleash our doom.” She scowled at the fire. “Arrogant fairy bi—”
“Wait,” said Danielle. She stared down into the flames. “Are you sure she’s watching?”
“She has to know what’s happening out there on the bridge,” said Talia. “She probably knows we made it past her goblins. Yes, I’m sure.”
Danielle straightened. Fairies had to play by the rules, after all. “Duchess,” she said, speaking as firmly as she could. She tried to imitate the way Queen Beatrice spoke when she held court. “I am Princess Danielle Whiteshore, future queen of Lorindar. I have been held in your home against my will, and I would speak with you.”
Taking Talia’s arm, Danielle walked toward the closest door.
“What are you doing?” Talia twisted free.
“Even the Duchess has to follow the treaty,” Danielle said. “If I die, she will have knowingly murdered a member of the royal family.” She grabbed the handle of the door.
“Are you sure?” Talia asked.
Danielle forced a grin. “Trust me.”
Talia rolled her eyes, but didn’t try to pull Danielle away.
Danielle held her breath. She knew she was right. She had to be right. The Duchess’ role in this game was defined by her ignorance, her willing blindness to the identity of Danielle and Armand. She opened the door.
Nothing but blackness lay beyond. She heard Talia readying her crossbow. Putting a hand on her sword, Danielle stepped through the doorway.
Her foot touched stone. A feast of smells made her mouth water. Baked lamb, fresh bread, and some sort of sweet, fruity sauce or jam. Another step, and the darkness began to fade. A chandelier floated in the blackness ahead. Three rings of candles hung suspended by ropes of braided gold. Cryst
al teardrops dangled between the candles, capturing the light like tiny stars.
Danielle kept walking until she found herself in a long dining room. Marble staircases curved up the walls. Blue-and-white flowers bloomed from living railings. In the center of the room sat a table of polished black stone. At the far end of the table, beyond the platters and the goblets, a golden brazier burned with a warm blue flame.
Brahkop the troll was just rising from an oversized chair. To his left, sitting at the head of the table, sat a slender woman in a robe of white silk. The Duchess, presumably. She was a small woman, almost childlike. Golden threads in her robe wove images of birds which flew endless circles around her torso, twisting and diving to follow the contours of her body. Her hair was pure white, cut short and wild like a young boy’s. A thin circlet of platinum sat on her brow, decorated with flakes of jade. Long, slender ears tapered to a point just above her crown. Her eyes were too large for her face, and they stared unblinking at Danielle and Talia.
Beside her, clasping the Duchess’ hand in his own, sat Prince Armand.
He wore a black robe cut in the same style as the Duchess’. A serpentine dragon in silver thread undulated around his chest as he stood. His sword still hung from his hip. Danielle’s chest tightened. There was no recognition in Armand’s eyes.
“Duchess,” snapped Brahkop. “This is a slave girl, a rebellious servant of my wife.”
All true, Danielle noted. Incomplete, but true. Brahkop was being very careful not to lie to the Duchess.
Danielle opened her mouth, then froze. What was the proper form of address for a Duchess? My Lady? Your Grace? Were the titles different among fairykind? Her studies with The Mortal’s Guide to Faerie Courtesy seemed a lifetime ago. The last thing she wanted to do was offend the Duchess.
She glanced back, but Talia appeared to be waiting for her. Was she actually following Danielle’s lead?
Danielle swallowed and approached the table. “I’ve come for my husband . . . Your Grace.” “Grace” seemed an appropriate word for one of fairy blood. The Duchess’ expression didn’t change. “Prince Armand was taken from me by my stepsisters, Charlotte and Stacia. That troll helped them use witchcraft to twist his affections.”
The Duchess raised Armand’s hand to her lips and planted a soft kiss on the knuckles. Danielle’s chest tightened.
“I know nothing of witchcraft.” Her voice was musical. “And your stepsister Stacia is host to a queen, which gives her higher standing than yourself, even if your claim is an honest one. She tells me Armand followed her of his own accord.” Long fingers stroked the prince’s arm. “Over time, Armand has come to appreciate my hospitality.”
Danielle’s hand was halfway to her sword before she caught herself. No doubt that was precisely what the Duchess wanted. If Danielle attacked, the Duchess would be within her rights to defend herself.
“Do you know this girl, Armand?” the Duchess asked.
Armand pursed his lips. His hair was longer than the last time Danielle had seen him, giving him a scruffy, wild look. His skin had paled, and his movements were listless. Danielle searched for any sign of recognition on that stubbled face.
Armand didn’t have the keenest eyesight. Why else had he needed to bring along Danielle’s forgotten slipper to confirm her identity, after the ball? But surely he had to know her now.
“I believe so,” Armand said slowly. His next words crushed any hope Danielle might have felt. “Weren’t you a servant at my palace, once?”
Brahkop chuckled. The Duchess turned back to Danielle.
Danielle pointed to Brahkop. “My stepsister may host a queen, but he is nothing but an exile, banished from both Fairytown and Lorindar. Demand the truth from him.” She smiled at Brahkop. “You wouldn’t dare lie to the Duchess, would you?”
Brahkop snarled and moved toward Danielle.
“Well, Brahkop?” The Duchess’ soft words stopped the troll dead. A predatory grin played at her lips. She appeared to be enjoying this confrontation. “How do you answer?”
Brahkop said nothing. As Danielle had hoped, he seemed unable or unwilling to lie to the Duchess. But the contract he had made with Stacia and Charlotte bound him to silence.
