The Snow Queen's Shadow (3 page)

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall. Let Queen Beatrice hear my call. Seek her out where e’er she be. Mirror, find my queen for me.” The words spilled forth without thought. The mirror changed, once again showing Queen Beatrice’s lifeless body. Armand and Danielle knelt together at her side. Tears spilled freely down Danielle’s cheeks.

Snow scowled and pushed beyond the image. That was but the body. Where was Beatrice’s soul?

Light filled the mirror, bright as the sun. Snow squinted but refused to turn away. The light spread into the library. She felt as though she were falling into the glass.

She grabbed the mirror’s frame with both hands. Wisps of fog curled from the glass. She peered into the light, trying to see what lay beyond, trying to follow Beatrice’s soul wherever it had gone.

Never had the mirror responded so easily to her will. She felt as though she flew through the sky. In Snow’s hands, the mirror could pierce Heaven itself if that was what it took to find Beatrice.

Sweat made her grip slippery. She tightened her fingers until they cramped. The wax runes began to flake away from the glass.

They didn’t matter. The reflection of the runes remained in the mirror, their power pouring forth in pursuit of the queen.

She blinked to clear the tears from her vision. Her blood battered her head from within as though straining to crack the skull. Her body felt numb, and she clung to the mirror to keep from falling. Through the pain, a part of her marveled at what the mirror had done, reaching out so far in pursuit of the dead. If only she could see beyond the light.

“Come back to us, Bea.” Silence swallowed her words. Snow wasn’t even certain she had spoken aloud. She could no longer make out the library around her. Nothing existed save the light and the place that lay on the other side. The place Beatrice’s spirit had gone.

The first crack made no sound. With her hands clenched around the frame, she felt the glass shift ever so slightly. Pain exploded behind her eyes as she tried to focus not on the light, but on the mirror’s surface, where a white line now curved across the center of the glass.

Beatrice was there. She was so close. Snow could feel the pressure from beyond the mirror, as though Bea was pushing to escape back into this world.

Another crack grew from the center of the mirror, curving up and to the right to create a triangular shard that might have fallen if Snow hadn’t moved her hand to hold it in place.

Lines spread in a starburst from her hand. Fragments of glass no larger than pebbles fell to the floor. Blood dripped down the frame, though Snow hadn’t felt the cuts.

The magic surged like a living thing. She imagined she could hear Talia’s voice, chastising her. How many times had Talia warned her against bending the laws of the universe too far? Push hard enough, and things were going to snap. Even her mother’s mirror had limits. Snow tried to end her spell, but it was far too late.

This was a hell of a time for Talia to be right.

The light faded as the cracks spread through the rest of the mirror. For a moment, Snow saw herself in the reflection, her features distorted by the broken glass. Herself, and something more.

“Oh, Mother. What did you do?”

CHAPTER 2

D
ANIELLE SQUEEZED HER HUSBAND’S hand. “The first time I ever saw her was at the ball,” she whispered. “Beatrice was watching the two of us dance.”

“I didn’t notice,” Armand said, a sad smile on his bearded face. His hair was a rumpled mess, and his eyes were shadowed. Here in this room, away from the world, he allowed the mask of prince to slip, revealing the son who longed for just one more day with his mother. He wiped his cheek, never looking away from Beatrice’s body. “I never wanted a ball in my honor, but she insisted. I never found the words to thank her.”

“She knew,” whispered the king. “Seeing you both, seeing your happiness, was enough.”

Father Isaac folded the queen’s hands together on her chest. The nails were short and chipped. Her wedding ring hung loose on her finger.

“My own stepmother didn’t recognize me,” Danielle said. “My stepsisters glared at me all night long without ever realizing who I was. But Beatrice knew. She knew me the moment I set foot in the great hall. I nearly fled the palace.”

“As I recall, you
did
flee,” said Armand.

“Not until midnight.” Danielle gave her husband a mock scowl. “Beatrice smiled at me. A small kindness, but enough to tell me I was welcome.”

Even at the end, when pain and weakness imprisoned Beatrice in her bed, she had always smiled with genuine love and affection when Danielle stopped by to visit, or when she brought Jakob to see his grandmother.

Father Isaac straightened and clasped his hands. His fingers moved stiffly, the skin scarred and wrinkled from burns he had received months before. It was strange to see him in such formal black robes. His blood-red collar was starched as stiff as boiled leather. The ruby-capped crucifix around his neck shone like glass. If not for the disheveled curls of his beard and hair, and the compassion in his eyes, he would have appeared a different person altogether.

He bent to address the king. “Chancellor Crombie can make the announcement, if you wish.”

King Theodore shook his head. Standing silently in the corner behind him, Talia pursed her lips in distaste. She and Crombie had never gotten along.

“It was her choice,” the king said softly. “Beatrice’s injury was the result of her efforts to help another in need. She never resented that choice.”

