If she climbed down the outside of the tower, she could enter through the window. But that would take time, not to mention she’d be scaling the tower in full view of everyone on the walls and in the courtyard.
Forget subtlety. Talia backed away, clenched her jaw, and slammed into the door. It gave ever so slightly. Ignoring the pain in her shoulder, Talia tried again. Each time the door edged inward. It didn’t seem to be blocked. It was more like the wood had swollen into the frame.
On the fourth try, the door swung open and crashed against the wall.
“I wondered how long it would take you to get here,” said Snow. She sat on a wooden bench in front of a small fire pit in the center of the room. A metal grate covered the pit. The air smelled of beeswax and dyes. Dipped candles hung from pegs in the walls and from beams crossing overhead, making the room feel crowded. Thicker rolled candles were stacked on shelves behind Snow.
Frederic, the candlemaker, stood at the window like a statue. Only the shallow rise of his chest and the occasional blink told Talia he was still alive. He had been cut along the side of his neck.
Prince Jakob sat on the floor, his back to a small water barrel, knees clutched to his chest. Blood oozed from a cut on his cheek.
Snow waved a hand. Talia jumped to the side, barely avoiding the door as it slammed shut behind her.
“What did you do to the prince?” Talia asked. The only light came from the moon outside the window, and the coals glowing faintly orange in the fire pit.
“Nothing.” Snow sounded genuinely puzzled. She turned to study Jakob, and her forehead wrinkled. “Nothing at all.”
Talia stepped forward.
“Don’t do that.” Snow lifted a shard of mirrored glass as long as her forearm and pointed it at the prince. Red cloth was wrapped around the base of the glass to form a makeshift hilt.
Talia froze. “Jakob, are you all right?”
Jakob shook his head without looking up. “Aunt Snow hurt me. She hurt Tanslav and Papa.”
“That’s not Snow. When the mirror broke, it did something to her.”
“Oh, Talia.” For an instant, Snow sounded like herself, both amused and exasperated. “My mother created that mirror because she wasn’t strong enough to contain its power herself. I am. I don’t need it anymore. Look at me. For the first time since that mermaid flung me against a wall, I’m casting spells without pain. You should be happy for me.”
“You’re casting them on your friends,” Talia said. “On the people who love you.”
Snow brushed her nails through Jakob’s hair. Jakob tensed, and he held his breath until Snow pulled away. The moment he relaxed, Snow’s hand flicked out, and a second cut appeared on the prince’s cheek.
Talia lunged forward, but Snow placed her blade beneath Jakob’s chin, halting her in midstep. “Such a strange child,” Snow whispered. “Armand was mine with a single cut, yet Jakob sits here untouched by my magic. Don’t you want to know why?”
“Not particularly.” Talia folded her arms, slipping two fingers up her sleeve to reach the flat throwing dagger sheathed on her arm.
“That’s always been your problem. You’ve no curiosity, no sense of wonder.” The hand holding the glass dagger never moved. “He’s not casting any spells, nor is he warded. It’s not human magic, at least none I’ve ever seen. I’d love to cut him open and see how he does it.”
It was Snow’s body. Snow’s voice. Even the lilt in her words was Snow’s, teasing and taunting as she pointed her knife at the prince.
Talia stepped sideways. “What did you do to Armand and the others?”
“I helped them to see.”
“To see what?”
Snow’s smile raised the hair on Talia’s neck. “The world as it truly is.”
“You sound like your mother.”
Snow frowned, her confidence flickering so quickly Talia nearly missed it.
“Is that it?” Talia pressed. “Your mother’s spirit-”
“Is long gone.” Snow flicked her free hand, dismissing the idea. “What will you do now, Talia? If I were anyone else, you’d already have thrown that knife you palmed.”
Talia grimaced and adjusted her grip on her knife.
“Can you do it?” Snow asked. “Can you kill the woman you love?”
Sarcasm dripped from her words, twisting in Talia’s chest. “That woman would never torment a child.”
“If I’m not Snow White, then who am I? A fairy changeling, perhaps? Or a witch wearing your friend’s face?” Snow smiled. “I was the one who helped Queen Bea find you in that nasty cargo ship where you were hiding. I got drunk with you the night you first realized Bea was dying. You sang that ridiculous Arathean song about your old god, the one with the three extra heads.”
Talia took another step, trying to get close enough to interpose herself between Snow and the prince. “Don’t worry, Jakob. You’ll be back with your mother soon.”
Jakob shook his head.
Snow’s smile returned. “He knows better, Talia.” She tilted her hand, digging the point of the glass shard into Jakob’s skin. “If you care to test your fairy reflexes against me, keep moving.” Moonlight quivered on the ceiling, reflected from her blade.
Talia raised her hands. Whatever was influencing Snow, she wasn’t as confident as she sounded. Otherwise she would have already struck. “You can’t hide here forever.”
“I don’t intend to. But before I depart, I had hoped to leave a gift for King Theodore, to thank him for his hospitality these past seven years. A single scratch, and his grief will end.”
“You’re leaving?” The question slipped out before Talia could stop it.
Snow leaned forward. “I could do the same for you, Talia. I know the pain of leaving your home, your lover, everything you’ve ever known. Tell me, does your heart still ache for the twin sons you’ve twice abandoned?”
Whatever was manipulating or controlling her, this was still Snow. Only Snow knew Talia well enough to cut her so keenly. “I had no choice.”
“Another lie.” Snow sighed and shook her head. Her weapon never left the prince’s throat. “There are always choices, my dear Talia. Nobody forced you to flee, to turn your back on your throne. You surrendered your birthright. How many generations did your family rule Arathea?”
“Stop this,” Talia whispered.
“They murdered your family and stole your throne, but to hear the stories of Sleeping Beauty, the man who raped you was a prince and hero. They raise your children on those same lies. And you… what lies help you to live with your choices, Talia? That your sons are better off without you? That your presence would only bring pain and chaos to Arathea? I could help you, Talia.”
Talia lowered her knife. “Go ahead and try.”
“Oh, stop it. We both know you love me too much to kill me.”
“I do love her,” Talia admitted. She swallowed, trying to push down the knot in her throat. “And I know her well enough to know what she would want.”
Talia slid forward, her front foot snapping into a kick that struck the outside of Snow’s wrist. The mirrored blade flew into the wall and shattered. “Jakob, run!”
Snow gestured, and the fragments of her blade floated from the floor. Talia dropped flat, and broken glass shot over her head. She rolled and kicked the bench out from beneath Snow, who yelped as she fell.
Jakob was young and unsteady, but he ran to the door and stretched to grab the handle. The door wouldn’t move. Snow’s magic kept it stuck tight.
Talia bounced to her feet. She flipped her knife to throw, and then Frederic crashed into her from the side. The candlemaker was middle-aged and overweight, but he fought like a mother griffon protecting her nest. He wrapped his arms around Talia and slammed her against the wall. Candles tumbled from the shelves.
Talia stomped her heel onto the arch of his foot, then brought both legs up and kicked off from the wall.
“Aunt Tala!”
Sunlight gleamed from three more spinning shards, floating in front of Snow. Talia wrenched Frederic around as Snow launched the shards through the air. They buried themselves in Frederic’s back, earning a startled
