Mirror, Mirror Page 14

  “I feel different,” Snow said.

  Henri shook his head. “I can’t believe the queen tried to have you killed. I knew she was ruthless and difficult, but a murderer . . . You’re not planning to face her alone, are you?”

  “At the end, I believe it has to be her and me,” Snow said. “Maybe I can reason with her. Tell her I know the truth about my mother and get her to repent.”

  Henri appeared skeptical. “A woman that cold and calculating will never repent.”

  Snow looked at the apple peel flower again, seeing the beauty in something that would ordinarily be discarded. “I have to at least try.”

  “How will you stop her?” Henri asked.

  “The men are trying to get new recruits to join our fight for the crown. But it is difficult. They can only do so in secret, and many are frightened of her and afraid to speak up. Hopefully we can convince them that there is power in numbers.” She sighed. “As you can see, the battle plans are still hazy.”

  A raven landed on a tree branch nearby and cawed, startling them both. Henri frowned. “We shouldn’t stay here too long.”

  There wasn’t a single bird she disliked, but the repeated sightings of the raven were making her wonder. Was it indeed the queen? If so, what dangers did she have in store for them? Snow packed up quickly while Henri fed the horse the rest of his apple and some water. When she was done, he was holding the reins to again walk beside her.

  “This time we both ride,” Snow insisted, feeling bold, even though the thought made her slightly nervous. He started to protest, and she held up her finger to silence him.

  Henri bowed. “Yes, Your Highness.” She smiled as he continued. “I like your initiative. You’re much like my brother Lorenz, who will take the throne from my father someday. I’m sixth in line to the throne, so I’ve never bothered to wonder what being a ruler would be like.”

  Being a ruler . . . She’d been so focused on overthrowing the Evil Queen and now finding her father that she hadn’t stopped to consider what would happen after. The throne belonged to her father if he wanted it, and she would step up to the task of helping her kingdom, righting the wrongs that had been committed for too long. But she couldn’t help thinking about what it would mean if it was her turn to wear the crown. . . . What type of ruler would she be? What new ideas would she bring to the table? It was startling and yet somewhat exhilarating to imagine all she’d be able to do for her people, to think of the change she would have the power to enact. She could bring the kingdom back to the way it had been when her parents had ruled . . . could maybe even make it better.

  Henri held the reins tightly and the horse stopped, allowing him to climb up behind Snow. “But I’m sure someday you’ll be a great ruler,” he said, as though hearing her thoughts. He held out the reins to her and began to climb up, and in doing so, he had to put his arms beside her.

  “Sorry,” he said, his arm grazing hers.

  “It’s fine,” Snow insisted, but she’d never been this close to a young man before, and certainly never to one nearly this handsome. The guards in the castle, even the young ones, had permanent scowls on their faces, but Henri—whether he was worried, sick, or just being a gentleman—seemed to always be smiling.

  They traveled in silence again for a while before Snow started to hum a familiar tune to pass the time. Henri joined in, and the two of them sang a song that made even the birds in the forest land on branches to listen.

  As the sky started to dim, they approached the lake that divided Snow’s kingdom from Henri’s. On the outer bank of the lake, Snow could see a small cottage with smoke rising from the chimney. As they made their way around the lake, Snow noticed the abode wasn’t much to look at—the cottage looked like it had been constructed quickly—and the shutters were drawn tight, as if there were a storm coming. But as the horse approached, the door to the cottage flew open. An older man shuffled out with a walking stick.

  Snow gasped.

  Thoughts and memories whirled around her mind. Could this be her father? His hair was white and much longer, but she noticed the familiar black mole on his left cheek. She held on to the horse’s mane tightly, afraid she might fall off at the sight of him. She desperately wanted to get closer.

  “Henrich?” Seeing the horse, the man held on to the doorframe with one hand and his stick with the other. He narrowed his eyes. “Is that you?”

  “Yes, sir, I’ve found her!” Henri stopped the horse and jumped off, then offered Snow his hand to help her down.

