by Jen Calonita
She didn’t wait for the mirror to finish. “Snow White,” she gasped. Despite having known this might be the case, it felt like all the air was being sucked out of her lungs. She tried to steady herself, exhaling slowly. She ran a pale, slender hand over her head, which was covered with a tight black headscarf. Her hair had always been unusually thin, unlike her sister’s or Snow’s. She hated how wiry it was and how it wouldn’t curl like theirs. Now she kept it locked up tight.
“The future holds more than one outcome. If your will is to pass, you alone know what must be done,” the mirror told her.
She understood where the mirror was going with this. They’d had this discussion before. It was one the mirror kept circling back to, just as it had all those years ago.
Ingrid turned away to compose herself. She looked around the almost bare room. To her knowledge, no one knew this room existed. Hidden behind her bedroom closet, she’d had the room built when she had moved into Georg’s tower after her sister’s death. Georg was too consumed with grief to even wonder what she was having built into her wardrobe. Katherine, on the other hand, had found out about the mirror and its power. She had not trusted it. And she had paid for those fears dearly.
Katherine. Ingrid glanced at a sudden movement in the shadows, her pulse quickening. But there was no one there. She breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to the mirror, trying to focus on the things she could control in this moment. “Tell me about the boy.”
“You have long known this day would pass,” the mirror replied. “To succeed, you must keep him from the lass.”
“Tell me again,” she said impatiently. She knew the mirror hated that tone, so she reconsidered her attitude. “I don’t recall this conversation. Where did the young man come from?”
“From a kingdom in the northern land,” said the mirror, “hails Henrich—a prince, brave and true. He shall not leave till he asks for her hand.”
“She just met the boy,” Ingrid said dismissively. “They won’t cross paths again.” I could also see to it that he doesn’t cross paths with anyone again, she thought. If that was what she had to do, she would.
“My queen, take heed, and do not laugh,” the mirror said. “If you do not act, he shall again cross her path.”
Ingrid felt the anger bubble up inside her at the mirror’s words. She curled her hands into tight fists. Just an hour ago, she’d been down in the dungeon, working on a potion, before sensing the mirror had a message for her. Now she had a problem that needed to be dealt with. Immediately.
The queen wasn’t sure how she always knew the mirror was calling, but the more she gave in to its powers, the more in tune with it she became. And she knew that everything it was saying now was true. No matter how hard she had tried to keep the girl hidden away and keep her from the finer things a princess should be afforded, the girl’s beauty and nature shone through. No rags, no dirt could hide Snow’s luminescence. That child was a perfect rose. Now that she was of age, there was no hiding that.
“The maiden may be under lock and key, but beloved by the people she will be,” the mirror continued. “You, my queen, they are less pleased to see.”
It was as if the mirror suddenly delighted in telling her what she didn’t want to hear. “I know that! Don’t you think I know?” She lunged at the mirror as if about to strike it, but stopped herself. She wouldn’t dare. “That child diminishes my authority over the people. Even hidden away in her ivory tower, they seem to know she’s there. I’m sure they wish she’d do something to rid them of their ‘evil queen,’ but she doesn’t have my strength, my power.”
“Power does she lack,” the mirror agreed, “yet strength is another matter. If given a chance, she will take the throne back.”
The mirror let the words linger in the damp, still air. The room smelled so musty that she sometimes felt ill. But it wasn’t as though she could ask anyone to clean it. She walked to one of the lanterns and lit it to give the room a warm greenish glow. Her eyes instinctively went to the corner of the chamber again, but still, no one was there. Maybe today she would get some peace from that at least.
“Till Snow White’s heart beats no more, the people will look to her. And an end to your peace will be in store,” the mirror said, reading her thoughts.
She hated when it did that, though she sighed with silent agreement. For too long she had allowed that child to exist, afraid to do anything that might disturb her newfound power. But ignoring Snow would not make her go away. It was time to take action, to do what no one else would, as per usual. “I will take care of this,” she proclaimed quietly.
