by Jim C. Hines
Danielle wore only her glass sword and the dagger Talia had given her years ago.
“You think those will be necessary?” Gerta asked.
“Always,” Talia said before Danielle could respond.
The others waited inside. Father Isaac stood before the altar, looking troubled. Trittibar sat beside Armand, who rose to greet Danielle with a quick kiss.
“Jakob?” she asked.
“In his room. Isaac has warded it to the best of his ability. He’s as safe there as he is anywhere in Lorindar.”
“Thank you.” Armand’s words weren’t as reassuring as she might have hoped. “I’m sorry.”
He waved the apology away. He had been angry when he first heard of Danielle’s bargain, and angrier still when he learned of the Duchess’ warning from years before, which Danielle had kept from him. They had fought three times, each worse than the last. Looking back, Danielle realized now how much of that anger had come from grief and fear.
Today she fought to keep that fear under control. If this didn’t work—She kissed him, perhaps a bit harder than was considered proper, but Danielle didn’t particularly care. She held him close, allowing herself another moment of comfort before turning to Father Isaac to ask, “The chapel is prepared?”
“I’ve opened the wards to allow you to speak with the Duchess,” Isaac said. “If things go wrong, I’ll do my best to protect you all, but I can make no promises.”
“I understand.” Danielle drew a deep breath. “I’ve already made my promise.”
“Good luck,” said Armand.
Danielle walked to the front of the church, rested a hand on her sword, and spoke the Duchess’ name three times.
The wooden floor warped and split, boards appearing to fall into endless shadow. The Duchess appeared soon after. “Greetings, Your Majesty. My congratulations on your coronation.”
Danielle gave a slight bow. Theodore had stepped down four months after the death of his wife. He remained in the palace, but now spent his time advising his son and spoiling his grandson. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“To King Armand as well,” the Duchess added. “Given your new responsibilities, I’m flattered you remembered your obligation to a lowly fairy such as myself.”
How could she forget, when she had thought about her oath every day since making it? “What was your plan for Jakob? To enchant him as you once did Armand? Or to force him to swear loyalty to you, to enslave him as you did the fairies of Speas Elan?”
“It was your stepsisters who attempted to steal your husband,” the Duchess corrected. “As for my plans, I’m afraid they’re none of your concern. Unless you’d care to bargain for that knowledge?” When Danielle said nothing, she laughed softly. “Once Jakob passes through this portal, he will be safe. Safer than he would be anywhere else in this world. You have my word. Six months from today he will return to you unharmed.”
Six months . . . that was the loophole Trittibar had discovered. So long as only six months passed in the mortal world, the Duchess would have kept her part of the bargain. Danielle knew the stories of mortals who passed into a fairy hill and were lost in their realm. They could wander for years and return to find only a single day had passed. To manipulate time was difficult, but within the Duchess’ power. Jakob would return in half a year’s time, but he might have aged years. And after so long in the Duchess’ care, he would have little or no memory of his human life.
“I remember our terms.” Danielle folded her arms. “You’ve expressed so much interest in my son. I wanted you to be among the first to hear the news.”
“What news?” Wariness sharpened her question.
“Yesterday evening, in this church, my son Jakob was wed to Princess Rose Gertrude Curtana of Allesandria.”
Gerta stepped forward and raised her hand, flashing a gold wedding band where all could see.
“An . . . interesting match,” said the Duchess. “Though his father was equally daring in his choice of bride. Had I known, I would have sent the boy a gift.”
“Man, not boy.” Danielle glanced at Armand, who nodded. “Under the laws of Lorindar, once married, my son is officially a man. As our bargain was only until Jakob came of age, that bargain is now ended. Lorindar thanks you for your aid.”
The chill that followed was so palpable Danielle expected to see frost rising from the hole. She and Armand had spent many long hours discussing this move with Febblekeck and Trittibar. Both agreed with this interpretation of fairy and human law, but there was no way to guess how the Duchess would react. Danielle glanced at Talia, who slipped her hands into her sleeves. If things went badly, silver-bladed knives would be flying into the hole before anyone else could blink.
