Snow White and the Huntsman (7 page)

For the first time all afternoon, Ravenna’s agitated pulse slowed. She looked at Finn, who was smirking, as if he’d known this all along.

“Good, my brother.” She smiled. A dark laugh spilled from her lips. She laughed again, much harder the second time, imagining Snow White out there alone. They would simply retrieve her. Within one day’s time, she’d be back. “Very good, Finn,” she said, taking her brother’s arm and starting toward the door. “Now bring me to him.…”

Eric walked to the throne room window, watching the ravens outside. They perched on the stone ledge, their backs
hunched, staring at the hillside below. They were wretched things. He remembered them from the day Sara was buried. They’d sat on the roof of the church, their heads tilted, always watching. Two uninvited guests. The whole ceremony, they’d stayed there, darkness incarnate, cawing every now and then. When the priest had gone back inside, Eric couldn’t stand it any longer. He’d thrown rocks at them, cursing himself when he’d missed.

Now, years later, he was standing in the Queen’s castle, his shirt soaked with whiskey. His pants were filthy, his pockets empty. He was just as angry and sad as he had been then. Sara—
his
beautiful Sara—was gone. He slapped his hand against the glass, scaring away the ravens.

Across the room, two soldiers raised their swords, threatening him. He laughed them off. His entire body hurt from the night before. There was a sharp pain in his right temple whenever he moved his head. If he turned quickly, the room began to spin. The effects of the alcohol had yet to wear off. “So, where is she?” Eric called out to the two soldiers by the door. His voice echoed in the massive throne room. Neither of the men in black armor answered.

He’d been drinking at the village tavern, drunker than he’d been in days, when he was summoned here. It hadn’t been his choice, really. When they’d thrown him over the back of a horse, he’d simply been too inebriated to resist. “The Queen demands your presence,” the man had said. That much he remembered. But Eric still didn’t know why. He was feeling utterly useless these days. There were cows that
were more productive than he was. If the Queen needed someone’s help, it couldn’t be his. He ran his hand through his greasy hair to slick it off his face.

The Queen strode into the room, a young man right behind her. Eric hardly noticed him; his vision was too fixed on the woman’s beauty. She was radiant. Her skin glowed, her cheeks pink, her blond hair braided away from her face. She opened her jet-black robe to reveal an off-the-shoulder gown, her bosom bursting from the top of her dress. The metallic fabric was studded with wolves’ teeth. She stared at him with her piercing blue eyes. Her gaze demanded he stand up straight. He did at once. Technically, she was his Queen. The
dark
Queen. He’d never seen her so close before.

She walked toward him until they were just inches apart. The silver crown was perched on her head, the decorative looped chains hanging down her sides. She caught a whiff of his sweaty shirt and scrunched her nose.

“My brother tells me you are a widower, a drunkard, and one of the few who have ventured into the Dark Forest.” She gestured to the man in a leather jacket standing behind her. Eric realized the Queen’s brother was the same man who’d found him at the tavern and brought him here. “One of my prisoners has escaped there,” she went on.

Eric shook his head. “Then he’s dead—”

“
She
,” the Queen corrected, holding up a jeweled finger.

Eric crossed his arms over his chest, trying to steady himself. The room seemed like it was moving. “Then
she
is
certainly
dead,” he corrected.

The Queen leaned in so close that the chains of her headdress brushed his leather tunic. Her perfume smelled of dead roses. “Find her. Bring her to me.”

Eric shook his head. He had been a Huntsman years ago, before Sara died. He had tracked prey to those woods and nearly lost his life. Even with the best weapons and maps, most people never got more than a quarter mile inside the trees. “I’ve been to the Dark Forest enough times to know I’m not going back,” he said.

He turned to leave, but the Queen clamped down on his arm. “You will be rewarded handsomely,” she purred.

Eric laughed. As if that mattered. “Coin’s no good to me if I’m lying dead with crows picking out my eyes.”

But the Queen did not let go of his arm. Instead, she tightened her grip on him, her nails digging into his skin. She smiled, then leaned in, her lips just inches away from his. “You
will
do this for me, Huntsman.”

Eric looked at her hand on his arm. So it wasn’t a request—it was an order. “And if I refuse?” he asked.

The Queen nodded to the men by the door. They lowered their lances and aimed the spiked tips at him. Eric stared at the glinting blades and felt nothing. No fear. No sadness. She was threatening his life, but she had pegged him wrong. She couldn’t take something he no longer wanted.

“Do me the favor,” he scoffed, holding out his arms and closing his eyes. Sara’s face came back to him. She was screaming, the bloodstain spreading out on her dress, surrounding
the mark where the intruder had stabbed her. “I beg you,” he added.

When he opened his eyes, the Queen was still watching him. “So you wish to be reunited with your beloved?” she asked. He staggered back a step, wondering how she knew about Sara. What was the extent of the Queen’s power? Had she read his thoughts?

His chest filled with rage. Hearing those words—
your beloved
—spoken from this witch’s mouth was too much. What did she know about his beloved? He grabbed the Queen’s throat. Her bracelets rattled. “My wife is none of
your
concern,” he growled.

