White. She is probably sitting in the Eastern palace right now, being lavished with gifts.”
“But the herbs Madame Gothel gave me, when I went to the forest—”
I held my breath. This was the first time Clareta had spoken about that ancient day, and what we’d done.
“There was something in them,” she continued. “Queen Teresa died right after that. I know it was my fault.” She burst into tears then, and buried her face in her hands.
“What are you saying, Clareta?”
She looked up at me. “Madame Gothel despises us. I’m afraid Snow White went to see her.”
I reached out to comfort her, running my hands over her hair. “You are worried for Snow White, and you are driving yourself mad with your thoughts. We all are, Clareta. What’s happened has nothing to do with these old stories.”
But all I could think about was how much Mathena had loved Marcus, how she’d never been able to love again, how she’d disavowed men altogether. She must have hated the kingdom after what happened. And yet, she was the one who’d sent me here, right into its heart.
Clareta pulled away from me then, running her hands down her cheeks. “Perhaps I am being foolish,” she said. “Like a child afraid of monsters under his bed. I just . . . What will happen to us all if Snow White is gone?”
“It will be fine,” I said. “The worst thing you can do is cause panic in the court at a time like this. You have not spoken of these fears to others, have you?”
She shook her head. “I only came to you.”
“Good,” I said. I lowered my voice and leaned in. “You must not speak of any of this. Do you understand?” I pressed my palm to her face, willing her to silence.
“Yes,” she said.
“Everything will be fine,” I said. “I promise.”
After Clareta left, I rushed to the mirror, which had been silent and dark for days. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall,” I asked, yet again, “who’s the fairest of them all?”
My own face stared back at me, and then to my surprise the mirror clouded over, sparkled. It spoke in a whisper: “She is. Snow White.”
My heart dropped. I stared at my own shocked face.
“Who?”
“Snow White.”
“But Snow White is dead.”
“She lives still, in the forest.”
“Show me.”
The mirror shifted, and slowly, faintly, a scene came into view. A young woman lying on a bed. There was a man next to her.
As she shifted, I realized I was staring at Snow White. Though not Snow White as I knew her, but a strange, hollowed-out version, her black hair loose, her eyes huge and haunted. Though she was still beautiful— the fairest of them all—she looked frail, and unspeakably sad. Like someone entirely new.
Another man entered the room as I watched. She did not even react as he came over to her and placed his hands on her thin limbs.
The scene shifted, and I was staring at a large house, a river twisting beside it, trees crisscrossing in the sky.
I recognized it, I knew that house, that river: the house of bandits.
Suddenly it was impossible to breathe. Why was she there?
I had held her heart in my hands!
Whatever I had eaten had not been her heart. I started gagging, uncontrollably, and I rushed to a finger bowl and heaved my insides into it. The memory was visceral: the way I’d bitten into it as if it were an apple, how hard and tough it was, nearly impossible to chew and get down my throat. It had taken at least an hour, maybe two. The blood covering my hands and body, the overpowering scent of metal. I had
What had he brought me?
I cried out with fury.
He had not killed Snow White.
I slammed my fist down on the table. I started screaming and I could not stop. A maidservant rushed in, and I was crying, feverish, the room spinning around me, and the next thing I knew, the room was full of people and I was being carried to my bed.
Later, I awoke, clutching my throat. I was still half dreaming, swimming in a river of blood, dancing as the iron burned my feet.
I stumbled to my mirror and I looked ancient, my face lined with wrinkles, my hair in scraggles. I looked away and back and I seemed myself again.
I slipped in and out of consciousness. Every time I woke, blinked my eyes open against the light of the sun or torches, I thought again of that heart, could feel the toughness of it between my teeth.
He must have saved her. He must have killed an animal and brought its heart to me instead.
And now she was in the forest, lost. Had he brought her to the bandits? Had they found her, scared and alone? Surely the king and his men would find her eventually, if they hadn’t already. And then what would happen—to him, to me?
It was torturous, as I moved from sleep to dream to the waking world, and back again. Several times I woke and saw spirits standing over me, watching me, come to punish me—the prophetess, Teresa, Snow White herself, though she was
The next morning, my husband entered the room. Even in my weakened state I could feel every muscle in my body tense.
He did not look like the king I knew anymore.
He came to me, sat down on the bed beside me. His face was haggard. His eyes, usually so alert, were red, watery, showing his lack of sleep. A beard had partly grown in, making him look years older. But more than that, it was the way he carried himself, the heaviness with which he came to me, sat on the bed, sighed, and laid a hand on my face.
“Did you find her?” I asked, trembling.
He shook his head.
“I’m sorry,” I said, placing my own hand on his.
What a sight we must have been, me too ill to move, lying on my bed of sweat-soaked hair. Him, beaten and ragged, next to me.
“I’m sure now that it is the work of our enemies,” he said. “Her mother’s family, tired of peace.”
“Oh.” I just stared at him. “You think they . . . took her? Would they hurt her?”
He shook his head. “They won’t harm her. But they want to go to war with us, and they could not do that with her here. They hate our kingdom. They blame me for her mother’s death. They think I killed her, just as they say I killed my father before that . . . Though I would never have hurt either of them.”
“I know you wouldn’t,” I said. “I know it too well.” And then, though I knew I should keep silent, I asked, “Are you sorry you married me?”
He looked at me. “No,” he said. “I’ve always been enchanted by you. I would have married you instead of Teresa, had I had the choice.” I felt tears prick at my eyes as he spoke. “But I have suffered for it.”
I clasped his hand, realized that he was trembling. What a terrible thing it is, to feel your king trembling, even if you know he is only a man, and your husband. “How do you mean?”
“Because you are a witch.” The word made me flinch, but I saw that he did not mean it unkindly. “They are saying that Snow White disappearing is my punishment.”
I nodded. “So now,” I asked, “what will you do?”
He sighed as he ran his palm over my face, wiping away my tears. “We will go to war.”
