Mirrored Snow [novel]

Chapter Twenty Eight

"What are you up to?" I asked, cutting straight to the point. I wasn't here to play her games. Over her shoulder I had a clear view into the courtyard beyond. People looked nervous, but no one was willing to leave without permission. The view was disorientating – a light gold curtain was usually pulled shut across that window, even at midday, so no one would be able to see in from the courtyard beneath. Today, I could see nervous glances being thrown up towards it, the craning of necks as the confused audience tried to spot the queen. She stood slightly off to the right, enough that she was out of view of the spectators below. So she hadn't opened the curtains to put herself on show. I couldn't understand what other reason she might have for the change.

"Approaching the situation with your usual tact and caution, I see," she replied with a small smile.

"Why aren't you in the courtyard?"

She answered with a smile that made my stomach churn. "I've already told you. I was waiting for you. I require your assistance in the final step of my plan to kill the little prince you've grown so fond of watching." I realised she wasn't dressed in her usual regalia. There was no ostentatious jewellery; no dress of satin or silk. She didn't look like a queen who was about to appear before her people. She was up to something.

"Surely after three attempts it's time to give up? He's not even in the palace anymore; he can't contest your right to rule while everyone thinks he's dead. He's not a threat to you. Just let him live." I was lying through my teeth and I think we both knew it.

"Mirror, what is the answer to my question?"

"Snowdon is the fairest in the land," I answered on auto-pilot.

"And that is why I cannot give up. Not yet."

I shook my head, but bit back the comments I wanted to make about her vanity. It was more important to find out what her next plan was. I didn't have to wait long. After taking a crimson bottle from the creaking drawer, a pot of green powder from the screaming drawer and the midnight bowl from the wailing drawer, she produced an apple from the folds of her dress. There was nothing special about it. It was dull, soft and a little bruised, but the queen looked at it as though it were made of gold.

"Hungry?" I asked, gesturing to the fruit.

"Oh no. This isn't for me. It's a gift for your prince." She mixed the powder and liquid together in the bowl, muttering an incantation as she worked. I wished I could hear what she was saying. The fact that she tried so hard to make sure I couldn't meant it must be important.

Under her instruction, the mixture fizzed, creating a large volume of scarlet foam which bubbled up to the brim of the bowl, threatening to spill onto the wood below. The queen seemed satisfied with her concoction and carefully dipped one half of the apple into it, keeping her fingers as far from the liquid as possible. She held the apple in place for a moment then lifted it back out. The half which had been submerged was now glossy and bright crimson in colour.

"I'm not taking any more chances. The poison in this apple will kill the prince as soon as it reaches his stomach."

"But you have to get him to eat it, first. He won't fall for your Marianne manipulations again, you know. And old ladies are out too." I didn't point out that he'd also have to be in the courtyard first for her to get to him – we both knew he was on his way there now. That was why she was holding the trial when she did; it was a trap. She was as spider laying wait in her web. But I didn't think for a second that Snowdon was going to fall for it; he wouldn't touch anything while he was in the courtyard. He'd be unlikely to even trust the revolutionaries after what had happened with Marianne.

"Which is why I was waiting for you. You've studied the prince the most since he arrived. Who is he most likely to trust? A small child, perhaps? A fainting damsel? Or maybe I should take Murphy's place for a spell?"