Snow slipped a hand into her sack and pulled out a larger shard of glass. The edges cut her fingers, but she paid the pain no mind. She slammed the glass to the stone floor, where it exploded into a silver cloud.
Snow pursed her lips and blew. Tiny fragments flew up, speckling skin with dots of red. In the time it took to draw a breath, her power spread into everyone in the room. Everyone save Jakob.
Snow stepped around the table, past the oven. Jakob was squeezing into the corner between the oven and the wall. He tried to push her away.
She pulled another shard from her sack and placed it directly against Jakob’s forehead. A drop of red welled from his skin where the glass had kissed it, but unlike the others, he appeared unaffected by her magic. He trembled and pressed harder against the wall.
“Interesting.” Snow held no illusions about her own power. Any magic could be countered… just as any counter spell could be overcome. Jakob was a sniveling brat, with no magical training, meaning his ability to resist her mirror was something inherent. Something in his very blood. “What do you see when you look at me, Jakob?”
He shook his head.
“You saw it in your father, too, didn’t you?” She thought back to that conversation, heard through Armand’s senses. “Not as strongly, but you saw.”
A servant boy of ten or so years peeked in through the door. “The princess would like desserts served soon…” His voice trailed off as he took in the kitchen staff standing dumbstruck, and Jakob whimpering in the corner. “What’s wrong, Jakob?”
Snow frowned. The boy was familiar… that dark skin, the long reddish hair… “What’s your name?”
“Tanslav, ma’am.”
Tanslav. Ah, yes. Snow had helped to rescue this boy from Rumpelstilzchen earlier this year. He had been one of many children taken by the filthy fairy thief, but Danielle and Beatrice had been unable to locate his family. So Tanslav had made the palace his home. “You’re friends with the prince, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Snow waved a hand, and specks of glass peppered Tanslav’s face. He started to cry out, but Snow’s power clamped down, tightening his throat. “Pick up that cleaver, Tanslav.”
Blood trickled down Tanslav’s cheeks as he obeyed.
“Cut your arm.”
Jakob covered his eyes, but Snow yanked him around, forcing him to watch. “I can make him slash his own throat. I could do the same to your father. Do you understand?”
Jakob tried to tug free, but Snow merely tightened her grip. He whimpered, then nodded.
“Come along,” said Snow. “I’ve a great deal of work to do, and you’re going to help.”
CHAPTER 4
Talia hurried through the corridor toward the private dining room. According to a page named Andrew, Snow had been seen heading in that direction a short time ago. But when Talia entered, she saw only Nicolette standing beneath the window, blood dripping from her cheek.
“What happened?” Jakob’s food sat unfinished on the table. One of the chairs lay on its side.
“I’ve always hated these windows,” Nicolette said, her voice distant. “So garish.”
“Was Snow here?”
Nicolette turned. “Did you know your skin is almost the exact shade of cow dung?”
“What?” Talia wasn’t sure she had heard correctly. Nicolette had never insulted anyone that she could remember.
“Maybe that’s why Beatrice kept you,” Nicolette continued. “Like an exotic pet.”
Talia’s fists clenched. “How did you cut your face?”
Nicolette absently touched two fingers to her cheek. “Perhaps it was to prove that you Aratheans could be civilized. Don’t worry; I’m sure Danielle will keep you on now that Beatrice is dead. She’s always had a weakness for animals.”
Talia stepped forward, sinking into a low sik h’adan fighting stance, her body straight, her weight slightly forward. “Where are Snow and Jakob?”
“Might as well invite ogres into the palace.” Nicolette jabbed a finger at Talia’s chest. “Princess Cinderwench might consider you a friend, but I-”
Talia caught Nicolette’s finger and twisted, lifting Nicolette to her toes, then bending her backward. Nicolette yelped and grabbed Talia’s wrist, but she was off-balance. The slightest pressure and Talia could dislocate the finger.
Nicolette swung her other arm. Talia slapped the blow aside with ease. She swept Nicolette’s feet and twisted her about, bringing her face-first to the floor. Nicolette spat and swore as Talia switched her hold, clamping wrist and neck to pin Nicolette in place.
Armand had been cut picking up one of Snow’s broken mirrors. Nicolette’s cut could have come from glass as well, judging from the smooth edges. “Snow was here. Where did she go?”
“I’m not her keeper. How should I know?”
“No, but you’re Jakob’s.” Talia pressed harder. “Where are they?”
Shouts drew Talia’s attention toward the kitchen. She bounced to her feet. Nicolette started to rise.
“You should stay down.” Talia pushed her way into the kitchen to find a riot. Two people lay unmoving on the floor. The rest were shoving and punching everyone they could reach.
Talia grabbed the closest, a boy named Tanslav who held a bloody knife in one hand. He started to swing at her, but she struck the wrist of his knife hand with her forearm. The knife clattered on the counter. A kick to the inside of the knee took his balance, and she tossed him to the floor. She grabbed a half-carved lamb from the table and yanked it down on top of him.
She backed away long enough to shout for the guards, then waded back in. She saw no sign of Snow or Jakob.
A woman swung an iron pan at Talia’s head. Talia ducked and waited for the next swing. When it came, Talia stepped close, hooked her arm, and flung her out of the way, stripping the pan from her grip in the process. Talia hefted the pan, nodded with satisfaction, and moved toward the next combatant.
By the time the guards arrived, Talia had left five of the staff strewn about the kitchen. All were alive, though they would be in pain for several weeks. She moved back, allowing the guards to separate the rest.
She crouched by the head chef, who was groaning and clutching his head. Talia grabbed his ear and tilted his face toward her. In addition to cuts and bruises from the fighting, bloody speckles covered his face, making him appear diseased. She had noticed similar marks on the others. “What happened?”
“This is my kitchen,” he spat. “ I say when the meat is done. I say how much spice is too much.”
“Too much? Food in this country is tasteless!” She caught herself. “Were Snow and Jakob here?”
“They left.”
“I passed them on the way here,” said one of the guards. Like the others, he was dressed more formally in a bright green tabard over a polished breastplate. They clanked like church bells wherever they walked. “Snow was taking the prince toward the northeast tower.”
Talia pushed back her sleeve before remembering her bracelet was still sitting in her room, along with the broken mirror. She grabbed the guard’s arm. “Find Princess Whiteshore. Tell her to get to the tower.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Probably.” Talia hurried away. First Armand, then Nicolette, now the entire kitchen staff. And Snow had been cut worse than anyone else by her broken mirror.
She checked with a passing laundress to confirm that Snow and Jakob had indeed entered the tower. A single guard stood at the base of the staircase, but Talia was a familiar figure, and he allowed her to pass with nothing more than a nod of greeting. She ducked beneath the brightly dyed green plume that sprouted from his helm. Lorindar’s fashions were strange.
Once on the stairs, she slowed. Her shoes made no sound on the tiled steps. She walked sideways, keeping her back to the inner wall.
She checked each door as she passed: first a darkened storeroom, then the weaving room where two girls worked on a half-finished tapestry stretched across the loom. Talia scowled at the spinning wheel tucked in the corner before quietly pressing the door shut. The next room was the candlemaker’s workshop, and that door refused to budge.