The Snow Queen's Shadow (6 page)

Talia stomped her heel onto the arch of his foot, then brought both legs up and kicked off from the wall.

“Aunt Tala!”

Sunlight gleamed from three more spinning shards, floating in front of Snow. Talia wrenched Frederic around as Snow launched the shards through the air. They buried themselves in Frederic’s back, earning a startled grunt. He staggered, one foot dislodging the grate from the fire pit. His foot sank into the coals, and he howled.

Broken glass clinked onto the floor as Snow emptied her sack. She clapped her hands, and the glass rose into the air, spinning around her like a glittering whirlwind. “I’ll shred you both to ribbons before I let you leave this room. Please don’t make me kill you, Talia.”

There was a hint of genuine pain in Snow’s words, but not enough to suggest she wouldn’t do exactly what she threatened. A single cut, and Talia would be as much a slave as Frederic. Talia stepped to the right and threw her knife.

Snow’s wall of glass knocked the blade aside, but Talia was already moving. She grabbed the grate from the floor with both hands. The muscles in her back strained to toss the iron grate through the window. Talia followed an instant later, her arms held tight to her chest to keep from slashing herself open on the broken glass.

Talia twisted in the cold air, but she was falling too fast to completely control her landing. Tiled rooftop rushed toward her. She hit hard, her hip and shoulder slamming into the roof of the kitchen. She was too far away to catch the chimney, so she grabbed for the gutters, but they were frozen over. As she slid from the roof, she glimpsed people shouting and pointing from the courtyard below, and then she was falling again.

CHAPTER 5

D
ANIELLE PACED A CIRCLE AROUND TRIT-tibar. “I know my husband, Tritt. This wasn’t him.”

“I agree,” said Trittibar. The former ambassador from Fairytown wore his usual cacophony of clothes, including a loose shirt that fountained rainbow ribbons for sleeves, knee-high trousers, and sandals the color of spring buds. He had braided tiny gold bells into his white beard for good measure.

Until recently, Trittibar had lived in a mouse-sized hollow in the southern wall of the palace. After his exile from Fairytown, he had been cut off from the fairy hill, the source of his magic. The loss of his magic trapped him in human form. Snow had been able to rescue some of his belongings, but she hadn’t been able to change their size.

Danielle looked past Trittibar, to where his entire library sat on a shelf no wider than a saucer. The large glass lens and tweezers he used to read the books hung from a peg beside the shelf.

“I’ve been friends with Armand since he was a child,” said Trittibar. “I’ve seen him at his best, and at his worst. Never have I known him to act the way he has today.”

“Maybe Father Isaac was right. Maybe this is just grief.”

Trittibar’s beard jingled as he cocked his head. “If you believed that, you wouldn’t be wearing your sword.”

Danielle touched the hilt with one hand. She had retrieved it after dinner. “We need Snow.” She hesitated. With her mirror destroyed, how much magic had Snow lost?

“If it’s magic, Father Isaac will find the source.” Trittibar combed his beard with his fingers. “Where is the prince now?”

“In his study. He wanted to be alone. I asked Aimee to let me know if he leaves.”

Someone rapped at Trittibar’s door. He jumped to his feet. “Still not used to having a real door,” he muttered. Outside stood a single guard.

“What is it, Stephan?” asked Danielle.

He gave a quick bow. “Talia asked that I find you, Your Highness. She said to meet her at the northeast tower. Snow was taking Prince Jakob there.”

“Why would Snow . . . ?” If Stephan had known anything more, he would have said so. She saw Trittibar grab a slender rapier from the wall. Her own sword bounced against her hip as she ran past Stephan into the cold night air.

A small crowd had gathered in the corner of the courtyard. Danielle’s heart thudded in her chest, and she ran faster, jumping over the low stone wall around the garden.

“Move aside!” Her shouts cleared a path for herself and Trittibar. Two guards were holding Talia near the base of the tower. Her nose was bleeding, and she appeared dazed. Danielle spun, searching the crowd. “What happened here?”

Talia pointed toward a broken window in the tower. “Snow took the prince.” Her words were terse. She tried to wrench free. “I couldn’t get to him. She attacked me. The guards have already gone to check the room, but they didn’t find anyone except Frederic. They’re taking him to be checked by Father Isaac. I don’t know where Snow took Jakob.”

“Let her go,” Danielle commanded. The guards jumped back. Talia swayed, but kept her balance. “Get Tymalous.”

“I don’t need a healer.” Talia wiped her nose on her sleeve.

