The polished floor let her see everything that took place within the palace. She watched impatiently as white-furred mounts that had once been human stepped out of the woods, carrying the six nobles who had accepted Snow’s offer.
They had left their weapons behind, but none were truly unprotected. Two had taken potions to strengthen their magic. Another had swallowed a pearl to help him resist mental control. Nor were their magics purely defensive. Snow could see the charms on one man’s fingers, the nails sharp and hard as talons, and coated in some sort of magical toxin.
She gathered her cloak around herself as her creatures escorted the men into her throne room. One of the men stepped forward and knelt. “Queen Ermillina. I am Stevan Tirill, Lord of Kettunen.” His companions followed suit. “I was there when your cousin claimed your throne. I spoke against him, but the Nobles’ Circle chose to grant the crown to Laurence.”
Snow didn’t bother to conceal her revulsion. Tirill was a yellowed husk of a man, a minor noble whose ambition had always exceeded his ability. He dressed in the gaudiest of fashions, silk and silver clashing with his foxskin jacket. Greed and fear spilled from his words, soiling all who heard them.
Like the others, he wore powerful magic. His protective spells had been tattooed onto the bone of his skull. It was a painful and archaic process, once performed upon noble children when they were first born. He was well guarded against outside influence or attack, but the skull shifted as it grew, introducing imperfections into the spell. Snow studied his magic through the mirror until she found those flaws.
“Your Majesty, Allesandria will soon fall into civil war.” He paused for effect, then shook his head. “No, war is too neat a term for the chaos spreading through this land. Laurence means to disband the Circle and give the crown to you. Half the provinces have already spoken out against him.”
“Only half?” Snow asked.
Tirill stumbled. “Your Majesty, Allesandria has seen your power. Word has spread that Queen Ermillina is returned to her homeland to take the crown from her cousin the usurper. I would offer my allegiance.”
“The rest of you would do the same?” Snow approached, her eyes lidded as she continued to examine their magic through the mirror of her lake. “You would swear to me. Yet you each swore an oath to King Laurence when he took the throne.”
“King Laurence now serves you,” said Tirill. “By doing the same, I fulfill my oath to obey him.”
Snow smiled. The man knew full well Laurence was not himself, but this deception served his greed and ambition. “Tell me, Stevan. What will you do if I refuse this… offer?”
He spread his hands, the picture of false modesty. “Without the Lords, I’m afraid you’ll never consolidate your hold over Allesandria. Even your mother knew this nation was too large for any one person to control alone.”
Snow watched his wrinkled face as she strode closer, enjoying his battle between arrogance and fear. “My mother believed in control.” She flexed her hand, feeling the stiffness of healing cuts on her palm. “Answer me one question, and I’ll accept your oath.”
He rose and took an eager step closer. “What question is that, Your Majesty?”
“After my mother died, when the Circle called for my execution, to whom did you lend your voice and support?” When he didn’t respond, Snow began to pace around him. “Those loyal to my mother sought to punish me for her death. Others saw it as a chance to free Allesandria from the rule of Curtana, to put a new family on the throne. Not even Beatrice would fight for my birthright.”
He blinked. “Beatrice, Your Majesty?”
“How did you vote, Stevan?”
He bowed low. “I had seen Queen Curtana’s cruelty, both to her people and to her daughter. You acted to protect yourself. I said you were innocent of wrongdoing. Alas, the Circle would not listen to my arguments.”
The lies were foul as spoiled milk. The man wore his greed like a crown. His fat tongue flicked hungrily over cracked lips. Even as he lowered his head, he stared lustfully through his lashes. His gaze crawled over her skin, and the raw desire made her shudder. Desire both for her body and for her power.
“Thank you for coming.” Snow offered her hand. He took it eagerly, his sweaty fingers tight as he kissed her knuckles. Snow concentrated, casting a minor variation of a familiar spell that slipped through the cracks in his defenses. “I remember you well, and had hoped you would accept my invitation.”
Stevan risked a smile, even as he flexed his hand. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” He frowned and shook his fingers. “I’m glad to see you returned home at last. Under your wise rule…”
Snow backed away. “I am not my mother, Stevan. Flattery is but another lie, and I’ve no tolerance for such. Nor for groveling cowards who care for nothing but their own fortunes.”
Stevan cried out and clutched his arm. The other nobles backed away. Several whispered warding spells, but none yet dared to act against Snow.
“You say you knew her cruelty, yet you did nothing to stop her?” Snow returned to her throne, settling herself on the ice. “You stood by as she tortured those who displeased her? Burned their bodies to ash while their loved ones looked on?”
He fell, whimpering. By now the blood in his arm had frozen solid. Chunks of ice would be breaking away, flowing through his veins toward his heart. He would be dead long before the rest of his body froze.
Snow turned her attention to the other nobles. “And what of you? How many of you watched and did nothing?”
One man stepped forward. “Your Majesty, I know not what my father did, but he died only two years past. I never knew your mother. Nor did we know you yet lived.”
“Are you hoping to convince me of your loyalty?” Snow asked. “Your honesty? Yet you also took an oath to serve King Laurence, and now you’ve come to me. Or did you accept my invitation in order to discover my location and destroy me? You think I’ve not noticed your failed telepathic attempts to summon help?”
He attacked without warning, but the others were quick to follow. There was little artistry to their magic. A simple spell of flame, a curse to destroy her senses, another to make her sleep… one woman did attempt a rather unusual form of teleportation, trying to transport parts of Snow’s body to different locations. Snow wondered briefly where she had learned that particular trick.
Their spells never touched her. Snow stood upon the largest magical mirror ever created. It absorbed their attacks, reflecting them back not at the casters, who would presumably know how to counter their own spells, but at their companions.
Within seconds, three more nobles had fallen. Snow’s guardians, men twisted into creatures of fur and fang and claw, closed in to deal with the remaining two.
“Take the bodies to the edge of the palace. Spill their blood in an unbroken ring.” Noble blood, full of magic. “I will not be alone, my dear Stevan.”
A flicker of magic tugged her attention to the child. Jakob had finally managed to conjure an image within his makeshift mirror. He sat with his back to the carnage, his shoulders shaking. Snow walked over and tugged the bloody ice from his hands.
When she saw what he had done, she nearly dropped it. Within the ice was Snow herself. Not as she was, but as she had been: her face unscarred, her smile one of genuine merriment. The reflection wore a green jacket, and was sucking frosting from her fingers. This was a memory, from Jakob’s birthday celebration earlier this year. “I’d expected you to summon up your mother or father.”
“Aunt Snow will fight you.”
“She tried.” A flick of her finger should have banished the image. Instead, the reflection turned to stick out her tongue.
Snow yanked the image from the small mirror and transferred it into the ice at her feet. For a moment, that tug echoed within her, giving her the key. Jakob might have instinctively summoned a comforting memory from the mirror, but even with his fairy blood, he couldn’t have given that memory life.