by Jim C. Hines
A mummified cat was tucked away in one corner. A bundle of roses hung from one of the shelves, their petals dried and wrinkled. She had rolled the carpet up against the wall, and the stone floor was covered in chalk scribblings. For months now, every time Danielle came down, Snow had watched her fight the urge to scrub the library clean from top to bottom.
Pulling the cloak over her shoulders, Snow eased into the wooden chair in front of an old, heavily stained table. In the mirror, King Theodore sat beside the queen, holding her hand. His eyes were shadowed and shone with tears, but he had forced a smile for his wife. Danielle and Prince Armand sat on the opposite side of the bed, while Talia stood in the corner. It appeared as though Tymalous, the royal healer, had already retired from the room.
Snow wasn’t certain Beatrice could even see them anymore. Heavy blankets buried her from the neck down, almost hiding the faint rise and fall of her chest. Her skin was like wrinkled parchment. Her hair had thinned, and her body was little more than a shadow of the woman who had rescued Snow from Allesandria seven years ago.
In all of Snow’s planning over these past months, her one fear had been that she wouldn’t make it in time. That Bea would die suddenly, before Snow could reach her mirror.
Snow turned sideways, keeping the mirror in the edge of her vision. Her table held a single fat beeswax candle, dirty yellow and brittle from the cold. To one side sat a bronze mug, half-full of fairy wine. She took the candle in both hands, checking the silver wick that curled from the wax.
A quick spell ignited the candle. She wrinkled her nose as the initial puff of smoke carried the smell of burning hair through the library. She had spun Beatrice’s hair into the wick more than a month before.
A puff of breath guided the smoke toward the mirror. “Mirror, mirror, proud and tall. Mirror, mirror, seeing all. Help me reach the dying queen. Help Beatrice to hear my call.”
Talia would have teased her. Snow had never been much of a poet, but the clumsy rhymes helped her focus her magic. She blew again, and again the black smoke dissipated against the glass. Snow closed her eyes, pushing back against the pounding in her head. The third time she tried, the smoke passed through the mirror into the queen’s room.
Snow carefully returned the candle to the table. She watched the mirror closely. The smell of burnt hair had mostly faded, and neither the king nor the queen appeared to notice the thin trail of smoke drifting over their heads.
She reached over to pick up the mug of wine, finishing the contents in three swallows. Everything was prepared. Now there was nothing to do but wait.
The candle had lost a quarter of its height when Beatrice’s breathing changed, becoming strained. Theodore’s fingers tightened around the queen’s hand. He kissed her knuckles and knelt beside her, whispering so softly Snow could barely hear. On the other side of the bed, Danielle, Armand, and Talia crowded close. Armand’s cheeks were wet as he put his free hand on his father’s shoulder. Danielle called for Father Isaac, who stepped into the room, praying softly.
Snow swiped tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. Between one breath and the next, Beatrice’s body appeared to relax. For the first time in months, the tension left her face.
The candle flame flickered higher, becoming a deep red. Snow pressed her fingers to the mirror. The pain in her skull flared as her spells responded to the queen’s death. “Follow the trail, Bea.”
The smoke, nearly invisible in the shadowed room, should have shone like a beacon to Queen Bea’s spirit. Snow had tested the spell dozens of times over the past months, calling the souls of mice, rats, birds, even an old hound she had discovered half-frozen in the streets
… but never a human.
The flame began to shiver. Bea had discovered the trail. “It’s me,” Snow whispered. “Stay with us.”
The mirror would hold Beatrice for now, though it wasn’t an ideal solution. It was one thing to trap and hold a soul; the true challenge had been teaching herself how to create a body. She glanced at the discarded books, tomes that described everything from the making of fairy changelings to a spell that could form a new body from flowers, of all things. Snow had combined the different magics into her own-
The flame stilled.
“Bea?” Snow stood, toppling the chair. “Don’t turn away.”