The Duchess simply reached out, fingers spread as if searching for something unseen. According to Trittibar, had they been within the bounds of Fairytown, the Duchess would have sensed the instant the bargain was fulfilled. But Jakob had been wed in human lands, shielded by Father Isaac’s magic.
The Duchess tilted her head in salute. “Well done, Queen Danielle. Perhaps your fairy blood is stronger than I realized.”
“Perhaps,” Danielle said evenly.
“Be wary. One day Jakob will leave the safety of your palace, and who knows what he might encounter. Your stories tell of those lured by the beauty of fairy magic, men who abandon the colorless mundanity of your world to join ours.”
“Is that a threat?” Armand asked softly.
“Not at all, King Armand. Merely a warning. You yourself have known our hospitality. If you could not resist, what chance will he have?” She paused briefly before adding, “I could teach him to protect himself . . .”
Gerta stepped to the edge of the hole. “I’m more than capable of protecting my husband.”
The Duchess laughed. “Child, you flatter yourself if you think you’ve the means to keep him from my reach. Your power is but a shadow of Snow White’s.”
Gerta matched her smile. She reached into the pocket of her gown and produced a silk-wrapped bundle. She carefully unwrapped the silk to reveal a rose of mirrored glass. The petals were thin as foil, just beginning to open. Every thorn was sharp enough to draw blood. Colored light from the windows of the chapel flashed over the rose’s surface. “Not a shadow. A reflection.”
“You sheltered my stepsisters when they kidnapped my husband,” Danielle said. “Your darklings tried to help them steal my child. You aided Arathea against us, resulting in the death of my stepsister.”
“My darkling saved your lives in Allesandria,” the Duchess countered.
“And we are grateful for its help and sacrifice.” She took the rose from Gerta and held it lightly in her hands. The glass was warm to the touch. “Just as we are grateful to Speas Elan for their aid. But you have never answered for your crimes against Lorindar, and I will not allow you to threaten my family again.”
The Duchess had opened this portal expecting to receive Prince Jakob. When Danielle dropped the rose into the hole, it passed from the chapel into the Duchess’ realm. She reacted at once, clapping her hands loudly enough to make Danielle flinch. The rose shattered.
“That was a mistake,” Gerta whispered.
Light poured from the broken glass, bathing the Duchess in orange and red. “What is this?”
“A sunrise, Your Grace,” said Danielle. “Captured within the mirror by Gerta’s magic, and released by your own hand.”
The Duchess froze.
“Six hundred twenty-four mortal years ago, the rulers of Fairytown sentenced you to death for your crimes.” Trittibar spoke more formally than Danielle had ever heard. “That sentence has never been lifted, though the king promised to postpone your death until the day you witnessed one final sunrise as a free woman. That oath is now fulfilled and witnessed.”
The Duchess’ fury burned away any trace of humanity in her face. Her white hair swirled as though in a maelstrom. Smoke and flame danced over her skin. The floor shifted, as though the entire chape
l would be sucked through.The Duchess reached up,fingers curled—
The hole in the floor vanished. Father Isaac kissed the crucifix on his necklace. “I take it your conversation was ended?”
Danielle stepped back and grabbed Armand’s arm for support. He appeared almost as shaken as she felt. His face was pale, and she could feel his pulse pounding even through his sleeve.
“I’ve already sent orders to increase the guards,” Talia said. “Gerta and Isaac should strengthen the wards around the palace as well.”
“Prudent precautions,” Trittibar agreed. “But I suspect the Duchess will have more pressing concerns than vengeance. The Lord and Lady of Fairytown agree on few things, but the Duchess tricked and humiliated them both. I’ve no doubt they sensed the termination of that centuries-old bargain.” He bowed to Danielle and Armand. “Fairytown will be in your debt.”
