The Snow Queen's Shadow (30 page)

They had at least taken the time to restore the monsters from Snow’s palace. The survivors of the
Phillipa
had already been returned to the ship, to repair the damage done in the demon’s attack and prepare for the voyage back to Lorindar.

“Thank you,” said Danielle. “We will leave today.” She watched Gerta closely, uncertain whether she would want to remain in Allesandria. According to King Laurence, the law would not recognize a magical construct as a person, but if it was what Gerta wanted, Danielle intended to tell him exactly where he could put his laws. But Gerta simply nodded, keeping close to Talia.

“One more thing, please.” The king spoke briefly to the Stormcrow, who bowed and left the garden. Danielle glanced at Gerta, who shrugged. Laurence waited until the door closed. “Ermillina came to Allesandria seeking vengeance. She murdered those who stood with her mother.”

Danielle said nothing, uncertain where he was going.

“As king, it is my duty to appoint new members of the Nobles’ Circle. Traditionally, those seats would go to the heirs, but that is tradition only, not law.” He gave her a tight smile. “Every crisis is an opportunity, and I believe I can gain enough support in the Circle to appoint those more worthy of the word ‘noble.’ ”

Meaning some good would come of Snow’s actions. “Thank you, Laurence.”

“If there’s anything else you need, you have only to ask it.”

Danielle looked at Talia, who hadn’t moved. She stood like a statue, staring at Snow’s memorial. “Nothing you can provide,” she said sadly. She squeezed Jakob tight. “Only transportation to the harbor. It’s time for us to return home.”

CHAPTER 24

B
Y THE TIME THE
PHILLIPA
ARRIVED IN Lorindar, a crowd had gathered to meet them. Even before they docked, Talia could see Prince Armand fidgeting impatiently at the front of the crowd, cupping his eyes as he searched the ship for Danielle and Jakob. When the crew lowered the gangplank, Armand was the first to board, nearly knocking one of his guards into the water in his eagerness. When he found his wife and son, pulling them both into an embrace, those on the docks broke into cheers.

Talia used the celebration to slip away, hurrying down the gangplank and through the crowd. She didn’t begrudge them their happiness. The gods knew it had been hard-earned. She simply couldn’t be a part of it right now.

The noise made it easy enough to liberate the prince’s horse from the post where he had left it. As she rode past the naval ships and into the commercial part of the harbor, she fought the urge to board the nearest ship, to sign on with anyone who could take her to a land where nobody had ever heard of Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, or Snow White.

Instead, she rode to Whiteshore Palace. She gave the horse over to a stable hand, saying only, “Armand decided to take a carriage back with his family.” From there, she went to the chapel.

The heavy door in the back of the chapel which led to the royal mausoleum was locked, but there were no magical protections. Talia retrieved a small packet of metal tools from her left boot. Moments later, the lock was open and she was descending the stone steps. Soft flame flickered to life in the hanging lanterns, enchanted by Father Isaac to recognize visitors.

Talia had always found northern burial traditions strange. Hiding the body, sealing it in earth and stone beneath the very ground where the living trod, felt disrespectful. Yet for more than two hundred years, the Whiteshore family had buried its dead here in this lowceilinged room. The first Whiteshore king lay entombed with his wife in the center of the room, their coffins carved from the bleached stone that gave the family their name. Later kings and queens were laid to rest in the walls to either side.

Talia strode toward the back of the mausoleum, where the newest stone tablet gleamed white. Beatrice’s marker was modest compared to some of the others, marked only with her name and a carved swan.

How long she stood there, staring at Beatrice’s marker, she didn’t know. Eventually, she heard the creak of the door, followed by light, careful footsteps.

“Hello, Danielle.” Who else would it be?

Danielle didn’t say a word. She simply joined Talia in front of Bea’s grave.

“We should have been here for her burial,” said Talia. It had been close to three weeks since Beatrice’s death. There was no way King Theodore could have delayed the funeral for so long, and yet . . .

“I know.”

Talia swallowed. “Hephyra invited me to leave Lorindar, to sail with her. She told me I would never have Snow, that Beatrice would soon be gone, that you had your own family to look after.”

“You’re a part of that family,” Danielle said firmly. “No matter what you choose.” Her unspoken question filled the mausoleum.

“I don’t know if I can stay here. If Hephyra still lived . . .” Memories of Snow and Beatrice saturated every room, every hallway.