Bea would be disoriented, like most souls newly freed from their bodies, but the touch of Snow’s magic should have been familiar. She brought the candle closer to the glass, thickening the thread of smoke passing into Beatrice’s room. “I know you can hear me.”
King Theodore straightened, sniffing the air, but Snow ignored him. Her heart pounded against her ribs as though fighting to escape. This was taking too long. In every test, the soul had moved into her mirror as the body exhaled its last breath. Either Beatrice was unable to find her way… or else she was choosing not to follow. “Think about your grandson. This is your chance to stay, to be a part of his life and watch him grow up.”
Nothing. Snow passed her fingers over the candle flame, which doubled in size. Every spirit for miles around should have been able to see it. “Beatrice, please. We need you. Don’t-”
The flame quivered and died.
“No!” A thought was enough to renew the flame, but it was too late. The trail had been broken.
Beatrice Whiteshore-the woman who had saved Snow’s life, who had given her a home and purpose and a family-was gone.
Snow pulled her hand from the mirror. Her fingers were numb, and cold enough to leave frost outlines on the glass.
She stumbled back. Her hip bumped the table. Her vision blurred, and she closed her eyes against the stabbing pain in the back of her head, the price she paid for overexerting herself. It was nothing compared to the pain of her failure.
It should have worked. It had worked, in every test she had performed. So many spirits roamed this world after death, refusing to heed the call of whatever followed. Snow had encountered them again and again: jars enchanted to hold the souls of the dead, ghosts who moved from one body to the next… she had once seen an entire army of the dead rise to serve their master.
Danielle’s mother had remained with her, surviving in the hazel tree Danielle planted in their garden. She had gifted Danielle with a silver gown and glass slippers, allowing her to attend the ball where she met Armand. She continued to defy death to this day, living on in the enchanted glass blade of Danielle’s sword, all for the love of her daughter.
What of Snow’s own mother, Queen Rose Curtana? Rose’s ghost had lingered for years, searching for a way to regain her power. She had plotted with Danielle’s stepsisters, hoping to possess the body of Danielle’s child.
But Beatrice had turned away.
“Why didn’t you stay?” Bea had been more of a mother to Snow than Rose Curtana ever was. If Bea had died naturally, taken by the ailments of age, that would have been one thing. But she could have lived for many more years. She should have lived. Would have, if Snow had been skilled enough to save her. If she had been strong enough.
Snow stared into the mirror. The glass showed only her own face. Black hair dusted with white. Red-veined eyes, swollen and shadowed. Faint wrinkles around the eyes, and laugh lines at the corners of her mouth. With every year, she looked more like her mother.
She picked up the candle. Clear wax burned her fingers as it spilled onto the floor. She should leave. Find Danielle and Talia.
The thought made her wince. Danielle would forgive her for not being there with Bea, but Talia was another story. Talia was angry and hurting. She had known Beatrice a long time. Almost as long as Snow had.
“You’re safe now,” Beatrice had said on that first journey to Lorindar. Snow had woken from a nightmare in the middle of the night, screaming loudly enough to wake half the crew. The smell of burning flesh had been so real. She had thought she was back in Allesandria, reliving her duel with her mother. Beatrice had held her, running her hands through Snow’s hair and whispering softly, �
��I’ll look after you.”
Snow flung the candle away. It broke into pieces, splattering hot wax over the stone wall.
She stared at the broken chunks of wax for a long time. There were other spells. Spells her mother had known, magic Snow had never tried. Slowly, she reached down to take the largest piece of wax from the floor.
She pressed the wax directly to the mirror, drawing a simple circle. She adjusted her hold, using a corner to sketch the more detailed symbols of binding. A modified summoning circle soon took shape on the glass. She finished the final characters, working Beatrice’s name into the runes, and tossed the wax aside.
“Mirror, mirror, on the wall. Let Queen Beatrice hear my call. Seek her out where e’er she be. Mirror, find my queen for me.” The words spilled forth without thought. The mirror changed, once again showing Queen Beatrice’s lifeless body. Armand and Danielle knelt together at her side. Tears spilled freely down Danielle’s cheeks.
