The Snow Queen's Shadow

distracted.”
    “What spell?” Worry and anger deepened Talia’s words. “What could be so important?”
    “I thought I could save her.” Snow’s voice was flat. She sagged against the wall. “I thought . . . I was wrong.”
    “‘Save her?’ You mean Beatrice?” Talia caught Snow’s arm. “How?”
    “I failed. What does it matter?”
    “We have to get you to Tymalous,” Danielle said, cutting off Talia’s response. She should have guessed it was something like this, but she had been so focused on Beatrice, and on Armand. Whatever Snow had done, they could discuss it later. “Those cuts need to be cleaned and stitched.”
    “Don’t bother the healer on my account. I can tend my own wounds.” Snow dabbed blood from her chin, her good eye boring into Danielle’s with such intensity that Danielle took a half step back.
    Talia looked past Snow to the darkness below. “What about the mirror? We should—”
    “You should stay away until I’ve had a chance to clean up. There was . . . there could be . . .” Snow’s voice trailed off. She looked confused. “It’s a mess,” she said weakly.
    “You’re in shock,” Danielle snapped. “You look like you can barely walk, let alone treat your injuries. You will let Tymalous help you. If I have to, I’ll order the guards to carry you.”
    Snow smiled, but it was a forced expression. “That won’t be necessary.”
    “Will you be able to rebuild the mirror?” Danielle asked as she and Talia guided Snow up the steps. So much of Snow’s magic was mirror-based. She must feel as vulnerable as Talia would without her fairy-gifted grace. Snow had smuggled that mirror onto a ship when she fled Allesandria. It was the only thing she had kept from her former home.
    “I don’t think I want to.” Snow tilted her head to one side, as though surprised by her own words. “My mother created that mirror. I’ve spent half my life relying on its power. On her power.” She touched her throat. Thin red lines showed where the mirrors of her choker had cut her skin when they broke. “So long as I used her mirror, I was chaining myself to her memory. But now, after all these years, I’m finally free .”
     
    The following day left Danielle little time for grieving or for worrying about Snow. Nobles from throughout Lorindar were beginning to arrive to pay their respects. Chamberlain Dennen and his staff handled much of the arrangements, but tradition required that a member of the royal family greet each visiting noble in person. It was one of the many duties Beatrice had performed, duties which now fell to Danielle.
    By midday, she wanted nothing more than to throw away the crown of braided silver and gold that pressed upon her brow, and to trade the formal black gown with its layered skirts and satin lining for something—anything—that allowed her to bend at the waist.
    Her mood lightened somewhat as a herald announced John and Heather Jeraldsen. For the first time all morning, her smile was genuine. She waited for them to approach, waving a hand as they started to bow. “None of that from you. Welcome to Whiteshore Palace, my old friend.”
    John touched a hand to his graying hair. “Not that old, I hope.”
    Danielle had known John for most of her life. Her father had crafted the glass replacement for his right eye. John came from a good family, and had married into the nobility only a year before, but he had always treated even the poorest souls with respect. Danielle gestured to one of the pages waiting in the corner. “Andrew will see that your belongings are taken to your room in the guest wing.”
    “Thank you, Princess.” There was genuine pain in his wife’s voice as she said, “I was sorry to hear of the queen’s passing. I remember when she and King Theodore were married, though I was only a child.”
    Everyone had recited some variation of those words, but Heather was one of the few who truly appeared to mean them. Others were more interested in taking Danielle’s measure as the future queen, or figuring out how Beatrice’s death would affect their own fortunes in Lorindar.
    “It’s good to see you both again,” said Danielle. Looking at the two of them momentarily eased her grief. John and Heather stood so close that no light passed between them, holding hands like newlyweds.
    “Princess Whiteshore?” A girl in the green cap of a page bowed to Danielle and the Jeraldsens both. “Please forgive the intrusion, but Lord