by Jim C. Hines
Talia’s throat tightened. “I know.”
“She told me to help you.” Gerta stared at the wall. “I could feel her ripping memories from her own mind. She hid me from herself as she closed the door, sealing me into the darkness. Even through the door, I felt her lose the battle. She stayed down here for a long time. I couldn’t use magic to warm myself until after she left, for fear of drawing her attention. I waited as long as I could, and then . . . the door wouldn’t open. I tried climbing down the steps, but the cold grew worse.”
Talia sheathed her knife. Keeping Gerta in her vision, she retrieved a small, locked chest from the corner of the room. She pulled a silver key from a chain around her neck and opened the lid to reveal a dirty red cloak lined in wolf fur. She bundled the cloak under one arm. “I should get you upstairs where it’s warmer.”
“Thank you, Talia. I wouldn’t have survived much longer.”
“Come on. You can tell Danielle and Father Isaac what you’ve told me.”
And hopefully Isaac would be able to tell them all exactly what Gerta was.
Danielle had spent her childhood learning to shield herself from the torments of her stepmother and stepsisters, building armor that their cruelest jabs failed to penetrate. But exhaustion had weakened that armor, and Armand shattered what remained without even raising his voice.
His hands were shackled, and two armed men stood watching him. Father Isaac’s magic would prevent him from physically harming anyone so long as he remained inside the chapel, but it couldn’t stop his verbal assaults.
“Without my mother to guide you, you’re lost. You allowed our son to be stolen from within your own home. You’ve failed, Your Highness. Both as a princess and as a mother.”
Danielle was tempted to order him gagged. Instead, she turned to Father Isaac. “Whatever magic infects my husband, it came from Snow’s broken mirror. Can you use that same magic to find her?”
Isaac shook his head. Neither he nor Trittibar had been able to explain Armand’s behavior, let alone find a way to counter it. Everyone else cut by Snow’s mirrors had been moved to the dungeons, by Danielle’s orders. Twenty-two people were now locked in the dark, cliff-side cells, many of them her friends. But it was the only way to keep them from harming anyone else.
She had ordered Armand brought here to the chapel. The smell of incense was stifling. The grassy smoke was enchanted to dampen violence within the church. The air was warmer here, as though each of the candles mounted along the walls was giving off the heat of a much larger flame. But so far, the magic of the church hadn’t been strong enough to free her husband.
Nobody had seen Snow or Jakob since they entered the candlemaker’s workshop, and thus far, no magic had been able to locate them. The gates were locked and guarded, and Danielle had ordered every available man and woman to search the palace, but given Snow’s power, she held little hope.
“He’s not possessed,” said Trittibar.
“Or if he is, it’s no form of possession that we’ve ever heard of.” Father Isaac tapped his crucifix against his chin.
“It’s the mirror.” Talia strode into the church, side by side with a barefoot girl in a wool cloak. Danielle had never seen the girl before, but something in her walk was familiar. “With every cut, a tiny splinter breaks off and enters the blood. Snow took the worst of it when her mirror was destroyed, but Armand and the rest each suffer from a smaller portion of that same power.”
“It’s how mirror magic works,” said Talia’s companion. “Even the smallest piece can channel the power of the rest.”
“Who is this?” Danielle asked.
“I was hoping Father Isaac could answer that.” Talia beckoned Danielle closer, away from Armand. In a low voice, she explained how she had discovered Gerta below, as well as the girl’s claim to be Snow White’s sister. For Gerta’s part, she appeared more interested in Armand than anything else.
Danielle cut Talia off. “Gerta, if you know what happened to my husband, can you reverse it?”
Gerta approached the prince. Danielle signaled with one hand for Talia to stay close, but Gerta merely studied Armand.
“Keep away from me, you filthy witch,” snapped Armand.
Danielle tightened. This wasn’t her husband. He would never speak so to anyone.