Danielle put a hand on Talia’s shoulder. “Trittibar has asked that the
Phillipa
’s mainmast be brought to the palace, to be planted in the courtyard.”

For the first time since reaching Lorindar, Talia looked Danielle in the eyes. “Planted?”

Danielle smiled. “She’s a dryad. Hephyra’s tree—the ship—survives. Trittibar says it could take years for her to recover, to heal the part of herself that was lost. But she will heal.”

“That’s good.” Talia meant the words, even if she couldn’t feel them. She turned back to Bea’s marker. “And Armand?”

“He is himself. Isaac and Tymalous have removed the glass from all those who were infected. Armand spent the entire trip from the harbor apologizing for the things he said and did. There seem to be no lasting effects of the demon’s touch.”

“Good,” she said again.

“If there’s anything you need, anything you want, you know you have only to ask it.”

Talia took a slow, even breath. “Right now . . . all I want is to be left in peace.”

“I understand.” Danielle took Talia’s hand, squeezed almost hard enough to hurt. “You’re not alone, Talia.”

Talia nodded, but didn’t answer.

For the next two weeks, Talia performed her duties as though in a trance. She moved through the palace from one task to the next, barely speaking to anyone. Danielle tried to engage her in conversation, but Talia had no heart for it. Even Jakob had done his childish best to make her smile, but their efforts only made Talia feel guilty when she was unable to respond. She spent more and more time away from the others.

Talia still expected to find Snow flirting with the blacksmith, or hear her teasing Danielle. Her chest clenched every time she passed a woman with black hair, every time she heard laughter ringing through the halls.

She was locked in her room, paging through a century-old book of Arathean poetry, when someone pounded on her door hard enough to rattle it in the frame. “It’s Gerta. Open up.”

Talia almost smiled at the impatience in her voice, so similar to Snow’s. Since returning to Lorindar, Gerta had been doing her best to fit into palace life. Danielle had given her permission to go through Snow’s library and try to make sense of Snow’s rather eccentric notions of organization.

Gerta knocked again. “Last chance, Talia. I know you’re in there.”

Talia glanced over to make sure the door was latched. “Go away.”

Silence. There were no footsteps, so Gerta hadn’t left. Talia tucked the book beneath her pillow. As she stood, she smelled smoke rising from the door. Orange flames licked about the latch. The fire confined itself to a small ring, burning the wood to ash until the latch fell free and hit the floor with a clang. The door swung inward.

Gerta tossed a bottle. Talia snatched it from the air without thinking. Arathean wine from the cellars.

“Come with me,” ordered Gerta.

Talia’s attention went to the embroidered green patch that covered Gerta’s lost eye. Another reminder of that day. Gerta said she was working on crafting a glass eye, one with a mirrored pupil, but perfecting the magic of that eye would take months. “What’s going on?”

Gerta held two more bottles by the necks in her right hand. “Princess Whiteshore commands it.”

“Did she command this, too?” Talia asked, lifting the wine.

Gerta spun away. Considering Gerta had burned through the door to find her, Talia figured it best to see what Danielle wanted. She grabbed her zaraq whip and followed Gerta out into the hallway.

Gerta led her to the northern drawing room, a smaller chamber often used for entertaining royal guests. The walls were a garish green, covered in a textured paper imported from Morova. A fire burned in the hearth, countering the chill from the windows. Danielle sat with Trittibar and Ambassador Febblekeck at the tile-topped table in the center of the room.

Danielle rose, but before she could speak, Gerta set both of her bottles on the table and jabbed a hand at the fairies. “Out. Both of you.”

Trittibar’s brows shot up. Febblekeck flew from his chair, shedding glowing dust onto the carpet. “You forget your place, human.”

Danielle watched Gerta as though trying to read her intention. “Can this wait, Gerta?”

“No.” Gerta folded her arms and waited.

“Very well,” said Danielle. “Trittibar, Febblekeck, if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Trittibar rose and bowed.

Febblekeck reached out to pluck a grape from the platter of bread and fruit at the center of the table. “
I
mind. This girl is—”

“She is a member of my household,” Danielle said softly. “And a friend.”

“She’s not even real,” Febblekeck protested. “Any fairy can smell the magic on her. She’s but a changeling, cobbled together by human magic, her soul a torn and crudely-stitched quilt of clumsiness and haste.”

Gerta flinched. Talia twirled the wine bottle in her hand. Given the pixie’s size, the bottle should be heavy enough to smash him from the air.

