Girls Made of Snow and Glass

by Melissa Bashardoust

  Mina had wanted to believe that the court’s attitude toward her would change. They had chosen her now, after all—chosen her as their queen rather than having to accept her only because the king had married her. And Mina was prepared to make an effort as well. She held back at the council meetings and let Xenia lead, knowing that if she were too aggressive from the start, they would all resent her for it. And so as each day passed, she slowly became nothing more than an attractive figurehead. Mina still had complete control over the South, but the council made its decisions on how to run Whitespring or how to settle grievances between its residents, and Mina said nothing. The only time she tried to disagree on some minor matter, Xenia had gently reminded her that the council had put Mina on the throne.

  There was only one way she could think to win the North to her side, one act that would distinguish her reign beyond all others. If she could break Sybil’s curse, then surely they would love her for it.

  “I want to take down the statue of Sybil,” she announced the next day to her council. She had suggested to Nicholas once that the answer to breaking the curse might have something to do with that statue over the lake, and even now she thought there could be some truth to it. After all, no one even knew when the statue had been built—it seemed to have appeared on its own sometime after Sybil’s death.

  As soon as she’d spoken the words, the entire council started clucking. “That would be the same as tearing down Whitespring itself,” Xenia said, looking at her with a mixture of outrage and incredulity.

  Mina waited with her arms folded on the table until they had quieted down, and then she said, “I know I don’t always understand your northern traditions, but in this case, that may be a virtue. Over the years I’ve lived at Whitespring, I’ve wondered if Sybil’s curse was somehow connected to her statue. If we tear it down, and lessen her power over Whitespring, perhaps the curse will lose its power as well.” She turned to Xenia with an innocent smile, the kind she used to wear for Nicholas. “But of course, I would want the approval of my chief adviser in this matter.” And so will the rest of the council, she thought. She only had to convince Xenia, and the others would follow without protest. “It would be a triumph for this council if we found a way to end the curse.”

  Xenia silently deliberated while staring out the window in the direction of the statue. Mina was sure she would agree—if tearing down the statue did end the curse, then Xenia would share in the glory, and if the attempt failed, she could simply blame that failure on Mina.

  “I think the idea has merit,” Xenia said quietly. “That statue is a reminder of Sybil’s grief, as is the curse. Perhaps one won’t exist without the other.”

  One by one, the other Pigeons all agreed, and Mina thanked them for their cooperation. The statue would come down, and then at least one gloomy shadow would lift from Whitespring.

  Mina ordered her guards to take down the statue a few days later. She looked out into the garden from her window as they chipped away at the statue’s base and threw rope around Queen Sybil’s neck. Word had spread that the statue’s removal might lift the curse, and so a crowd of people were gathered in the garden, waiting even now for the first signs of spring.

  When the last pieces of the statue had tumbled into the lake, nothing had changed, except that there was now a blank square of soil that would soon be covered in snow. Or maybe not, Mina told herself. Maybe the change would be gradual, the snow melting a little at a time.

  But the snow came down heavily over the following week, and soon Mina had to admit that she had failed. When she tried to address the council again, Xenia had coldly told her that they didn’t currently need a southerner’s perspective on northern matters. Mina’s face burned with shame, and she didn’t speak for the rest of the meeting, retreating again to thoughts of the Summer Castle.

  Let the Pigeons have Whitespring, she thought. She would have something better in the end.

  * * *

  Late that night she found herself in the throne room. She couldn’t remember making the decision to come here, but here she was, like a sleepwalker who had only woken now, surprised to be looking around at the glass mosaic tiles on the walls. Felix had followed her, as her personal guard, but he had said nothing as he accompanied her, carrying a candelabra that lit up the vast, dark room.

  She had come to this moment the same way, one step and then another, not knowing where she was going, where her path was taking her, until suddenly she was here, shivering and alone, her husband and stepdaughter dead, ruling over a court of people who barely tolerated her. She remembered her first night at the banquet, a girl dreaming of being a queen, because then she would be loved. If only she could marry the king, she had thought, if only she could remain queen, if only she could sit on that throne, then she would have everything she wanted.… And what was next? What lie would she tell herself now to make her believe she was still only one step away from the love she craved?

  But no, if she gave in to regret now, then Lynet had come to hate her—Lynet had died—for absolutely nothing. She still had the South, didn’t she? The people there were happy she was their queen.

  And then, as she stared at the two thrones at the end of the room, the idea came to her—as soon as the Summer Castle was finished enough to be habitable, she could hold court there instead, among people who loved her and would protect her claim to the throne. She’d considered the idea of moving court south before, but not seriously, knowing that Nicholas would never have agreed to it. But now Nicholas was gone.…

  Maybe that was why she had come here tonight—to remember what she was still fighting for.

  In the wavering light of the candles, the glass mosaics of the four seasons shimmered. “Keep away from the walls,” she said to Felix. Then Mina held out her hands, feeling each piece of glass as though they were embedded in her skin, concentrated, and pulled.

  The glass tiles all fell to the floor, glittering in the light. Mina concentrated again, and there was enough glass around her that she felt only the slightest twinge in her chest as each piece of the mosaic transformed into a grown man or woman wearing the finely made clothing of a nobleperson. A court of glass, she thought.