“My queen, you are wise. The late hour has yet to strike. Do not let her be your demise.”
She would have it done today. She had delayed the inevitable for far too long. There would be no more indecisiveness. The threat was now too great. Rushing to the secret entrance, she pressed the lever that would let her back into her wardrobe. Then she emerged out of the closet and into her main chambers. She went straight to her door and opened it. He was waiting, as she knew he would be.
“Brutus,” she told the burly guard standing by. “Find me the huntsman. Bring him to my throne immediately.”
It always pleased her when people moved quickly.
By the time Ingrid got to her throne room, Brutus told her the huntsman had arrived. Whether the huntsman had to come from a great distance or not, she did not care. All she cared about was that she wasn’t kept waiting. Making other people wait was another story.
She had learned over the years that time might not have been her friend when it came to aging (at least not before she had come across the mirror), but in terms of making visitors uncomfortable and anxious, time was a blessing, indeed. Which was why she took her time getting settled on her throne that day. She loved sitting in that chair.
Georg, the fool that he was, had kept the same old, unassuming design as his father had before him. And Katherine, never caring much for décor, hadn’t made a peep about changing that fact. Ingrid, on the other hand, couldn’t wait to make alterations to the receiving room. As soon as she married Georg, she had workers build a platform for the thrones. As king and queen, should they not sit higher than those coming to ask favor of them? Armor was hung from the walls, giving anyone who entered a clear picture that this kingdom was not to be challenged. She added red velvet curtains and had her throne covered in blue velvet. But her favorite part of the opulent chair was the peacock feathers that fanned out behind her head, wreathing her in a sea of greens and black.
Poised upon it now, she gave the guard permission to let the huntsman in.
He walked in, gaze downcast, his brown hair falling in front of his eyes. As soon as he got close enough, he knelt before her.
“Rise, huntsman, as I have a task for you,” she said. It occurred to her at that moment she didn’t even know the man’s name. He’d carried out many tasks for her over the last few years. Unspeakable tasks that he would take to the grave, and yet she still greeted him as if he were almost a stranger. It was for the best.
The huntsman removed his cap and looked at her, waiting for more direction. He had learned the hard way that she didn’t take kindly to interruptions.
“I would like you to take Snow White into the forest where she can pick wildflowers.” A devilish smile played on her lips. “And there, my faithful huntsman, you will kill her.”
He looked taken aback. “But Your Majesty! She’s the princess!”
“Silence!” she commanded, her eyes flashing like fire. “You dare question your queen?”
“No, Your Majesty,” he said softly, hanging his head again.
She drummed her fingers on the throne. It thrilled her to know he had no choice but to follow her command. If he didn’t, he and his family would suffer the consequences. “You know the penalty if you fail.”
He did not look up. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
His word you cannot trust! she heard a voice in her head say. She knew it wasn�
�t her own. The mirror knew everything. Ask for proof, you must.
Proof.
Yes.
Her eyes landed on the red box she kept on her throne. She used it to collect taxes from the foolish men her guards brought to her when they failed to make their payments. The box was empty at the moment. She’d cleared it out only yesterday. Lifting it, she examined its design more closely than she had in quite a while. It featured a heart with an arrow sticking through it. How poetic.
Queen Ingrid held the ornate box out to him. The huntsman looked at her worriedly, which was thrilling. She could not believe how long it had taken her to do this. Oh, how she would enjoy it. “But to make doubly sure you do not fail,” she said, the words sounding deliciously slippery on her lips, “bring me back her heart in this.”
Thirty years earlier
They sat on the floor, facing one another, knees touching in front of the warm fire. She spread the wooden figures out in front of them on the small linen towel.
Her younger sister, Katherine, clapped excitedly when she saw them. “Oh, Ingrid, you made more!”
