Black Forest: Kingdoms Fall (16 page)

"I suppose we can make a space for you," he said, and the dwarves had dispersed without further discussion, one grumbling about the evil power of
lady-cries as they climbed into their beds along the wall, the sound of their combined snoring an instant ruckus.

"You picked the right bed, Cutie." The dwarf left behind had jumped right into the bed with her, and Snow White flew up from the mattress as he fell into
the mess of covers and snortled off to sleep.

It had not been such a terrible arrangement really. In exchange for cooking and cleaning and mending their pants, which at least one of them managed to rip
at the seams each day that she had been at the cabin, the dwarves allowed Snow White to take shelter with them. Big Papa, the old one, even ordered the
other dwarves to clean out the loft, which became Snow White's own space, and was where she slept when she could, often during the day while the dwarves
were out.

Though Snow White had been taught the basic principles of all three of her new jobs, she owed a great deal to the dwarves even poorer skills that they did
not notice the crookedness in her stitching or that their food was badly-flavored. Snow White noticed, though, as she noticed the dwarves unfortunate
manners and cabin-shaking snores. Nights, as she sat unable to sleep for their racket, she found herself longing for something different, even as she began
to appreciate each of her new friends for his particular quirks.

Sponk, he was the clumsy one, and the most likely amongst them to rip his pants.

Mo was the conceited one, who bragged nightly about his take in each day's mining, which Snow White had started to question as the dwarves actual vocation,
for, though they did have mining equipment in the cabin, they never took it with them when they left, and they regularly returned with spoils that came
from no mine.

Tater was the hungry one, and the reason Snow White always cooked enough food for nine instead of eight.

Chauncy was the annoyed one, whom Snow White had learned to ignore, for he was bothered by anything she or any of the other dwarves did, and had been the
one who held the spoon the night they met.

Baby G was the youngest and most adventurous, and, as for Esteban, he was a bit inappropriate with his touches and his stares, so Snow White kept away from
his hands and eyes when she could.

Given other options, the seven dwarves may not have been her first choice of friends, but they had been good to her. Loud and obscene as they were, she did
like it best when they were there, for when they were not there, Snow White was alone, and, completely unfamiliar with the state prior to her escape into
the woods, she found it was one she never would have liked to know.

Dropping chopped leaves of thyme and marjoram into the pot, Snow White gave it a stir and laid down by the fire, pulling a large piece of parchment before
her, the array of coals shaking atop it.

A few days into her time with them, the dwarves asked if there was anything she wanted, and Snow White smiled widely when they brought the supplies to her,
hugging even Esteban, though she did regret it when he clung to her leg and had to be pulled off by the others.

Happy as she had been to receive the drawing tools, though, she had yet to make use of them. Every time she settled down to commence a sketch, Snow White's
thoughts would evaporate, or she would become so deeply lost in them she would not shake free until the dwarves came back and called her name.

As had been her curse in previous days, as soon as she got quite situated and made an effort to lift the first coal, Snow White's mind went as blank as the
parchment before her, and she let the charcoal fall from her fingers, dropping her head in frustration until a knock at the door drew her eyes toward it.

Going still, Snow White could not tell if the sound was real or imagined. Darkness having not yet fallen on the far edge of the kingdom, she knew it could
not be a specter, and the dwarves always strolled right in without a knock since it was their home.

The thrumming sounding again, Snow White pushed herself up, approaching the door hesitantly.

"Who is there?" she called.

"Open up, open up," a benign voice requested from the other side of the door. "I am the old peddler woman with good wares for sale."

The dwarves had never spoken of a peddler woman coming around bearing goods, but they had warned her of the cheats of the forest, and Snow White trusted
they knew them well, since they were amongst their number.

Hand rising to the door, she surprised herself when it settled on the metal bar lock and slid it silently into place. Not prone to trepidation or distrust
prior to her excursion with Gurr in the woods, she found herself a touch more cautious in the days since.

"Come to the window," Snow White commanded, moving to meet the peddler and pulling the shutter slowly ajar.