  The members of Mina’s new court all sank to their knees, kneeling to Mina with their heads bowed. In the center of the throne room, surrounded and protected by her own creations, Mina felt something close to safe and loved, and she reached for Felix’s hand, because he was the closest to human of all of them. He took her hand, and he, too, went down on one knee, holding her hand to his forehead.

  I should have done this before, she thought, but she had been too afraid to use her power so freely before, too afraid of anyone finding out about her heart.

  But it didn’t matter anymore. Mina didn’t even have to wait until the Summer Castle was finished. She could replace all of her enemies with friends now. She could even create a family for herself if she wanted, a loving father and loyal mother, a devoted husband, a child—

  Mina let out a small gasp, her hand going to her mouth. If she chose, she could take one of those pieces of glass and transform it into a perfect copy of Lynet, accurate in every way except that she’d be alive—mostly—and she would never hate Mina. She could have a version of Lynet from before the day of the accident, before Mina had destroyed everything between them, a girl who would never grow up—

  A doll, Mina thought. Everything Lynet didn’t want to be.

  What a terrible insult to Lynet’s memory that would be, to turn her into the very thing she had always feared—a shell, a body with no life or will of its own, a replica of someone dead.

  How many times had Lynet come to her with that fear, sometimes unspoken but always lurking behind every word, every innocent question she asked? And how many times had Mina urged her to leave her mother’s memory behind? Mina had thought at the time that she was giving Lynet the right advice, encouraging her to choose her own identity, but now that Lynet was dead, Mina could be more honest with he
rself. It was easy to guide Lynet on the path away from her mother when that same path also led away from the throne, away from Mina’s crown.

  Looking now at her loyal new subjects, at her throne at the end of the room, Mina shuddered in revulsion—at herself, at the life she had stolen from Lynet because she had been afraid that if she were no longer a queen, she would be nothing at all.

  As soon as she’d allowed the thought to take shape in her mind, the glass court froze and shattered, glass littering the marble floor all around her. She thought for a moment that she had shattered with them, but it was only her resolve that had broken. Perhaps it would have been easier to live in the fantasy she’d created, a world of glass that reflected only the parts of herself that she could admire.

  But every piece of glass on the floor was another lie to distract her from Lynet’s memory, and so she returned them all to the walls, putting back together the image of seasons that the North had lost long ago.

  She returned to her rooms, wanting to be alone, and looked at herself in the mirror. The gray hairs around her temple had grown back, and instinctively, she tore them out, not flinching at the pain, because she had performed this ritual so many times already.

  A frown line on her forehead. Dark circles underneath her eyes. The cracks in her surface were starting to show. If they love you for anything, it will be for your beauty, she mouthed silently, watching her lips form the words. She brought her fingertips up to the glass, the cool surface warming under her touch.

  Mina looked at her hands. They were growing thin, her fingers bony, and she could trace with one finger the protruding veins that traveled down to her wrists. Again she moved like a sleepwalker, going to the table by her bed, taking up the silver bracelet that still lay there, clasping it around her wrist as a reminder, as a punishment. Ever since placing the bracelet by the bed, she had developed a morbid fear of it, flinching every time she saw it out of the corner of her eye. But she had stubbornly kept it there anyway, because she refused to feel guilty or afraid.

  She wasn’t afraid now, either. She felt a strange kind of calm, an inexplicable relief at finally saying the words to herself, over and over again: You drove her away. You killed her. You stole her throne. You stole her life. It’s your fault she’s dead. The more hideous her thoughts, the more relief she felt, until finally she was driven to her knees, giving voice to all the truths she most feared.

  Felix found her that way in the morning, bent over and clutching her wrist to her chest, still muttering words too low for anyone but herself to hear.

  25

  LYNET

  The short climb up to the church’s second-story windows should have been easy for Lynet, but she was still navigating around the disorientation that had come over her since she’d left the North. Her arms grew tired quickly and she had to pause several times, clinging to the edge of the building, until her head stopped spinning.

  But she managed to reach one of the broken windows and climbed inside, careful not to cut herself on the glass. The room she landed in was dark, with dusty sheets draped over furniture. She peeked under one of the sheets and found a half-finished stone altar, much like the ones in the chapel at Whitespring.

  She left the room, finding herself at one end of a long, narrow landing illuminated by a beam of moonlight coming from a window set into the slanted roof. To her side was a curving stairwell that led below, and across the landing were more dark rooms. Lynet tried to be as quiet as possible as she crossed the landing, but the wood still creaked under her feet.

  She was reaching for the handle of the first door when she felt a blade pressing into the small of her back. Lynet froze, her hand twitching for the dagger at her waist.

  “You’re trespassing,” said the owner of the knife at her back, and Lynet let her hands drop to her sides in relief. It was Gregory’s voice.

  “Let me turn around, and you’ll know why,” she said.

  But she didn’t even have to turn before she heard Gregory inhale sharply. “Turn,” he said, and the blade at her back was gone.

  Lynet turned toward him, wondering if he could recognize her in so little light. She could only see his silhouetted outline and the shape of the blade in his hand.

