These were slightly larger than the mirrors from Snow’s first choker. The gold-rimmed edges dug into her chin and throat if she bowed her head too far, but the larger size made it easier to manipulate their power. In the days leading up to this voyage, she had used the mirrors to capture several days’ worth of sunlight. This wasn’t her first time at sea, and despite what certain people might think, she couldn’t spend the entire time flirting with the crew. Three more books waited for her in her cabin.
The first scream shattered her spell, plunging the galley into darkness. She pressed one hand to the wall, rising on unsteady legs. There had been a magical element to that scream, but it was a damaged magic, like an injured boar, wild and enraged.
She waited for the sound to fade, then touched her choker, restoring enough light to make her way safely out of the galley. She passed other crewmen rushing to and fro. “What’s happening?”
“Out of the way, girl!” Strong hands shoved her aside.
Snow muttered a quick charm beneath her breath. The man yelled as his boots slid out from under him.
“Excuse me.” Snow flashed a friendly smile as she stepped over the groaning man and climbed up into the sunlight.
The scream came again. This time, Snow was able to brace herself. This wasn’t a deliberate spell. Her own magic drew on various energies, from the sun’s light to her own will, weaving them into whatever pattern she chose. These screams were . . . snarled. Power without form.
At the front of the main deck, Prince Armand was shouting to the crew. Snow climbed onto one of the longboats for a better view. A canvas tarp covered the boat, and she moved carefully, feeling for the crossbeams until she found a comfortable spot to stand and watch.
On the forecastle, a half-naked woman holding a spear was fighting with Talia. The stranger appeared human, but her nudity marked her as undine, as did that sharkskin harness. Royalty, judging from the oyster necklace. This had to be Posannes’ daughter Lirea.
Queen Beatrice stood behind Lirea and Talia, unable to get past. Already the crew had gathered, blocking Snow’s way. She turned to the nearest crewman. “I’ll wager a dozen crowns on Talia.”
Talia soon ripped the spear from her opponent’s grasp, delivering one blow after another. Lirea screamed again, then drew her knife.
Snow’s breath caught. Unlike the screams, the magic woven into that knife was deliberate and precise. She could feel only a faint shadow of the knife’s power, little more than a whisper, but it was a whisper full of pain and despair. Snow leaped from the longboat and tried to shove her way to the forecastle.
The mermaid lunged, and Talia broke the spear over her back. An instant later, the magic in the knife flared up like oil-soaked rags.
“Bea!” There were too many people in her way. Snow jammed her thumb beneath one man’s jaw, a dirty trick Talia had taught her years before. A whispered spell caused another to leap back, even as her illusory spiders flickered and vanished. Tossing spells with abandon, Snow cleared a path to the forecastle, heedless of the injuries she left in her wake.
Moments later Snow knelt beside the queen, her hands over the gash in Beatrice’s chest. She sent the others away. Even as she frantically drew on her magic to chill the wound and slow the bleeding, panic threatened to unravel her spells.
The knife couldn’t have pierced the heart, or Beatrice would already be dead. Snow grabbed the large mirror at the front of her choker and pulled. The wires untwisted, releasing the mirror into her palm.
She placed the mirror on the back of her other hand, directly over the wound. “Mirror, mirror—” Her mind went blank. The rhymes weren’t necessary, but they helped focus her spells. She needed that focus right now. “Dammit, what rhymes with blood? Wait, I’ve got it.”
Snow concentrated on the mirror. “Mirror, mirror, hear my need. Show me whence the queen does bleed.”
The mirror’s surface frosted, then cleared again. Blood filled the glass, but Snow peered deeper.
There. One of the smaller arteries leading from the heart had been cut, but not completely severed. She could see blood pumping from the cut with each beat of the queen’s heart.
There was no way for needle and thread to reach such a wound. Snow touched her choker again. A length of gold wire unbraided itself, coiling around the index finger of her left hand. “Hurry, curse you.”
