Mirror, Mirror Page 2

  “You shouldn’t be here, Your Majesty.”

  Snow looked up. Her mother’s sister and lady-in-waiting, her aunt Ingrid, was staring at them sharply. Almost angrily. Somehow, Snow knew this look well. “You’re already late.”

  Seventeen-year-old Snow awoke with a start, gasping for air as she sat up in bed. “Mother!” she cried out.

  But there was no one there to hear her.

  There never was. Not anymore.

  Instead, Snow was greeted by the sound of silence.

  As she wiped the sweat from her brow, she wondered: had this been another dream turned nightmare, or was it a true memory? She had them more frequently now. It had been more than ten years since she’d seen her mother’s face; sometimes she wasn’t sure.

  She hardly ever saw Aunt Ingrid these days. No one in the castle did. Her aunt had become all but a recluse, letting very few into her inner circle. Her niece, whom she was begrudgingly raising, was not one of them.

  Aunt Ingrid always looked the same in dreams, maybe because on the rare occasion Snow crossed her aunt’s path in the castle, she always had on some slight variation of

  the same gown. Although they were mostly similar in cut, she wore only the most beautifully tailored dresses, with the finest fabric their kingdom could offer, and only in shades of purple. The castle was indeed drafty, which could have been why Aunt Ingrid was never seen without a dark-hued cape that she coiled around her body like a snake. Snow couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen her aunt’s hair (she couldn’t even remember the color) because Ingrid always covered her head with a tight-fitting headdress accentuated by her crown.

  Snow, on the other hand, couldn’t remember the last time she’d been given something new to wear. Not that she minded that much—who even saw her?—but it would have been nice to have a gown that didn’t tug at her arms or end at her calves. She had two dresses she rotated, and both were covered in patches. She’d mended her burgundy skirt, which she had made from old curtains, more times than she could remember. She didn’t even have any fabric left over to patch it anymore, so her skirt had become a rainbow of colors with beige and white patches covering the holes where the dress had torn on the stone steps or a rosebush.

  Roses. What was the bit about the roses in her dream?

  She couldn’t remember. The dream was already beginning to fade. All she could picture was her mother’s serene face. Maybe it was best to leave the memory alone. She had a lot to do today.

  Snow pulled herself out of bed and went to the large window in her room, drawing open the heavy curtains. She’d resisted using the drapes to make a warm cape for herself so far, but if the next winter was as bad as the last one, she might have to resort to it. She let the bright light of day in and looked out at the grounds below.

  Summer was in full bloom, giving the aging castle a glow it needed badly. While there was no denying that the castle’s exterior had deteriorated in the last ten years, she felt a sense of pride as she looked out at the garden and her mother’s beloved aviary. She had pruned the bushes, giving them a neat shape, as well as overturned and weeded the flower beds. Fresh blooms hung from silver canisters on the brick walls, making the garden come alive. It didn’t hurt that she’d been slowly cutting back the ivy that threatened to take over the entire castle. She could only reach so high, but at ground level the stone was clearly visible again, even if it did need a good scrubbing. (She’d add that to her list.) She could only imagine how the facade looked outside the castle gates. Her aunt forbade Snow from leaving the castle’s grounds. She said it was for Snow’s safety, but it made her feel like a prisoner. At least she could still come and go in the gardens as she pleased.

  Being in the open air rather than cooped up in this castle was her own personal form of heaven. She wasn’t supposed to speak to the few guards her aunt still kept in employment, but at least when she passed another human being on her walk through the castle to the garden each day she didn’t feel quite so alone. Her aunt hadn’t let her make a public appearance in years (though there rarely were appearances these days, even for Queen Ingrid), and the castle seldom saw visitors. She sometimes wondered if the kingdom even knew there was a princess anymore. But there was no one to ask.

