The Mermaids Madness

gave up. “The prince sent us to find you. He wants—” She glanced around the room, searching for a plausible excuse.
    This room was similar in shape and size to the one Danielle shared with Armand. Both rooms were tiled in black and white, with soft carpet covering most of the floor. Tapestries covered the outer walls. One showed the Lorindar navy at sunrise, while another depicted a young girl in a field, surrounded by six white swans.
    The first tapestry had been made here in Lorindar. Snow could tell from the gold and burgundy border, as well as the knots used on the white tassels. But she had never been able to identify the second. The violet star-shaped flowers in the field were like none she had ever seen, nor did she recognize the stylized flames that bordered the piece.
    Talia cleared her throat. Snow turned to see both of the servants staring at her, making no effort to hide their amusement or disdain. Right . . . Snow’s mind was wandering. The throbbing in her head made it difficult to concentrate on anything.
    “The prince is hungry,” she said. “Run to the kitchen and fetch him something to eat. You’ll find him in the chapel.”
    “Just ’cause you’re the queen’s favorite doesn’t make you head of this household,” muttered one. Miriam, that was her name.
    Snow smiled. “That’s all right. I’ll tell the prince you were too busy to answer his summons.” She turned to go.
    Miriam beat her to the door. “I never said I wouldn’t do it, you old—”
    “The prince asked for wine as well,” Talia said, turning to the second girl. “Could you please find him something from the cellar?” Once they were gone, Talia shook her head. “You’re as bad as Danielle. She still thinks she’s a serving girl, and you still think you’re a princess.”
    Snow stuck out her tongue. “I tried being nice back when I first arrived. They all hated me anyway.” She had quickly learned not to bother trying to befriend the servants. The girls were jealous of her beauty, and the boys . . . well, they were boys. Add to that Snow’s closeness to the queen, and she was shunned by most of the staff. Not that she minded, much. Snow had spent most of her life alone and preferred it that way.
    Snow knew they had given Talia a hard time in the beginning as well, but that hadn’t lasted long. Two weeks after her arrival, Talia had found herself alone in a hallway with a blacksmith’s assistant named Brendan who had been known to harass the girls. Nobody knew exactly what Brendan had said or done, but Talia had broken both of his arms, blackened his eye, and might have killed him if the queen hadn’t come running. Nobody bothered Talia after that.
    Once both servants were gone, Snow shut the door and walked to the fireplace. She picked up an iron poker, then crouched down, flinching at the heat. The fire had died down, but the embers still glowed in the ashes. She wrinkled her nose and held her breath. Given the pain in her head, a single sneeze would probably knock her unconscious.
    “There you are,” she whispered, jabbing the poker into a cracked brick at the back of the fireplace.
    The wall beside the fireplace slid open, revealing steps spiraling downward. The staircase was so narrow Snow had to walk sideways, but it was much easier and safer than the ladder in Danielle’s room. She whispered a spell, casting candlelight from the mirrors of her choker.
    The stairs circled around, following the contours of the tower wall until they reached another hidden doorway. The door was as narrow as the passage, opening through the side of the archway connecting the armory and the library. Talia slipped past her, checking the darkness as she always did.
    “Have you mentioned these stairs to Danielle?” Snow asked.
    “Not yet. She needs the exercise.”
    Snow called sunlight from her mirrors and followed, only to find Talia waiting with folded arms.
    “You know, those servants might just notice an open door beside the fireplace,” Talia said.
    Snow blushed and hurried back to close the door.
    By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, Snow’s vision was flashing with each drumbeat in her skull. She did her best to ignore the pain as she lit the lamps and made her way into her study.
    Snow brushed her hands over the platinum frame of her mirror, whispering words Trittibar had taught her. Slowly, the vines cast into the metal twisted and peeled away from the glass, reaching down to the floor.