Yet even as she defended him to herself, she wondered. Did some part of Armand believe those words? Was this cruelty merely an aspect of himself he kept hidden . . . an aspect that reminded her so much of her own stepmother?
“Look at his hand.” Gerta pointed to a pair of dark bruises on the back of Armand’s hand. “You’ll find others where the sliver cut him from the inside as it moved through his body.”
“Can it be removed?” asked Danielle.
Gerta chewed her lower lip as she stared at Armand. She moved away from him, out of earshot, and gestured for the others to follow. “It would be dangerous. The splinter isn’t the problem. It’s what that splinter carries.”
“Tell me.”
“Have you never wondered where the mirror’s power came from?” Gerta looked from one face to the next. “All magic has a cost. Minor spells like your priest’s incense take most of their strength from the ingredients of the potion. He can prepare a new batch and feel no more fatigued than a man who spends an afternoon chopping firewood. But an artifact like our mother’s mirror, one with the ability to show anything its master commands? Not even Rose Curtana was powerful enough to create such a thing on her own.”
“So where did it come from?” asked Danielle.
“I believe our mother enslaved something within the mirror. Forced it to serve her.”
Something which had broken free when the mirror shattered. “Snow never spoke of this,” said Danielle. “You told us Snow created you, formed you from her own thoughts and memories—”
“She never spoke of it,” Gerta agreed, “but she used to lie awake at night, wondering about the price of Mother’s magic. As she grew, she learned not to question such things. Much of our mother’s magic was best left to the shadows. Snow was a child. Had she allowed herself to dwell on the torments our mother inflicted, the rituals she wove, it would have consumed her. So Snow locked those fears away, burying them so deep they couldn’t reach her even in dreams.”
No wonder Snow had imagined a companion for herself. For a child to face such nightmares alone . . . the thought made Danielle wish she could somehow go back and whisk Snow away when she was first born. “And then yesterday, the mirror broke.”
“Releasing what?” Isaac asked.
“We once encountered a mermaid who trapped human souls and used them as slaves,” said Danielle. “Could the mirror have done something similar?”
“No human soul would be powerful enough.” Gerta shook her head. “If any were so strong, my mother never would have been able to enslave them.”
“A demon.” It was Father Isaac who spoke. “No minor fiend, but a true denizen of Hell.”
“Snow didn’t know,” Gerta said quickly. “Even had she tried to discover the truth, it was impossible to be certain, short of shattering the mirror.” She gestured toward Armand. “She never intended any of this.”
Talia whispered a curse in Arathean. “Snow gathered up every last speck of glass. If each splinter is a reflection of the demon’s power, she could infect half of Lorindar.”
Danielle was watching Father Isaac. “Is Gerta telling the truth?”
“I believe so,” said Isaac. “Strange . . . in some respects, she appears a construct, yet her flesh is human.”
Gerta reached out and tugged the curls of his beard, earning a yelp. “Is that real enough for you, Father?”
“From the moment Snow emerged from her library, she carried a demon within her,” said Talia. “Why did nobody detect it? What good are these damned wards and spells if—?”
“Snow created many of those wards,” Danielle pointed out. “She avoided Father Isaac, and Tymalous tells me she never came to see
him, either.” She looked to Gerta. “Can you use the glass in Armand’s blood to find Snow?”
“I already asked,” said Talia.
Gerta turned away. “Snow always imagined me as the weaker sister. Someone she could impress with her own spells. I am as she made me. If I use magic to touch the splinter, it’s likely the demon could take me as well.”
Despair swelled in Danielle’s chest. She would continue the search until every corner of the palace had been checked, but she knew deep down it was futile. Snow was gone, and she had taken Jakob with her.
Laughter pulled her attention to her husband. There was nothing pleasant to the sound, only mockery, like a bullying child. “You’ve lost them both. How long before you accept your failure, Cinderwench?”
To her surprise, Armand’s use of her old nickname helped her regain control. This sort of hate was familiar, easier to brush aside. She strode toward him. “The man I love would never call me by that name.”
