by Taryn Tyler
“I am your queen.” I said. “Let me in. Take me to Lucille.”
“She . . . she's at supper.”
“Then I will join her.”
He stared. His brow creased in concentration, trying to decide why I was covered in blood, what assets could possibly give me the confidence to call myself queen, and which side he should gamble his loyalties on. Finally he stepped aside, motioning his hand for me to step inside. Not a bow but not a command either. He still hadn't made up his mind.
I stepped into the manor courtyard. The gate dropped closed behind me. The soldiers drilling outside the stable stopped as I walked past them. The kennel boy looked up from the swine trough. The washerwomen stopped, holding the soldiers' trousers up unpinned to the washline. The warden followed behind me, as far as he could manage while still pretending to lead me.
The manor was just as I had remembered it. The same pale stone walls and ebony doors and windows. The same gargoyles watching from the torrents. The same grave stillness of its residence. The same silence.
I stepped inside and flung my way up the first flight of stairs. My bare feet pattered against the cold, stiff stone. The warden clattered behind me, rushing to keep up.
Down the first corridor. One twist, then another. Here, where I had dined with Papa since I had been old enough to wear a gown and hold a spoon. Here, where servants had carried a small girl's heart on a platter, where Lucille's iron shoes had thudded across the carpets like the muffled cries of a battlefield, where Constanze had sent me decked out in silver and purple silks to frighten me out of eating the poisoned delicacies that Lucille had spread across the table.
Lucille sat alone at the head of the table, draped in pale green silks. Mama's silver necklaces hung against her neck and breasts. The hall smelled of liver and sage and onions. She looked at me, her spoon raised halfway to her mouth, then set the instrument down, pulling two delicate fingers away from it. “I am not prepared for guests tonight.” She said. “Where is Boris?”
“Dead.” I said.
Her perfect green eyes strayed to the knife in my hand. “With that?”
I gripped the knife hilt, remembering the calm of her voice as she had questioned the prisoner in the dungeon, remembering her silver smile as she had rolled Papa's eyes shut, remembering . . .
I gripped the knife hilt. I walked to the table, holding Lucille's green, smiling eyes in my gaze. I clapped the knife onto the table beneath my palm, then drew my hand away, leaving the bloodstained instrument among Lucille's crystal dishes. I took another step toward Lucille.
She stood up. Her green gown whisked like a waterfall. “What do you imagine you are doing, Snow?”
“I don't need the knife.” I said.
“Dying is easier without a weapon.” She agreed.
I smiled. “Perhaps. But will I stay dead?”
She stepped toward me, raising her hand out in front of her, summoning her magic.
“I know why you tried to starve me to death.” I said. “I know why you tried to poison me –to make my death look like an accidentwhy you resorted to a secret knife in the dead of night instead of sentencing me to death the way you would have with anyone else.”
She lowered her hand. “You know nothing.”
“Your servants had all seen you kill before.” I continued. “Most of them had killed for you themselves. Villagers who stood in your way. A whole castle full of people you hated. A small girl looking for shelter from the rain. Anyone who dared disobey your orders. They all died and no one lifted a voice to stop you. So why was my death a secret? Why did you come to kill me yourself when I climbed your wall last night? Why send only your son to fetch my body? Why not send your soldiers?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Does it matter? Dead is dead.”
“Why,” I asked “haven't you called anyone yet to come dispose of me?”
She smiled. Flawless. Like spider silk. Like the sharp edge of a knife. “Because I don't need them.” She raised her hand again, laying her palm flat in front of her mouth. Her lips formed a ring. She blew air across the surface of her skin.
A wind picked up outside. It shook against the windowpanes. Glass rattled inside the ebony frames.
“Will your servants believe you?” I shouted over the noise. “When you tell them that this was an accident? Will the neighboring rulers believe it when they hear whispers of what has happened? Conquer one kingdom and you are a coveted ally. Conquer many and you become a threat. Are you strong enough yet to defend against all of them if they hear how greedy you have become?”
