Jim Hines - The Snow Queen's shadow

“You have my word,” John said. “Though Montgomery would be hard-pressed to voice his complaint with his mouth pickled shut.”

“What about a nice senna seed tea instead?” offered Heather. “He’ll have to bring a chamber pot to any meetings.”

“Leave the man in peace. That’s an order from your princess.”

John was the only person she knew who could convey laughter with a simple bow. As the two of them left, Danielle heard Heather saying, “ We have to leave him alone, but what if a third party were to sneak in and coat his codpiece with lard?”

Danielle met with three other noble families before finally escaping at midday. She grabbed a quick meal from the kitchen and made her way to the chapel, where Beatrice’s body had been laid out in preparation for the funeral.

Honor guards stood to either side of the entrance. Danielle greeted them in passing and ducked inside. Sunlight shone through the stained glass windows at the tops of the walls. The air smelled of incense, a mixture of lavender and cypress, which rose from silver thuribles, incense burners suspended from the ceiling behind the altar.

At the front of the church, Queen Beatrice’s body rested upon a waist-high platform to the right of the altar. Her hair had been left loose, framing her face in gray. She wore a formal blue gown, and her gold crown rested upon her chest.

Danielle wiped her face. Beatrice never wore her crown when she could avoid it. She had always been happier in a sailor’s jacket, her hair catching the ocean winds. It was as though an imposter lay in Beatrice’s place, as if this were all some cruel jest.

Armand and Jakob stood beside the body, talking to Father Isaac. Jakob looked like a miniature version of his father. Both wore tailored black jackets, dark trousers, and polished boots. But where Jakob was sniffling and wiping his nose on his sleeve, Armand’s face was stone.

“She looks so fragile.” Danielle scooped Jakob into her arms. Loose threads hung like the legs of an insect where he had managed to lose the top button of his jacket. His small fingers gripped Danielle’s cloak.

“Why won’t Gramma wake up?”

Danielle kissed him, unable to answer.

“Because your grandmother is dead,” Armand said.

“Why?” Jakob burrowed his head into Danielle’s shoulder. “Why is she dead?”

“Your grandmother was sick for a very long time,” Danielle said. “She was hurting, and she was very tired. She’s not hurting anymore. She’s at peace.”

Jakob turned his head, peeking at Beatrice from the corner of his eye. “Will you die?”

“Yes,” said Armand. “Everyone dies.”

“But not for a long time,” Danielle said sharply. “Armand, what’s wrong?”

“You’d prefer I lie to my son?”

“I’d prefer you remember he’s not yet three years old. He doesn’t understand-”

“What is there to understand?” Armand stepped away, turning his back on the queen’s body. “These empty rituals we perform to comfort ourselves? We will spend these days paying our respects to a broken husk. We will share pleasant memories, ignoring her flaws and making her out to be a saint called back to Heaven. We will cry false tears, though all knew she was dying. We will ‘celebrate her life’ and pretend death doesn’t wait to take us all at any moment.”

There was no compassion in his voice. He spoke as though to a stranger. Momentarily speechless, Danielle turned to Father Isaac. Isaac had known Armand for years, long before Danielle came to the palace

“Your Highness, your son looks to you for strength,” said Isaac, his words ever so slightly chastising.

“He looks for lies.” Armand barely even glanced at Jakob. “We dress death in its finest garb, arrange it to appear restful and calm. Let him see the world as it truly is.”

“As it truly is?” Isaac’s bushy brows lowered slightly.

Danielle reached toward Armand’s shoulder. “Armand, that’s enough. What’s the matter?”

Armand pulled away. “My mother is dead. I’ll thank you not to harangue me with foolish questions.” With that, he walked out of the chapel, leaving Danielle to stare in silence.

“What’s wrong with Papa?” Jakob asked.

“He’s upset.” Danielle squeezed him tight, planting another kiss on his sweaty brow. Had Armand been anyone else, she might have suspected him of drinking, but Armand rarely indulged these days. “Sometimes it’s easier to be angry than sad.”

Isaac placed a hand on Jakob’s back. “Your father loves you. His anger is not toward you.”

“Mad at Gramma?” Jakob asked.

“He’s not mad at anyone,” Danielle said. “He’s just mad.”

“I don’t like this papa.”

“Your father loves you, Jakob.” Danielle hugged him. “And he didn’t mean to upset you.”

Isaac stepped away, twirling his crucifix between stiff fingers as he looked up at the stained glass windows.

“What’s wrong?” Danielle asked, watching him closely.

“I’m not sure. For a moment, when Armand left… the windows have whispered to me today, but their warnings are too faint.” Father Isaac’s magic might not be as powerful as Snow’s, but he had spent years working spells of peace and protection into those windows.

“You think something could be wrong with Armand?” Danielle kept her voice steady so as not to upset Jakob. “Something magical?”

Isaac shook his head. “It may be I’m simply on edge myself. Or perhaps it’s an effect of Snow’s broken mirror. That much power released in the palace… How is she?”

“I’ve barely seen her today,” Danielle admitted. Snow certainly hadn’t acted hurt as she flitted through the palace, retrieving the rest of her broken mirrors. Tymalous had clearly taken good care of her.

“I never saw Snow’s mirror, though she told me of it once,” Isaac said. “Given its power, I’m surprised its destruction didn’t have more of an impact on my own magic. She did well to contain the damage.” He turned away from the windows and tucked his hands into his sleeves. “She’s not been by today. We each grieve in our own way, but I know she and Beatrice were close. She should take the chance to say farewell in private, before the funeral. As should you.”

Danielle nodded and set Jakob down. Keeping his hand in hers, she stepped toward the queen’s body. As she knelt, she glanced at Father Isaac, who had gone back to studying the stained glass windows. Worry furrowed his brow.

Danielle bowed her head and prayed.

Talia Stood In The Shadows behind Danielle, letting the low murmur of dinner conversation wash past her. Danielle was stiffer than usual. She had spoken only a handful of times since arriving from the chapel, and hadn’t yet told Talia what was bothering her.

Armand appeared equally lost in his meal. Occasionally one of the nobles from Eastpointe, Dragon Lake, or Norlin would try to engage him in conversation. His responses were short and abrupt, and they soon gave up their efforts.

Talia’s gaze kept returning to the empty chair at the king’s left. For years she had waited on the queen, acting as both servant and bodyguard. Earlier tonight when she first entered the hall, she had moved without thinking to her usual position, as though Beatrice would at any moment come hurrying through the doors to join them.

She shifted her weight, trying to ease the stiffness in her legs. Strange to think that only yesterday she had been chasing witchhunters through the icy streets. Only yesterday Beatrice had still been alive.

Talia wrenched her attention upward to the ancient wooden beams that supported the arched ceiling. Oil lamps burned brightly on the walls between tall, arched windows. She searched the shadows for any shapes that didn’t belong. This many strangers meant many more opportunities for “accidents.”