Mina’s fears had been unwarranted. Lynet had understood. Lynet had thanked her for sharing this piece of herself, and if she had seen some past vision of Mina here, she had not judged her too harshly.
Mina fell to her knees in front of the altars, her ragged breathing the only sound. Broken glass dug into her knees through her thick skirts, but she barely felt the pain.
Mina heard the door open behind her, but she kept her head down.
“I thought you’d be here,” Felix said, kneeling at her side.
“Leave me.”
He gently cupped her face in his hands, lifting her head to look at him. “Ask me again, and I will.”
She didn’t answer, so he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers.
“The king is dead,” she told him.
Felix bowed his head, whether from shame or respect, Mina wasn’t sure. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t tell anyone, yet. If Whitespring knew that both the king and the princess were dead, there would be chaos.” She took his face in her hands, lifting his head to look at her. “Felix, what do I do now?” she asked him in a whisper.
He put his hands over hers and brought them to his lips, kissing her knuckles. “Be a queen, just as you were always meant to be.”
Mina gazed into his eyes, trying to figure out if he was only reflecting back to her the answer she wished she could give herself. “What do you see in me, Felix? What do you see right now?”
He studied her, and as he did, his face started to change, his lips turning down, his eyes filling with despair. Mina saw the brokenness in him, which meant that he saw something broken in her. She had told Lynet it was a gift to be delicate, because it meant no one had tried to break her. The word that Lynet hated so much had sounded like a luxury to Mina. She had tried to think of a time when she had ever felt delicate, but she couldn’t; for as long as she could remember, she had always felt herself covered in invisible fractures, a map of scars like the ones that ran up and down Felix’s arms. Perhaps she was so broken that she had become unbreakable.
No one would ever see her like this, Mina decided. No one would see her on her knees, head bowed in shame. She had nothing left to lose, except her crown—and she would fight for it. The people of the South still needed her, and she would fight for them, too. She wouldn’t waste Lynet’s death by falling apart now.
Mina thought of the girl who had once sat in this same room, promising herself that she would be a queen, and she rose to her feet.
* * *
Mina paced the windowless council room, waiting for her guest. Today, the long table was bare, and the throne at its head was empty.
Father and daughter were both dead, but Mina couldn’t afford to mourn any longer. In the chapel, she could fall to her knees and give in to regret, but the moment she crossed the threshold, she had to be nothing less than a queen, with no sign of weakness or doubt.
She knew she had to act quickly in the short hours after Nicholas’s death. The captain of the guard had always liked her—he had southern roots, he had whispered to her once—and so when she brought him a dozen new soldiers to train as her personal guard and a purse full of gold coins to spend as thanks for his continued loyalty, he bowed his graying head and promised always to serve his queen.
She sought out a few of the noblemen she knew, ones whose gazes had lingered on her a little too long over the years, men she’d flirted with long ago at social functions even before she was queen. She didn’t tell them that Nicholas was dead, but she expressed her worries that he would die soon, that she would be a widowed queen. She kept them all at a distance, using only flattery and the illusion of her vulnerability to let them think she was close enough to touch. Later, when they learned that both Nicholas and Lynet were dead, each one would remember that the queen had sought him out especially, and he would think himself favored, perhaps even desired. They would all believe that with Mina on the throne, they might have a chance to rule too—a dowager queen was a valuable asset for a man who wanted to be king.
Finally, she spoke to the steward and made sure that her plans had some historical precedent. And then she sent for Xenia. As much as she hated to admit it, Mina needed her support.
A knock at the door brought Xenia, escorted by one of Mina’s new soldiers, and Mina told him to wait outside while she and the noblewoman talked.
“Has something happened, my lady?” Xenia said in the honeyed tone she’d always used since Mina had become queen.
“Sit, please,” Mina said, gesturing to the table. Xenia took her usual seat, at the king’s left side, and Mina sat across from her. “I’m telling you this because I know I can trust you to do what’s best for the stability of this kingdom,” Mina said. She had thought she would need to force the words out, but she found to her surprise that she believed them. Xenia’s power came from her position at court, a position that depended on stability and unchanging order. If she could convince Xenia that they both wanted the same thing, she would win.
“I’m honored by your trust in me, my lady,” Xenia answered. “I hope the king is well.”
“I’m afraid not,” Mina said. She looked down at her clasped hands for a moment before continuing. “The king is dead.”
The news shocked Xenia into momentary silence, her mouth hanging open. “I’ve known him since he was a boy,” she said, fighting to recover her composure. “I—I’m sorry, my lady. I know this loss must be—”
Mina shifted in her seat. “I understand your grief, but we have no time for it now.”
Mina’s blunt words had their intended effect—Xenia’s polite mask slipped, her face hardening as she looked with loathing at the lowborn woman who ranked above her. “Then you’ll forgive me for asking why you’ve called me here alone. I know it isn’t because of the high regard you hold for me.”
Mina gave Xenia a cold smile. “You’re right. But I do understand your position here, the influence you hold over the rest of the court. I experienced it firsthand when I was a girl. One word from you, and the rest follow.”