The woman appearing suddenly before her, Snow White could not withhold her gasp. Straggly white hair hung past the old peddler's shoulders, and her face
and eyes were nearly as colorless. Skin drooping on her cheeks, it looked as if she came across few sufficient meals, and the robe that covered her was
threadbare and torn.

"Forgive my appearance, Deary." The old woman gave a soft chuckle that sounded like a dying crow. "A hard life does steal the face."

With as much of a smile as she could manage in return, Snow White nodded, knowing such a woman would be cast to the outskirts of the village where she
would not have to be looked upon, and wondered if that was how the peddler ended up in the depths of the forest and at her window. The notion that it might
be her own fate, to end up alone and unaccepted by the villagers, Snow White felt a rush of compassion for the old woman.

"What do you have?" she asked.

Whatever the peddler had to offer, Snow White would trade something of value from the dwarves' loot, for the woman needed it and the dwarves would never
notice it missing. If they loved their work, as it seemed, their love was for the trade itself, not for its rewards, for the things they took simply piled
about the cabin, little use put to any of it.

As luck would have it, the old purveyor did have something Snow White desired. In her hand, she held up a pair of bodice laces, the likes of which Snow
White had never seen. Braided with silks of yellow, blue, and brightest pink, trimmed in gold along their edges, they were the most beautiful bodice laces
ever crafted, of that she was certain.

"Would you like these?" the peddler tempted.

"Oh, yes," Snow White replied without delay, mesmerized by the flourish of color.

"Well, then," the peddler returned, "may I come in?"

"Yes, of course." Snow White ran to open the door at once, and the old woman hobbled inside, her scrunched frame looking quite fitted to the dwarves' chair
as she took a seat, and Snow White turned to the piles of goods in the corner, hoping she was not inviting too much curiosity as to where the goods were
obtained.

"I can give you..." she started, before putting the silver bowl back in place, feeling it of inadequate worth. "Or maybe..." she began again, before
deciding even the gold-plated hairbrush was not valuable enough.

Turning to the woman to ask her preference, Snow White saw a face most familiar and stumbled backward, nearly falling over the pile.

"Are you all right, Deary?" the peddler asked, and, hand going to her heart, Snow White did not feel all right at all. For a moment, she would have sworn
it was the queen sitting at her table, but, upon second glance, there was only the old lady, bewildered and concerned.

"I am quite fine," Snow White returned with a weak smile. "What would you like for the laces?" She gestured to the pile.

"A bowl of that soup would be most rewarding," the woman said, and Snow White nodded, shamed that she had not thought to offer a meal to the woman.

"Of course," she said. "There is plenty."

Fetching a bowl for the peddler, Snow White pushed it across the table to her and watched the woman slip her hood back as she leaned over to take a bite.

"What else would you like?" Snow White asked, pretending not to notice how the old face scrunched in distaste. Even to the starving, it seemed, her cooking
was barely palatable.

"Nothing else," the old woman said, forcing another bite.

"That is not a fair trade," Snow White said.

"Mmm," the old woman hummed. "What I offer provides you only adornment. What you offer provides me life. If the trade is unfair, it is unfair in my favor."
The old woman's near-white eyes dropping to the bowl, Snow White was surprised to see them fill with tears as she raised them again. "Now," the woman said
quickly, grabbing the laces from the table. "Let us finish this deal. Come, let me lace you up."

Nodding, Snow White tugged the old laces of her bodice free, and went to the old lady. Running her fingers over the tip of a lace as the old woman thread
the other end through the first slit on the bodice with some skill, Snow White sighed at the silken feel. "I have never known finer," she murmured.

"And you never shall," the old woman responded quietly, managing to align the laces perfectly across Snow White's middle. Then, taking both ends, she gave
the laces a painful jerk.

"It is too tight," Snow White said, hands alighting on the peddler's arms as she struggled to breathe.

"No." The old woman stood suddenly, looking nothing of the feeble creature she had been. "I should say it is not tight enough."