“As they will be in yours,” Danielle said, smiling. Whether that debt would be enough to earn Trittibar his former place as ambassador, she couldn’t say, but she intended to push Fairytown to do so. It was just one of many topics she planned to discuss, along with revisiting Malindar’s Treaty and sending Jakob to visit the fairy courts to learn their ways when he was older . . . and the Duchess was no longer a threat.
She watched Trittibar depart, then turned to Father Isaac. “Now remind me, please. What are the formalities for annulling a marriage?”
Palace business kept Danielle occupied for the rest of the day. It was well after dark before she was able to slip away to help her husband herd Jakob into bed. Nicolette had gotten him ready, but ever since his return from Allesandria, he had insisted on seeing his mother and father before settling down to sleep. It was a demand Danielle was happy to oblige, especially on this night.
Once Jakob was finally tucked away, she slipped quietly into the hall with Armand.
He offered an arm. “How goes your day, Queen Danielle?”
“Very long, King Armand.” Danielle managed a weary smile as she slipped her hand through his arm. “I’ve mediated a dispute between the Fairy Church and the Church of the Iron Cross, met with Lord Garbarin of Eastpointe over the upcoming marriage of his daughter—”
“Isn’t she the one who ran off with a dwarf?”
“The same,” Danielle said. “And then I had to stop at the gardens to lecture the rabbits. They’ve been driving poor Leonard to distraction.” She shook her head. “Your parents did this job for more than twenty years?”
“You heard my father when I accepted the crown. I’ve rarely heard such an evil laugh.”
She kissed him. “Have you seen Talia or Gerta? There’s one final matter I need to take care of tonight.”
“Try the southwest tower.”
She should have guessed. Gerta enjoyed the view from the towers. She often snuck away to the western towers to watch the sun set. Danielle started to leave, but Armand tugged her back. He kissed her again, more deeply this time, and said, “Don’t be too long.”
Smiling, she made her way through the palace, doing her best to greet and acknowledge all she passed while fending off further requests for her time. By the time she finally reached the tower, she was seriously considering asking Gerta to cast some sort of illusion or disguise that would allow her to move about in peace.
She found them standing atop the tower, looking out over the waist-high walls toward the ocean and arguing about Fairytown. Danielle leaned against the door. “Aren’t there supposed to be guards up here?”
“I sent them away,” said Talia. “Will you please tell Gerta how many times Fairytown has used loopholes in the treaty to—”
“It’s in their nature,” Gerta countered. “Might as well ask a bird not to fly, or an Arathean not to be so stubborn.”
“I’m not saying we shouldn’t reexamine the treaty,” Talia said. “Only that our first priority has to be the protection of our people.”
“Most fairies have never raised a hand against humans. Would you imprison them all to protect us from the threat of a few?”
“Fairytown is hardly a prison,” Talia shot back.
Danielle cleared her throat. “Speaking of threats . . .”
Both of them turned to face her. Danielle suppressed a smile when she saw how close they stood to one another. She started to speak, but stopped to stifle a yawn.
Gerta and Talia exchanged knowing looks.
“A rough day, Your Majesty?” asked Gerta.
“The hardships of royalty,” said Talia.
Gerta clucked her tongue. “It must be difficult, having your every meal prepared by an expert chef, your gowns handmade by the best tailors in Lorindar, your room tended, with servants hovering about to fulfill your every wish.”
“Be fair,” Talia said. “The kingdom’s treasury isn’t endless. Why, I doubt she could buy more than half of Lorindar, at most. She’s practically living in poverty.”
“The poor thing.”
Danielle gave them both a decidedly unqueenlike gesture, earning a delighted laugh from Gerta. Even Talia grinned.
“So what’s the threat?” Gerta asked, slipping her hand into Talia’s. Talia appeared a little self-conscious, but didn’t pull away.
“Have you heard the tale of the girl with no hands?” Danielle asked.
“From Najarin, right?” Talia pursed her lips. “Her father made a deal with a devil. He cut off his daughter’s hands, and in exchange the devil rewarded him with tremendous wealth. The story says she eventually replaced her lost hands with hands of silver, and went on to marry a minor king.”
