by Jim C. Hines
“They’ll kill us both, you know.” Snow used magic to make her words carry over the sound of the sleigh. “If Lord Duino could, he’d rip us from the pass or pull the snow from above to crush us. His fear is such that he would happily murder an innocent child if it meant he would be safe from me.”
Allesandria’s army was second to none in its magical capabilities, but an army was little use against a small, mobile enemy. Snow had once described her homeland as a relatively small nation. While Allesandria was many times the size of Lorindar, much of that land was sparsely populated, particularly the mountain ranges… meaning there were so many places to hide.
How many hunters had Laurence deployed after Snow fought her way through his forces at the harbor? She could feel them searching for her, some scrying through crystals or pools, others watching through the eyes of the birds and other animals. But they had an entire nation to search, and mirror magic was particularly good for deflecting attention.
“What do you say, Jakob? Should we let Duino’s hunters catch us? Let them kill us both with their magic? Or do we destroy them before they can strike?”
“I want to go home.”
Snow made a tsk sound. “You think home is any safer? This was my home, Jakob. There are those in Lorindar who have plotted your death since the day you were born. Just as the Nobles’ Circle did with me. Some will act from greed, others from simple fear of what you are. You can allow them to threaten you and drive you into hiding, but you’ll never truly escape. Or you can act to protect yourself.”
Far below, smoke rose from the town built into the mountainside at the edge of the lake. They had ridden for much of the morning, but it was a slow climb. The homes were built close together, reminding her of animals crammed into a pen. Their bright colors were a futile attempt to counter the whiteness of winter.
The ground thrummed like the string of a lute. Small rocks and chunks of ice tumbled down, clattering against the sleigh. One struck Snow’s shoulder. Another hit her arm hard enough to bruise even through her cape. Duino was getting closer.
“Choose, Princeling. Shall we fight those who would kill us? If we do nothing, I promise we will both be dead before nightfall. Are you ready to die, Jakob?”
Jakob shook his head.
“Then you choose to fight. Very good.” The ghosts of the reindeer leaped forward, straining against their invisible bonds.
Duino was old, even for Allesandria. Some said he had lived more than a century, and had spent most of that time studying magic. Though his body was frail as ash, he could project his spirit forth with all the strength and vigor of a young man. In such form, he was immune to the sting of Snow’s wasps, as were those who marched beside him. Snow had counted more than twenty astral warriors running after her as swiftly as any horse.
She could circle back to the town to attack his physical form, but he would have prepared for that. She had no way of knowing which house hid his body, and by the time she found him and broke through his defenses, they would be upon her.
She glanced upward. From the strength of the tremors, Duino had recruited help, perhaps even the king’s own Stormcrows. She toyed with the idea of turning those tremors against them, trying to pull down the mountainside to bury Duino and the rest of the town. But it would take time, and Duino was too close.
The sleigh slowed again. Snow put a hand on Jakob’s shoulder. He was trembling like a frightened kitten. “Do you know what a soul jar is?”
He shook his head.
“I learned of them from a mermaid.” Yet another betrayal, one that had almost cost Snow her life. She searched the sleigh for anything that would work as a jar, but found nothing.
She climbed out of the sleigh and closed her right eye. The sliver of glass embedded within the left enhanced her vision as she watched for Duino’s approach.
The spell at the heart of a soul jar was the mystical equivalent of spider silk, stretching out to entangle rogue spirits and draw them into a cocoon of magical energy. The physical jar merely anchored the web. Lacking such a jar, Snow would have to use an alternate anchor.
She could see them now, their spiritual forms like animals spun from fog. Animal spirits were an eastern innovation, one Duino had apparently mastered. Duino himself was a stallion charging up the trail. An eagle flew above. Snow spied a wolf, a hunting dog, a pair of apes, even one of the great maned cats from farther south.
Snow opened her mouth, and a thread of magic snapped out from her throat to intercept Duino. He reared as the thread lashed round his neck. His companions drew back in alarm. A snake tried to bite the thread, but merely entangled itself in the trap.