  She stood in Henri’s shadow as he shook hands with a man whose voice she didn’t recognize—it was hollow and tinged with age. If it truly was her father, he didn’t sound the same, but then again, could she really remember his voice after having not heard it in over ten years?

  “Let me look at my daughter,” the man said, and Henri stepped aside.

  Snow and Georg stood face to face. Neither of them made a move; instead they studied each other’s features, as if looking in a mirror.

  Snow stared at the man, with his white beard and cropped white hair. There was no crown on his head. No scepter in his hand or fine satin clothes on his body. He wore simple boots and a peasant’s clothes, and his hands were dirty and free of the rings she remembered him wearing all those years ago. But when she looked into the man’s weathered face she felt a sudden jolt. While the blue color might have faded from his eyes with age, there was no denying their familiarity. “Father?” she croaked.

  He immediately started to cry, fat tears falling down his cheeks. “Snow, my Snow. It’s really you!” He grabbed her face in his two callused hands.

  She immediately did the same, touching his face, his beard. “It’s you! You’re alive! You’re really here.” It was almost too much to take in.

  “Yes, I’m here, my snowflower. I’m here!” he said.

  They collapsed into one another’s arms, alternately crying and laughing as they clung to each other like two marooned fishermen who had been lost at sea and found. Snow wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that before Henri convinced them to go inside. She knew she should be worried the queen was watching, but it was hard to imagine danger when her father was by her side again. Inside the small cottage, with the fire going and her father’s sparse wood furniture—all of which he proudly claimed he’d made himself—Snow felt like she could stay within those four walls forever, talking to the father she had been sure she’d lost.

  “I’m so sorry, snowflower, I’m so sorry,” he said over and over between offers of bread and wine and a place to rest her head. But Snow was too wound up to sleep. While Henri tended to the horse, Snow sat down with her father to ask him all the things she could think of and more. But he was one step ahead of her.

  “I didn’t leave you,” he said, the minute she faced him. “I need you to know that. I would never abandon my daughter! If anything, I’ve spent a decade trying to get back to you, knowing you were with that woman.” His face scrunched up with anger. “I was a fool to think she could ever be a surrogate mother to you, to be like my Katherine, but now, after all this time, I know I was no fool at all.” His grip on her loosened and his face became resigned again. He looked broken. “I was under her spell, just like the spell that has kept me prisoner for a decade.”

  “What kind of spell?” Hearing her father confirm this was a relief. She’d never understood, however young she might have been, how her father could have loved someone like the Evil Queen. She was as different from her mother as another human being could be.

  “A love spell.” Her father looked embarrassed at this. “It would have been the only way she could have tricked me into marriage. Ingrid and I never saw eye to eye. It was your mother’s love of her that kept her inside the castle walls. But the more I got to know Ingrid, the more I saw her for what she really was. Power hungry, and jealous. Consumed with her need to be in control of everyone around her, including your mother. I talked to your mother about it, but she insisted that her sister just had
a strong personality and took some warming up. It was important to her that Ingrid live at the castle and be her lady-in-waiting. But when your mother finally saw through Ingrid’s act, it was too late.” His eyes cast downward. “She became ill so soon afterward.”

  Snow met eyes with Henri, who had just walked in, but the two said nothing. She had to know the whole story before she broke her father even more. “If she had you under a love spell, how did you wind up here?”

  He let go of her hands and motioned to the room they sat in. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about this,” he said. “The details are foggy, of course, but spell or no spell, I think there was always a part of me that resisted her, and maybe she realized that and finally decided to cut me loose. Why she didn’t just have me killed, I don’t know. All I remember is being sent on a diplomatic trip and winding up here. Once I arrived, I couldn’t remember what I was sent to do, and the men who had brought me here disappeared.” His weathered face was grim. “I felt almost a sudden surge of memories—marrying Ingrid, leaving you—and wondered what I had done. I immediately got a horse and prepared to return, but every time I try, an electric bolt sends me back to this very cottage!” Georg said, growing frustrated. “Henri tried to smuggle me through to the kingdom, too, but it’s impossible. Even years later!” He swiped a cup off his table, smashing it to the floor. “I was desperate to get back to you.” He glanced at the rafters and sighed. “To survive, I had to make my peace with the fact that I might not. I’ve become friendly with the nearby villagers after all this time. I make furniture like this table here to have enough to buy food and things.” He pointed to the simple wood table in front of them. “It’s a simple but honest life. I’ve bartered with an enchantress from time to time for spells to keep Ingrid from seeing me.”

