The Snow Queen's Shadow

ringing through the halls.
    She was locked in her room, paging through a century-old book of Arathean poetry, when someone pounded on her door hard enough to rattle it in the frame. “It’s Gerta. Open up.”
    Talia almost smiled at the impatience in her voice, so similar to Snow’s. Since returning to Lorindar, Gerta had been doing her best to fit into palace life. Danielle had given her permission to go through Snow’s library and try to make sense of Snow’s rather eccentric notions of organization.
    Gerta knocked again. “Last chance, Talia. I know you’re in there.”
    Talia glanced over to make sure the door was latched. “Go away.”
    Silence. There were no footsteps, so Gerta hadn’t left. Talia tucked the book beneath her pillow. As she stood, she smelled smoke rising from the door. Orange flames licked about the latch. The fire confined itself to a small ring, burning the wood to ash until the latch fell free and hit the floor with a clang. The door swung inward.
    Gerta tossed a bottle. Talia snatched it from the air without thinking. Arathean wine from the cellars.
    “Come with me,” ordered Gerta.
    Talia’s attention went to the embroidered green patch that covered Gerta’s lost eye. Another reminder of that day. Gerta said she was working on crafting a glass eye, one with a mirrored pupil, but perfecting the magic of that eye would take months. “What’s going on?”
    Gerta held two more bottles by the necks in her right hand. “Princess Whiteshore commands it.”
    “Did she command this, too?” Talia asked, lifting the wine.
    Gerta spun away. Considering Gerta had burned through the door to find her, Talia figured it best to see what Danielle wanted. She grabbed her zaraq whip and followed Gerta out into the hallway.
    Gerta led her to the northern drawing room, a smaller chamber often used for entertaining royal guests. The walls were a garish green, covered in a textured paper imported from Morova. A fire burned in the hearth, countering the chill from the windows. Danielle sat with Trittibar and Ambassador Febblekeck at the tile-topped table in the center of the room.
    Danielle rose, but before she could speak, Gerta set both of her bottles on the table and jabbed a hand at the fairies. “Out. Both of you.”
    Trittibar’s brows shot up. Febblekeck flew from his chair, shedding glowing dust onto the carpet. “You forget your place, human.”
    Danielle watched Gerta as though trying to read her intention. “Can this wait, Gerta?”
    “No.” Gerta folded her arms and waited.
    “Very well,” said Danielle. “Trittibar, Febblekeck, if you wouldn’t mind?”
    “Of course, Your Highness.” Trittibar rose and bowed.
    Febblekeck reached out to pluck a grape from the platter of bread and fruit at the center of the table. “ I mind. This girl is—”
    “She is a member of my household,” Danielle said softly. “And a friend.”
    “She’s not even real,” Febblekeck protested. “Any fairy can smell the magic on her. She’s but a changeling, cobbled together by human magic, her soul a torn and crudely-stitched quilt of clumsiness and haste.”
    Gerta flinched. Talia twirled the wine bottle in her hand. Given the pixie’s size, the bottle should be heavy enough to smash him from the air.
    Danielle stood, smiling a too-sweet smile. “You should leave now,” she said softly.
    “I am here as a representative of the king of Fairytown,” Febblekeck countered.
    Danielle’s smile vanished. “And I would be most grieved to have to tell your king that his ambassador was snatched and devoured by a hungry owl.”
    “You wouldn’t dare.”
    “I ask the animals to leave our guests alone, but I can’t be blamed if one refuses to listen.” Danielle stepped around the table. “Owls are so quiet in flight. The prey hears nothing, no warning at all before the talons pierce the body.”
    Febblekeck brightened. “You can’t—”
    “We can continue our conversation later, Princess Whiteshore.” Trittibar snatched Febblekeck’s arm, tugging him away before he could say anything further.
    Danielle pursed her lips and sat back in her chair. “I sometimes suspect Febblekeck was appointed to this position because his king wanted an excuse to kick him out of Fairytown.” She rubbed her temples with both hands. “He and Trittibar have been helping me to understand the Duchess’ bargain. She agreed to raise him as her son, and to protect him from harm, but fairies view ‘harm’