She snapped the wire free, then pressed her finger against the wound. The wire grew hot, remembering the heat of the forge until it was soft and pliable as silk. The tip of the wire snaked into the wound, growing longer and thinner as it sought out the cut.
Six times the wire pierced the artery. More finely than any human hand could sew, it stitched the edges together, gradually slowing the flow of blood. A thought severed the wire, melting the ends together so that no sharp points remained. Snow continued to watch through her mirror until she was certain the bleeding had stopped. Only then did she reach up to touch Beatrice’s face.
What she sensed was like a physical blow, knocking her back. “She’s gone.”
“Nobody’s dying if I have anything to say about it.” Gentle hands slowly pulled her away. The ship’s surgeon, an older man named Hoffman, sat down beside her. “She’s still breathing. I’ll take over from here.”
Snow started to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. She squeezed her eyes shut, then nodded.
Someone else helped her to her feet. Her mirror slipped from her hand and broke on the deck.
“Sorry about that,” said the crewman.
Snow barely heard. Beatrice’s face was pale and still. Her blood covered the forecastle. It had gotten onto Snow’s hands, soaked into her sleeves and trousers. She could smell it in the air, the sharp tang overpowering even the salt of the sea air.
“Will she live?” asked someone. The prince? Snow wasn’t sure.
She pulled away, trying to get to Danielle and Talia. “The surgeon . . . will do what he can.” With those whispered words, Snow fled.
Danielle had seen death before. Her stepsister Stacia had died in front of her only last year. Her father died when she was ten, her mother even earlier.
She had wept for them all, in very different ways. Her mother’s death was less a memory than a collection of impressions. Broken glass . . . her father had dropped the bottle he was working on when he heard her mother fall. The bottle had been such a vivid shade of blue. Still warm from the fire, the softened glass had absorbed some of the impact before shattering, spreading shards of oddly warped glass across the floor.
Her father’s death had been a slow thing. Danielle had known what was to come, even if her stepmother refused to acknowledge it. Danielle had stolen every moment with him that she could. When death finally came, it was almost a relief, releasing him from his pain.
For her stepsister Stacia, Danielle had wept at the pointlessness of it all.
Sitting on the edge of the cot in the cabin she shared with Armand, she refused to cry now. Snow would save Beatrice. She had to.
“Beatrice found me.” Talia’s accent was thicker than usual, elongating the vowels and slurring the harder consonants. The finely woven carpet muffled the sound of her footfalls as she paced. She still carried the broken spear she had taken from Lirea. “Four years ago, when I first fled to Lorindar. I was so frightened I nearly killed her.”
“This isn’t your fault.” Worrying about Talia’s fear helped Danielle to ignore her own. “You can’t blame yourself.”
Talia stabbed the tip of the spear into the wall. She twisted, prying up a long splinter. “Lirea didn’t intend to kill Beatrice. She wouldn’t have, if I hadn’t—”
“Beatrice isn’t dead.”
Talia’s jaw quivered. “I’ve killed before, Princess. I saw the wound. With so much blood—”
“Snow will take care of Beatrice,” Danielle said. “You were trying to protect us.”
“And what a marvelous job I did.” She punctuated her words with another blow to the wall. “I sho
uld be on deck. The merfolk might come back.”
“You’ve seen the undine before. Did you know they could take human form?”
Talia shook her head. “They can’t. Otherwise King Posannes could have picked his own strawberries. This was something else.”
At least she had stopped pacing. Danielle spoke quickly, hoping to keep them both distracted. “Lirea had two tails.”
“Most have only one,” said Talia. “The royal blood-line has two. They believe it makes them superior, closer to being human. They’re faster swimmers, too.”
“Beatrice said she was one of Posannes’ daughters.” Had Lirea killed her own father to take command of her tribe? “Lirea was asking about her sister.”
“Power passes through the females.” Talia twirled the broken spear in one hand. “Posannes only led the tribe after his wife died. Even though he wears the crown, his daughters hold the true power. The eldest would have taken over in another year or two. If Lirea is looking for her sister, she’s probably trying to eliminate her competition.”