  “An enchantress?” Snow asked.

  “Yes,” her father said. “She has traveled through these parts, which is how I met her. I’m not sure where she resides . . . or even if her spells are working, so I always take precautions when I can. I sometimes fear the queen is still watching me. I wanted Henrich to bring you through the forest so you wouldn’t be seen on the roads. I know I am putting you in danger by bringing you here, but when Henrich described the castle, and meeting a fair maiden, I knew it had to be you. I couldn’t help but beg him to help me see you and warn you about Ingrid. How did you get away from her?”

  Snow grabbed her father’s hands. “Father, she tried to have me killed. She sent me out with her huntsman, but he couldn’t go through with it, not after . . .” She paused, her voice choked with emotion. “Father, Mother was not ill. Ingrid had her killed, too, the same way she tried to kill me.”

  “No.” Her father’s eyes filled with tears. “Your mother was sick. I saw her in bed . . . didn’t I?”

  Snow understood this fog. She’d felt it herself. Memories filled her brain that weren’t really her own. They felt almost tucked in there by someone else. “No. She wasn’t. Not really. I fear Mother was poisoned. Aunt Ingrid tricked us.”

  Her father openly wept for some time before he spoke. Snow stroked his hand, unable to speak herself. “My darling Katherine,” he finally whispered. “My love! I’m so sorry I failed you.” Then his eyes sharpened and anger returned to his voice. “That woman is pure evil! After all her sister did for her. I told your mother she couldn’t be trusted! The night before your mother died she came to me, worried about Ingrid’s enchanted mirror. I knew we should have banished her right then! But she wouldn’t let me. Her empathy for her sister was her downfall.”

  “Mirror?” Snow’s ears perked up. “Why was she worried about a mirror?”

  Georg looked confused again. “There was something about it . . . Katherine said Ingrid spoke to it. Like it was a person. She spoke of how evil it seemed, and how Ingrid seemed so attached. . . . Katherine and I had had many discussions over the years about whether or not Ingrid was using dark magic. But Katherine had always seen the best in her until that night. Ingrid was never openly warm to you, I’m afraid to say.”

  “Nothing’s changed there,” Snow said with a sigh.

  Her father nodded sadly. “Ingrid seemed jealous of you from the start. She never wanted to hold you or play with you like your mother or the handmaidens did. More and more Ingrid spent her days tucked away in her chambers doing lord knows what. When Katherine came to me that day after visiting her sister, she was extremely distraught. She wanted the mirror gone. Kept saying Ingrid and the mirror had become one and the same. I didn’t understand what she meant. She told me to order it removed immediately, but then . . .” He turned away, holding his face in his hands. “I should have done it the moment Katherine asked. Why didn’t I listen?”

  “You didn’t know what she was capable of,” Henri said gently. “Who would think someone would kill their own sister?”

  “An enchanted mirror,” Snow repeated. Something about this was familiar. She just couldn’t remember why. “I’ve never heard the servants talk about such an item.”

  “They probably wouldn’t know about it,” her father said. “Ingrid has always been very possessive and quite suspicious of others. Your mother said she kept it to herself.”

  They talked long into the night, Snow’s father wanting to know what she did with her time in the castle. It angered him to hear she’d had to teach herself and spend her days cleaning. But he smiled wistfully when she mentioned she’d preserved the aviary. “Your mother would have loved that,” he said, getting teary again. When she produced the Red Fire apple from her pocket, she thought he might cry a river of tears.