The wind howled. It moaned and screeched and then the glass inside the windowpanes shattered. Sharp slivers scattered through the air, flying toward me from every side. I closed my eyes, guarding my neck and chest against the glass with my arms. Pain sliced into my shoulder, my side, my back, my thigh, my hand. The sting of blood swelled around each wound, trickling down the surface of my skin.
“I'll take that chance.” Lucille said.
I held my breath, afraid to move, afraid I would grind the glass shards deeper into my flesh. The pain prickled and scratched under my skin, itching like a rash. Blood leaked out drip by drip.
I felt Lucille moving toward me. I could imagine the calm, warm smile on her lips. “You've grown brave, Snow and more difficult to kill than I had expected, but you will never have the power I have. You will never be as beautiful. You will never be as strong.”
I didn't move. My limbs and side and back ached. A wave of dizziness had already swelled through me, ebbing at the edges of my consciousness. How much longer could I remain on my feet? How could I keep the glass fragments in my side from slicing my organs once she reached me?
Then I heard her voice. Not Lucille's. It was too sweet. Too dangerous. Too tender. Too familiar. I had listened to that lullaby as I slept. I had heard it in the dark of the wood when the shadows of the trees and the voices of the ghosts still frightened me. I had let it linger in my ears, soft and still and wild, as the forest lit itself on fire.
Rose's song. Always different. Always the same.
Alive. My heart rattled in my chest.
The power of her voice broke into particles around me, each note sweeter and more distinct than the last. I felt the pieces of glass lodged in my flesh break apart, lose their polish, and turn to sand. The sharp, heavy grains stung as they sifted out of my flesh and onto the ground with the ooze of my blood. I opened my eyes and looked up.
Rose stood in the doorway of the dining hall. A crimson stain was smeared across her unlaced bodice, ripped where her heart was. The blood had dried brown over the palms of her hands. Her fire curls were matted, cluttered with bits of straw. She smiled when my eyes met hers. A bright, quick smile that was almost a wink.
Lucille looked at Rose, then the uneaten dish on the table, smothered in gravy and onions. The silver fork lay on her silk napkin, a single bite still clinging to the prongs.
Rose stepped toward the table. She lifted the fork and slid the flesh and gravy into her mouth.
“What was it?” Lucille asked “Bear? Fox?”
Rose chewed then swallowed. “Deer.”
Lucille smiled. “Did Greta think I wouldn't recognize the flavor? Did you think I would let her go before making sure?” She strode toward the shattered window. Wind swirled through the hall. She lifted her hand, motioning down into the manor ward.
Rose and I followed her. We stepped next to either of her shoulders and looked down into the ward. A plain woman in gray wool stood between two soldiers. A third soldier stood in front of her with a wooden box in his hand.
“They are waiting for my signal.” Lucille lifted her hand.
The soldier with the box lifted the lid. The others took the woman's wrist and held it out with the underside of the forearm exposed. A long, slender creature slithered his way out of the box. It hissed in anger, then opened its mouth, fangs posed to strike.
Instead of biting the woman, the creature twisted around and
sank its poisonous fangs into the soldier's wrist. The soldier cried out in pain. He dropped the snake and placed his mouth over the punctured flesh to drain out the poison. The viper landed on the ground, flopping like a thick coil of rope, then moved toward the manor wall. Slowly it began to slither its way up the wall toward the window of the dining hall.
I turned toward Rose. Her eyes were closed, her face unmoving, serene as if she were in a trance. I had seen that expression before –or something like it –when she had first told me that she could hear the trees. She was calling the snake.
Lucile turned around. She lifted her hand again and struck Rose across the face. Rose opened her eyes. I moved to pull Lucille away from her.
Lucille's hand swept back. It struck hard against my chin. The cuts in my side and hands and legs and shoulder stung, leaking my life away in thick red drops. My head swam. My throat was still swollen from the apple that had been lodged in it. I reeled out of balance. My cheek smashed against the hard grains of sand scattered over the ground.
Lucille didn't even tilt her head to look down at me. “Do you really imagine you can match your powers against mine?” She demanded of Rose. “You may have much of it but you lack the will and strength to wield it.” She lifted her hand again. The wind billowed around us.
