Jim Hines - The Snow Queen's shadow

The heavy door in the back of the chapel which led to the royal mausoleum was locked, but there were no magical protections. Talia retrieved a small packet of metal tools from her left boot. Moments later, the lock was open and she was descending the stone steps. Soft flame flickered to life in the hanging lanterns, enchanted by Father Isaac to recognize visitors.

Talia had always found northern burial traditions strange. Hiding the body, sealing it in earth and stone beneath the very ground where the living trod, felt disrespectful. Yet for more than two hundred years, the Whiteshore family had buried its dead here in this lowceilinged room. The first Whiteshore king lay entombed with his wife in the center of the room, their coffins carved from the bleached stone that gave the family their name. Later kings and queens were laid to rest in the walls to either side.

Talia strode toward the back of the mausoleum, where the newest stone tablet gleamed white. Beatrice’s marker was modest compared to some of the others, marked only with her name and a carved swan.

How long she stood there, staring at Beatrice’s marker, she didn’t know. Eventually, she heard the creak of the door, followed by light, careful footsteps.

“Hello, Danielle.” Who else would it be?

Danielle didn’t say a word. She simply joined Talia in front of Bea’s grave.

“We should have been here for her burial,” said Talia. It had been close to three weeks since Beatrice’s death. There was no way King Theodore could have delayed the funeral for so long, and yet…

“I know.”

Talia swallowed. “Hephyra invited me to leave Lorindar, to sail with her. She told me I would never have Snow, that Beatrice would soon be gone, that you had your own family to look after.”

“You’re a part of that family,” Danielle said firmly. “No matter what you choose.” Her unspoken question filled the mausoleum.

“I don’t know if I can stay here. If Hephyra still lived…” Memories of Snow and Beatrice saturated every room, every hallway.

Danielle put a hand on Talia’s shoulder. “Trittibar has asked that the Phillipa ’s mainmast be brought to the palace, to be planted in the courtyard.”

For the first time since reaching Lorindar, Talia looked Danielle in the eyes. “Planted?”

Danielle smiled. “She’s a dryad. Hephyra’s tree-the ship-survives. Trittibar says it could take years for her to recover, to heal the part of herself that was lost. But she will heal.”

“That’s good.” Talia meant the words, even if she couldn’t feel them. She turned back to Bea’s marker. “And Armand?”

“He is himself. Isaac and Tymalous have removed the glass from all those who were infected. Armand spent the entire trip from the harbor apologizing for the things he said and did. There seem to be no lasting effects of the demon’s touch.”

“Good,” she said again.

“If there’s anything you need, anything you want, you know you have only to ask it.”

Talia took a slow, even breath. “Right now… all I want is to be left in peace.”

“I understand.” Danielle took Talia’s hand, squeezed almost hard enough to hurt. “You’re not alone, Talia.”

Talia nodded, but didn’t answer.

For the next two weeks, Talia performed her duties as though in a trance. She moved through the palace from one task to the next, barely speaking to anyone. Danielle tried to engage her in conversation, but Talia had no heart for it. Even Jakob had done his childish best to make her smile, but their efforts only made Talia feel guilty when she was unable to respond. She spent more and more time away from the others.

Talia still expected to find Snow flirting with the blacksmith, or hear her teasing Danielle. Her chest clenched every time she passed a woman with black hair, every time she heard laughter ringing through the halls.

She was locked in her room, paging through a century-old book of Arathean poetry, when someone pounded on her door hard enough to rattle it in the frame. “It’s Gerta. Open up.”

Talia almost smiled at the impatience in her voice, so similar to Snow’s. Since returning to Lorindar, Gerta had been doing her best to fit into palace life. Danielle had given her permission to go through Snow’s library and try to make sense of Snow’s rather eccentric notions of organization.

Gerta knocked again. “Last chance, Talia. I know you’re in there.”

Talia glanced over to make sure the door was latched. “Go away.”

Silence. There were no footsteps, so Gerta hadn’t left. Talia tucked the book beneath her pillow. As she stood, she smelled smoke rising from the door. Orange flames licked about the latch. The fire confined itself to a small ring, burning the wood to ash until the latch fell free and hit the floor with a clang. The door swung inward.

Gerta tossed a bottle. Talia snatched it from the air without thinking. Arathean wine from the cellars.

“Come with me,” ordered Gerta.

Talia’s attention went to the embroidered green patch that covered Gerta’s lost eye. Another reminder of that day. Gerta said she was working on crafting a glass eye, one with a mirrored pupil, but perfecting the magic of that eye would take months. “What’s going on?”

Gerta held two more bottles by the necks in her right hand. “Princess Whiteshore commands it.”

“Did she command this, too?” Talia asked, lifting the wine.

Gerta spun away. Considering Gerta had burned through the door to find her, Talia figured it best to see what Danielle wanted. She grabbed her zaraq whip and followed Gerta out into the hallway.

Gerta led her to the northern drawing room, a smaller chamber often used for entertaining royal guests. The walls were a garish green, covered in a textured paper imported from Morova. A fire burned in the hearth, countering the chill from the windows. Danielle sat with Trittibar and Ambassador Febblekeck at the tile-topped table in the center of the room.

Danielle rose, but before she could speak, Gerta set both of her bottles on the table and jabbed a hand at the fairies. “Out. Both of you.”

Trittibar’s brows shot up. Febblekeck flew from his chair, shedding glowing dust onto the carpet. “You forget your place, human.”

Danielle watched Gerta as though trying to read her intention. “Can this wait, Gerta?”

“No.” Gerta folded her arms and waited.

“Very well,” said Danielle. “Trittibar, Febblekeck, if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Trittibar rose and bowed.

Febblekeck reached out to pluck a grape from the platter of bread and fruit at the center of the table. “ I mind. This girl is-”

“She is a member of my household,” Danielle said softly. “And a friend.”

“She’s not even real,” Febblekeck protested. “Any fairy can smell the magic on her. She’s but a changeling, cobbled together by human magic, her soul a torn and crudely-stitched quilt of clumsiness and haste.”

Gerta flinched. Talia twirled the wine bottle in her hand. Given the pixie’s size, the bottle should be heavy enough to smash him from the air.

Danielle stood, smiling a too-sweet smile. “You should leave now,” she said softly.

“I am here as a representative of the king of Fairytown,” Febblekeck countered.

Danielle’s smile vanished. “And I would be most grieved to have to tell your king that his ambassador was snatched and devoured by a hungry owl.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I ask the animals to leave our guests alone, but I can’t be blamed if one refuses to listen.” Danielle stepped around the table. “Owls are so quiet in flight. The prey hears nothing, no warning at all before the talons pierce the body.”