“That’s the story, yes.”
“You’ve heard otherwise?” asked Gerta.
“Rumors only, so far. A woman with silver hands was seen in the southern isles off the coast of Lorindar. Five people have been found dead. Four men and one woman, all wealthy.”
Gerta’s lips pursed. “Her father mutilated her for gold.”
“So now she punishes the rich,” Talia guessed.
“For their greed.” Danielle pulled out the note she had received. “I’ve spoken with Najarin. The girl’s father was her first victim. She killed thirteen other people before fleeing.”
Talia whistled softly.
“A mermaid named Nallinix claims to have witnessed the last murder. She says the woman’s hands absorbed magic, reflecting it back at her caster. A single blow from her silver fists was enough to crush bones. So be careful.”
“Define careful,” Talia said.
Danielle smiled. “It means you do whatever it takes to return home safely. That’s an order from your queen.”
“Not my queen,” said Gerta. “I’m Allesandrian, remember? I don’t recall swearing fealty to Lorindar.”
“Come to think of it, I don’t think I ever swore an oath to our new queen, either,” said Talia.
“You leave in the morning.” Danielle gave Talia a mock glare. “Don’t keep Gerta up too late. Some of us need our sleep.”
Gerta tugged Talia closer. “Sleep is overrated.”
The setting sun made it difficult to be certain, but she could have sworn Talia actually blushed.
Danielle turned her head, hiding her smile. “Good night, my friends.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I REMEMBER SITTING IN A RESTAURANT with my friend Trey and his wife Adelia back in 2004. It was the last day of Windycon, a Chicago SF/F convention, and I was babbling on and on about this nifty new idea I had for a different kind of fairy-tale retelling.
It was my daughter’s fault. She was going through a princess phase, and our house had been taken over by princess-themed movies and merchandise. I wanted to provide an alternate take on fairy-tale princesses, one that went back to the older source material while putting the princesses squarely in charge of their own stories. And I wanted it to be fun. Sort of a Brothers Grimm meets Last Action Hero thing.
A lot has changed since I first started playing with these ideas. The first version of Snow White’s character was blind, relyin
g on her mirrors to see. (I’ve posted a deleted scene with her at www.jimchines.com.) She went by the name of Lina in that first book, which was originally titled The Stepsister Plot, and then The Stepsister Conspiracy. She and her companions rode unicorns across Fairytown, which led Lina to make all manner of off-color remarks about virgins. And then I started planning book two, The Mermaid Mysteries . . .
Snow Queen was the book that gave me the most title trouble. My editor rejected more titles than I can count, including The Snow Queen’s Scourge, Shards of the Snow Queen, and Godzilla vs. The Snow Queen. I finally went to my blog and begged my readers for help. Huge thanks to Arlene Medder and Lara (a.k.a. Miladygray the Internet Muse), who both suggested what would become the final title for the book.
Snow Queen was challenging in other ways, too. It’s one thing to finish a book, but this time I needed to bring closure to an entire series. How the heck do you end a series that’s all about what happens after the “happily ever after”?
I blame Talia. Back in ’04, I was planning to write a more episodic series, something like James Bond for the Fairy-Tale Princess set, which would allow me to write book after book, make millions of dollars, and buy Hawaii. There would be no multi-book arcs, and no need to write a true end to the series. Then Talia had to go and fall in love, and I realized I couldn’t just leave her hanging. Either the relationship needed to go somewhere, or else Talia needed to move on. And it wasn’t just Talia; all three of my protagonists had to grow and change. Suddenly I wasn’t just writing episodes, but larger character arcs and stories.
Ultimately, I believe that made the series stronger (even if I didn’t get to buy Hawaii). I’m proud of these books. I love the characters. I love their stories. I love their strengths and their flaws. I love their struggles. And I’ve done my best to be true to the characters and their stories, and to find the endings that felt honest for each of them . . . even when that was hard to do.