  Snow tried to stay busy keeping up the castle. When she had too much time on her hands, she began to think a lot about all she’d lost over the last ten years. Her beloved mother, Queen Katherine, had fallen ill so quickly Snow never had the chance to go to her bedside to say goodbye. Her father had been too distraught to comfort her, instead turning to Aunt Ingrid, whom he soon married. Snow could still hear the whispers about the union, which seemed more like it was done out of necessity than love. She assumed her father had wanted her to have a mother, and Ingrid had appeared to be the next best thing. But she wasn’t. Snow noticed her father never again smiled the way he had when her mother was alive.

  Perhaps that was the true reason her father had run off only a few months later: he’d had a broken heart. At least, that’s what she told herself. It was too hard to believe what Aunt Ingrid told everyone—that her father had lost his mind. Aunt Ingrid said that without Katherine around to help him govern the kingdom, King Georg had become overcome with grief. Snow once heard her aunt tell the court that Georg spoke to Katherine as if she were still alive, frightening guards, servants, and even his own daughter. But Snow didn’t remember him doing that.

  Her last memory of her father was in the aviary. She had snuck out there to take care of her mother’s birds. Sensing someone’s presence, she’d turned around to find the king watching her with tears in his eyes.

  “You remind me so much of your mother,” he’d said hoarsely. He reached out and gently stroked her hair. “I’m so sorry she isn’t here to see you grow up.”

  “It’s not your fault, Papa,” Snow had said, and this only made him cry harder. He knelt down, grasping her shoulders and looking her in the eye.

  “Don’t make the same mistakes I did, Snow,” he said. “Don’t be fooled by love. It only comes once. Trust your instincts. Trust your people. Trust what you’ve learned from your mother, most of all. Let her spirit guide you when you rule.” He cupped her face in his hands. “You will make a remarkable queen someday. Don’t let anyone make you lose your way.”

  “I won’t, Papa,” she remembered saying, but his words had frightened her. They felt like goodbye.

  The next morning, he was gone.

  She hadn’t realized it at first. It wasn’t until she got dressed and headed to her father’s chambers to have breakfast with him as they always did that she heard people talking about the king’s sudden disappearance. Queen Ingrid—recently coronated—had been pulled into “urgent business” and hadn’t found Snow to tell her herself. Instead, Snow had heard the news from two gossiping guards.

  “Queen says he’s a madman. That we’re better off without him. Hasn’t been the same since Queen Katherine died,” one said. “What king runs off and abandons his daughter?”

  “What king abandons his own people?” the other replied.

  Snow didn’t know the answer to that. All she knew was that she’d never felt more alone. After Father had gone, Aunt Ingrid seemed to disappear, too. The new queen didn’t have time to have breakfast with Snow, let alone study birds in the aviary. She was too busy meeting with her newly appointed court, a group of people Snow had never seen before. Everyone her father had worked with had been dismissed, and the smaller staff of advisors had been handpicked by Ingrid. Even so, Snow heard the whispers about her aunt’s new nickname: the “Evil Queen,” they called her, when she wasn’t within earshot. Other than meeting with them, the queen rarely took appointments or met with visiting royals. After a couple of years, her aunt stopped letting anyone new into the castle. The rumor was that she was fearful of traitors, which seemed to prove true when most of the staff were dismissed except for a select few.

  A vain woman, Queen Ingrid couldn’t do without her personal tailor, Marga
ret; the ever-present guards; or a small group of cooks; but she certainly didn’t hire anyone to care for Snow. Instead, Snow had raised herself, growing up mostly alone in her big, empty room that reminded her of a tomb. Being alone with her thoughts could have driven her mad. But she kept her mind busy by making mental lists of things to do to get her through each day.

  Today was no exception. Turning away from the window, Snow removed her dressing gown, then washed up at her water basin, which she had filled at the wishing well the day before. She put on her gown with the patched-up tan skirt and smoothed out the creases on her white-and-brown blouse that almost matched. She slipped into her clogs, which she had recently cleaned. Looking in her freshly shined mirror—she’d tidied up her room yesterday, as she did every week—she put on the blue headband she’d made from scraps her aunt’s tailor had left for garbage. Satisfied, Snow went to her wardrobe.