Duino’s struggles tickled deep inside Snow’s chest, where she had anchored her spell. It felt as though she had swallowed something alive, something which struggled to crawl free. But Duino was spirit, whereas Snow was flesh. Bracing herself, she pulled the thread back.
Duino changed tactics. Magic rippled along their connection, trying to tear Snow’s own spirit free of her body. It might have worked, had there been only a single spirit within her.
More threads flew from her mouth, trapping the other souls as they tried to free their leader. They sent what spells they could, and Snow used the mirror’s power to reflect them back. Through the magic of the soul jar, she shared their pain as the spells crackled through those who had cast them.
The snake was close enough now for Snow to see the spirit’s true form within, that of a young woman missing her left hand. Snow opened her mouth wider, and the spirit disappeared down her throat.
It was a curious sensation, like swallowing air on the coldest day of winter. She felt… bloated.
Duino was next. He tried one final spell, seeking to split his spirit like a lizard shedding its tail, but Snow’s magic was too strong.
She could hear their screams, taste their thoughts.
“You spoke with Laurence,” she whispered, seeing that exchange through Duino’s eyes, hearing the king’s promises to send reinforcements. But Duino refused to wait. He had to protect his people, to put an end to the chaos Snow’s minions spread through his land.
Duino was believed to be a good man who had devoted his life to serving his people, but Snow was privy to his innermost desires, the secrets he hid even from himself. In his heart, Duino was as rotted and maggot-ridden as the rest, no matter how pure he appeared from without.
“You can’t!” Duino’s voice, strained and desperate as he glimpsed her plans from within. “Allesandria-”
“Has earned its fate,” Snow said firmly. She closed her eyes, allowing him to see more.
“So alone…” Duino’s struggle faded. Was that pity in his words?
Snow reached out, feeling those touched by her mirrors. Hundreds now, and soon they would be thousands. “Not anymore.”
With a thought, she tightened the threads and crushed the two captive spirits to nothingness. Her body belched in response, and then she was drawing the rest into herself.
Ever since an unexpected journey to Arathea months before, Danielle had been spending more time with her tutors, trying to learn the languages of her neighboring kingdoms. She was nowhere near as fluent as Talia or Gerta, but she was making progress. Not enough to follow all of Noita’s conversation, but she recognized the word “flowers” when Noita gestured toward a cluster of tall, flame-colored tiger lilies.
“She’s telling Gerta to pick a flower and inhale its scent,” whispered Talia. Like Danielle, she kept her weapon ready. “They show the future, and might help us to see what we must do.”
“Have her go first,” said Danielle. “To prove it’s not another trap.”
Talia barked another order. Noita sagged and walked over to pick one of the flowers. She brought it to her nose and breathed deeply.
“My garden.” Tears filled Noita’s eyes. “My beautiful garden.”
Danielle couldn’t follow the rest. Noita wept, repeating the same phrase over and over.
“‘She
destroyed it all,’” said Gerta. “I think she’s talking about Snow. Noita meant to hide here, but Snow finds her. Because of us.” Gerta used a small knife to cut another flower. She pressed her nose to the petals and inhaled. She frowned, then tried again. “I think I have a bad flower.”
“What do you see?” asked Talia.
“Nothing.” Gerta dropped the flower and cut a new one from the ground. “Maybe Snow’s magic is blocking the vision. There’s nothing but blackness.”
Talia snarled something at Noita, whose face softened.
“You poor girl.” Even though Danielle didn’t understand most of the words, she could hear the sadness in Noita’s voice as Talia continued to translate. “Snow might be able to hide herself, but there’s only one reason the flowers would fail to show anything at all. The flowers show your future. Continue upon this road, and you have none.”
Gerta paled. She stared at the flower, then inhaled again, more deeply this time.
“Death clouds everything around it,” Noita said. “Not even your mother was strong enough to foresee her own end.”
Gerta flung the flower away. “Talia-”
“Those flowers also told Noita she’d be able to capture us, remember?” Talia said. “Magic is unreliable at its best, and she doesn’t strike me as the most trustworthy witch.”
