Page 14

Revelations

The royal body reclining on cloud-cushions was sumptuously draped in a silvery gown, and the shape of the royal form was enormous.

A pair of plump ankles and feet peeked out from the glistening folds. My eyes travelled from her feet to her face, with apple-round cheeks and a notable wart on her rosy chin.

Her eyes were closed, and a snore escaped from her open mouth. Her crown was knocked askew. I glanced at the beautiful sister, noting the sly gleam in her eyes.

“Well I’ll be jiggered—is that the queen?” said Jack in amazement.

At the discordant note in his voice, the music halted abruptly, as though a spell were broken. The queen’s eyelids flickered.

I was about to hiss an order to my fellow travellers to leave quickly, for I suddenly understood the malicious look of the sister; were the queen to awake, we would be caught in a dreadfully disrespectful position, looking upon her in the privacy of her royal nap .

As my mouth opened to urge my companions to hasten away, the eyes of the queen also opened, pinioning me to the spot. Dismay gripped me, and I stood staring like a simpleton, my mouth agape.

“Who are you?” demanded the queen.

I hurried to curtsey. “I am Snow White, Your Highness. This is my travelling companion, Jago. And this—” I gestured to Sir Oswain, who was staring with a shocked expression. I gave him a nudge.

He made a hasty bow and said, “Sir Osw—” Here I nudged him again to remind him not to give his true name—“Os- wart ,” he blurted, glancing at the queen’s chin.

She looked past us. “ Lupine !” she said accusingly.

The queen’s sister lifted her beautiful chin defiantly.

“Give back my glamour, you traitorous worm-casing.”

Lupine looked sulky, but she shook herself, and a shimmer like a heatwave mirage hid her from view for the space of a blink of an eye, then drifted across the chamber, settling on the queen and melting into her like dew.

In place of the beautiful Lupine stood a thin, angular woman with close-set eyes. But the queen, upon the couch, was breathtakingly beautiful, with shining waves of hair cascading down the elegant lines of her body to her delicate feet.

Sir Oswain recovered his manners first, making another bow and offering a flowery plea for Her Highness’s pardon at awakening her from her repose. Jack made a clumsy bow and mumbled something unintelligible, but it was me the queen fixed her green eyes on.

I curtseyed again. “I thank you for the great honour of this meeting, Your Highness.”

The queen spied the roses in my hair. She sat upright, looking regal and glorious .

“A Daughter of the Rose Crown has always the right of an audience,” said the queen. “You had no need to use a mortal lordling to ask for entry. You had only to knock.”

Her eyes flickered their beautiful green light over Sir Oswain.

I wished to ask what rights she spoke of, but I recalled Mother’s words regarding the precarious ways of the fae— they manoeuvre by bargains, promises, and the binding laws of language.

To admit my ignorance would place me at a disadvantage in not knowing my rights under the terms of whatever bargain had been made.

The fae are bound by law. But they have no conscience. If they can bend the rules to suit their purposes, they will. One must know the laws in order to invoke them and keep the fae from trickery. They do not like mortals, but they will respect any bargains, unless they perceive weakness.

“I have sought your presence, Your Highness,” I began, “on behalf of my sister, who is also a Daughter of the Rose. She was taken captive into Faerie, and I do not know where to find her. We seek your aid.”

The queen gave a delicate yawn behind tapered fingers.

“Helping is fatiguing,” she said. “Lupine, order refreshment. And no more of your tricks, you hag, or I shall turn you into a beetle, and this time for two centuries.”

Lupine lifted her chin and stalked away.

In came a troop of liveried servants bearing a table to set before the queen’s couch. Though the servants moved swiftly, the queen urged them to hasten, her eyes gleaming with anticipation as the table was speedily covered with bowls, platters, and carafes.

Jack licked his lips. I shared his hunger. We had been existing on small portions of wayfarer bread for what seemed an age.

The queen ate rapidly, her plate and goblet refilled by her servants as soon as they emptied.

Sir Oswain grew restless, no doubt irritated by the lack of courtesy, for we were left standing awkwardly, watching the queen’s feasting.

When a fresh course of platters was carried in he spoke up, barely concealing his indignation.

“Pray, excuse us, Your Highness. We shall step outside and await the conclusion of your feast.” He made a curt bow.

His words distracted the queen from her eating, and she looked up, her eyes narrowing with amusement, or mischief, I could not say which. She licked her fingers delicately before replying smoothly, “Your table must be peasantish, Sir Os wart , if you consider this little nuncheon a feast.”