Katherine picked up the small wooden knobs upon which Ingrid had painted faces, and looked at them lovingly. They were wearing scraps of cloth Ingrid had found in Mother’s old sewing basket. Father thought he had thrown all of her things out when she died, but Ingrid had shrewdly hidden the basket under her bed. She knew they’d need it for mending and sewing new clothes. The dresses they had weren’t going to last forever.
Her father had no head for girls. He left them to fend for themselves most days while he worked in the village at the blacksmith’s. It was a long time for the two of them to be alone—before the sun rose and after it set—but that suited Ingrid just fine. She didn’t much like having him around.
“Yes,” Ingrid told her, holding up a small king with a paper crown on his head. “Here is King Jasper and Queen Ingrid and Katherine, the good fairy.”
Katherine laughed. “You’re the queen! That’s okay. I quite like being a kind fairy.” She touched the small paper wings Ingrid had glued to the back of the wooden dowel. “Do I have magic powers?”
“Of course you do,” Ingrid told her. “So does the queen, of course. Everyone should know magic.”
Katherine’s sweet face clouded over, the flames making shadows dance on her button nose. “Good magic, right?”
“Of course,” Ingrid said. They’d heard Father talk about ridiculous rumors of witches who dabbled in the dark arts, but he swore it was all rubbish. And on this fact, Ingrid tended to agree with him. Magic didn’t exist. She was sure of it. If it did, she would have found a way to save Mother from her illness.
But Katherine was only ten. She should believe. At thirteen, Ingrid was older and wiser, or so she told herself, and in Mother’s absence, she tried to teach her sister all that their mother would have if she were still alive. That meant she tried to teach Katherine how to write and read, among other things. Father had stopped their schooling when Mother died.
“Your place is to keep house,” he told Ingrid. “Cook, clean, look pretty, keep your mouth shut, and be ready to serve me when I get home.”
Like he was a king. He wasn’t, that was for sure. Ingrid couldn’t stand the sight of him when he came home some nights—later than he’d say he’d be, smelling like the devil. Some evenings he wouldn’t even eat what she’d cooked. He’d just stumble into his bed and stay there till they woke him in the morning. Ingrid liked those evenings best. She and Katherine could eat without saving him the biggest portion, and they didn’t have to hear his belligerent mouth. He was so angry all the time, as if he hated them for living when Mother had died.
So, if Ingrid had to tell Katherine some white lies to keep her from hating their life the way Ingrid did, she would.
“Katherine is a good fairy, and good fairies and sprites have the best kind of magic,” Ingrid said, taking her sister’s wooden dowel and flying it above their heads like a bird.
They played for what felt like forever, and Ingrid finally allowed her shoulders to relax. Dinner was cooking in the fire—a stew that would feed them for days—and with any luck, Father wouldn’t be back till the sky was black as night.
So when they heard the door thunder open while the sun was still high, both girls jumped. Father had come home early.
Ingrid hated that she looked like the man. She wasn’t balding, of course, but she had his wiry brown hair, whereas Katherine’s was black like Mother’s had been. Ingrid had his eyes, too—black as coal—while Katherine had Mother’s brown ones. It seemed unfair that her sister should get to look like the parent they both loved fiercely, while she had to be reminded of the man they loathed.
“Why are you both sitting on the floor like dogs?” he bellowed, one hand gripping the doorframe.
“Sorry, Papa!” Katherine jumped up and one of the dowels began to roll away from her, coming to a stop at their father’s feet.
He bent down and peered at the dowel. It was Fairy Katherine. “Toys? You two were playing with toys?” He moved toward them quickly. Ingrid instinctively put her hand in front of Katherine to keep her out of Father’s way. “You are supposed to be doing chores! Cooking! Women don’t sit on the floor, Ingrid. You are too old to behave like this.”
“Supper is already on, Father,” Ingrid said calmly as he stomped around the room. “We weren’t expecting you for a few hours.”
“Got dismissed,” he muttered. “Docked a day’s wages for showing up with half a mind.”