  “I think we should turn in,” Henri suggested as Snow consoled Georg. “It’s been a long day, and we have a long journey back tomorrow.”

  “Yes,” Snow said, but she was also disappointed. Her time with her father had been too short, and she still didn’t know if they had anything useful for the fight with the queen. If no one knew about this mirror, how could it help them?

  But those thoughts quickly faded as she fell into a deep sleep.

  Ten years earlier

  Even though she was on the other side of the castle, she could feel the mirror awakening. The simple gesture of the mirror coming alive had become as common as feeling the blood flow through her veins.

  But the mirror never awoke unless she was near it—no one else alive knew of its existence, so it only called to her. That day, however, she could feel it speaking to another.

  That person would regret it.

  “Your Majesty?” her private advisor said, pulling her from her thoughts. He consulted the scroll in his hand again. “You were saying that it’s time for the kingdom’s flag to return to full height?”

  “What?” Ingrid snapped, her fingers gripping the edges of her throne so tight that her nails made indents in the gold-leafed wood.

  She needed to get out of this room immediately and to her private chambers to see what was going on. But she noticed her court’s reaction to her tone. They couldn’t understand why a queen who wasn’t of royal blood was allowed to rule. But those fears had been quietly dismissed when it was announced Georg had “abandoned” his people. She had argued that Snow was too young to rule, which was true. And since Georg’s siblings had died of the plague years prior, there was no other heir. It was Ingrid or no one till Snow was of age, and many agreed. Those were the ones still standing before her. For now, if Ingrid was going to make changes, she needed allies, and she had to court sympathy for losing both her sister and her new husband in such quick succession.

  “I’m sorry for my outburst,” Ingrid said, holding her head. “I seem to have developed a terrible headache.”

  “Oh, Your Majesty!” Mila, her new lady-in-waiting, was at her side immediately. “We should get you to your chambers to lie down. We can’t have you falling ill.”

  This insipid handmaiden had been like a hawk, following her around the castle, asking if she could be of assistance. Ingrid just wanted to be left alone! But then again, someone
had to take care of her requests. So she had let this woman, who seemed so devoted to her, stay. Still, she had to learn boundaries, as they all did. She’d already dismissed half the staff. She didn’t need so many people lurking around, knowing her business. What if one of them found the mirror? No, it was better to shrink the number of people who worked in the castle and continue shrinking it if need be.

  “No, as I’ve said before, if I need something, I will tell you,” she insisted. “I’m quite self-sufficient.” Mila’s smile faded and she retreated back into her corner of the room. “We were right in the middle of a session, so I will complete what we need to do, then attend to my headache.”

  “It can wait, my queen,” said a member of the court. “Your health comes first. The kingdom needs you. You’re all we have.”

  “Until young Snow is of age,” another courtier piped up.

  She glared at the man. Replaced by a clueless child someday? She thought not. But she had time to worry about that little problem. She softened her expression. “I will go, but first, please tell me what it is you were just saying about the flag.”

  Every nerve in her body was coming alive. She needed to get back to her quarters to see what was happening with the mirror. But she must be patient, too. She couldn’t risk upsetting the court and losing the power she’d finally just attained.

  “Yes, my queen,” he replied, scratching his head, his white wig shifting slightly. She liked all of her court dressed the same, down to the white wigs. It was much more civilized, and besides, she hated being bothered trying to figure out who was who. This way they were just another number. “I was saying the flag has been flying at half-staff since Queen Katherine’s death six months ago.”

  Queen Katherine’s death. The words still felt like a knife to the heart. She glanced quickly at the dark recesses of the room. She kept seeing flickers of her sister, looking as young and as vibrant as she had right before she died. This figment of her imagination, which was what it must be—there were no such things as ghosts—sometimes comforted her, and other times made her feel sick. No one could trace the poison she’d had her faithful huntsman slip into Katherine’s food. No one could have known that was what had caused her to fall ill.