My hair fluttered across my eyes, obscuring my vision. Thunder rumbled in the sky. I lifted myself onto my elbow. My head spun as I fought to remain conscious.
Lightning flashed. The sky went dark. Sharp bits of hail flew in through the window, parting as they passed Lucille. Once they passed her they joined together again, speeding toward Rose with their dagger edges directed at her breasts.
Rose lifted her arm, warding off the onslaught. Her lips pressed together.
Her voice. Soft. Quiet. Pale as the wind. Warm as a candle.
The bits of ice melted away, dripping onto the ground around her in a wet slur.
I pulled myself onto my knees, edging my way back toward Rose and Lucille.
Lucille shrieked. It sounded like a hawk. Like a dragon's cry. “Let's see you sing when you are screaming.” She closed her eyes. She didn't sing. She chanted. The words came out in cracking clips of sound, one syllable after the other, crunching like ice.
Indistinguishable words. Noises I had never imagined a human mouth could make. Crisp. Cutting. Course.
Rose stood still. The swirling notes of her song stopped, replaced with a dry scraping in her throat. Her hand moved toward her mouth then stopped. Suddenly as if she could no longer move. Her eyes widened in fear. I had never seen her afraid before. I had never seen her eyes bleed with tears of terror. The tears crystallized into ice in the corners of her eyes as I realized what Lucille had done.
She had turned every drop of moisture in Rose's body to ice.
Rose's face twisted with pain. Her skin grew pale and red. And then she began to scream.
Loud. Shrill. Like the soul cry she had released the night she had discovered her gran's body. Like the prisoner Lucille had questioned in the dungeon. Like my heart, so, so deep down that I couldn't even reach it.
But Rose could. It shattered at the sound of her scream. I jumped to my feet, rushing at Lucille with every living particle left in my body.
My hand closed over her shoulder. My knee jammed into her thigh. My arm twisted around hers. Together we plummeted down onto the ground.
Lucille shoved me off of her. She kicked me in the shin with her iron slippers. I ignored the hard, heavy force of the impact. “Rose.” I said but she couldn't hear me over the sound of her own screams. “Rose.” I said again.
Lucille opened her mouth. I jammed my fist into it, cracking my bones against her teeth. No chance I would let her speak again. A thick trickle of blood ran down her chin.
Rose kept screaming. The spell had stopped but the pain was still there. She was stiff with ice.
Lucille rose to her knees, towering over me. I grabbed her wrists and pulled downward with all my strength.
“Rose.” Now I was screaming too. “Rose. If you can scream you can sing. Rose, listen to me.”
Lucille kicked me again. Her iron shoes dug into my thigh, grinding against the bone.
“Rose.” I screamed. “Her shoes. Her iron slippers.”
Lucille shook her head, chuckling, almost smiling. A whisk of her nut curls fell against her chin next to the trickle of blood. Her green eyes were almost manic. “It's too late.” She said “Rose is gone. It's just me and you now and we know how that ends.”
“She's alive.” I said “I can hear her.”
“She's screaming.” Lucille purred. “There is nothing left of her but pain.”
“Will her heart be worth anything to you frozen?” I asked. “What power will you find in ice crystals?”
Lucille laughed. The same warm, liquid laugh she had used for Papa's jokes. The wrinkles in her forehead smoothed out. Her green eyes twinkled. Her lips, still drizzling with blood, twisted into a smile. “The same power that is in mine.”
“Then it is a useless power.” I said. “Rose's power isn't like that. It's not cold and stiff and controlling. It's wild and loose and full of fire. It's alive. It's fearless and rampant and defiant. It swells and burns and listens to the earth. It sings even with pain and death dancing in circles around it and when it can't sing anymore it screams because no one can silence it. Not ice. Not pain. Not death. How could you wield power like that? All you can do is kill and take and live the longest death anyone has ever known. Your power is nothing.”
Lucille's smile dropped from her face. She lifted her foot, aiming the iron sole at my head.
Something was wrong. Something had changed.
