The Fairest of Them All

19

The torches flickered in my dark room, casting monstrous shadows on the wall. I locked the door and slipped out of my dress. I took her heart in my hands, and focused until I could feel her life’s force emanating from it, into me.

I almost loved her then, the way I had when she was a child.

I took her heart and placed it over the fire. I brought my bloody hands to my face as I watched her heart cook, as the smell of meat drifted through the room. I moved my palms down my face, my neck, my breasts, my torso, whispering a spell to take her youth and fertility inside me, to meld her heart with my own.

I thought of the day he first climbed my hair and created a child with me in the tower. The feel of that child kicking in my womb, the boy who should have been king. “My child, my son,” I whispered, with tears running down my face.

I took her heart from the fire, letting it burn my hands as if it really had turned to flame.

And then I ate it.

As the days went by with no sign of Snow White, the whole palace was in turmoil. Josef was beside himself with worry, and met with his council constantly, gathering reports from spies and anyone his guards saw fit to question. Soldiers amassed outside the palace gates, waiting for instructions from the king. Huge numbers of people were brought in for questioning. Some were tortured so thoroughly that they confessed to all kinds of horrible plots. Others spoke about Queen Teresa’s murder nearly a decade before, until the old rumors started up about the king himself. Those caught speaking openly about the king’s guilt were arrested, and soon the gallows filled with their bodies.

Strangely, the mirror went silent, even when I asked who was the fairest of them all. Day after day, my own face stared back at me in the flat glass. But the mirror had always been fickle, and I thought I knew the answer, anyway.

At first I avoided Gilles and the mews, but no one had mentioned his name except to note that he’d caught an especially fine gyrfalcon in the forest.

I made a great show of how much I missed Snow White, and how I worried for her fate. I dressed in black and wore a black veil. I spent hours in the chapel with Father Martin and all the ladies of the court, praying for her safe return. I made sure to always be seen with a prayer book in my hand.

She was the heir to the kingdom, the fate of us all. Though I had not been able to provide an heir in all this time, I felt that Snow White’s heart had changed something in me. My hair was more soft, more shining, my face more lovely, my figure more pleasing. People began commenting on this so much that I took pains to make myself more plain, and answered again and again that I only appeared to look more beautiful because the girl who was the fairest in the land had vanished.

Which was, of course, true.

In the privacy of my chambers, however, I took much pleasure in my increased beauty, the vitality I felt running through my body. I told myself that when I gave birth to the kingdom’s heir, it would all be worth it, all this suffering.

One afternoon, when I could no longer stand being apart from him and had relaxed enough to feel safe, I went to the mews to see Gilles. I covered my hair and dressed in a long cloak, so no guards would recognize me and follow.

I found him outside with one of the hooded hawks, which stood on his wrist, not moving.

“Your Highness,” he said.

“Gilles,” I said, letting his name linger on my tongue. He looked so beautiful and ferocious, standing there. My body reacted immediately, and I was sure it was her blood and youth in my veins.

“You look especially well,” he said. “Much healthier than when I saw you last.”

“I feel well,” I said. “Like I’ve been reborn.”

“You’ll see I found a gyrfalcon,” he said, gesturing to the bird.

“Yes.”

I stared at him. He stared back at me, his expression unreadable.

“Perhaps we might go inside?” I asked, quickly glancing around. The grounds were empty. The court was too tense for revelry.

Still, to be safe, I took a moment to cast a protection spell around us, to blur the sight of anyone who might see.

He nodded. We stepped into the mews, where he replaced the falcon onto its perch. He turned to me then, led me into his room.

Once we were alone, I practically fell into his arms. As we moved onto the bed, I felt a surge of energy in my body that I’d not felt in ages, since we’d been together in the forest. I could not get out of my dress quickly enough, could not take him deeply enough into my body.

He moved on top of me, his hands clasping mine, his mouth devouring my own.

When we broke apart, it occurred to me suddenly that I could not feel Gilles’ mind or heart at all, though my hair was loose and our bodies tangled together.

