“What spell?” Worry and anger deepened Talia’s words. “What could be so important?”
“I thought I could save her.” Snow’s voice was flat. She sagged against the wall. “I thought… I was wrong.”
“‘Save her?’ You mean Beatrice?” Talia caught Snow’s arm. “How?”
“I failed. What does it matter?”
“We have to get you to Tymalous,” Danielle said, cutting off Talia’s response. She should have guessed it was something like this, but she had been so focused on Beatrice, and on Armand. Whatever Snow had done, they could discuss it later. “Those cuts need to be cleaned and stitched.”
“Don’t bother the healer on my account. I can tend my own wounds.” Snow dabbed blood from her chin, her good eye boring into Danielle’s with such intensity that Danielle took a half step back.
Talia looked past Snow to the darkness below. “What about the mirror? We should-”
“You should stay away until I’ve had a chance to clean up. There was… there could be…” Snow’s voice trailed off. She looked confused. “It’s a mess,” she said weakly.
“You’re in shock,” Danielle snapped. “You look like you can barely walk, let alone treat your injuries. You will let Tymalous help you. If I have to, I’ll order the guards to carry you.”
Snow smiled, but it was a forced expression. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Will you be able to rebuild the mirror?” Danielle asked as she and Talia guided Snow up the steps. So much of Snow’s magic was mirror-based. She must feel as vulnerable as Talia would without her fairy-gifted grace. Snow had smuggled that mirror onto a ship when she fled Allesandria. It was the only thing she had kept from her former home.
“I don’t think I want to.” Snow tilted her head to one side, as though surprised by her own words. “My mother created that mirror. I’ve spent half my life relying on its power. On her power.” She touched her throat. Thin red lines showed where the mirrors of her choker had cut her skin when they broke. “So long as I used her mirror, I was chaining myself to her memory. But now, after all these years, I’m finally free.”
The following day left Danielle little time for grieving or for worrying about Snow. Nobles from throughout Lorindar were beginning to arrive to pay their respects. Chamberlain Dennen and his staff handled much of the arrangements, but tradition required that a member of the royal family greet each visiting noble in person. It was one of the many duties Beatrice had performed, duties which now fell to Danielle.
By midday, she wanted nothing more than to throw away the crown of braided silver and gold that pressed upon her brow, and to trade the formal black gown with its layered skirts and satin lining for something-anything- that allowed her to bend at the waist.
Her mood lightened somewhat as a herald announced John and Heather Jeraldsen. For the first time all morning, her smile was genuine. She waited for them to approach, waving a hand as they started to bow. “None of that from you. Welcome to Whiteshore Palace, my old friend.”
John touched a hand to his graying hair. “Not that old, I hope.”
Danielle had known John for most of her life. Her father had crafted the glass replacement for his right eye. John came from a good family, and had married into the nobility only a year before, but he had always treated even the poorest souls with respect. Danielle gestured to one of the pages waiting in the corner. “Andrew will see that your belongings are taken to your room in the guest wing.”
“Thank you, Princess.” There was genuine pain in his wife’s voice as she said, “I was sorry to hear of the queen’s passing. I remember when she and King Theodore were married, though I was only a child.”
Everyone had recited some variation of those words, but Heather was one of the few who truly appeared to mean them. Others were more interested in taking Danielle’s measure as the future queen, or figuring out how Beatrice’s death would affect their own fortunes in Lorindar.
“It’s good to see you both again,” said Danielle. Looking at the two of them momentarily eased her grief. John and Heather stood so close that no light passed between them, holding hands like newlyweds.
“Princess Whiteshore?” A girl in the green cap of a page bowed to Danielle and the Jeraldsens both. “Please forgive the intrusion, but Lord Montgomery wishes to meet with you and the prince tonight to discuss an extension of tax relief for the coastal towns.”
“Tonight?” Danielle shook her head in disbelief. “Elaine, do I look like the Royal Treasurer?”
Elaine flushed. “No, Your Highness.”
Danielle yanked off the crown and rubbed her forehead. “I’m sorry. Please go on.”
“Lord Montgomery said, since the tax exemption was given to help the towns recover from the merfolk’s attack, and since you knew the situation better than most…” Elaine took a step back, like a rabbit preparing to bolt.
“Please tell Montgomery that he can take his petition and-” No. A funeral should be an opportunity for friends and family to comfort one another and remember the one they had lost. Not a time for political squabbling.
Heather cleared her throat. “Your Highness, it occurs to me that most of Lord Montgomery’s fortunes come through trade and fishing.”
“That’s true,” said John. “I wonder what would happen if someone were to warn the fish to avoid his waters.”
Heather tilted her head. “Or simply send rats to warm his bed?”
Danielle fought a smile. “I can see why you married her,” she said to John. “How long did you search to find a woman as evil-minded as yourself?”
“Forty years,” said John. “And it was worth every one.”
To Elaine, she said, “Please tell Lord Montgomery I would be happy to consider his request. Please also inform him that we will need to conduct an audit of his finances to determine his needs. A thorough audit, including all shipping logs and cargo manifests.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Elaine bowed again and disappeared.
“You suspect him of padding his treasury?” John’s words were playful, but there was a glint in his eye that gave Danielle pause. No matter how friendly John and Heather might be, they were also nobles of Lorindar, with their own agendas.
“No,” Danielle said. “Lord Montgomery can be… difficult, but he’s never struck me as dishonest. His men, on the other hand?” She shrugged. “Who can say? If I’m fortunate, this will keep him busy reviewing his own affairs to make certain there’s nothing for us to find. And John?”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I know you. If you sneak alum into Montgomery’s food like you did with Bette Garnier that time-”
“You have my word,” John said. “Though Montgomery would be hard-pressed to voice his complaint with his mouth pickled shut.”
“What about a nice senna seed tea instead?” offered Heather. “He’ll have to bring a chamber pot to any meetings.”
“Leave the man in peace. That’s an order from your princess.”
John was the only person she knew who could convey laughter with a simple bow. As the two of them left, Danielle heard Heather saying, “ We have to leave him alone, but what if a third party were to sneak in and coat his codpiece with lard?”
Danielle met with three other noble families before finally escaping at midday. She grabbed a quick meal from the kitchen and made her way to the chapel, where Beatrice’s body had been laid out in preparation for the funeral.
Honor guards stood to either side of the entrance. Danielle greeted them in passing and ducked inside. Sunlight shone through the stained glass windows at the tops of the walls. The air smelled of incense, a mixture of lavender and cypress, which rose from silver thuribles, incense burners suspended from the ceiling behind the altar.
At the front of the church, Queen Beatrice’s body rested upon a waist-high platform to the right of the altar. Her hair had been left loose, framing her face in gray. She wore a formal blue gown, and her gold crown rested upon her chest.
Danielle wiped her face. Beatrice never wore her crown when she could avoid it. She had always been happier in a sailor’s jacket, her hair catching the ocean winds. It was as though an imposter lay in Beatrice’s place,