Failing to draw further breath, hands pressing weakly at the peddler's arms, Snow White did not hear, nor see. Weakness of heart moving up to her head, her
eyes fluttered, and she produced a single feeble sigh, before she saw nothing more.

Dropping to her knees on the cabin's dirt floor, Queen Ino pushed Snow White gently to her back, and, for a moment, lingered over her, captivated by oil
black hair, ivory skin paler than ever, and cherry lips quickly turning blue. The mirror did not lie, she admitted to herself. Snow White's beauty was
true.

"I wish I had pure love within me," the queen quietly whispered, the admittance as near as she would ever come to apology or confession. "We could have had
peace. Peace is imminent now. For both of us. Rest in it, Love."

Lowering her head, Queen Ino kissed the purple lips, quickly going cold, feeling the blood return to them for a moment, warm and alive, before she pulled
away and watched the life drain from them once more. Raising herself to full height, she cast a final glance in Snow White's direction and left her work to
finish itself as she set off into the coming darkness.

The queen did not get far from the cabin before she heard voices. Stepping into the cover of the brush, she watched two maidens pass, clinging to each
other as if their lives depended on it. As they were dressed, Queen Ino suspected they very well might.

It was not the unseasonal attire or their tremulous voices, though, that held the queen's attention rapt, but the way in which they huddled, hands joined,
heads close, as if their dependence on each other was not due solely to the cold.

Moving forward, Queen Ino clutched the branches around her, feeling their thorns poke through her skin, and had the sudden urge to rush back, to rescue
Snow White from the death slowly coming upon her.

Then, as quickly as the feeling came, it subsided, leaving the queen chilled and burdened in its wake. When she looked up again, the girls were gone.

T
here was a moment as they walked the snowy landscape, seeking without finding shelter, that Cinderella determined the probability of death higher than the
likelihood of survival, but, as far as deaths went, there were worse she could imagine.

Her stepsister, Tilly, had once exchanged a kiss to get a village boy to hold Cinderella's head underwater in a murky swamp. She believed she would die
that day, and it was a most horrible way to death, until at last she lost consciousness, coming to again as the boy pounded upon her chest, seeming to
realize he would get in some real trouble if she did not wake up, even if he had meant only to frighten her.

So, though the cold was almost as painful as the fire that licked her skin the night her stepmother shoved her hand into the flames at the hearth, the
feeling was not the same, for Rapunzel was there, holding her arm, and her presence alone gave death less power.

"Do you see that?" Rapunzel exclaimed breathlessly beside her, yanking Cinderella's arm to pull her closer.

"Ow," Cinderella uttered, though it did not truly hurt. "What?"

Rewarded by the tender stroke of Rapunzel's hand upon her arm, Cinderella grinned into the heavy fall of snow.

"Over there." Rapunzel ceased the caress to point, and, following the direction of her jutting finger, Cinderella saw it too. Swirling into a grove of
trees, a puff of red that seemed to hover over the ground, mist out of place and miscolored.

"What is that?" Cinderella asked, even as she moved toward it.

Reaching the strange swirl of color, she was rather surprised it was still there as she reached it, and even more surprised when her hand passed through
the mist, breaking it up for an instant, only for it to drift back together into a hazy line.

"Should we follow it?" Rapunzel seemed delighted at the prospect.

"Certainly," Cinderella returned, attempting to sound wise. "When one is already in an unfamiliar kingdom, hungry, freezing, and lost, I can think of no
better idea than to follow a strange mist deeper into the wood."

Glancing to Rapunzel, Cinderella watched the wide-open grin appear on her face, and, as one, they burst into laughter.

"All right, then, let us follow it," Rapunzel pushed through her humor, and that is what they did.

There was no sense in not knowing where one was being led, but walking anyway. The chance of danger was always greater than the chance of pleasant
surprise, Cinderella knew. Yet, rendered dumb by cold and amused panic, she let the foggy trail guide them, knowing they were seeking nothing short of a
miracle.