“Let me try,” said Danielle.
“You’re sure?” Noita clucked her tongue. “Like your friend, you might not want to see the truth.”
Danielle used her sword to cut another tiger lily. Without a word, she lifted it to her face until the petals stroked her nose.
“Concentrate on the one you want to see,” Talia said, continuing to relay Noita’s words. “Your will and focus guide the visions.”
Danielle sniffed the flower. The garden melted away, revealing walls of ice. Fog carpeted the floor. Jakob sat playing with flat shards of ice, so clear they looked like glass. His skin was pale, his lips and fingernails blue from the cold, but he wasn’t shivering.
“What is it?” Talia’s voice, though Danielle barely heard her. Talia sounded as though she were shouting from a great distance.
“Jakob. He’s alive.” Tears dripped down her cheeks. The fog shifted enough for her to glimpse the floor, made of broken tiles of ice so smooth she could see her son’s reflection.
Jakob’s fingers were cut and bleeding, but he continued to rearrange the pieces of ice, his round face wrinkled in concentration. His breathing was far too slow.
“Jakob, it’s me!” In the past, Jakob had sometimes been able to sense when Danielle looked in on him through one of Snow’s mirrors, but not today.
“Where are they?” Talia’s voice, hard and emotionless.
Danielle’s vision shifted. She spotted Snow sitting on a throne of ice, watching Jakob. Snow had always been pale, but now the red had faded from her lips and cheeks. Even her eyes had lost much of their luster. Her hair was swept back, and she wore a crown of crystal or ice. Animated flakes of snow and glass flew about, haloing their mistress.
“It’s a palace of ice,” Danielle whispered. Green light shimmered and danced beyond windows of clear ice.
Snow rose from her throne. Her lips moved, but Danielle couldn’t make out what she was saying. Snow’s crown brightened like the sun, filling Danielle’s sight until she turned away.
A scream shattered the fading vision. Danielle spun, flinging the flower away and grabbing her sword.
“What is it?” Talia asked.
Danielle wiped her eyes, trying to will her surroundings into focus. The flower on the ground had wilted, the petals wrinkled and brown. “I heard… I saw Jakob. He’s alive.”
“What else did you see?” Noita asked.
“There was a scream. I don’t know whose.” She could still hear the sound, sharp with fear and pain. “I glimpsed Snow. She was so pale.”
“So Noita wasn’t lying about the flowers.” Gerta stared at the tiger lily in her hands.
“I’m sorry, Gerta.” Was it Snow who killed her? For all she knew, that could have been Gerta’s scream.
“The flowers show what might come,” Talia said firmly.
“If I’m to die-”
“Shut up,” snapped Talia. “You’re not dying.”
Danielle said nothing. Could they really change Gerta’s fate? What if she refused to accompany them, trying to save herself by avoiding Snow White? Danielle could order her to return to the Phillipa, send her back to Lorindar, but who was to say Snow wouldn’t intercept her before she reached the harbor? And could they find Jakob without Gerta’s help?
Danielle spun around. Despite the garden’s impressive size, she suddenly felt closed in. She needed out, to be somewhere the birds sang and the wind blew.
“That doesn’t give us enough.” Talia grabbed one of the last tiger lilies. “We have to know how to stop her.”
“Wait,” said Danielle, but Talia was already inhaling the flower’s scent. Her pupils grew large, and her features went slack.
Relief surged through Danielle, followed immediately by guilt. She had been afraid Talia would see nothing, as Gerta had. Danielle waited, her attention split between Noita and Talia. For Noita’s part, the strength seemed to have left her. She rested on her bench, body folded over her cane as she watched.
“What do you see, Talia?” asked Danielle.
“King Laurence. He’s bleeding. Snow cut him with her mirror.” Talia shook herself, then swore in Arathean. “If she controls the king of Allesandria, she’ll have one of the largest armies in the world at her disposal.”
“We’ll send word to Laurence,” said Danielle. “How far to the palace?”
