Fairly Wicked Tales

by Hal Bodner

  “I will not go.” She scowled. “I will be Queen one day, and they are but peasants. Who is to care if a few go missing? They breed like rabbits. Why should they not be treated as such?”

  “Snow …” I whispered.

  “What Mama?” Her face twisted into a cruel smile. “You would deny the truth of what I say?”

  I gulped back the sour taste rising in my throat. “You will indeed become Queen, which is why you must see your kingdom. You said you have naught to do. You want to go beyond these castle walls. I am giving you what you want.”

  Snow chewed her rosy lip, undecided.

  I pressed on. “I have heard tell of material brought back from the East so smooth and shiny it rivals the rarest of gems.”

  “Why did you not speak of this before?”

  “I knew it would be many moons before merchants would venture this far—if at all. Most will not travel through our woods since the King’s death. They fear the forest is haunted.”

  “I am not afraid,” she boasted. “I shall leave at dark.”

  “No. Day is upon us, and the villagers are gathering. They will hunt during the daylight, knowing vampyres are at their weakest. You must leave before they figure out it is you they seek.”

  “Very well.” She bent down to retrieve her cloak.

  “Leave it,” I whispered.

  She glanced at me, her eyes questioning. When I said nothing, she stomped her foot. “This shall be the last time I take orders from you. Upon my return, I shall be crowned Queen for the title is mine—not yours.” She picked up her skirts and stalked from the room.

  I stared after her, wanting to explain, but unwilling to put words to the actions lying ahead of me. Guilt made my heart pound as I bundled up the cloak.

  ***

  The Huntsman staggered into the castle almost a week later. Puss seeped from long gashes along his sides. Torn strips of fabric were wrapped around his head, throat, and upper thigh.

  “What happened?” I cried, rushing to his side. I pushed his weakened form onto the bench in the Great Hall, my hands already busy uncovering his wounds.

  “I was attacked, your Majesty.”

  “And Snow?” I sent a servant for my herbs to make a poultice. “Did she make it to the palace safely?”

  He shook his head, his gaze skirted mine. “She was captured.”

  My hands stilled upon his wounds.

  “There is more I must tell you.” The Huntsman pressed his hand against the cloth wrapped around his neck. My breathing quickened, and I dismissed the servants gathered around us. When we were alone, he said, “Snow … attacked me. I was gutting a deer so we could dine. The fresh blood made her …” His eyes closed. The words that came forth seemed dredged from his nightmares. “Her eyes became red like the devil’s. She leapt upon me and tore at my flesh. I tried to defend myself but …” A tear shone on his lashes. He dashed the wetness away. “The dwarfs heard my screams and saved me.”

  “Saved you? How?”

  “They encircled her in chains. Clapped thick silver bands around her wrists that drained her of energy … though did not seem to cause her undue harm,” he added, sensing my alarm. One of his hands closed upon mine. “I told them you would want her death to be painless. You would not want her to suffer.”

  “You told them I wanted her dead?”

  “Aye.” He grimaced as my hand tightened on his thigh. He had done nothing to save my Snow.

  Catching sight of the servant I had sent for my herbs, I beckoned him forward. He dropped the bag in my hand and hastily withdrew. I mashed together the herbs, while I plotted my next move.

  “Where did they take her?”

  “They would not say, your Majesty.”

  “They know of her … state?”

  “Aye. They thought it of no consequence. The chains they placed upon her …” He shrugged. “They must be steeped in magic.”

  “Who else knows of this?”

  “No one. Only that she was captured.” The bench creaked beneath his shifting weight. “I realize your concern is Snow White, your Majesty, but the villagers captured a lass, Matilda—your handmaiden. They think she is the vampyre. They say they have proof. A cloak. And witnesses who saw a dark-haired girl.”

  “I had not heard,” I lied.

  His light brown eyes pleaded with me. “You know, she is not guilty. Help me to free her. We are to be married. Please—she is to be staked.”