He was unsteady on his feet. Why had he come home? Now they’d be stuck with him in as foul a temper as ever. Ingrid felt the walls closing in.
“Why don’t you go to sleep?” Ingrid suggested.
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t need sleep! I need pay, stupid girl!” He raised his hand to strike and she moved out of his reach. He stumbled toward them again. “You two should be out there working instead of me. Earning your keep. Stop playing with toys!” He took the dowel and tossed it into the fire.
“No!” Katherine cried. She started to weep as Fairy Katherine crackled and vanished in front of her eyes.
“Stop crying! You hear me? Stop your crying this instant!” Father shouted.
Ingrid watched his hand wind up like it needed to connect with something. Ingrid always took the blow for Katherine. She couldn’t stand to see her younger sister hurting. But seeing Father’s expression, and hearing about the job, she knew today he wouldn’t settle for just whipping Ingrid. He’d come after them both. He grabbed a strand of Katherine’s hair and tugged. Katherine cried harder.
“Is that all you’re good for, girl? To make me angry?” he shouted again.
“Let her go!” Ingrid said, pushing his broad chest. It didn’t faze her father. Instead, it made him laugh. Ingrid felt her insides harden. Her anger was going to consume her.
“Ugly, stupid girl,” he said to Ingrid. “You’re even more worthless than she is.”
He pulled his hand back again.
The anger bubbled up inside her like a cauldron ready to overflow. Ingrid was tired of being called worthless and ugly. How could she be pretty when she lived in this hovel, wearing these rags? She would not let him hurt her again, and she wouldn’t let him dare go after her little sister. Pushing Katherine out of the way, Ingrid grabbed the fire poker from the hearth and struck him with it, hitting him in the head. He fell to the floor with a loud thump.
“Ingrid!” Katherine screamed.
But Ingrid didn’t blink. The look of shock that registered on his face after she hit him made her feel good. How do you like it? she thought.
She stared at her father as he lay on the ground, blinking rapidly as if he were in shock. She didn’t wait for him to get up. Instead, she grabbed Katherine’s hand and ran from their cottage. She rushed them down the path and didn’t stop till they were deep into the trees in the thick of the forest. Katherine cried most of the way.
“Where are we going? What are you doing?” Kat
herine kept asking as they ran.
But Ingrid didn’t have answers. All she knew was she had to get them as far away from that home as she could. She didn’t really think Father would come after them. Why would he? He didn’t love them. But she also knew she didn’t want him to find them, either. And so they kept moving.
“Are we going home?” Katherine asked after a while.
They’d been walking for what felt like hours now, and the sky was beginning to darken. Ingrid looked around for a way out of the forest. Finally, she saw a clearing.
Ingrid looked at Katherine’s tearstained face. “You want to go home to that man?” she asked. “You want to be treated like dogs? Mother wouldn’t want it! I don’t want it! And you shouldn’t, either.”
Katherine’s little lip started to quiver. “But where will we go?”
Ingrid had heard those words before. She remembered saying them to Mother at her bedside when she was near the end of her life. Her mother had told her to be good to her sister and to raise her well. Ingrid had promised, but she, too, had wondered where they should go. She knew Father wouldn’t be there for them. Not in the way Mother had. And Mother, somehow, understood. “Where doesn’t matter,” Ingrid remembered her saying, her breath staggered. Ingrid had wiped the sweat from her mother’s brow. “All that matters is that the two of you stay together.”
She wouldn’t break that promise to her mother. Ingrid pulled Katherine into her arms as her sister cried. “Wherever we go, it will be better than that place. The most important thing is that we stay together,” she said, echoing her mother’s words. She took Katherine’s hand again and led the way down the path.
When the two of them finally stepped out of the woods, they were no longer near their village. Nothing looked familiar. They’d traveled farther than she’d ever been before. She glanced around the planting fields in front of them and stared off at the mountain in the distance. A castle’s turrets peeked out from behind some trees. She wasn’t sure where they were, but this was as good a place as any to start their new lives.