“Less than a day’s ride.” Gerta sounded distant. Her obvious fear jabbed Danielle’s heart. If they continued upon this path, Gerta would die.
No… Noita had foreseen their arrival, but she hadn’t seen Talia. She hadn’t predicted this. That future had already been changed. So could Gerta’s.
“What do we do about her?” Talia asked, waving her blade at Noita.
“Leave her.” Danielle pushed open the door. She called out with her mind, summoning their horses to the front of the cabin. She called to the birds as well, to carry a message to King Laurence.
Talia hadn’t moved. “There’s kindness, and there’s stupidity. She meant to kill us all. She helped Rose to poison Snow. She-”
“She failed,” Danielle said. “And she’s seen what will happen to her if we don’t stop Snow.” She gestured to Noita, who remained slumped on the bench. “She needs us to succeed.”
“Is that how you mean to rule Lorindar?” Talia asked. “Oh, sure, she tried to assassinate the queen, but that’s all right so long as she doesn’t do it again.”
“Which is more important, punishing her for what she tried to do, or saving Jakob and Snow?” And Gerta, if they could.
Danielle stomped through the cabin without waiting for an answer.
Talia could feel the pounding of her horse’s blood, fear making it pulse faster than usual. Even a day after leaving Noita’s cabin, with Danielle doing her best to calm the beast and allow Talia to ride, its eyes were wide, and it twitched and shook its head as if wanting to toss her free. Talia had switched horses twice, simply to make sure they didn’t exhaust themselves through terror.
“I could wear the cape for a time,” Gerta said, riding alongside.
Talia grabbed the front of the cape, instinctively pulling it tighter. “I’m all right.”
“Liar. I saw you scowling at Danielle when we left. The cape makes you tense. You’re always hunting.”
“Better the hunter than the prey,” Talia said. “Danielle was right. Noita’s no threat anymore.” Though it wouldn’t have taken much time at all to snap the witch’s neck and fling her broken body to the ground.
“Will the cape shield us if you take it off?” Gerta asked. “Tuck it away in your pack until we reach Kanustius.”
Talia tried to keep her annoyance
in check. Did Gerta really think she hadn’t thought of that? “The cape has no life of its own.”
“So let me take a turn.” Gerta tossed her hair back, exaggerating the movement. “It doesn’t really match your complexion anyway.”
Talia laughed. “All of your magic combined with the wolf’s temper? That’s a bad idea if ever I’ve heard one.”
“You’re right, of course. Far better to let it continue fanning your temper until you lash out and kill one of us.” Gerta cocked her head. “Though you’re rather sexy when you smolder. It’s the eyes.”
Talia flushed. “Stop that.”
“Make me.” Gerta’s brows wagged, but then she sighed and looked away. “I’m sorry. I only thought, since the cape hid you from Noita’s visions… maybe if I were wearing it, that would explain why I saw nothing of my own future.”
Her matter-of-fact tone made Talia flinch. “Noita couldn’t see me, but she saw the rest of us. The cape might hide you, but from what Noita said, you still should have seen something.”
“So now you take Noita’s word?” Gerta snapped. “When did you become so trusting?”
“Gerta-”
“Or is it just me you don’t trust?”
Talia stared heavenward. “Can you blame me? You showed up in the most secure room of the palace-”
“Naked,” Gerta added, her anger vanishing as quickly as it had come.
“Yes, naked.” Talia scowled. “You were conjured by Snow White, who then kidnapped the prince and set off to conquer a nation. We don’t know how you were made, or to what end. Would you trust you?”
“I think so,” Gerta said slowly. “I have a very trustworthy face.”
Gerta’s expression was so serious Talia couldn’t help but laugh again. She nudged her horse sideways, grabbed a handful of snow from a low-hanging pine branch, and flung it at Gerta. Gerta ducked, grinning.
Unbidden, Talia found herself thinking back to those first weeks in Lorindar, and her growing awkwardness and confusion around Snow White. Talia had been young, lost, and furious with the world, but when Snow smiled at her, all of that had melted away.