I sat up in alarm. He looked up drowsily.

“Where did you take her?” I asked.

“To the woods.”

“That is where you did it?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you leave her body?”

“I buried her,” he said, so low I could barely hear the words.

My hair lay flat and dead along his chest and arms. It unnerved me, this absence I had never felt from him before.

“Was she . . . Did it happen quickly? Was she afraid?”

“She did not know what was coming,” he said. “Let us not speak of this again, my queen. It is too dangerous, even here.”

I nodded, but could not rid myself of this new sense of dread.

That evening, when I went to the great hall to dine, the king was shut in his chambers with his most trusted advisors. To my shock, Father Martin was sitting in Josef’s place at the high table, the ladies and lords of the court gathered around him.

I wanted to turn back and run to my chambers, but forced myself to walk regally to the table, nod and cross myself, and sit next to him.

“It is the sins of this court that have led us here,” he was saying, waving his hands in the air. “God is punishing all of us for the excesses. The feasts and balls, the extravagant clothing, the indulgences of the flesh.” He paused, ever so subtly. “Witchery.”

I froze for a moment, as I reached for my wine, and looked at the faces of the court. Some had the decency to drop their eyes, others stared back at me without shame, not bothering to disguise the suspicion on their faces. Slowly, I took hold of the goblet and brought it to my mouth, determined not to let anyone see how shaken I was.

I set my wine back on the table.

“Thank you, Father Martin,” I said, in a loud, clear voice. “We must remember our worldly enemies in the East, too, who are always trying to defeat us.”

“Amen,” they all said.

It was a tremendous relief, arriving back at my chambers. I spread out on the bed, hoping for some relief. A moment later, there was a pounding on my door.

“Enter!” I said, bolting up and rising to my feet. Had they come for me now?

It was Clareta. “My queen,” she said, curtsying.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I am . . . ” She took a breath. “Do you think that Madame Gothel has taken Snow White?”

“What?”

She looked down and then up again, obviously nervous.

“I love the princess,” she said. “Which is why I speak this way. I do not mean any offense to you, Your Highness, and I do not speak . . . I’ve never spoken about what happened.”

“Here, come sit down,” I said. I led her to my couch, the way I’d led her to another couch years before, when she’d been similarly shaken and upset.

I took her hands in mine and realized she was trembling. “Did you hear something?” I asked, watching her carefully.

She shook her head. “No. It’s the old stories that make me afraid.”

“What stories?”

“From when Madame Gothel was at court.”

She had my attention now. I tilted my head, watching her.

I made my voice calm, soothing. “Tell me.”

She was unable to meet my eyes. She held her hands together in her lap and laced her fingers together and apart, and then together again. I resisted the urge to smack them.

“They say she turned a man into a stag. People do not like us speaking of this time, when magic was practiced so openly. Father Martin does not allow it.”

I waved my hand dismissively. “I know this rumor,” I said. “The man’s name was Marcus.” Inexplicably, the grief felt as fresh as a new wound, as if I’d pierced him with the arrow only moments before. “He was condemned to die. Do you know why?”

She took a deep breath and continued. “Madame Gothel was with the queen all the time, they say, and advised her and performed spells for her. But then things changed. Madame Gothel and Lord Marcus both fell out of favor. Lord Marcus was sentenced to death. They said he was a . . . wizard. They said he’d defied the king too many times, that he was to be hung outside, in front of the castle, and they say that Madame Gothel turned him into a stag right then in front of everyone and he ran away to the forest.”

I imagined it: Mathena watching him as he was led to his execution, her stepping forward and changing him into a stag. Was that when she left the castle and went to the forest with me? How had she managed to get me, before she left? Was I already with her then?

“I love Snow White, Your Highness, and I am afraid for her, afraid that she might have gone to the forest the way I did once.”

I shook my head. “You know you are speaking foolishness, Clareta. An enemy from the East has taken Snow White. She is probably sitting in the Eastern palace right now, being lavished with gifts.”