Faint lines creased the Duchess’ forehead. “Brahkop the exile, you are here as the husband of my guest, on my sufferance. I would be greatly displeased to find you have abused that hospitality.”
“Never, Your Grace.” Apparently Danielle had guessed the right title after all. Brahkop turned to face the Duchess. “This woman assaulted me in my home and ordered my shop destroyed. She was born a commoner, and sought to gain the hand of the prince through magic and deceit.”
The Duchess looked at Danielle. “Attacking one of our people is frowned upon, child. Even a casteless exile like him.”
“Grant me one kiss,” Danielle said. “Let me break the spell on Armand, and he will tell you himself.”
“No!” Brahkop started to move toward her, then froze.
“Oops,” whispered Talia.
“No?” The Duchess’ voice was soft, but the unspoken threat in that single syllable made Danielle shiver. “You forget yourself, troll.”
“Forgive me, Your Grace.” Brahkop bowed low. “I meant—”
“Your stepsisters are human,” the Duchess said, turning her back on Brahkop. “As is the prince. The treaty clearly prohibits me from interfering in human affairs.” She glided toward the nearest staircase. “Therefore, I must leave you to settle matters among yourselves.”
As she climbed the steps, a shadow broke away from the wall. A slender, taller version of the darklings moved to follow. An older darkling, perhaps? Where the children were wild and uncontrolled, this one moved with the easy grace of a snake. Had Danielle actually tried to attack the Duchess, he would have killed her before she knew he was there.
Talia’s breath tickled her neck. “Brahkop won’t move until the Duchess is gone. Once she’s out of sight, get to the prince. You have to break the spell. I’ll deal with the walking hairball.”
Armand started to follow the Duchess. She glanced down at him and waved. “Stay there, darling.” She plucked one of the blossoms from the railing and brought it to her nose. With a thin smile, she turned to Danielle. “If you’ve made it this far, I suppose that means your stepsister Stacia is dead.”
She disappeared up the stairs before Danielle could answer.
“Stacia . . . dead?” Armand stepped away from the table, clearly shaken by the Duchess’ words. “I loved her, once.” His fingers brushed the hilt of his sword.
“Stacia’s alive,” Danielle said. At least, she had been the last time Danielle saw her. She moved toward Armand, keeping her hands away from her weapon. This was her husband. He loved her. No magic could destroy that. “Don’t you remember me, Armand?”
Brahkop answered first. “What kind of love potion would it be if the subject kept his love for someone else? His past is nothing but a faint dream to him, girl. I could carve you up for a snack and he wouldn’t stop me. He’d probably even pass the gravy when I asked.”
“Don’t you ever shut up?” Talia asked. She centered her crossbow on the troll’s face and pulled the trigger.
The bolt sank into the troll’s hair, then dropped to the ground. The thick troll hair was as good as armor. Brahkop laughed. “Is that goblin toy the best you can do, girl?”
Talia dropped the crossbow and bounded onto the table. Dropping low to avoid the tendrils of Brahkop’s hair, she rolled to the end and grabbed the knife the Duchess had been using to carve her meat. The crystal handle shone as she tossed the knife from one hand to the other, testing its weight. “Small and poorly balanced, but it’s still a fairy blade.” She grabbed a fork in her other hand.
“Armand, they’ve come to take you from the Duchess!” Brahkop shouted.
Armand moved before Danielle could stop him. He crouched and drove his shoulder into her side, knocking her down. With Danielle out of the way, he drew his swo
rd and lunged at Talia.
She sidestepped, jumping down on the opposite side of the table. That brought her within range of Brahkop. The troll’s hair writhed like a hundred silver tentacles, all reaching for Talia.
The knife flashed, and several ropes of hair fell, separating into fine strands that blew across the floor. Talia grinned. “I like this knife.”
Armand climbed onto the table, preparing to leap at Talia from behind.
“Armand, wait,” Danielle said. “I’m carrying our son.”
He turned so fast he stepped in Brahkop’s plate. “My . . . my son?”
“Our son. The future king of Lorindar.” She smiled and touched her belly. “Give me your hand. You might be able to feel him kicking.” The baby wasn’t moving at the moment, but she only needed to get close enough for one good kiss.
“How is that possible?”
“You mean you don’t know?” Danielle tilted her head, trying to duplicate Snow’s flirtatious smile. “You weren’t this confused on our wedding night.”
Armand flushed, but before he could respond, a thunderous crash made them both jump. Brahkop had hurled a chair at Talia. Fragments of that chair now littered the floor. Talia darted in, slicing away more of the troll’s hair, but she couldn’t get close enough to hit Brahkop himself.
“Please trust me,” said Danielle. “You searched half the city to find me. My stepsisters tried to deceive you. My stepmother locked me away. But you still found me.”
Armand looked toward the stairs the Duchess had taken, and the longing on his face hurt more than anything Danielle’s stepsisters had ever done to her. But she kept herself calm, even managing a shaky smile. This wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t help himself. “You might not remember me, but you’ll know your son.” She reached for him.
“Don’t believe her, Your Highness,” shouted Brahkop. “Their companion is a witch who means to murder Stacia, and the Duchess as well.”
“Liar!” said Danielle, but it was too late. Armand leaped away, raising his sword.
Talia snatched a broken chair leg and hurled it at Brahkop’s face. He blocked, but Talia was already moving. She rolled along the ground, slicing a deep gash in Brahkop’s leg, then scrambled aside before he could reach her.