Black Forest: Kingdoms Fall (Black Forest Trilogy) Page 3

  "If you do not like the king, why are you here?" she found the nerve to ask. "Why do you choose this life?"

  "I did not choose this life." Akasha's voice came from the darkness. "This life chose me."

  "Does that not bother you?" Cinderella questioned.

  "I do not think about it," Akasha returned. "My mother, she was glad, I think, that I found somewhere to go."

  "But you could go anywhere," Cinderella said at once. "You could be an apprentice. Or a wife. Or whatever else there is in this kingdom."

  Feeling the soft movement as Akasha sighed beside her, Cinderella knew it was the shake of Akasha's head.

  "Why not?" she asked.

  "I have a taint on me," Akasha stated, and Cinderella felt the tears press with greater force, the statement one she herself could make. Though she had spent the last three nights in Troyale at a ball in a gown that made her look like wealth, and, though she knew those of Naxos could not see it, she could still feel what remained of the hearth she had slept on, the ash and grit that clung to her. The taint on her had always shown clearly until the nights of the festival, though, and the magic that turned her clean and gave her the fine dress.

  "I do not see it," Cinderella whispered.

  "It is not on the outside," Akasha explained hesitantly. "When I was a girl, I played with the children of my father's friends in the wood that lives inside the town walls. One friend, his father was a butcher, still is, and we would watch him work.

  "One day, his son had the idea that we should play butcher. I would be the cook, my friend Salle the assistant, and the butcher's son and a boy Chezz would be the butchers. Salle's little brother Toam, he would play the pig. He was so excited to be included, sprawling upon the ground with his eyes closed." Lost in bittersweet memory, a pained smile flashed over Akasha's face, barely visible. "It was so funny," she said. "Then, the butcher's son slit Toam's throat. It was a real knife. We did not understand, you see, that you cannot play at that."

  As she stopped talking, Akasha's words weighed down the darkness. Feeling it sinking against her chest, Cinderella sucked at shallow breaths, unable to imagine such a thing. "What happened next?" she breathed.

  "Some passing hunters seized us, and took us to the officials. In the chambers, they laid Toam limp on the floor. We thought he was still playing." When Akasha's voice broke, Cinderella felt safe enough to let the tears roll at last down her cheeks. "They offered the butcher's son the choice of an apple or a gold piece for the meat he had carved. When he chose the apple, they knew he did not understand what he had done. Now..." Akasha lifted her head, looking across the room, and there was just light enough for Cinderella to make out the shapes as she followed Akasha's gaze to the eunuch, who slept upright in his chair, vigilant even in sleep.

  "He will not even run his father's trade," Akasha continued, dropping her head back down next to Cinderella's. "We did not understand. Then, one day, we did."

  "You cannot believe you deserve to be punished for that," Cinderella returned.

  "I cannot believe that I do not," Akasha countered. "But," she sighed, "enough talk of past sorrow. Tell me something interesting. How did you end up here?"

  Glancing to her in the darkness, Cinderella could see only a swath of Akasha's face turned toward her, eyes focused as she awaited her story, but, if Akasha did not want to hear of past sorrow, Cinderella did not know what story she could tell.

  "I do not know exactly," she said at last, beginning at the end. "There was a ball."

  "A ball?"

  "Do you know of them?"

  "Yes," Akasha said wistfully. "Though we are never in attendance."

  "But you live at the palace," Cinderella said.

  "That does not mean we are welcome at its festivities," Akasha stated, and Cinderella did not understand.

  "The entire village was invited," she continued. "The prince, it was rumored, was looking for a wife. It was going to be the grandest festival Troyale had ever seen, but I... I could not go."

  "Why not?" Akasha prompted with a smile. "More important things to do?"

  Surprised at her own laughter, Cinderella clapped her hand to her mouth to keep from waking the others. "No, it was my family. They did not want me to attend," she responded simply, sparing Akasha the sadness as per her request. "But I went to the tree where my mother was buried, and a dress came down."

  "From the tree?" Akasha eyed her curiously.

