Mirrored Snow [novel]

Chapter One

"Mirror." Queen Maia puckered her lips as she painted them a deep, gory red, the colour of blood. Knowing her, that's probably what it was – lip stain made from the blood of her enemies. Pale powder from the crushed bones of those she had killed. Maybe her fake nails weren't really all that fake...

"Mirror, aren't you going to answer me?" she snapped, clicking the lid back onto the pot with unnecessary force.

I hadn't been listening to a word she'd said, but I didn't need to be a genius to guess what she had asked. Today was a big day and she had taken extra care with her appearance. There was only one question I could have missed.

"Yes, yes, you are still the fairest in the land," I sighed. I'd been answering this question for as long as I could remember, and the answer never changed.

Even to the untrained eye, the queen was breathtaking. Flawless without the makeup she wore like war paint. I couldn't lie about the answer to her question, but I would never need to. No one could outmatch the queen in beauty, just as none could surpass her in wickedness.

"Although, if you ask me 'fairest' isn't the right term for you. It evokes a sense of... justice. Not a word I would associate with you, really. Fair as in beautiful, I'll give you; fair as in, well, a decent human being... Not so much." I flicked an imaginary speck of mirror-world dust from my plain black dress to avoid meeting her eye. There wasn't really any dust where I was trapped. There wasn't anything – except me and a small box of white space surrounded by an opulent gold frame.

The queen tutted but didn't reply, her focus on the edges of her lips, not me. Never me. But I was too used to that to feel bitter.

Behind her, the royal suite was flawless as always: a sea of palest grey with striking gold and crimson accents. I'd once seen her threaten to throw a maid out of the window for leaving the bed unmade. Staff at the palace were quick to learn that the queen accepted nothing short of perfection. If they didn't adapt, they vanished.

Perhaps that was too dramatic – while I could transition between mirrors inside the palace walls, I couldn't leave them. For all I knew, the missing servants were simply fired and never returned to the palace. Maybe they were out in the town I could see from the observatory mirror, living their lives happily, far away from the wrath of the queen. Or, maybe they were buried six feet below the palace walls because they put too much salt in the queen's risotto.

Light flooded the room, all but one of its gauzy grey curtains thrown open to the weak winter sun. The queen was usually downstairs by now, surrounded by trembling courtiers and ensuring the servants worked without pause.

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. The queen didn't break eye contact with herself as she called out: "Go away."

"But, Your Majesty," the stammered response came. The voice was Lyona's – one of the palace maids. "The prince is about to cross the eastern border. The villagers there are already rejoicing at his return."

"Ungrateful swine," the queen hissed.

I wasn't sure if she was referring to her step-son, the villagers, or both. Her step-son didn't seem to have much to be ungrateful for – she'd torn his kingdom away from him when his father's body was still warm in its grave, and packed him off to a boarding school from which he had been unable to return. The villagers, too, were so downtrodden, so starved and over-taxed, that they could hardly be considered ungrateful; she'd have to actually have given them something besides their miserable existence for that to be the case.

I fidgeted, drumming my fingers against my arms and flexing my toes. I was eager to see the prince the palace servants fawned over; he'd been all they could talk about from the moment his visit had been announced. I wanted to see if the truth matched their expectations.