  I glanced away. “Something shall be done at once.” My hand shook as I reached inside the bag of herbs and withdrew several purple berries. I ground the dried nightshade into the poultice, the action doing much to disguise the trembling that might give me away. I rubbed the paste onto his wounds, then covered his neck and leg in thick swathes of cloth. “Jarrod, thank you for all you have done. You have served me well.”

  “Thank you, my Queen,” he said, touching his lips to my hand.

  I left the Huntsman and hurried up the stone steps to the tower before my conscience betrayed me. I shut the door behind me and snatched up the mirror to gaze into its depths. The contents swirled before an image of Snow White appeared. She was huddled in the corner of a large room, her legs pressed against her chest. A band of silver was clasped around her ankle, a chain running between it and a metal rung at the stone hearth. My shoulders sagged in relief. The dwarfs had not killed my darling Snow.

  I touched the mirror’s surface.

  Snow White’s face contorted. She threw back her head and howled. The sound sent chills up my spine, and I took a step back, suddenly fearful of the child I had raised. I set the mirror back on the desk and took a deep breath. I would not rush headlong into a rescue. Caution was needed.

  I crossed to the tall looking glass leaning against the wall. I ran a hand down the ancient runes adorning its side. My eyes focused on the symbols, my desire clear, until the cottage in which Snow was held appeared before me. I stepped through the mirror into her world, cloaking myself in a merchant’s disguise.

  When I neared the cottage, I closed my eyes and felt the white lines of magic forming a tight shield around it, blocking my entry. The Huntsman had spoken true. The dwarfs were adept at magic. The cords were thick and strong. Seven bands woven as one.

  I knocked on the door. The shield could not prevent me from talking to my beloved child.

  The dull sound of metal dragging across the earth-packed floor greeted me. The door cracked open. A hand snaked through the slit and grabbed me by the arm then jerked me forward. Pain sliced through my body where the lines of magic were cast. I fell into the cottage, my body aflame. The basket of trinkets I had been carrying flew from my hand.

  I almost hit the floor before I was yanked backwards. An arm, crisscrossed with cuts, wrapped itself around my neck. “Old blood,” Snow snarled. “But it will do.”

  Sharp points pressed into my neck. My already weak knees buckled. My sudden heaviness seemed to catch Snow by surprise, and I was able to slip from her grasp. I spun toward the door, readying myself for another bout of intense agony, but a short, stocky man blocked my flight. Behind him were six others dressed in heavily padded shirts. Helmets sat low on heads covered in thick, unruly hair. Strapped to their arms were shields, in their hands, daggers.

  Snow retreated to the corner.

  “Who are you?” the first one said. His red bulbous nose twitched as he stepped toward me, forcing me further into the room.

  “A merchant.” I gestured toward the upturned basket lying near the hearth. A faint light emanated from the dwarfs’ helmets and shields. More magic. “I was just taking my leave.”

  “How did you pass through the door unscathed?”

  “I did not,” I said. “It hurt like demon fire.”

  He nodded. “The magic should have killed you.”

  The words gave me pause. Had Snow’s hold on me somehow protected me?

  His broad brow creased beneath his helmet, his sharp gaze settled on Snow as if he too thought she held the answ
er. Snow snatched up a pair of colorful laces and retreated again into the shadows. “You are not welcome here. No one is.” He brushed past me to scoop up the basket and the trinkets scattered on the floor.

  I glanced at the dull, silver chain looped to Snow White’s ankle. “Why do you keep this child chained?”

  “Her strength is unnatural.” He thrust the basket into my arms. “The silver keeps her abilities in check.”

  “What is she then?”

  A glance passed between him and the other men, who still blocked the doorway. “She is not your concern,” he said. He grabbed me by the elbow and dragged me toward the door.

  “How did she get the marks on her arms?” I pressed.

  His grip tightened and he shoved me past the others.

  I cried out as pain again lanced through me. I clamped my arms around my stomach, waiting for the pain to subside. The red-nosed dwarf laughed, as he stomped back into the cottage. The others parted way, giving me an unobstructed view of him striking Snow across the face. She fell backward, hitting her head against the mantel, before crumpling to the ground.

