voyage back to Lorindar.
“Thank you,” said Danielle. “We will leave today.” She watched Gerta closely, uncertain whether she would want to remain in Allesandria. According to King Laurence, the law would not recognize a magical construct as a person, but if it was what Gerta wanted, Danielle intended to tell him exactly where he could put his laws. But Gerta simply nodded, keeping close to Talia.
“One more thing, please.” The king spoke briefly to the Stormcrow, who bowed and left the garden. Danielle glanced at Gerta, who shrugged. Laurence waited until the door closed. “Ermillina came to Allesandria seeking vengeance. She murdered those who stood with her mother.”
Danielle said nothing, uncertain where he was going.
“As king, it is my duty to appoint new members of the Nobles’ Circle. Traditionally, those seats would go to the heirs, but that is tradition only, not law.” He gave her a tight smile. “Every crisis is an opportunity, and I believe I can gain enough support in the Circle to appoint those more worthy of the word ‘noble.’ ”
Meaning some good would come of Snow’s actions. “Thank you, Laurence.”
“If there’s anything else you need, you have only to ask it.”
Danielle looked at Talia, who hadn’t moved. She stood like a statue, staring at Snow’s memorial. “Nothing you can provide,” she said sadly. She squeezed Jakob tight. “Only transportation to the harbor. It’s time for us to return home.”
CHAPTER 24
By the time the Phillipa arrived in Lorindar, a crowd had gathered to meet them. Even before they docked, Talia could see Prince Armand fidgeting impatiently at the front of the crowd, cupping his eyes as he searched the ship for Danielle and Jakob. When the crew lowered the gangplank, Armand was the first to board, nearly knocking one of his guards into the water in his eagerness. When he found his wife and son, pulling them both into an embrace, those on the docks broke into cheers.
Talia used the celebration to slip away, hurrying down the gangplank and through the crowd. She didn’t begrudge them their happiness. The gods knew it had been hard-earned. She simply couldn’t be a part of it right now.
The noise made it easy enough to liberate the prince’s horse from the post where he had left it. As she rode past the naval ships and into the commercial part of the harbor, she fought the urge to board the nearest ship, to sign on with anyone who could take her to a land where nobody had ever heard of Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, or Snow White.
Instead, she rode to Whiteshore Palace. She gave the horse over to a stable hand, saying only, “Armand decided to take a carriage back with his family.” From there, she went to the chapel.
The heavy door in the back of the chapel which led to the royal mausoleum was locked, but there were no magical protections. Talia retrieved a small packet of metal tools from her left boot. Moments later, the lock was open and she was descending the stone steps. Soft flame flickered to life in the hanging lanterns, enchanted by Father Isaac to recognize visitors.
Talia had always found northern burial traditions strange. Hiding the body, sealing it in earth and stone beneath the very ground where the living trod, felt disrespectful. Yet for more than two hundred years, the Whiteshore family had buried its dead here in this lowceilinged room. The first Whiteshore king lay entombed with his wife in the center of the room, their coffins carved from the bleached stone that gave the family their name. Later kings and queens were laid to rest in the walls to either side.
Talia strode toward the back of the mausoleum, where the newest stone tablet gleamed white. Beatrice’s marker was modest compared to some of the others, marked only with her name and a carved swan.
How long she stood there, staring at Beatrice’s marker, she didn’t know. Eventually, she heard the creak of the door, followed by light, careful footsteps.
“Hello, Danielle.” Who else would it be?
Danielle didn’t say a word. She simply joined Talia in front of Bea’s grave.
“We should have been here for her burial,” said Talia. It had been close to three weeks since Beatrice’s death. There was no way King Theodore could have delayed the funeral for so long, and yet…
“I know.”
Talia swallowed. “Hephyra invited me to leave Lorindar, to sail with her. She told me I would never have Snow, that Beatrice would soon be gone, that you had your own family to look after.”
“You’re a part of that family,” Danielle said firmly. “No matter what you choose.” Her unspoken question filled the mausoleum.
“I don’t know if I can stay here. If Hephyra still lived…” Memories of Snow and Beatrice saturated every room, every hallway.
Danielle put a hand on Talia’s shoulder. “Trittibar has asked that the Phillipa ’s mainmast be brought to the palace, to be planted in the courtyard.”
For the first time since reaching Lorindar, Talia looked Danielle in the eyes. “Planted?”
Danielle smiled. “She’s a dryad. Hephyra’s tree-the ship-survives. Trittibar says it could take years for her to recover, to heal the part of herself that was lost. But she will heal.”
“That’s good.” Talia meant the words, even if she couldn’t feel them. She turned back to Bea’s marker. “And Armand?”
“He is himself. Isaac and Tymalous have removed the glass from all those who were infected. Armand spent the entire trip from the harbor apologizing for the things he said and did. There seem to be no lasting effects of the demon’s touch.”
“Good,” she said again.
“If there’s anything you need, anything you want, you know you have only to ask it.”
Talia took a slow, even breath. “Right now… all I want is to be left in peace.”
“I understand.” Danielle took Talia’s hand, squeezed almost hard enough to hurt. “You’re not alone, Talia.”
Talia nodded, but didn’t answer.
For the next two weeks, Talia performed her duties as though in a trance. She moved through the palace from one task to the next, barely speaking to anyone. Danielle tried to engage her in conversation, but Talia had no heart for it. Even Jakob had done his childish best to make her smile, but their efforts only made Talia feel guilty when she was unable to respond. She spent more and more time away from the others.
Talia still expected to find Snow flirting with the blacksmith, or hear her teasing Danielle. Her chest clenched every time she passed a woman with black hair, every time she heard laughter ringing through the halls.
She was locked in her room, paging through a century-old book of Arathean poetry, when someone pounded on her door hard enough to rattle it in the frame. “It’s Gerta. Open up.”
Talia almost smiled at the impatience in her voice, so similar to Snow’s. Since returning to Lorindar, Gerta had been doing her best to fit into palace life. Danielle had given her permission to go through Snow’s library and try to make sense of Snow’s rather eccentric notions of organization.
Gerta knocked again. “Last chance, Talia. I know you’re in there.”
Talia glanced over to make sure the door was latched. “Go away.”
Silence. There were no footsteps, so Gerta hadn’t left. Talia tucked the book beneath her pillow. As she stood, she smelled smoke rising from the door. Orange flames licked about the latch. The fire confined itself to a small ring, burning the wood to ash until the latch fell free and hit the floor with a clang. The door swung inward.
Gerta tossed a bottle. Talia snatched it from the air without thinking. Arathean wine from the cellars.
“Come with me,” ordered Gerta.
Talia’s attention went to the embroidered green patch that covered Gerta’s lost eye. Another reminder of that day. Gerta said she was working on crafting a glass eye, one with a mirrored pupil, but perfecting the magic of that eye would take months. “What’s going on?”
