real. All I have are memories.”
Talia shrugged. “That’s all any of us have.”
Gerta stuck out her tongue, her expression identical to Snow’s. “But yours actually happened.” Her smile faded. “What do you think Snow intended for me as she cast that final spell, splitting me from herself?”
“Snow doesn’t always plan things through,” Talia said. “She acts. Her instincts are usually good.”
“When she’s not releasing demons from their prisons, you mean?”
“I said usually.”
Gerta sighed. “How is this good? The demon took her, and I’m not strong enough to do anything about it. I’m not even sure I’m real.”
Talia nudged her horse to the edge of the road. She reached out and broke off a small branch, which she bounced off of Gerta’s shoulder. “You look real enough to me.”
“I’m part of her. She gave me so many of her thoughts and memories. But I’m not her.” Gerta lowered her eyes. Talia wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince. “We’re different. Different thoughts, different desires.”
Talia stiffened. She had almost convinced herself Hephyra had been wrong about Gerta’s feelings. “How long until we reach this witch?”
“Another day at most.” Gerta guided her horse closer. “I don’t know what Snow intended for me. But one way or another, she’s going to want me back. If I’m to have such a short time on this world, why shouldn’t I pursue the things I want?”
“You’ll have time,” Talia said uncomfortably. “Whatever happens, I’m sure Father Isaac can find a way to help you both.”
Gerta stiffened. “Please don’t lie to me. I know how you feel about her.”
So much for pretending not to understand. Talia looked straight ahead. “Snow never wanted-”
“I’m not Snow.”
Talia squeezed her knees, urging her horse forward. “You were a part of her.”
“Maybe I’m the part of her that wanted you, that wanted to be able to return your feelings,” Gerta said. “Did you know she considered taking a love potion for you?”
“What?” She spoke so sharply that Danielle turned around. Talia waved her on. Fighting to keep the anger and confusion from her voice, she asked, “When did-Why would she do that?”
“Because she trusted you.”
“She never said anything.” But of course, Snow wouldn’t have discussed it. She would have just disappeared into her library and done whatever she wanted.
“She chose not to go through with it. Maybe because she knew how you’d react. Maybe because she was scared.”
More than once Talia had daydreamed about herself and Snow, but she had known such imaginings would never be more than idle fantasies. Snow’s preferences were obvious to anyone who knew her. What would Talia have done had Snow come to her, her emotions changed by magic? “It wouldn’t have been real.”
“You’re an idiot.”
Talia blinked. “What?”
“ I was created by Snow’s magic. Am I real?” Gerta was speaking louder now, earning a concerned look from Danielle. “Snow loved you. So much that she thought about changing who she was, just to be with you.”
“Shut up.” Talia’s mind was already tormenting her with what could have been.
“Snow was afraid. I’m not.”
“You’re not her.”
“Neither was Faziya.” Gerta’s voice dropped, taking on a new edge. “Snow gave me those memories, too, how you brought Faziya back with you from Arathea. How the two of you spent the weeks together like husband and wife newly wedded. How you moped for days after she left.”
“I wasn’t moping,” Talia muttered. Had Snow actually been bothered by all of the time Talia spent with Faziya? If so, she had never let it show… but again, Snow wouldn’t.
“Your time with Faziya showed her the kind of love she could have,” Gerta said.
“And she chose not to,” Talia said, trying to regain her balance. “Instead, she created you. Made you fall in love with me. Why?”
Gerta shrugged. “Maybe to make sure I stayed close to you, the one person she trusted to protect me. Or maybe she simply wanted us both to be happy.”
Her voice was different than Snow’s. Deeper, with a stronger Allesandrian accent, but the intonation of certain words was the same as her sister’s. Her hair was flame, but with the impossible softness of Snow’s locks. “So you would have me take advantage of a child little more than a week old?”
“Do I look like a child?” Gerta’s lips quirked into a crooked smile. “I know you, Talia. Regret has been your bedmate for too many years, and I love you too much to see you alone and in pain.”
“I’m not alone.”
Gerta looked ahead. “Danielle has her prince. Beatrice is gone. Snow White has been taken from us all.” She reached out, brushing Talia’s arm with her fingertips. “Choose soon, Sleeping Beauty.”
Desperation tinged her final words. Talia didn’t answer, but her skin tingled with the memory of Gerta’s touch.
Snow stood at the bow of the newly renamed Snow Queen, watching fog roll toward her from the two approaching ships. The winds had changed as she approached Tollavon, until even the most experienced sailor would be hard-pressed to tack into the harbor.
It was no matter. Their weather mages were mere gnats compared to the man who stood at Snow’s side. Age had stolen much of Eminio Perin’s stature. His head was hunched forward, and his hands were swollen at the knuckles, but he retained the presence of one used to dominating the stage. Snow had first heard him perform when she was six years old. He had stood before the queen and her court, a wig of soft auburn curls spilling down to his chest, as he sang a song of his own composition, glorifying Queen Curtana.
There were whispers about his private meetings with the queen, but few guessed his true profession. Perin was also a skilled wizard, and his fame as a singer gave him access to noble audiences throughout Allesandria. During the political slaughter known as the Purge, Rose Curtana’s Deathcrows had executed dozens of nobles in their own homes. Perin had murdered eight that Snow knew of.
To most, the Deathcrows were but rumors, phantoms that fueled the nightmares of a generation of children. Some people refused to believe they had ever existed, but Snow knew better. Her mother had handpicked the deadliest of the Stormcrows to serve as her personal spies and assassins.
Only two of the queen’s secret killers had ever been brought to justice for their actions. The rest had gone into hiding after Rose’s death. But through the mirror, Snow knew them all, including the man called The Butcher. Snow had no doubt she could have defeated him, but it had been easier to infect the young servant girl who answered the door of his mansion.
It was that girl who slipped a tiny shard of glass into the venison sausage Perin enjoyed for breakfast the following morning. Wrapped in illusion, the sliver had bypassed his protective charms. He had suspected nothing until the glass pierced the inside of his throat, and then he belonged to Snow.
Fog poured forth from the harbor, boiling up around the hull and spilling onto the deck. Magical, of course, seeking out other magic. It clung to the crew, tasting the splinters of enchanted glass within their flesh. It surged toward Snow, but a whispered spell chilled the air around her. The fog drifted lower, forming swirls of white frost on the deck.
It didn’t interfere with her control. The crew worked in silence, struggling merely to maintain their position. Her men responded to her will without the crass disruption of shouted commands. It was both peaceful and efficient, and no mortal magic could tear her crew away from the beauty of their new queen. They were loyal unto death.
All save Jakob. Snow frowned as she glanced at her shoulder, where the prince shivered and fluffed his feathers for warmth. The boy knew no magic. His resistance came not from spellcraft, but from his very nature. Not for the first time, she considered killing him and taking what power she could, as her mother had once tried to do with her.