  “You try that again, it will be the worse for you, understand?” He kicked her in the stomach, ignoring her howl of pain when she doubled up, her arms clutching her knees to her chest.

  Fury enflamed me. My own pain forgotten, I called upon the power of Hecate. Magic licked my palms, its fiery tendrils curling into balls of fire. My disguise fell away, and my true form took shape, as I let loose the fury gripping me. Flames shot from my palms, strong and sure—then scattered in a useless shower of sparks upon reaching the cottage door.

  The dwarfs turned as one. Their eyes widened before a look of cunning crossed each of their faces. The red-nosed dwarf approached the open doorway. “Your magic is not good here, your Majesty. If you wish your daughter to live, you will not come back.”

  “You have no—”

  “We have every right. She is a demon. Would you prefer we kill her now?”

  “No!” My hand flew to my throat as the protest was wrung from me.

  “Then leave now. Do not come back.”

  I nodded though my acquiescence was a lie. I would not—could not—leave my darling Snow to the mercy of such cruel men.

  ***

  My preparations took longer than expected.

  After learning silver—not magic—drained a vampyre’s strength, I commissioned a smyth to forge silver bars across the clerestory windows in my tower, bolt a heavy silver plate to the inside of the door, and attach silver rings with chain to the wall.

  I would keep Snow safe—even from herself.

  My fists clenched, remembering the things I had witnessed. Each morning, a dwarf drained Snow of blood, using a dagger to slash her arms. Then they sold her blood. For what purpose, I did not yet understand.

  Now as I looked into the mirror, my hands shook. Snow White was curled in a ball. Each day, she grew weaker from lack of nourishment. More and more gashes scarred her arms—cuts crisscrossing from wrist to shoulder. Her beautiful, ebony hair was a nest of straw and twigs framing a filth-streaked face.

  Anguish filled me, driving out all thought but one—saving my darling Snow. I swept off dust from the Book of Shadows then flipped through its pages, scanning the text until I came across a lethal potion. I gulped realizing the depths to which I had sunk. First, the huntsman. Now, the dwarfs. For I could not untangle the lines of magic keeping me from Snow if they lived. They had strengthened their spell. My death would be assured if I attempted to cross their threshold again. I dropped the necessary ingredients into a heavy cauldron, then added seven apples, and waited for the poison to soak through their skins.

  I fingered the pair of silver combs the smyth had fashioned for me. Though small, they were made of the purest silver to be found. Strong enough, I prayed, to subdue my demon child, making the chains unnecessary.

  The creak of the door made me glance up. The combs fell from my hands.

  A grim smile spread across Matilda’s face. “I thought I might find you here, your Majesty,” she said as I fished the combs from between the apples with a long handled knife. I set them on a cloth to dry while I recovered from my shock.

  “You are surprised to see me. Perhaps you thought me dead?”

  “On the contrary.” I forced a smile.

  “Snow White killed those lads. You know as well as I. That is why you have not searched for her. Why you let the villagers blame me.”

  My gaze flew to meet hers. “From the evidence, I thought you guilty. You have no proof to say otherwise.”

  “You sent the Council in the wrong direction. You asked Jarrod to take Snow to the summer palace. He told me so before he left. Yet, they search to the south. As for the evidence?” She folded her arms across her chest. “We both know how the blood-stained cloak came to be found in my room.”

  I arched a brow. “I should have you killed for your traitorous words.”

  “The villagers tried, but I had witnesses to swear I was nowhere near the taverns in question. The same cannot be said for your daughter. If she is found, the truth will come out.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I suffered much because of you.” She straightened her skirts. “I also suspect you are behind Jarrod’s death, though I cannot prove your guilt. Still, a word to the Council and …”

  “Perhaps we can come to an arrangement,” I said carefully.

  “Shall we begin with these?” She slipped the combs drying on the cloth into her hair. “Then we can discuss …” The poison penetrated her scalp; she fell to the ground unconscious.