Snow scowled and pushed beyond the image. That was but the body. Where was Beatrice’s soul?
Light filled the mirror, bright as the sun. Snow squinted but refused to turn away. The light spread into the library. She felt as though she were falling into the glass.
She grabbed the mirror’s frame with both hands. Wisps of fog curled from the glass. She peered into the light, trying to see what lay beyond, trying to follow Beatrice’s soul wherever it had gone.
Never had the mirror responded so easily to her will. She felt as though she flew through the sky. In Snow’s hands, the mirror could pierce Heaven itself if that was what it took to find Beatrice.
Sweat made her grip slippery. She tightened her fingers until they cramped. The wax runes began to flake away from the glass.
They didn’t matter. The reflection of the runes remained in the mirror, their power pouring forth in pursuit of the queen.
She blinked to clear the tears from her vision. Her blood battered her head from within as though straining to crack the skull. Her body felt numb, and she clung to the mirror to keep from falling. Through the pain, a part of her marveled at what the mirror had done, reaching out so far in pursuit of the dead. If only she could see beyond the light.
“Come back to us, Bea.” Silence swallowed her words. Snow wasn’t even certain she had spoken aloud. She could no longer make out the library around her. Nothing existed save the light and the place that lay on the other side. The place Beatrice’s spirit had gone.
The first crack made no sound. With her hands clenched around the frame, she felt the glass shift ever so slightly. Pain exploded behind her eyes as she tried to focus not on the light, but on the mirror’s surface, where a white line now curved across the center of the glass.
Beatrice was there. She was so close. Snow could feel the pressure from beyond the mirror, as though Bea was pushing to escape back into this world.
Another crack grew from the center of the mirror, curving up and to the right to create a triangular shard that might have fallen if Snow hadn’t moved her hand to hold it in place.
Lines spread in a starburst from her hand. Fragments of glass no larger than pebbles fell to the floor. Blood dripped down the frame, though Snow hadn’t felt the cuts.
The magic surged like a living thing. She imagined she could hear Talia’s voice, chastising her. How many times had Talia warned her against bending the laws of the universe too far? Push hard enough, and things were going to snap. Even her mother’s mirror had limits. Snow tried to end her spell, but it was far too late.
This was a hell of a time for Talia to be right.
The light faded as the cracks spread through the rest of the mirror. For a moment, Snow saw herself in the reflection, her features distorted by the broken glass. Herself, and something more.
“Oh, Mother. What did you do?”
CHAPTER 2
Danielle squeezed her husband’s hand. “The first time I ever saw her was at the ball,” she whispered. “Beatrice was watching the two of us dance.”
“I didn’t notice,” Armand said, a sad smile on his bearded face. His hair was a rumpled mess, and his eyes were shadowed. Here in this room, away from the world, he allowed the mask of prince to slip, revealing the son who longed for just one more day with his mother. He wiped his cheek, never looking away from Beatrice’s body. “I never wanted a ball in my honor, but she insisted. I never found the words to thank her.”
“She knew,” whispered the king. “Seeing you both, seeing your happiness, was enough.”
Father Isaac folded the queen’s hands together on her chest. The nails were short and chipped. Her wedding ring hung loose on her finger.
“My own stepmother didn’t recognize me,” Danielle said. “My stepsisters glared at me all night long without ever realizing who I was. But Beatrice knew. She knew me the moment I set foot in the great hall. I nearly fled the palace.”
“As I recall, you did flee,” said Armand.
“Not until midnight.” Danielle gave her husband a mock scowl. “Beatrice smiled at me. A small kindness, but enough to tell me I was welcome.”
Even at the end, when pain and weakness imprisoned Beatrice in her bed, she had always smiled with genuine love and affection when Danielle stopped by to visit, or when she brought Jakob to see his grandmother.