  "I know it is hard to believe." Cinderella cast her eyes to the blanket.

  "I know there is magic," Akasha replied gently. "It has just never come to me."

  Taking the statement as belief in her tale, Cinderella went on. "I went to the ball, and the prince approached me at once. He asked for a dance, and I, of course, obliged him, for he was the prince. After that, he held my arm. Every time another asked him to dance, he would say, 'This is my partner,' again and again to everyone. 'This is my partner.'"

  "He was taken with you," Akasha surmised.

  "I suppose," Cinderella responded, for it must have been true, but still made little sense. There was no explanation for it, no real moment between them. Just the show of the prince and a girl. He did not even know her.

  "You were not taken with him?" Akasha asked.

  Returning to the ball in her mind, to the strange feel of it, to the dances shared, to the prince's unshakable attention, the feel of his hand always on her arm, as possessive as her stepmother's were cruel, Cinderella trembled.

  "I felt as if I should be," she admitted haltingly, "as if I should want that, but... it did not feel real. Not just the ball and the night and the dress. Nothing about it felt real. Within." She raised her hand to her chest, feeling her heart beat fast at the memory alone. "And that is where it matters, is it not?"

  Though the question was posed mostly to herself, it was Akasha who pushed up, dark curls tumbling around her shoulders as she looked down at Cinderella with interest.

  "So," Cinderella went on nervously when Akasha said nothing. "I rushed from him back to my mother's grave. I told her I did not want it, that it was not the life I chose. Then, I heard the prince coming, and the tree at my mother's grave, it gave way. Suddenly, everything was gone and I was here."

  "You were running away," Akasha stated in awe.

  "Yes." Cinderella only just realized it. "I was running away."

  The admission in the open, it surged like energy on the air, crackling around them, and Akasha clearly felt it too, something out of the ordinary and unexplainable.

  When it finally faded, Akasha sounded breathless as she looked at Cinderella in the darkness. "You could stay here, Cinderella," she offered gently, "but, if you do, you stay at their command."

  Cinderella felt burdened at once by the words, heartbeat slowing with dread. "I have always lived at the commands of others."

  "If it is freedom you are seeking," Akasha declared, "you will not find it here."

  Staring up at her in bewilderment, Cinderella understood the word. She had heard it said many times, but had believed it something she already possessed. Troyale, it was said, was a free kingdom. One could always leave its walls. Even if she had the courage to leave the home of her family, though, where was she to go? Beyond the village, there was nothing but the forest, as far as she ever knew, and a cold or hungry death come winter.

  With nowhere that freedom truly existed, it was never something Cinderella had sought. Hearing her say it, though, she realized Akasha spoke truth. That night, as she had run from the prince, from the life he offered, away from the cruelty of her family, but no less a prison, freedom was exactly what she had been seeking.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Mirror

  The servants drooped like late-summer flowers, still serving their purpose, but losing their luster. Jackets wrinkled and hats sat askew as they went about their work, clearing away dishes and refilling glasses.

  Around the table, the merchants and artisans glanced to the high windows, watching early ligh
t fall against the stone, knowing the hour was nigh when their shops would need opening, their trades doing and their livings earned, all with half-lidded eyes.

  A scant number of those blessed with royal invitation had dared take their leaves before the party was called to a close, but only one section of the table had energy to spare. Several youthful admirers gathered around Snow White, seemingly enthralled with her charming, gullible demeanor, while all others hung on for the sake of the king's good graces, and, perhaps, those of the future queen herself.

  "Three-hundred cobs?" Queen Ino's ears caught on Snow White's laughing response to a young man, sharply-dressed and attentive. "I mustn't believe you. Our huntsman, Gurr, swears there are none that weigh over two-hundred cobs."

  "Your huntsman is mistaken," the young man replied, drunk on too much wine and Snow White's undivided attention. "I fought the beast myself."

  "How many heads did it have?" Snow White questioned.

  "Just the one, Silly Girl," he countered with a grin. "There are no giant cats with more."

  "Perhaps, I will believe you then," Snow White smiled.

