sentence. “He said I was pretty, and he liked my ship. Also, you hurt my cat.”
Snow swung at Hephyra’s legs, but the dryad jumped back, avoiding the knife with ease. Snow yanked a second knife from her armor, keeping Hephyra away long enough to regain her feet.
“So what is this all about?” Hephyra asked. She wasn’t breathing hard, but she pressed a hand to the capstan as though drawing strength from the wooden wheel. “What are you after in Allesandria?”
“Allesandria has always been corrupt. A place of chaos and bloodshed and ugliness.” She thought back to the nobles who always fawned over her mother, scheming and squabbling like beasts to gain her favor. She had fled that ugliness for so brief a time, hiding in Roland’s cabin in the woods, but there was no escape.
“So you mean to fix that by killing everyone?”
Snow glanced at the crew, who had gathered in a ring on the main deck. Hephyra remained free, but the crew were no longer hers. “Allesandria banished your kind. Lorindar enslaved you. Why do you care?”
“I don’t, particularly.” Hephyra’s next blow struck the side of Snow’s helm and made her vision sparkle, but it wasn’t enough.
Snow dropped one knife and grabbed the end of the cudgel. Hephyra ripped it away, but not before frost began to spread over the wood. Snow smiled as the cold seeped into the weapon. The next time Hephyra attacked, the end of her cudgel broke away.
Hephyra cried out. “Damn, but that stung.”
Snow raised her own weapon to attack, but the dryad lunged again, stabbing the pointed end of her broken cudgel into Snow’s chest.
The wood gouged Snow’s armor, driving her back until she hit the rail. Hephyra bore down, trying to force the point through Snow’s chest. Cracks spread through the armor, but it held. “You never should have come after me on my own ship.”
“My ship now.” Snow thrust her remaining knife up, using both hands to sink the blade into Hephyra’s stomach. The broken cudgel clattered to the deck. Snow pushed harder, until the hilt of her knife pressed against the dryad’s skin.
She stepped back, yanking the knife free. Dark blood dripped more slowly than Snow would have expected, almost like syrup as it froze to her blade and gauntlet.
Hephyra staggered to the mainmast. One hand gripped her stomach. The other clung to the mast, smearing blood on the wood. Her lips pulled back in a smile. “Not yet it’s not.”
With a crack like thunder, the foremast toppled toward Snow. Lines snapped, and the yardarms broke away as it fell. Snow dove to one side, barely avoiding the mast as it crashed to the deck. The entire ship shuddered from the impact, and a mass of rope slammed Snow face-first to the deck. Crewmen screamed in pain, bones crushed by the impact. The mast had snapped one of the yards on the mainmast and torn through much of the rigging on the port side.
Snow pushed herself around, clawing her way through the ropes. The Phillipa ’s lines were thin, but the sheer volume held her trapped. She slashed out with her knife, cutting everything within reach. She pulled herself up and began to crawl toward Hephyra. The dryad was still smiling, clinging to the mainmast. The ship was her tree, responding to her will. She could sink them all if she chose.
If she had time.
Snow flung her knife, pouring her magic into the mirrored shards in the blade. Moments later, Hephyra lay unmoving on the deck.
Snow’s breath clouded the ice of her visor as she studied the damage. The Phillipa was useless as a sailing ship, the weight of the broken mast tilting her to port. Most of the crew were digging their way out from the mess, or doing their best to free the injured.
She glanced toward the harbor, where four more vessels were approaching through the fog. “Very well.” She retrieved her knife from Hephyra’s throat and turned it in her hand. The ice began to melt, forming into wings. One by one, the wasps took flight, their wings tinged pink by Hephyra’s blood. Her knife hadn’t held as many fragments as she might like, but it was enough to take the remainder of the Phillipa ’s crew.
Snow climbed over the ruins of the fallen mast. Let them send as many ships as they liked. She had four ships now. The Phillipa was dying, but she could still serve Snow’s purpose. At least one of the approaching ships would approach to investigate the damage and help the survivors.
“You banished me,” she whispered as she left the ship, returning to the Snow Queen and her mirror shards. Her own cousin had signed the order that she be executed should she ever again set foot in her homeland. She remembered the false sympathy in Laurence’s voice as he told her what he had done.
“I can’t change their minds,” he had said. His pale face was soft, his eyes shadowed. “You murdered the queen. Burned her to death with your magic.”
“She killed Roland.” Tears had choked Snow’s words. She had expected to die, had prepared herself for that. Instead, she would live… but she would never again be permitted to set foot upon Allesandrian soil. “She tried to kill me.”
“I know. But it’s not enough. She had too many allies.”
Allies like Ollear Curtana and Eminio Perin. Laurence had been too weak to fight them. In truth, it made no difference who sat on the throne. Allesandria had always been a land ruled by greed and cowardice.
Behind her, the crew of the Phillipa worked to reload the guns.
CHAPTER 11
Talia stood in ankle-deep snow at the edge of the river, examining the skeletal birches on the opposite bank. “You said you’d be able to find the witch’s cabin once we reached the river.”
“I only came here once.” Gerta paced along the shore. “Rather, Snow came here, but she imagined I was with her. To give her courage. She was nine years old, and was finally starting to believe some of the rumors about our mother. Snow followed her, hoping to learn the truth. Mother left the capital and headed east, following the river. I remember Noita’s cabin being near the shore…”
“Near the shore of which river?” Talia scowled at the second, smaller stream, which veered away at an angle from the first. The wolf’s senses were no help, since she didn’t know what exactly she should be tracking.
Gerta cupped her eyes and peered at the sun. “I only saw the outside, but it was a small cabin, probably one room. The windows were colored glass, square panes of blue and red. I remember the smell of flowers, and two oak trees that grew to either side of the door. They reminded me of soldiers guarding the entrance.”
“We could split up,” Danielle suggested. “If we each follow one fork-”
Talia brushed the black fur of her cape. “This cape is the only thing stopping Snow from finding us. We stay together.”
“Maybe someone else should take a turn wearing that,” Gerta suggested. “You’ve been fighting the wolf’s influence for a long time without rest.”
“I’m fine,” Talia snapped. “Or I will be as soon as you find the damned witch.”
Gerta smiled. “You see what I mean? That was testy, even for you.”
Talia started to respond, but caught herself. Gerta was right. The magic of the cape gave her strength and speed, but at a cost. She wanted to hunt, to fight. “So how do we find it?”
“I was created from magic and memories.” Gerta kicked a chunk of snow into the water. “I need to relive that memory.”
“How?” asked Danielle.
Gerta unfastened the clasp of her cloak and handed it to Talia. “We were cold. Snow hadn’t thought to bring extra clothes, and she was afraid to try magic, for fear that our mother would notice.”
The back of Talia’s neck tingled, and a burning smell indicated the presence of magic as Gerta paced a wide circle. Gerta traced her footsteps a second time, then a third, until a shadow began to form in the center.
Each pass solidified the illusion, painting a young girl with long black hair and cheeks red from cold. Talia’s chest tightened as she recognized a much younger Snow White. She wore a thick blue dress, but her hands were bare, and she clutched her arms over her chest for warmth.