Beatrice had known. She had been searching for Posannes, and she had recognized the danger Lirea posed. “Did Beatrice ever say anything to you about Lannadae?”
“No.” Talia snorted. “But it wouldn’t surprise me. You know Queen Bea. She had a thing for taking in frightened princesses.”
That made Danielle smile, even as her heart tightened at the word had.
The door creaked open, and Snow slipped inside. “She’s alive.”
Through tear-blurred eyes, Danielle saw Talia relax slightly.
“Prince Armand is writing a note for the king,” Snow continued, turning to Danielle. “He would like you to talk to the bird and stress the urgency of the message. Tell it to fly as swiftly as possible.”
Danielle rose to go, but Snow stopped her.
“What is it?” Talia asked, clutching the spear with both hands.
Snow sat down on the cot. She looked tired. Tired and old. For an instant, Danielle feared she had sacrificed a part of her life to save Beatrice’s. Twice now, Snow had summoned dark powers to protect her. Each time, the price had been seven years of her life. The first time, those powers had killed Snow’s mother, saving Snow’s life. The second time had been last year, when they saved Danielle and Talia.
Since that day, Snow’s night-black hair had been mixed with strands of white. Faint wrinkles marked the corners of her eyes. Danielle looked closely, but saw no new signs of age. Snow was simply exhausted.
“Tell me about the knife Lirea used,” Snow said.
“The blade was abalone,” said Talia. “About as long as my hands, two fingers wide. Double-edged and thin. Not a fighting weapon. It would likely snap if you tried to stab an armored enemy, or even if the blade struck bone.”
“No, it wouldn’t.” Snow clasped her hands together. The skin was red, scrubbed raw. Blood stained the cuffs of her shirt.
“Tell us,” Danielle said.
“I’ve done what I can to help her body heal. Hoffman is stitching the wound, and I’ve medicines that will speed her recovery. But healing is as much a matter of spirit as flesh.”
“Beatrice is the strongest woman I’ve ever met,” Danielle said. “She’s the only person I know who can outstubborn Talia. Her spirit—”
“Isn’t there,” Snow interrupted, her voice cracking.
Talia stepped closer. “You said she was still alive.”
“Her heart beats. Her body breathes. But Beatrice—” Snow reached up to take Danielle’s hand. “Beatrice is gone.”
CHAPTER 2
TALIA HAD LEARNED TWO STYLES of fighting in the years after she was “rescued” from her curse. The first was the formal sik h’ara style. This was long-form fighting, focused on whirling kicks and fast, open-hand strikes.
Talia preferred sik h’adan, close form. There was nothing formal about sik h’adan. It was this style she practiced now in the cramped confines of the cabin, driving a knee into the ribs of an imagined foe, then following up with an elbow to the throat. She stomped a heel to crush the arch of the enemy’s foot. She whirled, flinging the broken spear at the floor hard enough to bury the tip in the deck.
“If you’re going to attack the boat, would you mind waiting until it’s delivered us home?” Snow asked. “Or has the floor insulted you somehow?”
The spear still quivered in place. Talia grabbed the broken shaft and kicked the head, snapping the tip.
“That’s right, blame the spear.”
As much as she cared about Snow, there were times Talia wanted to throw her through a wall. “Shouldn’t you be doing something? Working on Beatrice or talking to your mirrors? We don’t even know what that knife did to her.”
“I’ve done as much as I can. I need to get to my mirror at the palace.” Snow twirled her hair around her finger, pulling it tight until the fingertip turned red. “My mother might have known. She had a lifetime of secrets collected in her library. I saved some of those books, but most . . . her protections were stronger than I expected. I can’t imagine how much knowledge burned that day.”
With a sigh, Talia knelt and grabbed the broken spear point, wrenching it back and forth until it came free of the wood. She poked a finger through the hole in the carpet. “I’ll mend it when we get back,” she said before Snow could comment.
“I haven’t seen you this tense since we broke into Lord Pensieve’s palace in Colwich,” Snow said.
