Jim Hines - The Snow Queen's shadow

“Bad Snow!” Jakob pointed.

Snow frowned and studied Jakob more closely. She slipped a hand into her sack, carefully pulling out a narrow triangular shard the length of her finger.

“Pay him no mind,” Nicolette said. “You know how the prince gets spooked sometimes for no reason.”

“He has reason.” Snow approached slowly, and Jakob’s eyes grew wide. He squirmed and kicked, drawing a grunt of pain from Nicolette. “What do you see, Jakob?”

Jakob bit Nicolette’s hand. She yelped, and he dropped to the ground. He fled, his clumsy movements making him look like a damaged marionette.

“He’s really scared.” Nicolette was slow, a useful trait in one whose life consisted of such drudgery, but she watched Snow more closely now. She stepped to the left, putting herself between Snow and the prince. “I should take him back to his room to let him settle down.”

Snow struck almost absentmindedly, slicing Nicolette’s cheek with the broken mirror. Nicolette gasped and grabbed her face.

Snow could sense the tiny sliver working its way deeper into Nicolette’s flesh. Snow gave a mental push, helping the mirror’s magic to clear Nicolette’s mind and vision. For an instant, she saw as Nicolette did. Saw the bloody lines carved across Snow’s face, the way Snow squinted through her rheumy left eye. Age had wrinkled the skin by her eyes, and the gleaming ebony of her hair had begun to fade, replaced by strands the color of a dirty mop. Even her mother had never appeared so ugly.

She pushed Nicolette aside, doing the same with the images in her mind. Jakob had run toward the kitchen. She hurried after and yanked open the kitchen door, releasing a wall of hot, humid air. Woodsmoke darkened the air from the brick oven burning on the far side of the room. Coals smoldered in the larger fireplace to her right. A half-butchered lamb lay upon the wooden table in the middle of the room.

The kitchen staff stood like slack-jawed statues. Jakob was here, hiding behind one of the cooks, but they couldn’t tell whether he was playing another game or if there was some genuine threat. Snow licked her lips, wincing as her tongue touched one of the cuts left by her mirror. Nine people, not counting the prince. Most with knives or pots that could be used as weapons.

Snow slipped a hand into her sack and pulled out a larger shard of glass. The edges cut her fingers, but she paid the pain no mind. She slammed the glass to the stone floor, where it exploded into a silver cloud.

Snow pursed her lips and blew. Tiny fragments flew up, speckling skin with dots of red. In the time it took to draw a breath, her power spread into everyone in the room. Everyone save Jakob.

Snow stepped around the table, past the oven. Jakob was squeezing into the corner between the oven and the wall. He tried to push her away.

She pulled another shard from her sack and placed it directly against Jakob’s forehead. A drop of red welled from his skin where the glass had kissed it, but unlike the others, he appeared unaffected by her magic. He trembled and pressed harder against the wall.

“Interesting.” Snow held no illusions about her own power. Any magic could be countered… just as any counter spell could be overcome. Jakob was a sniveling brat, with no magical training, meaning his ability to resist her mirror was something inherent. Something in his very blood. “What do you see when you look at me, Jakob?”

He shook his head.

“You saw it in your father, too, didn’t you?” She thought back to that conversation, heard through Armand’s senses. “Not as strongly, but you saw.”

A servant boy of ten or so years peeked in through the door. “The princess would like desserts served soon…” His voice trailed off as he took in the kitchen staff standing dumbstruck, and Jakob whimpering in the corner. “What’s wrong, Jakob?”

Snow frowned. The boy was familiar… that dark skin, the long reddish hair… “What’s your name?”

“Tanslav, ma’am.”

Tanslav. Ah, yes. Snow had helped to rescue this boy from Rumpelstilzchen earlier this year. He had been one of many children taken by the filthy fairy thief, but Danielle and Beatrice had been unable to locate his family. So Tanslav had made the palace his home. “You’re friends with the prince, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Snow waved a hand, and specks of glass peppered Tanslav’s face. He started to cry out, but Snow’s power clamped down, tightening his throat. “Pick up that cleaver, Tanslav.”

Blood trickled down Tanslav’s cheeks as he obeyed.

“Cut your arm.”

Jakob covered his eyes, but Snow yanked him around, forcing him to watch. “I can make him slash his own throat. I could do the same to your father. Do you understand?”

Jakob tried to tug free, but Snow merely tightened her grip. He whimpered, then nodded.

“Come along,” said Snow. “I’ve a great deal of work to do, and you’re going to help.”

Talia hurried through the corridor toward the private dining room. According to a page named Andrew, Snow had been seen heading in that direction a short time ago. But when Talia entered, she saw only Nicolette standing beneath the window, blood dripping from her cheek.

“What happened?” Jakob’s food sat unfinished on the table. One of the chairs lay on its side.

“I’ve always hated these windows,” Nicolette said, her voice distant. “So garish.”

“Was Snow here?”

Nicolette turned. “Did you know your skin is almost the exact shade of cow dung?”

“What?” Talia wasn’t sure she had heard correctly. Nicolette had never insulted anyone that she could remember.

“Maybe that’s why Beatrice kept you,” Nicolette continued. “Like an exotic pet.”

Talia’s fists clenched. “How did you cut your face?”

Nicolette absently touched two fingers to her cheek. “Perhaps it was to prove that you Aratheans could be civilized. Don’t worry; I’m sure Danielle will keep you on now that Beatrice is dead. She’s always had a weakness for animals.”

Talia stepped forward, sinking into a low sik h’adan fighting stance, her body straight, her weight slightly forward. “Where are Snow and Jakob?”

“Might as well invite ogres into the palace.” Nicolette jabbed a finger at Talia’s chest. “Princess Cinderwench might consider you a friend, but I-”

Talia caught Nicolette’s finger and twisted, lifting Nicolette to her toes, then bending her backward. Nicolette yelped and grabbed Talia’s wrist, but she was off-balance. The slightest pressure and Talia could dislocate the finger.

Nicolette swung her other arm. Talia slapped the blow aside with ease. She swept Nicolette’s feet and twisted her about, bringing her face-first to the floor. Nicolette spat and swore as Talia switched her hold, clamping wrist and neck to pin Nicolette in place.

Armand had been cut picking up one of Snow’s broken mirrors. Nicolette’s cut could have come from glass as well, judging from the smooth edges. “Snow was here. Where did she go?”

“I’m not her keeper. How should I know?”

“No, but you’re Jakob’s.” Talia pressed harder. “Where are they?”

Shouts drew Talia’s attention toward the kitchen. She bounced to her feet. Nicolette started to rise.

“You should stay down.” Talia pushed her way into the kitchen to find a riot. Two people lay unmoving on the floor. The rest were shoving and punching everyone they could reach.

Talia grabbed the closest, a boy named Tanslav who held a bloody knife in one hand. He started to swing at her, but she struck the wrist of his knife hand with her forearm. The knife clattered on the counter. A kick to the inside of the knee took his balance, and she tossed him to the floor. She grabbed a half-carved lamb from the table and yanked it down on top of him.