Red Hood's Revenge

waited until Ambassador Trittibar became visible. He appeared to be on the northern wall, staring out at the ocean. “What are you moping about?”
    Trittibar jumped. He spun around, searching until he spotted the small mirror hidden in the crenellations of the northwest tower. “Snow?”
    Snow beamed. “Did you miss us?”
    He stepped closer and folded his arms. “Do Theodore and Beatrice know about all of your mirrors?”
    “You’re looking better.” His arm was bandaged, and his skin was pale. Tonight he was dressed even more garishly than usual, a sure sign of his improving health. That yellow and green shirt was more suited to a jester than to an ambassador. A former ambassador, rather. “If you have any ideas for banishing the Wild Hunt or controlling an army of ghosts, I’d love to hear them.”
    “Ghosts too?” Trittibar stared. “You’ve been gone less than a week! I’ve found no answers for you regarding the Hunt, and now—”
    “It’s not my fault!”
    “It never is.”
    “Trittibar, they have Talia.” Quickly as she could, she told him what had happened since arriving at the palace.
    “The hedge was formed to hold its prey,” Trittibar said, playing with his beard as he thought. “If its magic was strong enough, it might have trapped these men even after death. Killing the hedge could weaken its hold over them.”
    “The hedge is all but dead,” said Snow. “Nothing remains but dry, broken vines. The hedge might have held them, but Zestan controls them now.” She stopped. “Ghosts are . . . simple . They’re caricatures of who they were in life.”
    “What does that mean?” Danielle asked.
    Snow kissed the mirror. “Thank you, Trittibar! Go tell Beatrice what’s happening.” She slapped the mirror back onto her armband and started making her way back to the wall. She brightened her light, searching until she found a pipe built into the base of the wall. “The ghosts are princes of Arathea. They died trying to reach Sleeping Beauty. What do you think will happen if they realize she’s returned?”
    Danielle stared. “I’m not sure.”
    “Neither am I.” Snow dropped to the ground and peered into the pipe. It looked wide enough, though she could see where roots had cracked through the clay, and she wouldn’t be surprised to find spiders and other crawly things inside. Maybe Danielle should go first. “But whatever hold Zestan has over them, they died for Talia. I say we find out whether that’s strong enough to beat even deev magic.”
    Danielle dropped to the ground and crawled into the pipe. “Where are we going?”
    “This place is built in the old Arathean style,” Snow said as she followed. “The public gardens would have been behind the palace, but the royal family would also have a private garden in the center of the palace, complete with a pool. If I’m right, this pipe fed that pool.”
    Snow allowed Danielle to move ahead, then stopped to massage her skull. The throbbing had made its way to the front of her head, behind her eyes, and it would only get worse from here. She envied Trittibar his ability to tap into the power of the fairy hill at Fairytown. Or she had before that ability had been severed.
    Human magic came from the one who wielded it, and it always exacted a price. Snow’s mother used to sleep for days at a time after working particularly powerful magic, even with her mirror to help her.
    Snow had always been able to ignore the warning signs. She cast spells almost as easily as a fairy. She might sneak an extra nap from time to time, and often she ate enough for two in order to regain her strength. But that was before the accident.
    The pain wasn’t the true problem. Pain could be ignored, at least for a while. The danger was what could follow the pain. Sooner or later she would push too hard. If she was lucky, the effort would leave her unconscious and exhausted. If not . . .
    She pushed such thoughts aside. Magic wasn’t a game for those expecting a long, peaceful life.
    Snow sniffed the air. She couldn’t see the end of the pipe, but she could smell flowers on the far side. She slowed. “Deev prefer the underground.”
    “What?”
    Nothing could survive here without magic. The hedge had sucked the life from the land. Why would a deev waste magic on flowers? She twisted her head, looking back toward the cistern. The whole thing was one big cave, yet she had seen no sign of habitation. The sand on the steps had been undisturbed.