  She should not have believed him. The tale the boy told was so tall, no one in the room could see the top of it, but Snow White would believe it, of that Queen Ino was certain. For the girl, one truth eliminated any lies that came before it. It was in Snow White's nature to be dangerously trusting, like a fly that crawls into the mouth of a frog for shelter.

  "My king, I do apologize." An old farmer rose from the table, looking too tired to stand. He had brought in the kingdom's most fruitful crop. Due in no small part to him, the people of Aulis would eat all winter. Dressed in his finest, the dirty nature of his work still hung upon the farmer like a shroud. "I must start my deliveries."

  "Of course, My Friend," the king nodded, and Queen Ino sneered at the false endearment. No bridges of friendship crossed between royalty and peasantry, and, even choosing to use the word, the king did not get up to shake the weathered hand that would sustain the life of his constituents goodbye.

  The farmer was grateful at any rate, even if only for his release, and his courageous exit proved encouraging for the rest of the townspeople, who decided it a good opportunity to make their exits as well, causing a sudden stir within the hall as chairs scraped the floor in relief.

  "Snow White, the sun is coming up," Kind Kardon gently informed his daughter, who only seemed to notice the commotion once he had spoken.

  "Just a while longer, Father," Snow White pleaded, soft brown eyes shining brightly, with exhaustion or lingering excitement, Queen Ino could not tell. "Those who wish to leave may leave."

  Said, Queen Ino noted, as if they needed her permission. As grown adults and members of a free populace, they did not, of course. And yet, they did. For, though Snow White needn't permit them to return to their lives, she could, at her will, order them to stay, which was all but the same.

  "All right," King Kardon responded, sitting back to take a drink, too coddling to tell his daughter that it was he who was tired, which showed in his slow blinks and the lines that cut deeper into his face as he looked affectionately upon her.

  The advantage of his unwavering adoration of his daughter was that it so often took attention off the queen, allowing her a measure of freedom she never thought to possess. Realizing she could go unnoticed in the mass exodus from the room, though perhaps not as unnoticed as she would have liked in the painfully bright gown, Queen Ino stood in the flourish of activity and snuck away amidst the bustle of departing guests.

  Torches along the corridor led away from the dining hall, and a few guests did notice her, offering the queen courteous goodbyes or nervous nods. Acknowledging them with a tight smile, Queen Ino felt icy hands clutch at her, recognizing, at once, the cold pull of death. Frozen for a moment by the sensation, she stood in the entrance hall, watching villagers depart. Intent on their destinations, they did not linger, heading off with all due haste to work or home for abbreviated sleep.

  The wave of commoners flowing out the castle doors, the guards were on alert, making sure no one deviated from their leave, and Queen Ino slipped through the doorway on the wall opposite the stairs unseen, the silence beyond the heavy wooden door a blessed relief from the celebration of Snow White's coming of age. One more word on the girl's unsurpassed beauty, or her kindness, or her heart two sizes too big for her chest, and Queen Ino might well have lost what little she had eaten, for the feast had been made up of Snow White's favorite dishes and her taste in food was as poor as her taste in gowns.

  Relative to the liveliness in which she had spent the earliest of morning, the room had a feel of death too. Storage for that in the castle which went unused, it was much like a crypt, and it indulged Queen Ino in her delicate state, whispering songs she had not heard since childhood, notes and chants as clear in her mind as they had been in her ears as her tribe circled around her long ago, guiding her through the barren lands of the dead.

  The way marked by moonlight, Queen Ino walked outside its fall, feeling safer amongst the shadow, until at last she alighted before the tall object in the corner, hidden beneath a dingy sheet, as were all the other items in the room. With a glance behind her to ensure no ruffians had followed, she peeled the cover carefully away. Even in the dim light, the mirror sparkled, its ornate silver frame out-shined only by the glass it held, flowing with waves of color, the magic sparking before the queen, darker and more powerful than ever.

  Pulled into its aura, Queen Ino recognized the new essence, and, both attracted and repelled, she pulled herself from its depths.