  “Lynet?” he breathed, stepping forward into the moonlight to peer at her face. His eyes gleamed under his white eyebrows as he looked at a girl who was supposed to be dead. He was thinner than she remembered, his hair grayer. If Mina was a flame, Lynet thought, then Gregory resembled the curling smoke after the flame had been blown out.

  “You once told me that if I ever needed help, I should come to you,” Lynet said.

  He nodded. “I remember. And I meant it. But how—” He started to reach for her face, his fingers thin and skeletal. Lynet almost flinched from them, but she stopped herself. He shook his head and took hold of her wrist, his grip surprisingly firm, his long fingers encircling her wrist completely. “There’s more light downstairs,” he said. “But tell me how you came here.”

  He led her back across the landing to the winding stairs, never releasing her wrist. Lynet wanted to pull her hand away, but he seemed so frail that she was afraid she might hurt him by accident. They moved at his slow pace, and she told her story selectively as they descended, skipping over certain details—not all of Mina’s secrets were hers to tell. When she mentioned faking her death by using the snow, he halted suddenly, and Lynet nearly tripped on the step.

  Gregory was staring up at her with wide eyes. “You’re even more miraculous than I thought,” he said, his voice reverent. “I’ve wanted you to know the truth for so long, but your father and Mina wouldn’t allow it. I always hoped that one day, you would find out on your own, and then you would come to me willingly.…” He smiled, skin stretched out over bone. “And now you have.”

  “Are there others like … like me? Made with blood?”

  His smile turned sour, and he started down the stairs again. “No, there are no others like you,” he said. He paused, his voice strained as he asked, “Have you ever seen Mina wield the same power you have? Power over glass?”

  Lynet swallowed. If Mina had kept her power secret from Gregory for all these years, then what right did Lynet have to tell him about it now? The thought of Gregory knowing this secret about her stepmother, when Mina hadn’t even told Lynet, brought a bitter taste to her mouth. “No,” she said, her voice strong and clear. “I don’t think so.”

  Gregory nodded. “It’s the blood. It’s something that we alone share.” They reached the bottom of the stairs, but Gregory still didn’t release her hand, clasping it between his own and looking her in the eye with an almost feverish intensity. “In some ways, Lynet,” he said, “you are my true daughter.”

  Lynet swallowed dryly, and she wondered how Mina would have felt to hear him make this proclamation. She remained silent as he led her to the main floor of the church.

  In the dim candlelight, Lynet saw the remains of the church reformed into a makeshift parlor. The line of altars that would normally be at the front of the room were now all joined together in the center to form a table, with the sawed halves of pews serving as chairs. Along all the walls, blocking the windows, were shelves of books. There were more piles of books on the table and all but one of the chairs.

  “You live here?” Lynet said, leaving out the why as she stepped farther inside.

  Gregory moved the books off the chairs, onto the floor. “All I want is a quiet place to do my work without disturbance, without people constantly begging for my help. Either they want me to grant them some favor as a magician, or else they want me to ask Mina for something, as the queen’s father.” He shook his head in disapproval. “I choose to live near the university so I can stay at the forefront of progress and learning,” he said, gesturing to the books around him, “not to pass messages to my daughter.” He lit more candles and then he turned to Lynet and said, “But that’s why you’ve come, isn’t it? You want to ask me about Mina. You want to know how to
defeat her.”

  Lynet swallowed, gathering the courage to speak the question she’d wanted to ask from the beginning. “Actually … I want to know if she can be cured.”

  One eyebrow went up in surprise. “A cure?”

  “She says she can’t love or be loved, but maybe she only thinks that’s true because her heart is glass. If there were some way to make her heart real, then maybe…” Maybe she’d remember how much we loved each other.

  He set down a candle and came over to her, forehead furrowed in contemplation. She seemed to have surprised him with the question, or else he’d never considered the possibility before. “I don’t know,” he said. “But perhaps, if we work together, we could find an answer.”

  She smiled, relieved. “That’s why I came to you. You know more about Mina—and about me—than anyone else does. I want to help her any way I can.”

  He formed a steeple with his fingers, pressing them to his thin lips. “I think … yes, I think if I could take a sample of your blood, Lynet, then I could find out more.”

  Without thinking, Lynet crossed her arms. “What could my blood tell you?”

  The candlelight flickered over Gregory’s still face. “Blood is the source of our magic, Lynet. If I want to learn more about our magic and its capabilities, then I first need to study our blood. I could use my own, of course, but I’m … not as strong as I used to be.”

  “No, of course not,” she said quickly. “You can use my blood.”

  His lips curled into a smile. “Thank you, Lynet. Let’s do it now, shall we?”

  He set off toward the end of the room and seemed to disappear behind a bookshelf, but then Lynet heard a door closing. She followed and found a small door in the corner beyond the shelf. In a few moments, the door opened again and Gregory reappeared, shutting it deliberately behind him. “My laboratory,” he offered in explanation. He had a thin knife in one hand and a glass vial in the other. “I must ask you not to go in there by yourself, Lynet, not under any circumstances. It isn’t safe unless you’re with me.”