  It was almost bare. The few dresses hanging on the rack she had outgrown years before, but she kept them both for sentimental reasons and in case she ever needed to use the fabric for patches or material. She hated the thought of cutting up her history—there was her seventh birthday dress, and the gown she’d worn to a meeting with her father and the visiting king of Prunham—though sometimes it was necessary. For now, the dresses served as reminders of a different life, as well as a wonderful hiding spot. Snow pulled back her birthday dress and glanced at the portrait hidden behind it.

  Her mother’s and father’s faces stared back at her. So did a younger version of her own. The portrait had been commissioned right before her mother had taken ill. It had been the family’s first time sitting for an official painting since Snow was a baby. It had hung in the castle barely more than a few weeks before the king had ordered it taken down. Her aunt claimed he’d done so because it was too painful for him to see the former queen’s face every day, but Snow felt differently. Any chance she had to see her parents she took.

  Morning, Mother. Morning, Father.

  Snow had her mother’s face, but her father’s eyes, while bluish gray, were the same shape as her own. They looked kind, which was how she tried to be, even when it was difficult. She lightly touched one finger against the coarse painting. Father, why did you leave me? she wondered, trying not to let bitter feelings well up inside her. Knowing she wouldn’t get an answer, she tucked the portrait away again.

  Snow went to her room’s double doors and opened them quietly. As there was every morning, a tray of breads and fruit awaited her. Snow suspected this was the work of the remaining servants, and she appreciated the gesture more than she could say. Breakfast was always left in front of her room, but dinner was more unpredictable, everyone busy with the queen’s most lavish meal. Snow didn’t mind going down to the kitchen to get something for herself. Tucked back in the kitchen, away from prying eyes, the main cook, Mrs. Kindred, didn’t ignore Snow the way others in the castle did. For just a few moments a day, it meant she had someone to converse with.

  “Please, sir, I haven’t eaten in two days.”

  Snow was picking up the tray when she heard the plea. Startled, she ducked into the shadows of her doorway to eavesdrop.

  “If they didn’t leave you food, then you get no food.”

  She knew that voice. It was Brutus, one of her aunt’s faithful guards. Snow didn’t recognize the other voice.

  “But they promised with this post I would be fed two meals a day. It’s not for me, sir. I bring most of it home to my wife and child. We can’t go a third day without food.”

  “Your job is to guard these halls, not grumble about grub.”

  “But—” the guard started to say just as Brutus interrupted him.

  “Are you questioning the queen’s judgment? You know what happened to the boy in your position before you, do you not?” Snow peered through the shadows as Brutus got in the young man’s face. “He was never seen again. Some say he was turned into one of the snakes slithering through the grass on the grounds. I wonder what would become of your family if you weren’t here.”

  “No!” The man’s voice was urgent. “Don’t bother the queen. I’ll wait for food to be delivered . . . whenever that might be.”

  Snow audibly inhaled. She’d heard the chef and other servants talk about how her aunt practiced witchcraft. “It’s how she stays looking so young,” some said. “It’s why no one questions her decisions—they’re afraid she’ll turn them into a toad or an insect or worse,” said others. They talked about a chamber where the queen spent most of her time talking to someone—even though no one else was ever seen coming or going from the room. Snow wasn’t sure what to think, but she knew people who crossed the queen disappeared. And she knew the queen’s very presence struck fear through everyone in the castle. Brutus’s role as her henchman could be equally frightful.

  “Smart boy,” Brutus said, and headed down the hallway toward Snow, a playful grin on his lips.

  Snow pressed herself against the cool wall to make sure he didn’t see her. When he was out of sight, she peeked again to look at the guard. He was young and very thin. Not much older than she. And he had a family he was feeding on meals that weren’t arriving. She looked down at the warm bread and the fruit on her breakfast tray.

  Her belly was still full from the night before. She could make it until dinner without anything more. Looking both ways to make sure the hall was clear before stepping out of the shadows, Snow walked swiftly toward the guard, her eyes cast downward. The guard looked surprised when she placed her tray at his feet.

