The Snow Queen's Shadow

back, and the iron fighting spikes tucked up her sleeves.
    One of the Stormcrows secured a blue metal chain around Gerta’s neck. It rippled like water as he pressed the end links together until they merged into one.
    “This isn’t you, Snow,” said Talia. “When your mirror broke, a demon—”
    “I know what happened.” So strange to hear Snow’s earnestness from the mouth of a Morovan witch. “It’s a partnership. Look at me, Talia. I can cast spells without pain for the first time in years. I can see the world as it truly is.”
    “How do you know? How many times have you cast illusions to fool those around you? How do you know the demon isn’t doing the same thing?”
    “Oh, Talia.” The exasperation on her face was so typical of Snow it made Talia’s breath catch in her chest. “It would be like trying to explain music to a deaf child.”
    Talia took a small step closer. “What about the demon? What does it take from you?”
    “Freedom. I’ve given it freedom, and it has given me the same.”
    Even unarmed, Talia could have killed Odelia. A kick to the knee, turning her body and bending her low enough to grab the head. One hand to the chin, while the other grabbed the back of the head. Twist and haul downward to snap the neck. Odelia would be dead before she could speak . . . and it would accomplish nothing. Snow and the demon would survive, with hundreds of slaves at their command.
    Odelia’s lips quirked as though she knew what Talia was thinking. Knowing Snow, she probably did.
    “You saw what they intend to do to me,” Odelia said. “How quickly Laurence ordered my double’s murder.”
    Talia clenched her fists. When she closed her eyes, she could still see Snow’s body lying dead on the floor.
    Odelia took the scepter from Laurence’s hand and turned away. The king followed her from the small garden, leaving eight Stormcrows to escort Talia and her companions back through the palace. Servants and guards moved in silence through the halls, an eerie contrast to the chaos of battle such a short time before. Talia could hear screams elsewhere, but within this part of the palace, all was quiet.
    The guards brought them down a narrow staircase near the Stormcrows’ tower to a small room without windows. A woven rug covered most of the wall, and a trio of fat candles burned in one corner. Two cots were shoved against the walls. Though narrow, the mattresses appeared clean and uninfested. Thick quilts were folded at the foot of each cot. The moment Talia and her friends were inside, the Stormcrows slammed the door behind them.
    Gerta slumped against the wall, the candles illuminating the despair on her face. “I thought I could reach her.”
    “You did,” said Danielle. “I could hear it in her voice.”
    “It wasn’t enough.”
    “Maybe it was.” Talia was already searching the room. The cots were framed with wood. Pine, from the smell. It should be easy enough to break them apart for weapons. “She could have killed us or infected us with her mirrors, but she didn’t.”
    “She will.” Gerta hugged herself. “When I cast my spell, just for a moment, we were one. When she said she doesn’t intend to rule Allesandria, she meant it.”
    The deadness of her words made Talia stop what she was doing. “What do you mean?”
    “She wants to destroy it.”
    “How?” breathed Danielle.
    “I’m not sure.”
    “Whatever the demon plans, I doubt it will be content to stop at Allesandria’s borders.” Talia checked the door next. There was no lock, no handle of any sort. The hinges were on the outside, and the crack beneath was too narrow for her fingers. She scraped skin from her knuckles trying to reach through.
    “It won’t work,” said Gerta. “None of it’s real. I always hated this room.”
    “You’ve been here before?” asked Danielle.
    “It responds to the will of the king or queen.” Gerta flicked her fingers through the candle flames. “Our mother used to put us—used to put Snow in here, rather. Sometimes for days, until one of her servants reminded her to let us out.” She licked her fingers and pinched one of the wicks. When she removed her fingers, the flame sprang back to life.
    Wood trim ran along the middle of the walls. Talia tried to dig her fingernails beneath the wood to pry it away, but the trim was seamless. “Can she watch us through this?”
    “Probably not anymore.” Gerta touched the wood. “This conduit ran unbroken through the