  "Are you awake?" she asked. Voice rough, the question sounded wanton, and Queen Ino watched the mirror give a shudder that might have been a yawn.

  "I am now," it responded with a sigh, none too pleased at the fact.

  "Good," the queen uttered. Staring into the glass, she saw beyond herself, beyond the hideous dress, into the yawning chasm that threatened to consume her. "Tell me."

  "Tell you what?" the mirror goaded her.

  "You know," the queen returned.

  "And you know the rules," the mirror replied. "You made them yourself. Ask your question true, or I needn't answer."

  Taking a breath, in no mood for games, Queen Ino pushed her shoulders back. "Mirror, mirror on the wall, who in this land is fairest of all?"

  "My Queen, that is your title, as you want to hear," the mirror began. "These are the words that bring pleasure. If we turn what is known into sounds for the ear, Snow White has grown fairer by measure."

  "Snow White?" Queen Ino breathed, muscles in her neck going tense until she felt one pop on its own. "She is only a child."

  "Children grow quickly, My Queen," the mirror responded. "As I am sure you have noticed."

  Tears forming in her reflection, Queen Ino did not feel their sadness. It was rage that threatened to overwhelm her. Rage, and something else, something stronger than her, something that tried to consume her. "You lie," she said.

  "How, My Dear, can I lie to you?" the mirror asked, and with a careless yank, Queen Ino pulled the cover from where it rested atop the mirror and let if fall into place over the glass.

  · · ·

  By the time she made it back to the grand hall, the party had broken. Even Snow White's most fanatical hangers-on had made their way to their homes or jobs, and the king had retired without making the effort to seek her. Were she a less capable woman, the queen might have been offended at his lack of concern. As it was, she knew the king was well aware she would have surprise in store for any ambitious guest who might attempt to spirit her away, and could hardly fault him for escaping while he could.

  Where the king was gone, though, where everyone else had departed, Snow White remained. Alone in the hall, she looked up at Queen Ino with a smile as she entered, and the queen felt panic set in as she looked for a servant or guard. Though never far, they were nonetheless absent from the room, and the walls were thick around them. Listening as hard as she could,
Queen Ino heard no one, and, glancing at the balcony, found even it abandoned.

  "Mother," Snow White greeted her even in privacy, though they both knew it was a term of respect and not of affection, for their relationship had never earned such distinction, neither able to embrace the other as her own.

  "Snow White," Queen Ino swallowed, looking again for anyone who could come to her rescue, to pull her from the void, as she came to a stop at once, as far from Snow White as the hall permitted.

  Snow White had never been a particularly bright girl. She was kind and gentle and idiotic, always rushing toward whatever sentiments came her way with no regard for how easily people feigned them, just as she rushed toward Queen Ino now, a small smile on her face as she threw her arms around the queen again, squeezing tightly at her neck, so Queen Ino had to embrace Snow White just to keep the albatross from suffocating her.

  Drawing breath, she was seized by the sanguine scent, the taste of blood in her mouth so potent she thought she had bitten her tongue.

  "I know we are not as family should be," Snow White whispered, "but thank you, tonight, for pretending."

  Not knowing how family should be, Queen Ino could neither agree nor disagree, though it occurred to her Snow White might not be as dumb as she acted, that, perhaps, there was a sliver of insight behind that insipid exterior.

  "Dream well," Snow White said, pulling back, her lips warm on Queen Ino's cool cheek.

  As Snow White turned away, Queen Ino's hand worked beneath the low hem of her dress, closing around the worn handle of the dagger.

  "My Queen." The voice rattled her, and Queen Ino saw through the eyes of a savage as she looked up to see Lemi staring down from the balcony. "Would you like to retire?"

  Eyes falling to Snow White's retreating form, Queen Ino fell back into a well-placed chair, too shaken to stand, too haunted to sleep.

  · · ·

  The village slept during the day, in the early hours, adjusting to the night lost in honor of the princess. Within the castle, only the Queen and servants remained awake. She, of her own accord. They, as a circumstance of their positions.