“The man you love?” He laughed again. “They say love is blind, but in truth love is blinding. You’ve no more love for me than I had for you. You looked upon me and saw salvation. I was nothing but a way to escape your stepmother and stepsisters.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“Just as I looked upon you and saw . . . simplicity. A child with no hidden schemes, a girl trained to obedience. A bride fit for a prince. Love is the lie we feed ourselves when we’re too weak to accept the truth. You warmed my bed and kept to your place.”
Gerta stared. “You’re married to him?”
“Yes.”
“He’s an ass.”
Trittibar coughed and covered his mouth.
Danielle clasped Gerta’s shoulders. “You claim Snow created you.”
“That’s right.”
“When Armand was stolen from me, Snow used my unborn son to find him. As Jakob grew into his own person, that connection faded. But you were ripped from Snow’s mind less than a day ago. Can you use that bond to find her?”
Gerta shook her head. “Not without exposing myself to her power.”
“Damn,” Danielle whispered. That left but one other option, one she had prayed she could avoid. “Thank you for your help. Please stay with Trittibar and Father Isaac. There has to be a way to remove the glass from Armand. Work with them to find it.”
“There might be, but—”
“Try.” Danielle started toward the doors. “I’ll be in my chambers. Send a page to fetch me if anything changes.”
“What will you be doing?” asked Talia.
“Finding my son.”
CHAPTER 6
SNOW PAUSED WHEN SHE REACHED Fisherman’s Canal, the narrow waterway that ran along the base of the white cliffs. The foulness of fish and old bait permeated the air. Half-finished sailing ships huddled like rotting corpses in the shipyard to her right. To her left, buildings crowded the rocky land closest to the cliff. Most were stilted on columns of wood or stone, protecting them from waves and high tides. Taverns and inns competed with warehouses and shops. All were built with steep, reinforced roofs to protect them from falling snow and ice in winter.
A single rockslide would crush half the harbor. Snow squinted, searching for the spells that protected the buildings below. Her vision was sharper than before. With only the moon and stars, she could still discern details that only a few days ago would have eluded her in full sunlight: a nest tucked into a crag of rock, a slender sapling clinging desperately to the cliffside close to the top. The magic shone as if aflame: strong charms, but someday their power would decay. All magic failed eventually.
Even in winter, hours before dawn, the harbor was a place of chaos. One overweight captain in a garish green jacket shouted orders to the men unloading his ship. Farther along, a younger man in the uniform of the Harbormaster’s Office guided a fishing vessel into the docks. Beggars crawled like lice along the edge of the canal, competing with the gulls to collect fish guts to sell for bait. The cries of the gulls sounded like the mocking laughter of children.
“Look at them,” Snow said. “Cawing and racing about as though their lives were in any way meaningful.”
Jakob didn’t answer. He walked beside her like a pet, his hand clamped in her own. He hadn’t tried to run away, not since she threatened to fling him into the ocean. The crying was another matter. Her magic had silenced his whimpering, but couldn’t penetrate his mind. He had cried throughout the carriage ride to the harbor. Dried tears and snot covered his face.
She scooped Jakob into one arm, carrying him in a way that might from a distance be mistaken as caring. His body was taut, and he wouldn’t look her in the eyes.
“You could burn it all, and who would notice?” Snow asked. “Ten years from now, their names would be forgotten. Twenty years, and the fire would be but a story told by old men. Even you, little prince. Your death will be nothing but a note in a forgotten history of the royal family.”
Jakob whimpered.
“I was to be queen,” she continued, looking out over the water. “My mother wouldn’t live forever. All I had to do was survive, and one day I would have earned my reward. When I met Roland, I dreamed I would make him king, that we would rule Allesandria together. But the world cares nothing for dreams.”
As she walked, she marveled at her strength. The mirror’s magic had infused her blood. She hardly noticed Jakob’s weight. She could toss him into the sea or dash him against the rocks without straining, and spellcasting came as easily as breathing. She briefly considered ripping the cliffside apart, merely because she could. Perhaps this was Beatrice’s final gift, giving Snow the power to take back what was hers.
