Jim Hines - The Snow Queen's shadow

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.”

“Imagining… so you’re not real?”

“Don’t I look real?” Another faint smile. “Would you like me to prove it to you, Talia?”

“I hate magic.” Talia circled Gerta. “You know who I am.”

“I have fragments of Snow’s memories. She gave them to me before she pushed me through that door.”

“She pushed you…” What in the hell had Snow been playing at? “She made you?”

“I think so.” Gerta glanced around the room. “It’s hard to remember. There was pain. Pressure, as if my body was being kneaded and shaped like wet clay. My first clear memory is of Snow looking down at me. She was frightened and hurt. What happened to her?”

Talia remembered her first view of Snow on the staircase, blood still dripping down her face. “We don’t know yet. Can you find her?”

Gerta shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m not powerful enough. In her fantasies, she was always the stronger sorceress.”

“Why did she leave you here?”

“I could feel her fighting against something, trying to hold on to herself.” Gerta turned toward the empty frame of the mirror.

Talia’s throat tightened. “I know.”

“She told me to help you.” Gerta stared at the wall. “I could feel her ripping memories from her own mind. She hid me from herself as she closed the door, sealing me into the darkness. Even through the door, I felt her lose the battle. She stayed down here for a long time. I couldn’t use magic to warm myself until after she left, for fear of drawing her attention. I waited as long as I could, and then… the door wouldn’t open. I tried climbing down the steps, but the cold grew worse.”

Talia sheathed her knife. Keeping Gerta in her vision, she retrieved a small, locked chest from the corner of the room. She pulled a silver key from a chain around her neck and opened the lid to reveal a dirty red cloak lined in wolf fur. She bundled the cloak under one arm. “I should get you upstairs where it’s warmer.”

“Thank you, Talia. I wouldn’t have survived much longer.”

“Come on. You can tell Danielle and Father Isaac what you’ve told me.”

And hopefully Isaac would be able to tell them all exactly what Gerta was.

Danielle had spent her childhood learning to shield herself from the torments of her stepmother and stepsisters, building armor that their cruelest jabs failed to penetrate. But exhaustion had weakened that armor, and Armand shattered what remained without even raising his voice.

His hands were shackled, and two armed men stood watching him. Father Isaac’s magic would prevent him from physically harming anyone so long as he remained inside the chapel, but it couldn’t stop his verbal assaults.

“Without my mother to guide you, you’re lost. You allowed our son to be stolen from within your own home. You’ve failed, Your Highness. Both as a princess and as a mother.”

Danielle was tempted to order him gagged. Instead, she turned to Father Isaac. “Whatever magic infects my husband, it came from Snow’s broken mirror. Can you use that same magic to find her?”

Isaac shook his head. Neither he nor Trittibar had been able to explain Armand’s behavior, let alone find a way to counter it. Everyone else cut by Snow’s mirrors had been moved to the dungeons, by Danielle’s orders. Twenty-two people were now locked in the dark, cliff-side cells, many of them her friends. But it was the only way to keep them from harming anyone else.

She had ordered Armand brought here to the chapel. The smell of incense was stifling. The grassy smoke was enchanted to dampen violence within the church. The air was warmer here, as though each of the candles mounted along the walls was giving off the heat of a much larger flame. But so far, the magic of the church hadn’t been strong enough to free her husband.

Nobody had seen Snow or Jakob since they entered the candlemaker’s workshop, and thus far, no magic had been able to locate them. The gates were locked and guarded, and Danielle had ordered every available man and woman to search the palace, but given Snow’s power, she held little hope.

“He’s not possessed,” said Trittibar.

“Or if he is, it’s no form of possession that we’ve ever heard of.” Father Isaac tapped his crucifix against his chin.

“It’s the mirror.” Talia strode into the church, side by side with a barefoot girl in a wool cloak. Danielle had never seen the girl before, but something in her walk was familiar. “With every cut, a tiny splinter breaks off and enters the blood. Snow took the worst of it when her mirror was destroyed, but Armand and the rest each suffer from a smaller portion of that same power.”

“It’s how mirror magic works,” said Talia’s companion. “Even the smallest piece can channel the power of the rest.”

“Who is this?” Danielle asked.

“I was hoping Father Isaac could answer that.” Talia beckoned Danielle closer, away from Armand. In a low voice, she explained how she had discovered Gerta below, as well as the girl’s claim to be Snow White’s sister. For Gerta’s part, she appeared more interested in Armand than anything else.