Father Isaac straightened and clasped his hands. His fingers moved stiffly, the skin scarred and wrinkled from burns he had received months before. It was strange to see him in such formal black robes. His blood-red collar was starched as stiff as boiled leather. The ruby-capped crucifix around his neck shone like glass. If not for the disheveled curls of his beard and hair, and the compassion in his eyes, he would have appeared a different person altogether.
He bent to address the king. “Chancellor Crombie can make the announcement, if you wish.”
King Theodore shook his head. Standing silently in the corner behind him, Talia pursed her lips in distaste. She and Crombie had never gotten along.
“It was her choice,” the king said softly. “Beatrice’s injury was the result of her efforts to help another in need. She never resented that choice.”
Danielle would have to send word to the undine. Beatrice had saved the life of the mermaid queen Lannadae. Lannadae would want to know of Beatrice’s passing.
Armand’s hand tightened around Danielle’s. “Where is your friend Snow? She deserves to be here as well.”
Talia’s scowl deepened. “Snow had… other duties to attend to.”
“What duties?” Danielle asked. The prisoners had been taken care of, and Snow had no further responsibilities. Even if she had, Snow would have ignored her duties without a second thought to be here with Beatrice.
Distant crying from the hallway drew her attention toward the door.
“Jakob,” said Danielle. The sound was coming closer.
“He’s supposed to be napping.” Armand opened the door and peered into the hall. “Nicolette has him.”
“He knows,” she said. Even as a baby, Jakob had shown signs of inheriting his grandmother’s visions, seeing things he couldn’t have possibly understood. He had cried the day the mermaid stabbed Beatrice, refusing to settle down until Danielle and Armand returned to the palace with the queen’s unconscious body.
Servants had already begun to gather in the hallway, waiting for news. When Danielle stepped out to take her son from Nicolette, Jakob kicked and twisted in her arms, trying to peek into the room.
“He kept asking about the queen.” Nicolette was making an obvious effort not to peer past Danielle. “When he wouldn’t go back down, I thought perhaps-”
“It’s all right,” Danielle said. Jakob had awoken only a short time ago. His hair was a sweaty mess, and red lines from the wrinkles in his sheets marked the right side of his face.
“I want Gramma,” Jakob said.
“I know you do.” Danielle moved him to one side, resting his head on her shoulder.
Nicolette shifted her feet. “Is there anything you ne
ed, Your Highness?”
Danielle heard the unspoken question. Nicolette knew Jakob well enough to trust his gifts. It wasn’t Danielle’s place to announce the queen’s passing, so she let her tears speak for her. “No, thank you.”
“God watch over her.” Nicolette bowed and turned away.
Danielle carried Jakob into the room. He squirmed in Danielle’s arms until he faced the bed. “I want Gramma,” he said again.
“So do I,” Danielle said softly. She started to say more, but a flash of light caught her eye. Something silver had fallen from the stained glass window on the far wall.
Armand followed her gaze. He stepped past the bed and picked two small fragments of glass from the carpet.
“A mirror,” Danielle said. The square pane had been the size of a small coin before it broke. This had to be one of Snow’s mirrors. She glanced at the window. A simple illusion would have concealed it as just another colored pane.
“Snow?” Armand sucked air through clenched teeth and switched the mirrors to his other hand. He stuck his index finger in his mouth, but not before Danielle saw a thin line of red where the glass had cut his skin.
Danielle had never seen one of Snow’s mirrors simply break before. Snow could use her magic to destroy them when necessary, but this was something different. She glanced at Talia. “Other duties?”
“She wouldn’t say anything more.” The concern on Talia’s face matched her own.
Armand set the broken mirror on the windowsill, then reached over to take Jakob. “Go.”
Danielle kissed him and Jakob, then stepped into the hall. The servants parted, clearing a path. For once, Danielle didn’t stop to greet them.
Talia caught Danielle by the arm after only a few steps.
“What is it?”