Fairest of All (9 page)

A
day did not go by after Verona’s departure when the Queen did not submit to the compulsion to consult the Magic Mirror. Hearing her father tell her how beautiful she was helped lift her spirits. But she felt more alone than ever.

Perhaps it was the loss of her husband and her loneliness that brought her to the mirror each day, but she felt there was something else that compelled her to seek her father’s approval and love. Sometimes she felt she had to look in the mirror simply to reassure herself she was in the world. That she was human and not simply a floating gray mist haunting the walls of the castle. She felt real and alive when she looked into the mirror; she felt empowered by her beauty.

No, not just empowered, but invincible.

The Queen’s life became a monotonous routine. Each day after she consulted the Magic Mirror, she would retreat to her dungeon. It wasn’t until long after the sisters’ departure that the Queen had remembered the gift the sisters had spoken of during their last visit. She had been so consumed by the mirror that she thought of little else. But months later, a note arrived from the three reading only:

HOW ARE YOU FARING WITH OUR GIFTS?

The note had reminded the Queen that the sisters had left something for her in the dungeon. Perhaps it was something that might take her mind off of the mirror. Or maybe it was something that possessed a similar power and might only accentuate her magical abilities.

In the dungeon, the Queen discovered a worn old trunk. She opened it and bats flew out at her, and she quickly lifted her cape to guard herself from the sickening beasts. Then she discovered the gifts: books of spells and incantations; vials of strange things—mummy dust, toad eyes, sleep crust; beakers and mortars and pestles. And a cauldron. The Queen quickly became greatly interested in the books, and soon learned how to use them in concert with the strange things the sisters had left behind.

Her first spells were clumsy and didn’t work very well, when they worked at all. Early on, she attempted a spell to make her hair—already black—darker than the raven’s feather. But instead of transforming her hair to the color of the bird’s wing, it imparted the texture, and the Queen spent days attempting to hide her feather-covered head from the court until she discovered a way to reverse the spell. Another time, she inadvertently dyed her hands green and scarred them with warts. And then she attempted a potion that would make her voice more mellifluous than anyone in the lands, which resulted in her croaking like a toad. When she tried to create an antidote, she sang like a bird and hissed like a serpent, before she at last regained her own voice.

What the citizens of the kingdom assumed to be just another of the Queen’s lapses into reclusive sorrow turned out to be week-, then month-, then yearlong retreats into her chamber, antechamber, dungeon, and the morning room to practice the mystical arts.

Apart from her chambers and the dungeon, she spent a great deal of time up in the parapets, surveying the kingdom. Perhaps searching for anyone—any
thing
that might be a challenge to her beauty.

It should have bewildered the Queen that she had become so closed off—so cold. But she reasoned it was understandable; she never wanted to experience the pain she suffered when she lost her husband. Never again. And she wasn’t without everything. In her beauty, she had something that would make people love and admire, perhaps even
fear
her. And she intended to keep it by any and all means at her disposal.

She imagined her heart as a broken mirror, its pieces jingling inside her, a thought that made her feel entirely inhuman. She had become distant with those she once loved. Even her daughter, Snow White, was held at a remove, for the Queen’s fear of shattering her heart altogether should anything happen that might rip Snow from her world. She couldn’t bring herself to spend more than a few moments in the girl’s company. For with every passing year Snow’s beauty increased, and the Queen began to feel something other than love for the girl. Something terrible. But she could not think about that.

One early morning, years after the King’s death, a knock came at the Queen’s door. It was Tilley, the Queen’s lady-in-waiting since Verona had been sent away from the court so long ago now. Tilley always spoke quietly, and this—the very thing that Snow loved about the woman—was resented by the Queen, who viewed it as evidence of a weak nature.

“My Queen, where would you like to break your fast?” Tilley asked.

The Queen looked frustrated and Tilley winced in anticipation.

“In the great hall of course, stupid girl. I have been taking my meals in there since you have been here.”

Tilley looked distraught.

“What is it, Tilley? Come out with it!” the Queen barked at her.

“It’s just that Snow White mentioned wanting to have breakfast in the morning room. She thought it would be a nice change.”

The Queen smirked, and she asked the poor girl, “Is Snow White queen of these lands?”

Tilley looked nervous, “No, my Queen. You are, of course.”

The Queen went on, “Then please have my meal brought to the great hall and tell Snow White she is expected to break her fast with me.”

“Yes, my Queen. I will have one of the women bring in your bathwater now.”

“That will be all, Tilley, thank you.”

The Queen wondered how she could be surrounded by such featherheaded women. Surely she wasn’t so insolent when she was young. Breakfast in the morning room, indeed!

The Queen emerged from bed, opened her curtains, and looked out on the courtyard. Snow was sitting at the well—the
Queen’s
well—feeding the bluebirds. She had become a beautiful young woman. Snow didn’t seem to notice, but a handsome young man was riding by on the grounds and stopped his horse so he might look upon her. He seemed spellbound by her loveliness. Indeed, he looked as though he was falling in love right there and then. The Queen shut the curtains with a firm pull and went to her mirror.

“Magic Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?”

“You, my Queen, are fairest.”

The Queen smiled, but something within her felt cold and icy. Something disturbed her about this man approaching Snow White. Jealousy? Was that what had compelled the Queen to rush to the mirror? Was she resenting Snow for her beauty? Her youth? Or was it more benevolent? Was she protecting Snow from love? After all, look where love had left the Queen.