Danielle didn’t have time to argue. She ran inside, taking the steps two at a time. The door to the candlemaker’s workshop was open, the latch splintered. She stared at the empty room. Cold air gusted through the broken window. She spotted a shard of silvered glass half-buried in a candle on the wall.

“Whatever happened to Armand, it began with Snow and her mirror.” Talia moved to retrieve the candle with the broken shard. “She must have collected the rest of the pieces. Anyone who has been cut by one of her mirrors needs to be placed under guard at once.”

Danielle braced herself. “Was Jakob hurt?”

Talia hesitated. “Snow cut him twice that I know of. The magic didn’t appear to affect him.”

Shock and disbelief held Danielle in place. The wind played over her as she repeated Talia’s words in a whisper. “She cut him?”

“Small cuts only,” Talia said quickly.

Danielle spun to face the guards who had followed them up the stairs. “Seal the palace. Stephan, get to the king and tell him what’s happened. Take him someplace safe, and don’t let anyone else near him.”

Locking the gates wouldn’t stop Snow. She could be anywhere, or anything. Her magic could change her and Jakob into mice, or it could create an illusion to disguise them both. “We’ll need hunting dogs. Trittibar, get the hounds and give them something with Jakob’s scent. Nicolette can—”

“Nicolette was cut, too,” Talia said softly.

Danielle nodded, refusing to let the news affect her. “She’ll need to be watched as well.” She touched her bare wrist where her mirrored bracelet had rested. Yesterday, a single kiss to that mirror would have conjured an image of her son. “Get Armand to Father Isaac.”

Isaac’s magic wasn’t as powerful as Snow’s, but of everyone in the palace, he had the best chance of reversing whatever Snow had done. She waited until the others hurried from the room, leaving her alone with Talia. “Why would she take my son?”

“I think . . . I think she was curious.” Talia was staring at the overturned bench. “She wanted to know why her mirror didn’t affect him.”

“Do you think she’ll . . . what will she do to him?”

Talia looked away. “I don’t know.”

Danielle could feel the fear pushing up from her chest. She put one hand on her sword, but even the touch of her mother’s final gift couldn’t quell that terror. Snow had taken her son. “Tell me the truth. Are you well enough to fight?”

“Always,” said Talia. The blood trickling from her left nostril made her assurance less convincing, as did the obvious stiffness in her arm, but Danielle took her at her word.

“Search Snow’s library. I doubt she’d take Jakob there, but whatever happened started with the destruction of her mirror. Be careful.”

“What will you be doing?”

Danielle was already on the stairs. “My husband was one of the first to be cut. With Snow missing, perhaps he’ll hold some answers.”

Talia took the bronze rungs two at a time as she descended the narrow passage hidden in the room Danielle shared with her husband. When she neared the bottom, she loosed her grip and dropped silently to the cold, hard-packed earth. The impact jolted the bruises in her side and reawakened the throbbing pain in her shoulder.

There was no light here. She stepped away from the ladder and did her best to slow her breathing. She heard nothing but the pounding of her own heart.

Talia moved from memory, taking two steps and reaching out to touch the smooth wood of the door. She pressed her ear against it, listening for several heartbeats before pulling it open and stepping inside.

She ran one hand along the whitewashed wall to her right, seeking the lamp and tinderbox stored there. She pulled the tinderbox from its oiled leather pouch and retrieved the steel striker and flint. Dropping to one knee, she placed the box on the floor, arranged the char cloth, and scraped flint to steel. The equipment was well-tended, thanks to the vigilance Beatrice had drilled into them all. Moments later, the lamp was lit.

Black tiles littered the floor before her, each one carved in the shape of a sailing ship. Snow’s magic had bound those tiles to the map of Lorindar on the ceiling, allowing them to track various ships through their waters. Now the lapis lazuli seas were empty.

Weapons shone on the walls to either side. Talia took a curved Arathean dagger, sliding it through her belt, then turned to light another lamp.

A set of sharpened steel snowflakes, each one about the size of a playing card, rested on a small shelf in the corner. The original snowflakes had been a gift from Talia, years before. Snow kept losing the things, which meant Talia had to commission a new set at least once a year.

There was no movement in the library. She retrieved a steel-banded Hiladi war club before stepping through the doorway, just in case. Light glinted from the empty platinum frame of Snow’s mirror, which lay on the floor. Dark smears of dry blood showed where Snow had tried to grip the frame, perhaps to keep it from falling. Talia brought the lamp to the floor, searching for the telltale glitter of broken glass. Nothing. Snow had reclaimed every speck.