  “Your Highness,” he said, struggling for words. “But that’s your meal.”

  Snow was too shy to speak. Instead, she waved the food away and pushed the tray closer to his boots. With a small nod and smile, she hurried back to the safety of her chambers before anyone could see them conversing and tell the queen, but not before she heard him speak softly.

  “Thank you, kind princess. Thank you.”

  She didn’t feel much like a princess these days, but she was proud to help anyone when she could. Back in her chambers, Snow prepared to go about her day. Since the court wasn’t meeting with her aunt, she knew it was safe to mop the castle foyer. It had been looking a little muddy when she’d walked through yesterday. There were also several stained glass windows on the second floor that she hadn’t had a chance to clean recently. And there was a rug she wanted to scrub near the throne room. She hated getting too close to her aunt’s quarters, but that rug was the first thing visitors saw when they came to meet with her, however rare that might be. What people thought of the castle was one of the few things about the kingdom Snow could control, and she took pride in the work . . . even on days when her back began to ache from scrubbing tiles or her hands grew callused from all the pruning she did in the garden. She tried to break up her day between indoor and outdoor activities when the weather allowed it. Today was a fine day, so she hoped to get out to the garden as soon as possible. She wanted to gather flowers to make bouquets for the castle vases. There wouldn’t be many who had the opportunity to see the flowers, but at least the servants’ day would be brightened.

  She gathered her cleaning supplies and was heading down the hall when she heard footsteps. Once more, she instinctively moved into the shadows to stay unseen. It was the queen’s seamstress, Margaret, as well as Margaret’s apprentice: a daughter about the same age as Snow. Snow had overheard them talking on their many trips to the castle and knew the daughter’s name was Anne, but the two had never spoken.

  “I told you: I don’t know why we were summoned,” Snow heard Margaret say as she wheeled a cart with spools of fabric and sewing materials down the hall. With every turn, the cart made a clicking sound that echoed through the corridor. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

  “What if she changed her mind again?” Anne prodded, her brown eyes holding a world of worry. She pushed a stray strand of hair off her tan face. “We can’t afford to throw out any more fabric, Mother. The queen won’t let us sel
l the discarded gowns to anyone and she won’t let us keep them. One day she wants all purple, the next black, and the following blue. The Evil Queen can’t decide!”

  “Don’t you dare call her that! Hold your tongue!” Margaret looked around worriedly and Snow pushed herself farther into the shadows. “Do you know how fortunate we are to have this position? She is the queen, and as you well know, she can do whatever she pleases—including doing away with us.”

  Anne hung her head, staring down at the basketful of spools in her arms. “I’m sorry, Mother. It just feels so wasteful! Her tariffs and rules mean so many go hungry. If we could give the unwanted clothes to those in need . . .”

  It pained Snow to hear the subjects talk like this. She was forbidden to spend time outside the castle, so she didn’t know for sure, but she sensed that most of the people were struggling. She hated feeling like her life was frozen in time. She’d have given anything to help the people, but she knew her aunt would never entertain her concerns.

  Margaret stopped the cart. “Enough now! I mean it!” Anne grew quiet. “I am grooming you to take over this position when I am too old to thread a needle. Do you want the job to go to someone else?”

  “Honestly?” Anne started to say, and Snow couldn’t help laughing.

  Anne seemed like a funny girl, one Snow wished she could spend time with. But that was out of the question.

  “What was that sound?” Anne said in alarm, and Snow grew quiet. Anne was looking in her direction.

  “See what I mean?” Margaret hissed. “She is always watching, girl. Always! Enough griping. Whatever the queen doesn’t want today, you put with the rest of the waste we leave behind.”

  Anne sighed. “Yes, Mother.”

  More rags! Snow thought. She wondered what the queen would think if she knew her unwanted clothes were being torn up and used for cleaning. (The staff joked that the castle had the finest cleaning rags in the land.)