The Snow Queen's Shadow

had been hard-earned. She simply couldn’t be a part of it right now.
    The noise made it easy enough to liberate the prince’s horse from the post where he had left it. As she rode past the naval ships and into the commercial part of the harbor, she fought the urge to board the nearest ship, to sign on with anyone who could take her to a land where nobody had ever heard of Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, or Snow White.
    Instead, she rode to Whiteshore Palace. She gave the horse over to a stable hand, saying only, “Armand decided to take a carriage back with his family.” From there, she went to the chapel.
    The heavy door in the back of the chapel which led to the royal mausoleum was locked, but there were no magical protections. Talia retrieved a small packet of metal tools from her left boot. Moments later, the lock was open and she was descending the stone steps. Soft flame flickered to life in the hanging lanterns, enchanted by Father Isaac to recognize visitors.
    Talia had always found northern burial traditions strange. Hiding the body, sealing it in earth and stone beneath the very ground where the living trod, felt disrespectful. Yet for more than two hundred years, the Whiteshore family had buried its dead here in this lowceilinged room. The first Whiteshore king lay entombed with his wife in the center of the room, their coffins carved from the bleached stone that gave the family their name. Later kings and queens were laid to rest in the walls to either side.
    Talia strode toward the back of the mausoleum, where the newest stone tablet gleamed white. Beatrice’s marker was modest compared to some of the others, marked only with her name and a carved swan.
    How long she stood there, staring at Beatrice’s marker, she didn’t know. Eventually, she heard the creak of the door, followed by light, careful footsteps.
    “Hello, Danielle.” Who else would it be?
    Danielle didn’t say a word. She simply joined Talia in front of Bea’s grave.
    “We should have been here for her burial,” said Talia. It had been close to three weeks since Beatrice’s death. There was no way King Theodore could have delayed the funeral for so long, and yet . . .
    “I know.”
    Talia swallowed. “Hephyra invited me to leave Lorindar, to sail with her. She told me I would never have Snow, that Beatrice would soon be gone, that you had your own family to look after.”
    “You’re a part of that family,” Danielle said firmly. “No matter what you choose.” Her unspoken question filled the mausoleum.
    “I don’t know if I can stay here. If Hephyra still lived . . .” Memories of Snow and Beatrice saturated every room, every hallway.
    Danielle put a hand on Talia’s shoulder. “Trittibar has asked that the Phillipa ’s mainmast be brought to the palace, to be planted in the courtyard.”
    For the first time since reaching Lorindar, Talia looked Danielle in the eyes. “Planted?”
    Danielle smiled. “She’s a dryad. Hephyra’s tree—the ship—survives. Trittibar says it could take years for her to recover, to heal the part of herself that was lost. But she will heal.”
    “That’s good.” Talia meant the words, even if she couldn’t feel them. She turned back to Bea’s marker. “And Armand?”
    “He is himself. Isaac and Tymalous have removed the glass from all those who were infected. Armand spent the entire trip from the harbor apologizing for the things he said and did. There seem to be no lasting effects of the demon’s touch.”
    “Good,” she said again.
    “If there’s anything you need, anything you want, you know you have only to ask it.”
    Talia took a slow, even breath. “Right now . . . all I want is to be left in peace.”
    “I understand.” Danielle took Talia’s hand, squeezed almost hard enough to hurt. “You’re not alone, Talia.”
    Talia nodded, but didn’t answer.
     
    For the next two weeks, Talia performed her duties as though in a trance. She moved through the palace from one task to the next, barely speaking to anyone. Danielle tried to engage her in conversation, but Talia had no heart for it. Even Jakob had done his childish best to make her smile, but their efforts only made Talia feel guilty when she was unable to respond. She spent more and more time away from the others.
    Talia still expected to find Snow flirting with the blacksmith, or hear her teasing Danielle. Her chest clenched every time she passed a woman with black hair, every time she heard laughter