Rose had stopped screaming.
My heart stopped. “Rose.” I said. “Rose.”
Silence.
“Rose.” I rolled my head back and forth, trying to see her, but all I could see was Lucille's still, staring eyes and gritted jaw. Why hadn't she slammed her iron shoe down on my face yet? What was that blistering smoke smell, the heat creeping into the air above me?
The screams began again. Only they weren't Rose's anymore. They were Lucille's. Her foot moved downward. I rolled to the side, swinging out of the way just as her shoes hit the ground, orange and sizzling with heat. I could smell the searing of her feet –rich and heavy like roasted sow flesh. She lifted her foot up again, dropping the other one to the ground.
Up and down her feet went, one after the other, burning to a black and blistering ooze of flesh over her bone as she screamed and screamed and screamed.
There was another sound floating behind the screams, driving them forward with a fierce haunting call. Of fear. Of pain. Of anger. Of love.
Rose, singing.
I pulled myself onto my feet, shaking with fatigue. I turned to face her. The room swirled and swished around me. I struggled to hold myself upright.
Rose smiled through her song. She reached her hand out for mine. Her skin had retrieved its flushed tones, her eyes their fire. I turned away and stepped toward Lucille, still dancing like a broken puppet next to the window. I placed my hand on Lucille's shoulder.
One shove was all it took. One shove and she was flying downward, soaring toward the ground like a heavy piece of rock. I didn't hear her hit the courtyard. I didn't hear her soldiers’ shouts as they stepped out of her way. I only heard Rose's song. I only felt Rose's hand reach around my waist, her head lean against the top of my head. She closed her eyes, concentrating, as the viper slithered across the courtyard, coiling its long body around Lucille's arms and wrists. The animal sank its fangs into her neck.
Lucille's mouth foamed. Her body shook. Her men swarmed around her, shouting and pointing and kneeling next to her. Then she stopped moving.
Rose's body slackened against mine. She released a long heavy sigh, a whisper against my forehead as her song came to an end.
I nestled the side of my head into the crook of her neck, soft and warm and safe. “I thought you were gon
e.”
She lifted her head, pressed her lips against my temple, tightened her arms around my waist. “Never.”
Rose
I woke in a bed. The sheets were made of silk. My head hurt. My throat was dry and cracked. Every muscle ached. I stared at the ceiling a moment, trying to remember if I had ever lain in a bed before. Probably not since I had lain in the nursery of Otto's castle in the north.
My castle.
“You're awake.” Otto's voice.
I rose up onto my elbows, looking around the room for Snow.
My stomach swirled with sickness from the motion. Snow was lying on another bed across from me, still asleep. Her wounds had been cleaned. The bleeding had stopped but bits of black and purple had begun to spread over her skin where she had been hit.
“ She was bruised badly.” Otto said, sensing my concern. “A few broken bones, but we stopped the bleeding in time. She will recover.”
I sank back into the bed. I closed my eyes. Had anything ever been so soft? My shift wasn’t torn anymore either and the bloodstains were gone. It must have been a new one.
“We didn't know what to do for you.” Otto said. “We couldn't find any wounds but you were passed out cold next to Snow.”
The wounds were there. I could feel them in every ounce of my being. Invisible, magical bruises that might never heal. So much power had coursed through my being. How had I done it all? How had I dared?
“How did you get here?” I asked Otto. What I really meant was why was he here at all.
“I came to rescue you.” He answered.
I opened my eyes and wrinkled my nose. “You were a bit late.”
He looked like he might chuckle, then didn't. “I'm sorry.” He said. Softly. Simply. “I thought I would have a better chance with an army behind me so I went to Copshire first to hire every mercenary I could coerce. If Snow had waited for me –if she had done as I'd told her
–you would be dead.”
I smiled in spite of all the pain. “Snow's much too smart to do as she's told.”
Otto turned toward her bed. He smiled softly. Wistfully. “She is.” He stared a moment longer, then turned back toward me. “But now I have an army I don't know what to do with. Two actually. Lucille's men surrendered without a fight since their queen and her heir were both dead.”