The Snow Queen's Shadow

her body pressing against Talia’s side. She moved her hand over Talia’s arm. The ice cracked and broke. Talia started to sit up.
    “I’ll go back with you,” said Gerta. “But please let me have this.”
    Talia bent her arm, causing bits of ice to flake away from her sleeve. Pain shot through her elbow. She did her best to shut it out as she gently wrapped her arm around Gerta’s shoulders and lay back, closing her eyes. Gerta rested beside her, using her free hand to remove the remaining ice.
    “What if one of those dragons comes back?” Talia asked.
    She could feel Gerta’s smile. “Let the dragon find its own woman.”

CHAPTER 20

    T HE SNOW-AND-ICE WALLS OF THE PALACE swallowed the sounds of Snow’s footsteps as she prepared to greet her visitors. Tiny frozen servants scurried about, buffing every imperfection from the surface of the frozen lake. They swarmed behind her feet, a tiny cloud erasing all evidence of her passing. The room was empty of furnishings, save for a throne of ice in the very center. Simple, uncluttered . . . this was the closest she had felt to comfort since leaving Lorindar.
    Prince Jakob sat beside the throne, manipulating the ice shards Snow had given him. He had managed to fit three pieces together, forming an irregular shape roughly the size of a hand mirror. The longer he worked with the shards, the more the edges scratched his palms, and the more his blood and power seeped into the ice.
    The polished floor let her see everything that took place within the palace. She watched impatiently as white-furred mounts that had once been human stepped out of the woods, carrying the six nobles who had accepted Snow’s offer.
    They had left their weapons behind, but none were truly unprotected. Two had taken potions to strengthen their magic. Another had swallowed a pearl to help him resist mental control. Nor were their magics purely defensive. Snow could see the charms on one man’s fingers, the nails sharp and hard as talons, and coated in some sort of magical toxin.
    She gathered her cloak around herself as her creatures escorted the men into her throne room. One of the men stepped forward and knelt. “Queen Ermillina. I am Stevan Tirill, Lord of Kettunen.” His companions followed suit. “I was there when your cousin claimed your throne. I spoke against him, but the Nobles’ Circle chose to grant the crown to Laurence.”
    Snow didn’t bother to conceal her revulsion. Tirill was a yellowed husk of a man, a minor noble whose ambition had always exceeded his ability. He dressed in the gaudiest of fashions, silk and silver clashing with his foxskin jacket. Greed and fear spilled from his words, soiling all who heard them.
    Like the others, he wore powerful magic. His protective spells had been tattooed onto the bone of his skull. It was a painful and archaic process, once performed upon noble children when they were first born. He was well guarded against outside influence or attack, but the skull shifted as it grew, introducing imperfections into the spell. Snow studied his magic through the mirror until she found those flaws.
    “Your Majesty, Allesandria will soon fall into civil war.” He paused for effect, then shook his head. “No, war is too neat a term for the chaos spreading through this land. Laurence means to disband the Circle and give the crown to you. Half the provinces have already spoken out against him.”
    “Only half?” Snow asked.
    Tirill stumbled. “Your Majesty, Allesandria has seen your power. Word has spread that Queen Ermillina is returned to her homeland to take the crown from her cousin the usurper. I would offer my allegiance.”
    “The rest of you would do the same?” Snow approached, her eyes lidded as she continued to examine their magic through the mirror of her lake. “You would swear to me. Yet you each swore an oath to King Laurence when he took the throne.”
    “King Laurence now serves you,” said Tirill. “By doing the same, I fulfill my oath to obey him.”
    Snow smiled. The man knew full well Laurence was not himself, but this deception served his greed and ambition. “Tell me, Stevan. What will you do if I refuse this . . . offer?”
    He spread his hands, the picture of false modesty. “Without the Lords, I’m afraid you’ll never consolidate your hold over Allesandria. Even your mother knew this nation was too large for any one person to control alone.”
    Snow watched his wrinkled face as she strode closer, enjoying