Snow White and the Huntsman (18 page)

She left the world just as fast as she came into it, and the scene before her went black.

E
ric stood in the doorway of the cold tomb, a flask in his hand. It was strange to see the girl like this, so silent and still, her arms folded over her chest. She lay on the stone block as though she were just resting there for the evening, enjoying a long slumber. If it weren’t for her pale face and cold purple lips, he would’ve never known she was dead.

So he’d gotten her here after all. He had kept his promise, almost despite himself, and had taken her to the duke’s castle. He’d never imagined coming here like this, though. They’d carried her through the snow to the stronghold, finally delivering her to the duke. The boy, William, had explained to his father what had happened. Ravenna had taken her from them. Somehow she’d gotten past them in the night. She’d come into their camp, where they slept, and killed her. Somehow they hadn’t noticed her presence until it was too late.

Eric took another swig of the grog, enjoying the familiar burning in his throat. He’d watched the mourners file into the duke’s castle. Mothers had brought their children to see her. The princess they had believed was dead had been taken from them once again. A few grown men had walked past her, tears in their eyes. They’d knelt before her body and prayed. She represented something to them—he could tell that by all the grief they felt. They hadn’t known the king’s daughter, had never seen her smile and hadn’t enjoyed the fierce look she got in her eyes if you dared challenge her. But this was still an end for them, too.

The duke had spoken to his son, telling him they would not retaliate. There would be no war in Snow White’s honor. He was a coward—just as Eric had always thought. How many more people had to die by the Queen’s hand before he would strike back? What was the point of an army, however small, if not to fight?

Eric stepped toward the girl, drinking down the last of the alcohol, wishing it numbed him more. “Here you are,” he said, his voice echoing in the cold chamber. “Where it ends. Dressed up too pretty.” He stood over her, noticing the stiffness in her fingers. It was almost too much to see her this way, just as Sara had been. So drained of everything real. Snow White had been right beside him as he went to sleep. He’d watched as she rested against the rock, lost in thought, her hands combing through her tangled hair. He had seen her just before he drifted off.

How had he not heard Ravenna? And why hadn’t she
come for him first, the man who killed her brother? He hated himself for letting it happen. He’d awoken with a start, sensing something was wrong. He’d taken off into the woods. He’d flown through the silver birches, seeing Ravenna hovering over her. She’d changed shape as soon as he’d struck her with his axe.

“You’re asleep,” he tried desperately, taking another swig from the flask. “About to wake up and give me more grief. Am I right?”

He reached out, his hand hovering just above hers, not certain he could do it. Slowly, he set his palm down, feeling how cold she was. He pinched the end of her sleeve, taking in the beaded pink dress they had put her in. It was so frilly and feminine. He somehow knew she would’ve hated it.

He swallowed hard. She wouldn’t want him to turn into some bumbling mess—not over this. Not over her. “You deserved better,” he said softly. He studied her face. Her black hair had been done in curls. Someone had placed a rose behind her ear, though it was wilting now.

“She was my wife,” he said, speaking as though she were alive. The words came easier with the grog. “That was your question that went unanswered. Sara was her name. When I came back from the wars, I carried with me the stench of death and the anger of the lost. I wasn’t worth saving, but she did so anyway. I loved her more than anything or anyone. I let her out of my sight, and she was gone.”

He lowered his head. “I became myself again. And it was a self I never cared for. Until you. You remind me of her.
Her spirit, her heart. And now you are gone, too.” He faltered over his words, feeling the knot rise in the back of his throat. “You both deserved better. And I’m sorry to have failed you as well.”

The torchlight cast a warm glow on her face. He reached down, brushing a strand of hair off her forehead. “You will be queen in heaven now.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, just for a moment, the gesture calming him. Then he turned away, throwing the flask on the ground. Yes, he was drinking again. He was certain she would’ve hated that, too.

He left the stone chamber, his footsteps echoing off the walls. The Huntsman never looked back. Had he turned and studied her, he might’ve seen the faint color returning to her cheeks, or the way her eyelids fluttered. Snow White’s lips parted ever so slightly. Then she drew in her first breath, the tiny gasp barely audible in the giant tomb.