“All my life, my mother’s magic dwarfed mine. It was only anger and desperation that allowed me to defeat her, and even in defeat she destroyed me. I should have been queen, but her poison had already spread through Allesandria, corrupting those in power. They were afraid to confront my mother, but once she was dead, they turned their loathing and their fear upon me.”
She adjusted the strap of her sack. The rope dug into her shoulder, but the pain didn’t bother her. “The world is broken, Prince Jakob. A place of chaos and madness that can never truly be controlled. Your parents believe they will one day rule Lorindar, but they cannot control her people any more than a beggar can command those gulls.”
She smiled and stretched a hand toward the birds. With barely a thought, one of the gulls cried out and fell, bouncing off the roof of a warehouse with a wet thump.
She slowed, glancing at the road behind her. It would be a shame to abandon her library at the palace, but Lorindar was a small, insignificant nation. And what need did she have for old books and scrolls? Though there was something . . . a spell she had been working on? Something to do with Beatrice’s body. Her experiments to save Beatrice had been a failure. The potions and charms she had created over the years were of no use anymore.
The memory slipped away, retreating down into the darkness.
The presence of magic pulled her attention back to the docks. As a child, she had always been able to sense her mother’s spells. Now the magic hummed through her body, a silent tune that rose and fell with her surroundings. This latest chorus of spellcasting originated from the four people hurrying up the road toward her. The Harbormaster himself led the group, if Snow’s eyes didn’t lie.
“Master Francis.” Snow should have foreseen this. The Harbormaster was responsible for all incoming and outgoing ships, which meant checking those vessels for illegal enchantments. A simple illusion had allowed her to stride out of the palace and steal a carriage, but Francis would be able to see through such tricks. She slid the sack from her shoulder, dropping it to the road. A single fragment of glass, no larger than the cap of an acorn, spilled out. “Is there a problem?”
“Princess Whiteshore sent word to watch for you and the boy.” Francis’ men spread out behind him. “Set Prince Jakob down and surrender.”
“What gives you the right to comm
and me?” Snow stepped forward, crushing the glass beneath her heel. She lifted her boot from the pieces and blew softly.
She could feel Francis’ magic circling her, trying to contain her without hurting the prince. She shredded his spell as easily as cobwebs.
Frost spread over the glass shards on the road. Tiny frozen spikes grew from each splinter, spreading into paper-thin panes of ice.
From behind the Harbormaster, a grunting bull of a man lunged forward to grab Snow. Francis shouted an order, but it was too late. The man’s fingers dug into her forearm, trying futilely to pry her grip from the prince. Snow put her other hand over his and squeezed until she felt the bones snap.
Snow pointed to the broken shards. Wings of ice twitched, then fluttered to life. Insects of snow and glass, no larger than wasps, swarmed toward the Harbormaster.
He cast another spell, knocking two of the wasps back. One of his men destroyed a third, but there were too many. Soon the rest were crawling over their bodies, jabbing stingers of mirrored glass into their skin.
Snow glanced around. She had created close to twenty of the wasps, more than she needed to deal with the Harbormaster and his men. There was no point in letting the others go to waste. She called the rest, allowing them to settle into her hair, a living crown of ice and glass. “Come, Jakob. Let’s find ourselves a ship. I’ve so much to do.”
Danielle maintained her composure until she reached the room she shared with Armand. She shut and locked the door behind her, then pulled her sword from its sheath. She collapsed against the door, pressing her forehead to the flat of the blade. The glass sword was liquid smooth, save for a handspan near the hilt where it had once broken. Snow’s magic had fixed the sword, but that part of the blade was frosted.
Jakob was gone. Armand, too, for all intents, unless Isaac or Gerta could free him of Snow’s spell. Snow, Beatrice . . . it was too much.