Yet again, Talia restrained herself from snapping at Snow. How could she just sit there? Talia couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so powerless. Even Colwich hadn’t been as bad, though hiding in the swamps until Lord Pensieve’s men gave up the search was an experience she could have done without.
“You were itching for days afterward,” Snow said.
“Lorindar has far too many bugs.”
“Don’t forget the snake.”
Talia’s mouth quirked. “I’m not the one who screamed.”
“No, you’re the one who let out a war cry and attacked a foot-long snake with a double-headed war ax.”
“It’s all I had,” Talia said with a shrug. “Besides, for all I knew it could have been poisonous.”
Footsteps approached the cabin door.
“Prince Armand,” Snow said without looking up.
The door opened, and the prince stepped inside. His expression was cold. “The wind is against us, but I’m told we should reach the palace by dawn. The Saint Tocohl will escort us home, while the Lord Lynn Margaret remains behind to hunt Lirea and her undine. If . . . if my mother still lives, she will be given into the care of my father’s most skilled healers.”
He kept his emotions under tight rein. He reminded Talia of his father in that way. To Snow, he said, “Thank you for saving her life.”
Snow bowed her head slightly.
“What do the two of you know of Lirea?”
Talia blinked. “Your Highness?”
“I know you’ve served my mother for many years,” he said. “When I was taken by Danielle’s stepsisters, you and Snow helped to rescue me.”
“We had help from Ambassador Trittibar,” Snow piped up. “As well as a friend in Fairytown.”
Armand lifted a hand, and Snow fell silent. Talia fought a rush of anger at the gesture. Who was he to wave Snow to silence? But he had been raised a prince, brought up to command those around him, and he had no way of knowing who it was he had dismissed so casually. Most people knew the tale of Snow White, but the idea that she could be living here in Lorindar was too great a leap. At most, people assumed Snow’s nickname came from her resemblance to that distant princess.
“Not even Danielle has shared the full details of that rescue,” Armand said. “How my wife, with the help of two servants, could defeat goblins and trolls, spirits and dark magic.”
“Also darklings and a ghost,” Snow added.
“Yes, of course.” For a moment, his expression softened. “Don’t misunderstand me. I’m grateful f
or your assistance in Fairytown. But it’s clear you are both more than mere servants. What do you know of Lirea’s feud with my mother?”
“Nothing,” Talia said.
His lips pressed together. He turned to Snow. “And you?”
Snow stared at the wall. “You’re an intelligent man. If I had known Lirea meant to attack your mother, do you really think I would have left her unguarded?”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Armand said.
Talia had been thinking the same thing. The cabin tilted as the ship fought the wind. Talia adjusted her weight to compensate, watching Snow closely.
Armand pressed one hand to the ceiling. When the ship steadied, he snapped, “I’ve seen my mother struck down and my kingdom dragged into conflict with an enemy we’ve never fought. If you truly serve this kingdom, you’ll—”
Talia shook her head, fighting for calm. “We swore to serve your mother. Not your kingdom, nor you.”
“And you don’t want to know what Beatrice puts up with to keep that loyalty,” Snow added.
Talia scowled, but Snow only flashed that damnably innocent smile of hers.
Armand drew a deep breath, and the anger slowly drained from his posture. “My mother trusts you.”
“Yes.” Talia’s voice was flat. Beatrice had trusted her, and because of that trust, Beatrice had almost died.
“As does Danielle.” Armand hesitated only slightly before adding, “I know you love them both. Thank you for trying to protect them.”
Talia managed a small nod. Anger she could accept, but compassion cut through her defenses as easily as she had slipped past Lirea’s.
She clenched her fists, trying not to think about that fight. There were so many ways she could have prevented this. A blow to the back of Lirea’s knees, dropping her to the deck. An overhand strike with the spear, stunning her. A simple kick to the throat. Any one of those moves would have stopped Lirea without pushing her toward the queen.
The Mermaid's Madness Page 3