E
ric reached the gate just after sunrise. His head throbbed from the night before. The old pains had returned. The blood pulsed in his stitched-up wounds. “Open the gate!” he yelled to the soldiers stationed above. He was careful not to look directly at them, afraid he’d be recognized. “Open the gate!” he yelled again, but it didn’t move. He glanced up. The men were looking past him, at the beaten path to the castle. A young man was coming after him. He walked slowly, struggling with the burlap sack in his hand.

“Huntsman!” the young man called. Eric lowered his head. He had been so careful at the procession. He kept his eyes down, his hair covering the sides of his face, trying to go unnoticed. He’d been there less than twelve hours—how did they realize it was him?

The young man ran toward him. He wore a white linen shirt and clean trousers, his black hair oiled to the side. Eric
recognized him as one of the duke’s clerks. Percy … was that his name? “Yes, I recognized you.” Percy nodded, as if in apology.

Eric sighed. He held up his hands in front of him. “Look, if you want—”

“We have no quarrel with you,” the young man said. “Not anymore. You returned the princess to us. For that …” He hoisted the sack into Eric’s arms. Eric cradled it, suddenly realizing what it was.

The gold coins were heavier than he’d imagined they’d be. He had already spent the money in his mind—on a house in the countryside, beyond the kingdom, on the horse that would get him there. When he was traveling through the Dark Forest, in those hours after he’d met the girl, he’d bought three new axes, a fur-lined winter coat, and cowhide boots. He’d actually counted the flagons he could trade for with just one of these coins (two hundred and thirty-three).

But now that they were right here, in his arms, he didn’t want them anymore. He’d failed her in the worst way of all. Who could care about coins when Snow White was dead? He passed it back to the young man. “Keep your money,” he said, turning to go.

He didn’t get more than a few feet before stopping. Inside the castle walls, he heard the roar of applause. There were shouts and cheers. He looked at the young man for an explanation, but Percy just shrugged. Eric couldn’t see beyond the castle’s stone facade. But he started back in
anyway, sensing already that something had changed. He quickened his pace as the cheers rose up around him, even louder than before.

Snow White stood at the top of the stairs, overlooking the castle courtyard. The duke’s men had set up canvas tents in the open air for all the kingdom’s refugees. Families huddled beside fires for warmth; others stood on the twisting soup line, waiting for their breakfast. Muir and Quert sat beside each other. They spoke quietly outside a battered tent, blankets draped over their shoulders.

She’d awoken suddenly, the Huntsman’s voice echoing in the stone chamber. She’d noticed the torches beside the funeral bier. The walls were covered with a thin layer of grime. Little by little, she could smell the mildew in the air. She heard the condensation dripping from the ceiling to the floor. That sound counted out the passing minutes. Within the hour, the feeling in her legs returned.

As she slowly came back to herself, her mind awake inside her still body, she thought only of Ravenna. She’d pressed her lips against Snow White’s ear. “You were the only one who could break the spell and end my life,” she’d said. “You were the only one.” As Snow White breathed again, the warmth returning to her hands, it was so clear. There was only one thing left to do.

She started down the stairs. Quert saw her first. He whispered to Muir, who called to the other dwarves. They came outside the tent, staring up at her, their eyes wide. “It’s
a miracle!” Beith shouted across the courtyard. He pointed to her as she came down the last steps.

William and Duke Hammond looked on in awe. Women and children left their tents and huddled at the base of the stairs. William covered his mouth, unable to speak.

“Your Highness …” Duke Hammond said. He covered her hands with his and searched her face. He was so much older than she’d remembered him. His hair had gone completely white. He was bent forward with age. “We thought you …”

William came forward, resting his hand on her shoulder, as if to affirm that she was real. Snow White shook her head. She couldn’t say what had awoken her from her sleep. In those hours, she’d heard nothing and felt nothing. The last thing she remembered was the black birds circling above her head and the glinting blade of the axe, sending them scattering into the sky. All she knew was that she was alive now, here, and there was something she had to do.

“No, my lord,” she said softly.

The people in the courtyard all looked on. Far off, near the back tents, the Huntsman stood, shaking his head in disbelief. He walked toward her until he was close enough that she could see his face. Tears filled his eyes.