Xenia tilted her head in acknowledgment. “True.”
“I have something else to tell you … something I wish I didn’t have to say.” Mina paused, afraid her voice would break. When she was sure of herself, she said, “The princess is dead as well.”
Xenia didn’t react at all, her face perfectly still. And then she said, “Are you telling me the truth?”
The sight of Lynet’s corpse laid out in the chapel flashed through Mina’s mind. She took a breath, forcing the image away before she answered. “Lynet was found dead early this morning on the grounds. Her neck was broken, probably from a fall. I can’t know for sure, but I think … I think she took the news of her father’s accident badly.”
Xenia gasped, understanding Mina’s implication. “The poor child.”
Mina waited for her to recover, to grasp the larger ramifications of Lynet’s death, as she knew Xenia would.
And there it was—Xenia looked up at Mina suddenly, looked her in the eye with perfect understanding. “The king named no other successor, did he?”
Mina shook her head. “I spoke to the steward. He said the king had no other direct relations, only distant cousins, all with an equal claim to the throne. Do you understand what that means?”
“Of course I understand. This kingdom will fall into chaos. There could be civil war.…”
“I don’t want that any more than you do. I want everything to stay as it is. And there’s only one way I can see for that to happen.”
She had feared that Xenia might laugh at her when she figured out what Mina truly wanted, but Xenia didn’t laugh or sneer. She nodded slowly, looking Mina full in the eye as she said, “You have to remain queen. And you can’t do that without me.”
“It seems that we both need each other,” Mina said. “You keep me on the throne, and I’ll keep you on my council.”
“Is that all you can offer me?” she said, her voice quiet but firm.
Mina had been prepared for that question. “I’ll make you my chief adviser.”
“An alliance, then?”
“For the good of the kingdom.”
The two women watched each other, and Mina knew they were reaching the same realization—that despite their distaste for each other, they would both be stronger together than they had been before, when they were at odds. The peace of an entire kingdom waited for them to put aside past offenses in the name of power and pragmatism.
Xenia’s eyes narrowed slightly. “If I help bring you the council and the rest of the court, do you think you would be able to maintain your place on the throne?”
“I have the castle guard on my side,” Mina said, “and a newly established personal guard as well. The steward assures me that I’m not the first queen in Whitespring’s long history to remain in power after her husband has died. I can only imagine that all of Whitespring would also prefer a peaceful transfer of power rather than a long search—or war—over a successor, and will give me no trouble. And, of course, I have the support of the South. If I command them to rise up—or to stop sending food to the North—they will obey.”
Xenia shuddered, probably imagining the disaster that a southern siege against the North would bring. At last she nodded. “No one wants a war, especially not the North.”
“Are we in agreement, then?” Mina said, rising from the table. “We’ll speak to each of the councilors together, telling them what’s happened and explaining why their support is necessary, just as I’ve explained it to you. With your influence and my position, I’m sure we can persuade them to fall in line.”
Xenia stood too. “I believe you’re right. Have no worries, my lady. You’ll sleep tonight as a queen.”
* * *
That evening, Mina gathered her court in the throne room with her guards, both old and new, lining the walls. The Hall was more suited for an audience of this size, but Mina thought the throne room lent her an air of authority and provided a change of scene from the stale and stagnant kings and queens who had come before her.
“People of Whitespring,” Mina called out over the small crowd. “As some of you may have already heard, King Nicholas died this morning, from wounds received during a hunting accident.” She waited for them all to murmur among themselves, bracing herself for what she had to say next. Would it ever become an easy thing to say? Would she ever become accustomed to speaking these words? “But even as we mourn his loss, we must face another tragedy: Princess Lynet was found dead as well.”
The crowd gave a collective gasp out of respect for the news, but Mina saw no fresh sorrow, no real surprise. The council members all knew, of course, because she and Xenia had told them, and they must have quickly shared the news with others. At that moment, she preferred Nicholas’s honest grief to the calculated looks of sadness on the faces of the court.
“There will be time enough to mourn in the coming days, but at this moment, it’s my duty to look to the future, to ensure that no harm comes to this kingdom as long as it’s still in my care. The king died without naming a new successor, and so in the interest of maintaining peace in our kingdom, I have been asked to continue my reign as queen and to rule in my husband’s stead. I would never presume to accept such a request without the support and approval of my court. If there are any here who wish to refute my claim, please speak now.”
Minutes passed in silence, and though Mina saw a number of people glance uncertainly at the soldiers around the room, not a single person in the room spoke out.
Finally Xenia stepped forward, apart from the crowd, but still at a careful distance from Mina. “I think I speak for us all, my lady,” she said, “when I say that we are thankful for your leadership at such a distressing time. We all owe our continued good fortune to you, Queen Mina.” And with a sly look in her eye that only Mina could see, Xenia bowed her head. Immediately, the rest of the crowd followed suit, the entire room bowing to their queen.
