The Snow Queen's Shadow

children still long enough for the artist to paint them. She still remembered the trouble Danielle and Armand had gone to. In the end, Danielle had simply dressed a tailor’s dummy in Jakob’s clothes. The artist had added Jakob’s face and hands later.
    Danielle emerged then, stumbling through an opening in the wall that vanished as quickly as it had appeared. She clutched her sword in both hands, swinging downward at an unreal foe. The tip gouged the floor.
    Talia darted forward and caught Danielle’s wrist, tugging the sword from her hand.
    “I’m sorry,” said Danielle. She crouched to run a finger over the damage to the wooden tile. “Glasspaper should smooth out the damage, but it will need to be restained.” Her hands shook, giving the lie to her calm words.
    Slowly and deliberately, Talia rested the tip of Danielle’s sword on the floor and leaned on the hilt.
    “We’re guests here,” Danielle reminded her.
    “You don’t greet ‘guests’ with visions of—” Talia swallowed, then handed the sword back to Danielle. “Are you all right?”
    “We were back at the palace,” Danielle said. “Jakob was playing another of his hiding games. Armand and Snow were both there. Beatrice too, I think. But we couldn’t find him.”
    “The king will be here soon,” said Gerta. “I can feel him studying me.” She pointed to the stained wood trim along the walls, like an intricately carved chair rail, only at chest height. “That runs unbroken through the entire palace, allowing the king and queen magical access to every room. My mother ordered it made, to better spy on her guests and servants.”
    She seemed calm, almost bored, making Talia wonder what she had seen as she entered the room.
    “I was running,” Gerta said, answering Talia’s unspoken question. “I couldn’t see whether it was Snow chasing me or something else, but then I recognized the dream magic.”
    “What did you do?” asked Talia.
    Gerta smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I stopped playing.”
    The door opened, and a man in his late twenties entered. “She tried to pull me into the dream with her.”
    “King Laurence.” Danielle’s nod was rather less than the formal greeting of one noble to another, but the king didn’t appear to notice.
    He was a heavyset man with pale skin and jet-black hair too perfect to be natural. A gold sash crossed his formal, thigh-length white jacket. Gleaming black boots came to the middle of his shins. He carried a scepter, a gold rod slightly shorter than a cane, topped with a simple circle of gold. He spoke the language of Lorindar with only the slightest accent. “Welcome to Allesandria, Princess Whiteshore. I hope you’ll forgive my intrusion into your minds.”
    “You can hope,” Talia muttered.
    Danielle shot a warning glare at Talia. “I trust you saw enough to confirm our identities, Your Majesty?”
    “I saw that, and more.” He turned his attention to Gerta. “Forssel relayed your actions at the wall. Combined with your attempt to disrupt my dreamspell—”
    “Attempt?” Gerta repeated.
    The king seemed tired, but his wry smile reminded Talia a little of Snow. “It’s not every day a cousin I’ve never met enters the palace, accompanied by the Princess of Lorindar and the Lady of the Red Hood.”
    “Talia’s not—” Danielle began.
    “Here to kill anyone,” Talia finished. If he wanted to believe she was a legendary assassin, who was she to argue with a king? Laurence had certainly prepared as if she were the Lady of the Red Hood. Talia could smell the protective spells that encased him like dwarf-forged mail.
    “You’re not the one I was worried about, Talia.” Laurence watched Gerta closely. “Everything I saw in your dreams suggests you’re who you claim, but I find it difficult to believe even Rose Curtana could have hidden you so thoroughly.”
    “Long-lost heirs show up all the time,” Talia said.
    “Not in Allesandria.” He gestured to the chairs. Both Danielle and Gerta sat, but Talia refused. It was another violation of Allesandrian manners, one which forced even a king to remain standing. “I saw your fears as well, Gerta. Like your friends, you fear for Ermillina. But there’s something more. You’re afraid of being reclaimed.”
    “I was formed from her essence,” Gerta said.
    “Meaning I’ve welcomed a part of Ermillina Curtana into my palace.” Laurence massaged his brow.
    “I would never—” Gerta started.
    “I