Danielle stood, smiling a too-sweet smile. “You should leave now,” she said softly.

“I am here as a representative of the king of Fairytown,” Febblekeck countered.

Danielle’s smile vanished. “And I would be most grieved to have to tell your king that his ambassador was snatched and devoured by a hungry owl.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I ask the animals to leave our guests alone, but I can’t be blamed if one refuses to listen.” Danielle stepped around the table. “Owls are so quiet in flight. The prey hears nothing, no warning at all before the talons pierce the body.”

Febblekeck brightened. “You can’t—”

“We can continue our conversation later, Princess Whiteshore.” Trittibar snatched Febblekeck’s arm, tugging him away before he could say anything further.

Danielle pursed her lips and sat back in her chair. “I sometimes suspect Febblekeck was appointed to this position because his king wanted an excuse to kick him out of Fairytown.” She rubbed her temples with both hands. “He and Trittibar have been helping me to understand the Duchess’ bargain. She agreed to raise him as her son, and to protect him from harm, but fairies view ‘harm’ differently than—”

“Your bargain called on you to give Jakob to the Duchess six months after your return to Lorindar,” Gerta interrupted.

Danielle frowned, looking more confused than annoyed. “That’s correct, and therein lies the problem.”

“It’s a problem that will still be waiting in the morning. You’ve more than five months to find a solution.” Gerta wrapped a hand around one of the wine bottles and whispered a spell. The wax seal softened, and she plucked it neatly from the neck. The cork followed, jumping into her palm.

“You interrupted my meeting for wine?” Danielle asked. Talia could hear the warning in her words, similar to the tone she used with Jakob.

“Yes.” Gerta glanced at Talia. “Sit down.”

Talia shook her head. “You told me Danielle ordered me here.”

“I lied.” Gerta gestured at a chair, which swiveled on one leg as if to invite Talia to sit. Gerta nibbled her lower lip, her confidence vanishing. “I have the memories Snow gave me, but they’re a puzzle with only half of the pieces. Mostly I remember a childhood that never happened. I . . . I was hoping you could tell me about her.”

She took a drink, then offered the bottle to Talia. When Talia didn’t move, Gerta sighed and slid it to Danielle.

“Snow giggled too much,” Gerta said. “She always thought me too dour, and sought to cheer me up. When we studied magic, Snow would read the incantations in the voices of various Lords. It made our mother so angry . . . There was one noble, I forget her name, who spoke with a horrible lisp. Snow was mimicking her while casting a spell which was
supposed
to purify a goblet of poisoned wine. Snow slurred the words so badly the wine exploded from the cup. Everyone it splashed developed the most awful rash.”

“I see.” Danielle held up the bottle. “Should I be worried about this?”

Gerta grabbed the second bottle, using magic to open this one as well. “Not about poison or magic, no. The taste, on the other hand . . . Arathean wine is far too sour for my liking. Much like some Aratheans I know.”

Talia ignored the barb. She set her own bottle on the table and backed away. “I have duties to attend to. If you need anything—”

“One of your duties is to guard the princess.” Danielle took a drink from the bottle. “With this much wine, I’ll likely need your protection by the time this night is done. Join us, Talia.”

Talia didn’t move. “Is that an order?”

“Does it have to be?”

Reluctantly, Talia took the chair beside Gerta. Gerta slid her a bottle hard enough to make it tip. Talia caught it instinctively.

“What would you like to know, Gerta?” asked Danielle.

“Everything.” Gerta drank several swallows of wine, then made a face. “I have my memories, and the things I’ve learned going through her library, but I want to know her. Who she was in your eyes.”

Danielle pursed her lips. “With the exception of Armand and his parents, Snow was the first person to make me feel truly welcome here.” Danielle stared at one of the windows. “I first learned who she was in the library, shortly after Armand was kidnapped.”

Talia forced herself to listen as Danielle described their first journey together into Fairytown, to rescue Armand from the Duchess and Danielle’s stepsisters.

Gerta spoke next, describing a time she and Snow had snuck through the palace to visit their father. Snow had rarely spoken of him, save to describe him as crippled by her mother’s magic, little more than a puppet of skin and bone. Gerta and Snow had brought him wildflowers, which they wove into his hair as he slept. “He looked so pale, almost colorless.”

“Like Beatrice,” Talia said, the words slipping out.

Gerta glanced up, then nodded. “Snow gave me very few memories of Beatrice, but yes.”