Mina allowed herself a small, silent intake of breath, barely noticeable to anyone who might be peeking up at her over the sea of bowed heads. She had stood in front of a bowing court before, but always at Nicholas’s side, always with Lynet close behind her, a reminder that she was only an interim between two identical queens. The last time she remembered facing the court alone had been on her wedding night. That was also the last time she’d felt they might love her.
And did they love her now? Would they accept her fully, now that she was their best and only choice? Would they remember her as the queen who had saved the kingdom from being torn apart by civil war? Or would they always think that it should have been Lynet standing here, instead?
She held her head high, accepting their gesture, but part of her wondered if she had only traded the ghost of one queen for another.
22
LYNET
The merchant’s cart was cramped, but Lynet was glad for it; the more people there were, the less attention she would attract. Tucked into the corner of the cart, Lynet tried not to fall asleep, but she was exhausted, and she pinched herself whenever her head started to droop.
The snow had become an unexpected resource. She now had a new dagger hidden under her cloak, and though she wasn’t sure she would know how to use it, she felt safer knowing it was there. She hadn’t eaten since leaving Whitespring, so she’d created some bread out of the snow and wolfed it down. She had a new purse with money now too, which she had used to buy her way south.
The cart belonged to a fruit merchant who was returning south to replenish his stock. When Lynet had seen others paying to ride part of the way in the empty cart, she had done the same. She had briefly considered trying to create a horse and cart of her own, but she still wasn’t sure how her powers would work away from the snow. For all she knew, everything she had made could melt as soon as she crossed the Frost Line that separated the North and the South. The idea of creating a living creature intimidated her as well. She wasn’t very familiar with horses—what if she forgot some crucial detail in its formation?
The others weren’t going as far as she was. Lynet overheard a younger girl explaining that she had found a position working as a scullery maid at one of the northern estates. She’d only be able to take the cart to the nearest town, and then she’d have to walk through the snow the rest of the way. Lynet didn’t know how she’d be able to make it that far; the girl’s knuckles were already red and chapped from the icy wind. The gray-haired woman beside Lynet unwrapped a knitted shawl from around her shoulders and gave it to the girl, assuring her that she was returning from visiting family, and so she could make another shawl once she returned home.
Lynet shrank into her cloak. She was glad she had the heavy cloak to hide her finely made and embroidered dress, but she felt guilty knowing that she didn’t truly need it when the others in the cart shivered under their thin clothing.
In Whitespring, it was a matter of pride not to show any sign of feeling the cold. But Lynet understood now that this was a game that only the wealthy could play, enduring the cold in public only to return to the warm fires and furs of their private chambers. She had been silently grumbling every time a splinter from the wood snagged on her clothes or hands, or whenever the rocking cart sent waves of nausea through her stomach, but now she only thought of what a blessing it was not to ever feel the biting cold.
The merchant stopped several times along the way, either to feed the horses or to wait while the roads were cleared of snow or to sleep for the night. At each stop, Lynet took the opportunity to explore the northern villages, always hoping it would be different from the last.
Lynet had felt a thrill of excitement when she had first stepped into North Peak. Her father had never allowed her to go into town on market days, insisting that if she wanted anything, he would send someone to buy it for her. Still, Mina had told her stories of her home in the South, and some part of Lynet had imagined that all towns were the same—bright and bustling, full of color and movem
ent. North Peak had been nothing like that. Lynet had walked past figures hunched over from the many layers of mismatched clothing they wore to protect them against the cold, their faces lined with fatigue.
No one looked at her. No one looked at anything. It was like … like walking among ghosts, she had thought with a shiver the first time. Of course she hadn’t understood what it was like for northerners who couldn’t buy their warmth at Whitespring—she never felt cold at all.
Wandering now through another bleak village, Lynet had the same feeling she’d had in North Peak, that she was walking among ghosts. She walked through the market, hoping to find a fruit stall, but most of the fruit had already begun to spoil. And there were no signs of the luxuries the North was so proud of—no gems or metalwork from the mines, no intricate wooden carvings—only necessities.
Nothing grows here, Nadia had said. With a pang of shame, she guessed that any food that stayed fresh during the journey north probably went to Whitespring.
Another girl near her age was also looking at the spoiled fruit, her nose wrinkling in disappointment. Still, she bought a single mealy apple and went on her way, while Lynet went the other direction, knowing that she could take a handful of snow and make her own fruit. She paused in her step, wondering if she should make an apple and chase after that girl, to offer her something better than what she could find here. And from there, her thoughts expanded—if she could make one, then why not a cartful? Why not feed an entire town if she had the capability to do so?
Because you’re supposed to be dead, she reminded herself. She hadn’t heard any news of either the king or the princess dying in her time traveling south, but she was sure Mina’s soldiers had found the body by now. She couldn’t afford to be heroic, either—she needed to be someone new and invisible, at least until she reached the South.
And perhaps it was selfish of her, but she liked being invisible. She had no name, no face, no connection to Emilia at all. She simply existed in her own right, and for the first time, the future was a vast unknown, a road cleared from snow.
Girls Made of Snow and Glass Page 20