The soldiers rushed forward, but the Queen held up her hand, telling them to step back. Her eyes were watery, her face red from the trapped air inside her lungs. She kept looking at him, though, a strange smile on her face, as if she enjoyed toying with him. He released her, wanting to be as far from her as possible. He stepped to the side, but she stepped in front of him, not letting him leave.

“You miss her?” she wheezed. She rubbed her throat where he’d grabbed her. “What would you give to bring her back?”

Eric didn’t answer. He could feel the hard knot rising in the back of his throat. Those nights when Sara visited him were the hardest. He would see her face in a dream. He’d kiss the tiny mole on the side of her neck or press his nose into her hair, smelling that sweet mixture of soap and gardenia oil. She was so vivid then, even more so than she’d
been in life. He’d wake up heaving, his face swollen and wet, wishing she’d come back to him.

He wiped at his eyes, trying to avoid the Queen’s gaze. “Surely you have heard of my powers,” the Queen continued. “Bring me the girl, and I will bring back your wife.”

“Nothing will bring her back,” Eric said loudly. He had buried Sara in a grave at the edge of the village, laying her body in the cold earth. He’d set the tombstone himself.

The Queen brought her hand to his chin and waited until he met her gaze. She was staring so intently at him, her face serious. “
I
can,” she snarled. “Believe me, Huntsman. A life for a life.”

There was something in that look. Those blue-gray eyes stared right through him, as if she could see everything past and present—all the fear and hurt he’d encountered. The things he wished most for in the world. She knew his life, his soul, how he spent mornings in the dark tavern, drinking to forget. She knew that no matter how hard he tried, Sara always returned to him in his thoughts. He found himself still speaking to her, singing the songs she sang. He saw glimpses of her in the passing faces of strangers.

Who was this prisoner—this stranger—to him? What did it matter if the Dark Forest was his end? Slowly, surely, he met the Queen’s eyes and nodded. So it would be done. He would go there, forge his way through those haunted woods, and retrieve the prisoner.

He had nothing left to lose.

E
ric stood at the entrance of the Dark Forest, watching the shadows lurking between the trees. He’d been there before, but he’d never made it more than a hundred feet in. His last visit had been after the Queen had come to power. Food was scarce. He tracked a young buck across the clearing when it darted into the swirling mist. Everyone in the village knew that the Dark Forest swallowed men whole. Everyone knew of the giant snakes that coiled around your leg, slowly squeezing the life from your body, and the poisonous flowers that could kill with one touch. But his stomach was empty, and it was hard to resist a week’s worth of meat.

Within minutes of entering the mist, he was bitten by a spider. It was a giant red-and-gray thing that had dropped down from one of the trees. He hadn’t even noticed it until it was upon him. It took him three weeks to recover. The flesh rotted around the bite. He had a fever for nearly a week,
which grew worse as it wore on, the violent convulsions waking him in the night. He’d sworn he would never come back.

But now, after suffering through his own hell, the Dark Forest didn’t seem as threatening. He was alone. He had no one waiting for him back at the tavern. Everything the Dark Forest could take from him, he had already lost.

“Do exactly as I do,” he said to Finn, who was standing behind him with four of his soldiers in tow. They were all sweating profusely, their faces pale with fear.

Eric started into the mist. His hands were shaking from so many hours without a drink. He reached for the flagon of grog at his side but then stopped, thinking better of it. He could celebrate once they found the prisoner.

They walked briefly past some trees before the ground turned into wetlands. He stepped into the bog, pressing his boot onto one of the mossy stones in front of him. It sank down an inch into the wet marsh, but the stone was firm enough to hold his weight. He stepped onto another stone, then another, listening to the quiet sloshing of the mud beneath him. The dirt held poison in it—he could tell by the bones of small animals sticking out of its depths. Finn followed behind him, and his men came after. They kept on like that in silence, taking the giant marshland one stone at a time.

Eric made it across first and turned to help the others gain firmer ground. Giant birds circled high above. One swooped down, just missing a soldier’s head. Eric listened
through the woods for snapping branches or rustling leaves. He heard only the strange whispers of the forest. People said the woods preyed on your weaknesses and the dark forces could call to you, knowing your deepest desires. As he stalked forward, the words were inaudible, but he could hear faint voices coming through the trees.

Finn moved past him, starting into a field of mushrooms, but Eric grabbed his arm. “
Exactly
as I do,” he said. Then he pulled his sweaty shirt up out of his leather vest to cover his nose and mouth. Finn and his men did the same.

As they walked through the mushroom field, pollen flew up around them, some yellow bits sticking to their faces and hair. Eric knelt down, studying the smashed mushrooms at his feet. There was a whole line of them. They led out of the field and into a patch of thin trees. He moved a few mushrooms aside, revealing a stray footprint in the dirt.

He kept his eyes on the trees in front of him. Something moved behind them. He was so focused, he didn’t notice that one of Finn’s men had wandered to the other edge of the field, where a pool spread out, its surface reflecting the gray sky. Eric turned just as a shadowy creature emerged from its depths, spearing the man through his chest with its barbed tail. Within seconds, the man was dragged under, his back disappearing beneath the glassy surface.