Danielle would have to send word to the undine. Beatrice had saved the life of the mermaid queen Lannadae. Lannadae would want to know of Beatrice’s passing.

Armand’s hand tightened around Danielle’s. “Where is your friend Snow? She deserves to be here as well.”

Talia’s scowl deepened. “Snow had . . . other duties to attend to.”

“What duties?” Danielle asked. The prisoners had been taken care of, and Snow had no further responsibilities. Even if she had, Snow would have ignored her duties without a second thought to be here with Beatrice.

Distant crying from the hallway drew her attention toward the door.

“Jakob,” said Danielle. The sound was coming closer.

“He’s supposed to be napping.” Armand opened the door and peered into the hall. “Nicolette has him.”

“He knows,” she said. Even as a baby, Jakob had shown signs of inheriting his grandmother’s visions, seeing things he couldn’t have possibly understood. He had cried the day the mermaid stabbed Beatrice, refusing to settle down until Danielle and Armand returned to the palace with the queen’s unconscious body.

Servants had already begun to gather in the hallway, waiting for news. When Danielle stepped out to take her son from Nicolette, Jakob kicked and twisted in her arms, trying to peek into the room.

“He kept asking about the queen.” Nicolette was making an obvious effort not to peer past Danielle. “When he wouldn’t go back down, I thought perhaps—”

“It’s all right,” Danielle said. Jakob had awoken only a short time ago. His hair was a sweaty mess, and red lines from the wrinkles in his sheets marked the right side of his face.

“I want Gramma,” Jakob said.

“I know you do.” Danielle moved him to one side, resting his head on her shoulder.

Nicolette shifted her feet. “Is there anything you need, Your Highness?”

Danielle heard the unspoken question. Nicolette knew Jakob well enough to trust his gifts. It wasn’t Danielle’s place to announce the queen’s passing, so she let her tears speak for her. “No, thank you.”

“God watch over her.” Nicolette bowed and turned away.

Danielle carried Jakob into the room. He squirmed in Danielle’s arms until he faced the bed. “I want Gramma,” he said again.

“So do I,” Danielle said softly. She started to say more, but a flash of light caught her eye. Something silver had fallen from the stained glass window on the far wall.

Armand followed her gaze. He stepped past the bed and picked two small fragments of glass from the carpet.

“A mirror,” Danielle said. The square pane had been the size of a small coin before it broke. This had to be one of Snow’s mirrors. She glanced at the window. A simple illusion would have concealed it as just another colored pane.

“Snow?” Armand sucked air through clenched teeth and switched the mirrors to his other hand. He stuck his index finger in his mouth, but not before Danielle saw a thin line of red where the glass had cut his skin.

Danielle had never seen one of Snow’s mirrors simply break before. Snow could use her magic to destroy them when necessary, but this was something different. She glanced at Talia. “Other duties?”

“She wouldn’t say anything more.” The concern on Talia’s face matched her own.

Armand set the broken mirror on the windowsill, then reached over to take Jakob. “Go.”

Danielle kissed him and Jakob, then stepped into the hall. The servants parted, clearing a path. For once, Danielle didn’t stop to greet them.

Talia caught Danielle by the arm after only a few steps.

“What is it?”

Talia held up her wrist, showing a copper bracelet with a small mirror in the center. A tiny web of cracks covered the mirror. Talia pushed back Danielle’s sleeve. Danielle’s bracelet had suffered the same fate. Talia carefully removed both bracelets, slipping them into a leather pouch at her belt.

Danielle’s heart pounded harder. One broken mirror was unusual, but for three to crack at the same time? “Something’s wrong.”

“Are you armed?” Talia asked.

Danielle reached beneath her overdress, pulling out an ivory-hilted dagger. Talia grunted her approval.

“Where was Snow going?” Danielle asked.

“She didn’t say, but she kept looking to the northwest tower.” Talia began to run. “She could have been heading for the royal bedchamber.”

“The secret passage in the fireplace?” Danielle guessed.

Talia glanced back. “So you found that one, did you?”

“Snow’s not as careful as you are. She leaves ash fingerprints on the hidden door leading into the armory. Who do you think ends up cleaning up after you two, anyway?”

“What about the hidden tunnel in the courtyard?”

Danielle frowned. “You’re making that up.”

“Maybe.”

Danielle did her best to keep up as Talia dodged a page, then shoved her way past an older man who was loitering in the hallway. He cursed them in passing, then gasped and bowed, begging forgiveness as he recognized Danielle. She was already past, heading for the spiral steps of the northwest tower.

When they reached the royal bedchamber, Talia flung open the door, eliciting a yelp from the chambermaid who was sweeping glass from the floor by the window.

“You realize that was Lord Grimsley you plowed through downstairs?” Danielle squeezed past Talia. “Catherine, could you please excuse us?”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Catherine whisked the last of the broken glass onto a metal shovel. “Second mirror I’ve cleaned today.”