  I waffled, knowing I should take out the combs to save her. But if I did? She had knowledge she would use against me. I turned away.

  “Your Majesty?” A dull rapping sounded on the door. “The Council requests your presence in the Hall.”

  My anger spiraled. Was there no end to this wretched day? “Tell them they must wait. I have things to tend to,” I said through the closed door. “I will meet with them in the morrow.” With a scowl, I turned back to stare at the girl, lying on the floor. What she said was true. I had sent the Council in the wrong direction.

  I grabbed Matilda by the hands and hauled her toward the mirror. I would leave her in the woods outside the cottage. Her unconsecrated soul would wander the earth forever for trying to blackmail me. I ran my hand down the familiar runes then stepped backwards through the mirror dragging Matilda across the heavy wood frame.

  A hand landed on my shoulder. “I knew you would come,” a voice hissed into my ear.

  My blood ran cold. I recognized that voice. I whirled around to face the demon from my past.

  “This is your fault,” I edged back toward the mirror. “You turned Snow White into a monster. Killed her father.” I pointed at Matilda. “You made all of this necessary.”

  “Do not blame me,” he said, his black eyes flashing at my words. “My kind should have raised the child when the Queen was killed. We would have taught Snow White to control her desires instead of—”

  “Killed? Her mother died in childbirth. The King—”

  “Staked her. He would have eventually done the same to Snow White if I had not intervened.”

  “No! You tell me tales with no truth to them.”

  He grabbed me by the arm. “The Queen was of royal vampyre blood, descended from the First. She was my betrothed before the King stole her from me. He killed her when he found out what she was.”

  I pulled away. “Vampyres cannot have children.”

  “The ones descended from the First can and do.”

  “No! You began the change in Snow.”

  “That is not true. You with your magic kept me away, and without a vampyre to guide her …” His jaw worked furiously. “A vampyre’s hunger can be all consuming, driving even the strongest among us mad. Snow White has gone weeks without food. Drained of her blood to feed those who prey upon her. I am afraid the torment she has suffered may be such that she will n
ever regain her senses—if she survives.”

  Survives? Fear had me clutching his sleeve. “You must help me free her.”

  His face hardened. “In return I want what was promised me.”

  I stared at him blankly

  “A child.”

  His meaning sank in slowly. “You wish to wed Snow? Even in her … state?” I whispered.

  He nodded. “I want my line to continue.”

  “What about Snow?”

  “She is of no use to me. Only our child.”

  My eyes squeezed shut. “Then she will be your Queen, if you will help me.”

  He made a guttural sound of assent, then pushed up his sleeve and bent his head. His teeth tore into his flesh. Blood dripping, he held the open wound to my lips. “You must drink. It will strengthen your magic. Allow you to break their spell. Then we can exchange her,” he nodded at the unconscious girl at my feet, “for Snow.”

  I backed away. “I cannot.”

  “You must,” he hissed. “We cannot penetrate the magic protecting their cottage unless you do.”

  My mind balked at the idea. I would go back through the mirror to retrieve the poisoned apples and …

  With a muffled curse, the Vampyre grabbed me around the neck. He thrust my face against his arm. “Drink!” he commanded. Despite my struggles, his warm blood seeped into my mouth. I gasped as life exploded on my tongue—expansive and vibrant. My hands came up to clasp his arm. Voraciously, I suckled, his blood singing through my veins.

  “Enough.” He yanked his arm away. “Now you understand why the dwarfs sell Snow White’s blood. The magic in vampyre veins is intoxicating.”

  I wiped a sleeve across my mouth. Energy crackled from beneath my skin. Glancing at the lines of magic surrounding the cottage, I scoffed at the puniness of them. This is what I had thought strong? I raised my hands and with a few deft flicks of the wrist, the lines lay broken on the ground.

  The Vampyre gave a slight smile. “Well done,” he said. He picked up the girl. “We will exchange their clothing, but hurry, we must be quick. I hear the dwarfs approaching in the distance.”