Broken chunks of wax littered the floor. Another candle sat in the middle of the table, melted wax pooled around the base. Drops of blood, now dried to a rusty brown color, were scattered over the table and floor.

Talia crouched to study the blood. The thickest drops led to a cedar chest in the corner. Snow would have walked there for bandages. Talia was all too familiar with the contents of that particular chest. There had been no blood in the armory, so Snow must have bandaged her wounds before leaving.

But she hadn’t done so right away. Dark lines and smears of blood covered the table. Talia touched one of the black lines. Ash rubbed away at her touch. The lines were too regular to be random. A spell of some sort, though Talia couldn’t follow the pattern. The ashes were stuck in the surface of the congealed blood, meaning Snow had worked this spell after her mirror broke, but before tending to her own wounds. Charred stems, perhaps from flowers, were sprinkled through the mess. “What were you doing down here?”

Talia stepped away, searching the room until she spied a dark smudge on the bookshelves. Snow had tried to wipe the leather clean, but faint smears showed where she had grabbed a particular book on dwarven architecture. That book was the trigger mechanism to open the seawall passage down through the cliffs. The seawall passageway was meant to be an escape route of last resort. Why would Snow—or whatever had taken control of her—have bothered opening it if not to flee?

Talia set her lamp on the table. A quick tug of the book triggered the mechanisms in the wall. Talia crossed the room to grab the far set of shelves, which hid the passageway. Keeping her club ready, she swung them inward.

Cold, damp air spilled into the room. Little light penetrated the passageway, but it was enough for Talia to make out the woman huddled on the stone steps.

Talia raised her club. “Snow?”

The woman was the right size, with the same pale skin. Talia snatched the lamp from the table. The light revealed a woman younger than Snow, with dark red hair and a pale, frightened face. She was naked, shivering violently from the cold. Her lips and ears had a bluish tinge.

“Is she . . . is she gone?” Her words were slurred.

Talia tossed the club behind her and reached to take the woman’s hand. Her fingers were cold as ice. “Who are you? How long have you been down there?”

“Don’t know.” The woman tried to walk, but her legs gave out. “Maybe a day?”

Talia pulled the woman into the library and kicked the shelves shut. She fetched an old wool cloak from another chest and wrapped it around the woman’s shoulders, but wasn’t sure what other aid to offer. Snow was the healer, not Talia. Growing up in Arathea, Talia had learned the symptoms of sun poisoning by her fifth year, but she knew much less about treating half-frozen women. “What’s your name?”

“Gerta.” She pulled her body into a ball, squeezing her hands beneath her arms.

Talia set the lamp on the floor in front of Gerta, who eagerly cupped her hands around it. Gerta wasn’t a name common to Lorindar. It was possible, if unlikely, that Gerta had discovered the concealed opening in the water at the base of the cliffs. Perhaps a runaway, or an escaped prisoner of some sort, someone desperate enough to brave the rocks and waves? “Your full name?”

Gerta was shaking so hard she had to try three times to answer. “Rose Gertrude Curtana. But I prefer Gerta.”

Talia yanked her dagger from its sheath. “Rose Curtana is dead.”

“I know. Snow destroyed her.” Gerta’s cracked lips managed a weak smile. “I’m Snow’s sister.”

“That’s impossible. Snow had no sister.”

“Half-sister.” Gerta shivered again.

There
were
similarities. Rose’s hair was shorter, but it framed a face with the same narrow features and high cheekbones as Snow’s. Gerta’s large brown eyes were almost a perfect match for Snow’s own. She was attractive, though not as beautiful as Snow. “She would have told me.”

“There are many things Snow preferred not to remember,” Gerta said.

“A forgotten sister? One who happens to arrive in Lorindar this very night?” Talia kept her dagger ready as she backed away to retrieve another blanket. She tossed it to Gerta, who wrapped it around herself with shaking hands.

“Our mother, may she burn forever, sent me away when I was a baby,” Gerta said. “At least, that’s the story Snow liked to tell herself when she was older. When she was young, she believed I was her true mother, come to save her from Queen Rose.”

If this was a trick, Talia couldn’t begin to guess its purpose. “Get to the point where you explain who you really are and how you ended up here.”

Gerta shrugged. “I’m who she made me. In the beginning, Snow wanted a mother who would protect her. Later, she longed for a friend. She used to lie awake at night, imagining what it would be like to have a sister. She made up stories. We explored the woods together, having marvelous adventures. Fighting evil dwarves, rescuing cursed princes, and doing everything she was forbidden to do.”