“But the herbs Madame Gothel gave me, when I went to the forest—”

I held my breath. This was the first time Clareta had spoken about that ancient day, and what we’d done.

“There was something in them,” she continued. “Queen Teresa died right after that. I know it was my fault.” She burst into tears then, and buried her face in her hands.

“What are you saying, Clareta?”

She looked up at me. “Madame Gothel despises us. I’m afraid Snow White went to see her.”

I reached out to comfort her, running my hands over her hair. “You are worried for Snow White, and you are driving yourself mad with your thoughts. We all are, Clareta. What’s happened has nothing to do with these old stories.”

But all I could think about was how much Mathena had loved Marcus, how she’d never been able to love again, how she’d disavowed men altogether. She must have hated the kingdom after what happened. And yet, she was the one who’d sent me here, right into its heart.

Clareta pulled away from me then, running her hands down her cheeks. “Perhaps I am being foolish,” she said. “Like a child afraid of monsters under his bed. I just . . . What will happen to us all if Snow White is gone?”

“It will be fine,” I said. “The worst thing you can do is cause panic in the court at a time like this. You have not spoken of these fears to others, have you?”

She shook her head. “I only came to you.”

“Good,” I said. I lowered my voice and leaned in. “You must not speak of any of this. Do you understand?” I pressed my palm to her face, willing her to silence.

“Yes,” she said.

“Everything will be fine,” I said. “I promise.”

After Clareta left, I rushed to the mirror, which had been silent and dark for days. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall,” I asked, yet again, “who’s the fairest of them all?”

My own face stared back at me, and then to my surprise the mirror clouded over, sparkled. It spoke in a whisper: “She is. Snow White.”

My heart dropped. I stared at my own shocked face.

“Who?”

“Snow White.”

“But Snow White is dead.”

“She lives still, in the forest.”

“Show me.”

The mirror shifted, and slowly, faintly, a scene came into view. A young woman lying on a bed. There was a man next to her.

As she shifted, I realized I was staring at Snow White. Though not Snow White as I knew her, but a strange, hollowed-out version, her black hair loose, her eyes huge and haunted. Though she was still beautiful—the fairest of them all—she looked frail, and unspeakably sad. Like someone entirely new.

Another man entered the room as I watched. She did not even react as he came over to her and placed his hands on her thin limbs.

The scene shifted, and I was staring at a large house, a river twisting beside it, trees crisscrossing in the sky.

I recognized it, I knew that house, that river: the house of bandits.

Suddenly it was impossible to breathe. Why was she there?

I had held her heart in my hands!

Whatever I had eaten had not been her heart. I started gagging, uncontrollably, and I rushed to a finger bowl and heaved my insides into it. The memory was visceral: the way I’d bitten into it as if it were an apple, how hard and tough it was, nearly impossible to chew and get down my throat. It had taken at least an hour, maybe two. The blood covering my hands and body, the overpowering scent of metal. I had felt myself taking in her beauty and power and youth.

What had he brought me?

I cried out with fury.

He had not killed Snow White.

I slammed my fist down on the table. I started screaming and I could not stop. A maidservant rushed in, and I was crying, feverish, the room spinning around me, and the next thing I knew, the room was full of people and I was being carried to my bed.

Later, I awoke, clutching my throat. I was still half dreaming, swimming in a river of blood, dancing as the iron burned my feet.

I stumbled to my mirror and I looked ancient, my face lined with wrinkles, my hair in scraggles. I looked away and back and I seemed myself again.

I slipped in and out of consciousness. Every time I woke, blinked my eyes open against the light of the sun or torches, I thought again of that heart, could feel the toughness of it between my teeth.

He must have saved her. He must have killed an animal and brought its heart to me instead.

And now she was in the forest, lost. Had he brought her to the bandits? Had they found her, scared and alone? Surely the king and his men would find her eventually, if they hadn’t already. And then what would happen—to him, to me?