The Queen made her way down to the great hall. She had come to love this room for the very things that caused her discomfort about it when she had first arrived—it was cavernous and commanding. She
felt
like a queen here, and it pleased her to sit regally on the throne while the arched stained-glass windows cast a lovely blue light in the chamber. Snow was sitting to the right of the head of the table looking pure, innocent, and beautiful.

The Queen made her way to her seat and stood staring at Snow, who was already seated. She gave the girl a look and nodded to motion that Snow should stand to greet her mother.

Snow hesitated, and then stood, “Good morning, Mother.”

“Good morning, Snow.”

The Queen took her seat and motioned for Snow to do the same.

“So I hear you would prefer to break your fast in the morning room?” she said.

“Yes, I thought it might make for a nice change; this room is so large just for the two of us. I remember when I was a little girl we would have family meals in the smaller dining hall or in the morning r—”

“Enough!” the Queen snapped.

But inwardly, the Queen recalled how happy those days were. She couldn’t bring herself to dine in those rooms now. It hurt her too much without her husband. And Snow, all grown up—the innocent girl becoming a beautiful woman. The Queen looked up at the stone beauty above the mantel. She looked stern and disapproving, as if she were reading the Queen’s thoughts.

“I prefer this room, Snow. We have gone over this before. If you’d like to take your meals in the morning room then by all means do so; it matters not to me where you break your fast. But I will not be joining you.”

Snow looked disappointed. “I would never see you at all if we took breakfast in different rooms,” she said.

“Indeed.”

Snow just shook her head.

“I am growing weary of your attitude, Snow White. I won’t have you casting such looks at me. I said you could take your meals in any room you desire. What more do you want from me?”

Snow White looked at her mother with sad eyes.

“Nothing, Mother. Never mind.”

“Very well then, there is something I’ve wanted to mention for some while now, I think it is time you take on responsibility. You have no skills to speak of, and as you don’t seem to have any suitors we cannot assume you will be married.”

Snow looked confounded.

“I’ve told Tilley to provide you with some working clothes so you may help her with some of the chores around the castle. I think it will do you some good.”

“I don’t mind helping Tilley. I often do anyway,” Snow said.

The Queen went on, “But I won’t have you ruining your nice clothes. You should wear something more appropriate to the tasks at hand.”

“Of course, Mother.”

“Go to Tilley, and she will dress you in rag wear. That will be suitable for the kind of work we’ll expect of you.”

Snow stood up and left the great hall in a hurry.

The Queen heaved a deep breath. She thought back to herself at the brink of womanhood, and of something Nanny had told her then:

Do not believe your father’s lies, my little girl. He doesn’t see you as you are and I fear for your soul should you ever let his darkness linger in your heart. You are beautiful, my dear, truly. Don’t ever forget that, even if I am not here to remind you.

She had always been beautiful and now her father, whose spirit was captured within the mirror, was bound to tell the truth. The Queen felt an immense power in that. She got up from the table, went through the arched doorway, then proceeded down the hall and stopped at the tapestry with the image of a large apple blossom tree filled with blackbirds. She remembered the story she had told Snow so many years ago about the woman who could turn into a dragon. She now felt much like that woman, isolated and alone, so different from anyone she knew. She moved the tapestry to the side and revealed a passageway leading to the dungeon.

As the Queen made her way down the stairs, she dragged her hand across the stone walls. They felt cold and hard to her touch, and she liked that. She opened the windows to give the room some air and saw a large black crow sitting on the ledge.

She had not been spending as much time in the dungeon as she had when she first discovered the books and potions, when it was all new. But she still spent many of her late afternoons and evenings there. Over time, she had become more familiar with the sisters’ books and the spells inside. Many of them kept her looking young and fair. But she’d recently been experimenting with some other kinds of spells. She had beauty and power. But she wanted more.

The books and spells had been intimidating, and alien when she first dabbled in them. But now their dusty leather covers, some embossed with silver death’s-heads, others clearly marked for which aspect of magic was detailed within, looked less sinister and more beautiful.

She recalled how clumsy her first spells were. Now, the books were as familiar as old friends.

“Striking blackbirds that searched the skies, bringing her news from the outside world,” the Queen said, recalling the story she told Snow that rainy evening so long ago.

A crow hopped in the window as if summoned and looked at her with its yellow eyes. She decided to let him stay and keep her company while she read the sisters’ books.

Then, a voice called out to her from above.

“Excuse me? My Queen, are you down here? It’s quite urgent!”

The Queen was angry at herself for ever telling Tilley where she was spending her afternoons. True, the chamber she was in was remote, but that did not mean that a nosy visitor wouldn’t stumble upon her laboratory. She would immediately have one of the workmen install a sturdier door with a stronger bolt to seal off the dungeon chamber.

“Yes, Tilley, I will be right up.”

The Queen patted the crow on its head and then ascended the stairs to see what the fuss was all about.

Tilley looked unusually distressed.

“What is it, then?” the Queen asked.

Tilley just stood, shaking, unable to speak.

“Come out with it, girl!”

The servant finally found her voice. “It’s Snow White, she was helping me fetch water from the well and somehow she…she…toppled over the edge!”

The Queen rushed out of the room and into the courtyard where she found Snow laying on the ground, soaked and unconscious. A distressed young man, the same one the Queen had seen riding on the grounds, was bending over her body. Now that she saw him up close she recognized him as a young prince from a neighboring land.

The Queen turned her attention to her daughter’s limp form, and her heart stopped. Her mother, her husband, and now her daughter—
dead
. The Queen was paralyzed with fear and grief. And then Snow began to cough. Water spilled from her ruby red lips, and she blinked open her eyes.