The Snow Queen's Shadow

me. The guards have already gone to check the room, but they didn’t find anyone except Frederic. They’re taking him to be checked by Father Isaac. I don’t know where Snow took Jakob.”
    “Let her go,” Danielle commanded. The guards jumped back. Talia swayed, but kept her balance. “Get Tymalous.”
    “I don’t need a healer.” Talia wiped her nose on her sleeve.
    Danielle didn’t have time to argue. She ran inside, taking the steps two at a time. The door to the candlemaker’s workshop was open, the latch splintered. She stared at the empty room. Cold air gusted through the broken window. She spotted a shard of silvered glass half-buried in a candle on the wall.
    “Whatever happened to Armand, it began with Snow and her mirror.” Talia moved to retrieve the candle with the broken shard. “She must have collected the rest of the pieces. Anyone who has been cut by one of her mirrors needs to be placed under guard at once.”
    Danielle braced herself. “Was Jakob hurt?”
    Talia hesitated. “Snow cut him twice that I know of. The magic didn’t appear to affect him.”
    Shock and disbelief held Danielle in place. The wind played over her as she repeated Talia’s words in a whisper. “She cut him?”
    “Small cuts only,” Talia said quickly.
    Danielle spun to face the guards who had followed them up the stairs. “Seal the palace. Stephan, get to the king and tell him what’s happened. Take him someplace safe, and don’t let anyone else near him.”
    Locking the gates wouldn’t stop Snow. She could be anywhere, or anything. Her magic could change her and Jakob into mice, or it could create an illusion to disguise them both. “We’ll need hunting dogs. Trittibar, get the hounds and give them something with Jakob’s scent. Nicolette can—”
    “Nicolette was cut, too,” Talia said softly.
    Danielle nodded, refusing to let the news affect her. “She’ll need to be watched as well.” She touched her bare wrist where her mirrored bracelet had rested. Yesterday, a single kiss to that mirror would have conjured an image of her son. “Get Armand to Father Isaac.”
    Isaac’s magic wasn’t as powerful as Snow’s, but of everyone in the palace, he had the best chance of reversing whatever Snow had done. She waited until the others hurried from the room, leaving her alone with Talia. “Why would she take my son?”
    “I think . . . I think she was curious.” Talia was staring at the overturned bench. “She wanted to know why her mirror didn’t affect him.”
    “Do you think she’ll . . . what will she do to him?”
    Talia looked away. “I don’t know.”
    Danielle could feel the fear pushing up from her chest. She put one hand on her sword, but even the touch of her mother’s final gift couldn’t quell that terror. Snow had taken her son. “Tell me the truth. Are you well enough to fight?”
    “Always,” said Talia. The blood trickling from her left nostril made her assurance less convincing, as did the obvious stiffness in her arm, but Danielle took her at her word.
    “Search Snow’s library. I doubt she’d take Jakob there, but whatever happened started with the destruction of her mirror. Be careful.”
    “What will you be doing?”
    Danielle was already on the stairs. “My husband was one of the first to be cut. With Snow missing, perhaps he’ll hold some answers.”
     
    Talia took the bronze rungs two at a time as she descended the narrow passage hidden in the room Danielle shared with her husband. When she neared the bottom, she loosed her grip and dropped silently to the cold, hard-packed earth. The impact jolted the bruises in her side and reawakened the throbbing pain in her shoulder.
    There was no light here. She stepped away from the ladder and did her best to slow her breathing. She heard nothing but the pounding of her own heart.
    Talia moved from memory, taking two steps and reaching out to touch the smooth wood of the door. She pressed her ear against it, listening for several heartbeats before pulling it open and stepping inside.
    She ran one hand along the whitewashed wall to her right, seeking the lamp and tinderbox stored there. She pulled the tinderbox from its oiled leather pouch and retrieved the steel striker and flint. Dropping to one knee, she placed the box on the floor, arranged the char cloth, and scraped flint to steel. The equipment was well-tended, thanks to the vigilance Beatrice had drilled into them all. Moments later, the lamp was