It was torturous, as I moved from sleep to dream to the waking world, and back again. Several times I woke and saw spirits standing over me, watching me, come to punish me—the prophetess, Teresa, Snow White herself, though she was alive and Gilles had betrayed me—and when I tried to scream, they put their hands over my mouth and pushed me back into a dream.

The next morning, my husband entered the room. Even in my weakened state I could feel every muscle in my body tense.

He did not look like the king I knew anymore.

He came to me, sat down on the bed beside me. His face was haggard. His eyes, usually so alert, were red, watery, showing his lack of sleep. A beard had partly grown in, making him look years older. But more than that, it was the way he carried himself, the heaviness with which he came to me, sat on the bed, sighed, and laid a hand on my face.

“Did you find her?” I asked, trembling.

He shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” I said, placing my own hand on his.

What a sight we must have been, me too ill to move, lying on my bed of sweat-soaked hair. Him, beaten and ragged, next to me.

“I’m sure now that it is the work of our enemies,” he said. “Her mother’s family, tired of peace.”

“Oh.” I just stared at him. “You think they . . . took her? Would they hurt her?”

He shook his head. “They won’t harm her. But they want to go to war with us, and they could not do that with her here. They hate our kingdom. They blame me for her mother’s death. They think I killed her, just as they say I killed my father before that . . . Though I would never have hurt either of them.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” I said. “I know it too well.” And then, though I knew I should keep silent, I asked, “Are you sorry you married me?”

He looked at me. “No,” he said. “I’ve always been enchanted by you. I would have married you instead of Teresa, had I had the choice.” I felt tears prick at my eyes as he spoke. “But I have suffered for it.”

I clasped his hand, realized that he was trembling. What a terrible thing it is, to feel your king trembling, even if you know he is only a man, and your husband. “How do you mean?”

“Because you are a witch.” The word made me flinch, but I saw that he did not mean it unkindly. “They are saying that Snow White disappearing is my punishment.”

I nodded. “So now,” I asked, “what will you do?”

He sighed as he ran his palm over my face, wiping away my tears. “We will go to war.”

When I was feeling strong enough to stand, I wrapped myself in a fur and went out to the mews to confront Gilles.

He was inside, feeding the hawks.

“What did you do?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Where is she?”

His face registered the barest surprise, but the expression quickly disappeared. “I killed her in the forest, as you asked.”

I stepped toward him. “That was not her heart. It was something else.”

“You doubt my loyalty, my queen?”

I wanted to slap him across the face. “How dare you lie to me!” I said, spitting the words. “What was in that box? Tell me what it was!”

“A heart.”

“What heart? She lives! I know that Snow White still lives.”

He looked around, then strode over to me, placed his hand over my mouth. “Be careful, my queen,” he said into my ear. “You must not let anyone hear you speak of this.”

I struggled in his arms.

He continued. “You would have our kingdom go to war over your petty jealousies. She is the heir to the throne! She’s just a child! How could you have asked such a thing, and of me?”

My hair was tangling around my neck, pulling at my skin. He tightened his arms around me. I continued to struggle against him, furious to feel his love and worry pulsing through.

“Let me go!” I screamed, biting into his palm, and he released me suddenly, causing me to fall to the floor.

I stood up, my whole body alive with anger. I might have been a bolt of lightning, a storm.

“I could not kill her,” he said. “Not even for you.”

“Then where did you take her? Where is she?”

“I took her to where she would be safe from you.”

“In a house full of criminals?” I yelled. As I accused him, I realized how much it pained me, how much I hated the image of her being abused. I had loved Snow White like a mother once and I loved her still, despite everything. “I wanted her dead. I did not want her to be tortured.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She is in the forest, in a house of bandits.”

He did not seem to understand me. His confusion seemed genuine. “I did not kill her,” he said. “I took her into the forest, but I did not take her to a house of bandits. I made sure she was safe.”

“Then where is she?”

The room seemed to be spinning. The falcons and hawks became terrifying in their hoods.

He paused. “I took her to Mathena. She has promised to protect her.”