Danielle forced a smile, working to steady both her breathing and her composure as she escorted Catherine toward the hallway. She slid the bolt into place the moment the door closed.

Talia was already ducking into the fireplace, jabbing the bricks at the back. A panel to the side of the fireplace slid open.

The stairway was short and narrow. Talia hadn’t bothered to bring a light, but the passage was so cramped it would be difficult to fall. Danielle hunched her head, keeping one hand against the stone ceiling.

They couldn’t have been more than halfway to the bottom when Talia whispered, “Wait.”

Below, the orange glow of candlelight slowly brightened, illuminating Talia’s silhouette. Talia had a knife in each hand: one held by the tip to throw, the other low and ready to strike.

“I know you’re there.” It was Snow’s voice, soft and weary. “Toss those toys at me, and I’ll turn you into a toad.”

Talia’s knives vanished into her sleeves as Snow stepped into view. Talia’s breath caught. Danielle moved closer, peering past Talia’s shoulder.

Her first thought was that Snow had been attacked. Bloodstains covered her white cloak. Bandages bound her palms, and Danielle could see cuts on her legs and torso as well. Her face was the worst. A gash across the side of her nose still oozed blood, and a large cut slashed the skin from her left eyebrow down to her cheekbone. The white of her eye had turned pure red.

Talia took the candle from Snow’s hand. “What happened? Who did this?”

“I did.” Snow examined her hands. “I was careless.”

Danielle waited, but Snow said nothing more. “Your mirrors—”

“Broken.” Snow lifted a clinking leather sack. “Shattered into a million pieces.”

“How?” demanded Talia.

“Nothing lasts forever.” Snow smiled, but it was a forced expression. “A spell went wrong. My own fault. I was too distracted.”

“What spell?” Worry and anger deepened Talia’s words. “What could be so important?”

“I thought I could save her.” Snow’s voice was flat. She sagged against the wall. “I thought . . . I was wrong.”

“‘Save her?’ You mean Beatrice?” Talia caught Snow’s arm. “How?”

“I failed. What does it matter?”

“We have to get you to Tymalous,” Danielle said, cutting off Talia’s response. She should have guessed it was something like this, but she had been so focused on Beatrice, and on Armand. Whatever Snow had done, they could discuss it later. “Those cuts need to be cleaned and stitched.”

“Don’t bother the healer on my account. I can tend my own wounds.” Snow dabbed blood from her chin, her good eye boring into Danielle’s with such intensity that Danielle took a half step back.

Talia looked past Snow to the darkness below. “What about the mirror? We should—”

“You should stay away until I’ve had a chance to clean up. There was . . . there could be . . .” Snow’s voice trailed off. She looked confused. “It’s a mess,” she said weakly.

“You’re in shock,” Danielle snapped. “You look like you can barely walk, let alone treat your injuries. You will let Tymalous help you. If I have to, I’ll order the guards to carry you.”

Snow smiled, but it was a forced expression. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Will you be able to rebuild the mirror?” Danielle asked as she and Talia guided Snow up the steps. So much of Snow’s magic was mirror-based. She must feel as vulnerable as Talia would without her fairy-gifted grace. Snow had smuggled that mirror onto a ship when she fled Allesandria. It was the only thing she had kept from her former home.

“I don’t think I want to.” Snow tilted her head to one side, as though surprised by her own words. “My mother created that mirror. I’ve spent half my life relying on its power. On
her
power.” She touched her throat. Thin red lines showed where the mirrors of her choker had cut her skin when they broke. “So long as I used her mirror, I was chaining myself to her memory. But now, after all these years, I’m finally
free
.”

The following day left Danielle little time for grieving or for worrying about Snow. Nobles from throughout Lorindar were beginning to arrive to pay their respects. Chamberlain Dennen and his staff handled much of the arrangements, but tradition required that a member of the royal family greet each visiting noble in person. It was one of the many duties Beatrice had performed, duties which now fell to Danielle.

By midday, she wanted nothing more than to throw away the crown of braided silver and gold that pressed upon her brow, and to trade the formal black gown with its layered skirts and satin lining for something—anything—that allowed her to bend at the waist.

Her mood lightened somewhat as a herald announced John and Heather Jeraldsen. For the first time all morning, her smile was genuine. She waited for them to approach, waving a hand as they started to bow. “None of that from you. Welcome to Whiteshore Palace, my old friend.”

John touched a hand to his graying hair. “Not
that
old, I hope.”

Danielle had known John for most of her life. Her father had crafted the glass replacement for his right eye. John came from a good family, and had married into the nobility only a year before, but he had always treated even the poorest souls with respect. Danielle gestured to one of the pages waiting in the corner. “Andrew will see that your belongings are taken to your room in the guest wing.”