Mirrored Snow [novel]

Chapter Twelve

I returned to the ballroom, my head whirling. Safe. Snowdon needed to head somewhere safe. I could help him – if only I knew enough about the kingdom to direct him to safety.

Useless. I was every bit as useless as the queen always told me I was. I hadn't been able to warn Snowdon about the attack. I could only watch while he had stopped it. I couldn't help him now, because I'd never seen the world beyond the palace walls. There was nothing I could do. So I had left him. Perhaps Talbot's words of warning ought to apply to me too; if I didn't know where Snowdon had gone, I couldn't reveal it to the queen if she discovered that he was still alive.

The queen had returned to the ballroom. She sat on the dais on a throne of rubies and glass, which jutted up into the air behind her like blood-specked thorns of ice. Her eyes were glazed over, her head propped up on a hand which rested on the arm of the throne.

It was ridiculous that she threw so much money away on these parties when she didn't enjoy being at them. She just liked being observed, judged, adored. She was every bit as obsessed with being looked at as I was with doing the looking.

Tonight, her brow was furrowed slightly. She would regret that later, when creases marred her forehead.

"Your Majesty." Talbot's voice was soft. He was nervous.

The queen snapped to attention immediately. She gestured for the guard to approach from the bottom of the dais.

"Is it done?" she demanded, keeping her voice low.

"Yes, Your Majesty. He's... Gone."

She closed her eyes, letting the words wash over her. "Excellent." Then the eyes were open again, but narrowed. Sceptical. "Do you have proof?"

The guard glanced over his shoulder, taking in the crowded ballroom. More than a few heads were turned towards them, watching the exchange with interest.

"Don't worry about them," the queen said with a lazy flick of her hand. The tips of her finger glowed green for a second before returning to normal. "They won't see anything amiss." I waited for a mist to swirl around them, or a giant wall to drop from the ceiling, but usual conversation continued. No one appeared to notice whatever spell the queen had cast.

Talbot drew the dagger stained with Snowdon's blood.

As the queen promised, no gasps sounded across the room, no alarm at the bloody weapon in their midst. The queen took it from him immediately and ran a finger along the sharp edge of the blade. It came away coated in blood which – to the revulsion of both Talbot and myself – she licked from her finger, her brow creased thoughtfully. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Oh yes. That's definitely his. Why do the good ones always taste so disgustingly sweet?"

"Your Majesty?

"Oh, never mind, I wasn't talking to you. You may go." She dismissed him with a wave of her hand and returned her gaze to the dance floor, a victorious smile spreading across her features.

I decided to follow Talbot's cue and leave before the queen realised I was there and thought to ask me her question once more.

Murphy was where I'd left him, watching Marianne with wide eyes as she stood before him, dancing to a beat much slower than the one playing in the room. Marianne's potion must be wearing off. Murphy glanced around the room for an escape route, but the people of the court seemed content to sit back and watch what he would do next.

"Snowdon, where are you?" he muttered quietly, scanning the crowded ballroom.

Where was he, indeed. I couldn't cope with not knowing; I had to check that he was okay, even if it would be safer not to see where he was heading. I tried to picture him as the guard had left him. His black hair had tangled in the breeze, his skin had looked paper-white in the moonlight, which had been reflected in the silver medallion pinned to his dress jacket. Perfect. Bigger than the button and silver was always a preferable veil to gold. I closed my eyes, scrunched my nose and concentrated on the medallion.