The servants sneered, and the queen looked pleased with her own wit.

“You may partake, if you wish,” she said. “Shall I offer you a platter, or are you still eating from stale trenchers in your kingdom?”

Sir Oswain said haughtily, “I thank you for your kind offer, Your Highness, but we are sorely pressed for time.”

She ignored him, for she had turned her attention to me and was looking again at the red and white roses I wore.

“Which of the rose daughters are you?” she asked.

“I am Snow—”

“I know what you said,” she said impatiently, plucking a cluster of large, pink berries from her plate. “Hair white as snow, and so forth. But are you the foundling or the princess? ”

And she popped the fruit into her mouth.

“Princess?” Sir Oswain exclaimed. He looked at me in astonishment.

“Princess?” echoed Jack, gaping at me.

The queen chewed and swallowed, and plucked another pink orb.

“Does your godmother give you the white roses or the red?”

I could not speak. I was too stunned by her previous words.

The queen smiled. “Oops. Have I spoiled the secret?” She crushed another berry between her teeth.

Her words lingered in the air like the last reverberation of the notes of a plucked lute. Jack and Sir Oswain stared at me, their expressions shifting between astonishment and curiosity. My own thoughts whirled. Princess? Foundling?

“ Godmother ?” I managed to say.

The queen idly rolled a berry between her fingers. “I seem to have broken a little spell, Rose Daughter. So which one are you? The red princess or the white foundling?”

“I… I must be the foundling,” I heard myself whisper.

“The lady Rose is a princess!” exclaimed Jack.

“The princess?” breathed Sir Oswain. “ Impossible . The king’s daughter disappeared as a mere babe, the same dark and dreadful night the crown prince was likewise taken. Lost forever!” He shook his head. “Can it be? Can the lady Rose be the lost daughter of the king?”

“Are you missing any other princesses?” the queen asked, pushing away her plate and leaning back with a soft sigh of contentment.

I had no answer. My thoughts churned so violently I felt sick; but the queen did not wait for a reply. With a wave of her hand, the table was cleared in an instant. Jack sighed as the last of the food vanished.

Sir Oswain turned to me, speaking in a low voice.

“We must make haste. Will you enquire of Her Highness? It is what we came for. I cannot rest nor slumber until the princess is safely returned to the king.”

I roused myself to say, “Where shall we find my si—the princess, Your Highness?”

The queen regarded me through half-lidded eyes, her expression unreadable.

“You are honour bound to help us,” I pressed, though I did not know if this was true. I only knew that Mother had been given royal roses to protect us, though I did not understand why.

“So I am,” she murmured to my relief. “How vexing. Who took her?”

I described the dark figure I had seen.

“It must be the one they call Amara,” said the queen.

“What is she? Is she fae?”

“A nuisance, is what she is. A rogue royal godmother grown greedy for trade, and turned to dabbling in sorcery.”

“Why would she take my—the princess?”

The queen spoke as though bored by the conversation. “The dwarf lord put a price on the princess’s head the day she escaped out of his hand. Marriage to the mortal princess would remove the final obstacle to the mortal throne.”

“She is going to give the lady Rose to the dwarf lord?” Jack said with dismay.

“To wed him!” exclaimed Sir Oswain, grasping his sword hilt. “We must hasten to find her! Where shall we find her?”

The queen ignored him, reaching for a silver toothpick.

“Where shall we find the princess, Your Highness?” I urged. “Would this Amara have taken her directly to the dwarf lord?”

“The only thing wrong with summer berries,” mused the queen, as she leisurely cleaned her teeth, “are the seeds.”

I clenched my hands into fists, striving for patience.

Sir Oswain could bear it no longer. “Where is the princess now, Your Highness?” he begged in a strained voice.

The queen ignored him, looking only at me. “Did I hear you had brought me a gift?”

Sir Oswain hastened to draw his sword and laid it on the table before the queen.

I forced myself to keep countenance and speak evenly, though my thoughts were still reeling as the words foundling and godmother swirled round my head.

“We bring you a sword of the highest craftsmanship in our kingdom, Your Highness,” I said.

The queen looked underwhelmed.

“Where shall we find the Rose Daughter?” I pressed again.

“Amara would keep her while she made her bargain,” the queen said languidly.

“Keep her where?”

The queen called for music, and the notes of a stringed instrument swelled and floated from behind a lattice screen. The melody was soothing and restful. Jack made a strange sound like a yowling cat as he stifled a yawn .