Black Forest: Kingdoms Fall (4 page)

Taking the statement as belief in her tale, Cinderella went on. "I went to the ball, and the prince approached me at once. He asked for a dance, and I, of
course, obliged him, for he was the prince. After that, he held my arm. Every time another asked him to dance, he would say, 'This is my partner,' again
and again to everyone. 'This is my partner.'"

"He was taken with you," Akasha surmised.

"I suppose," Cinderella responded, for it must have been true, but still made little sense. There was no explanation for it, no real moment between them.
Just the show of the prince and a girl. He did not even know her.

"You were not taken with him?" Akasha asked.

Returning to the ball in her mind, to the strange feel of it, to the dances shared, to the prince's unshakable attention, the feel of his hand always on
her arm, as possessive as her stepmother's were cruel, Cinderella trembled.

"I felt as if I should be," she admitted haltingly, "as if I should want that, but... it did not feel real. Not just the ball and the night and the dress.
Nothing about it felt real. Within." She raised her hand to her chest, feeling her heart beat fast at the memory alone. "And that is where it matters, is
it not?"

Though the question was posed mostly to herself, it was Akasha who pushed up, dark curls tumbling around her shoulders as she looked down at Cinderella
with interest.

"So," Cinderella went on nervously when Akasha said nothing. "I rushed from him back to my mother's grave. I told her I did not want it, that it was not
the life I chose. Then, I heard the prince coming, and the tree at my mother's grave, it gave way. Suddenly, everything was gone and I was here."

"You were running away," Akasha stated in awe.

"Yes." Cinderella only just realized it. "I was running away."

The admission in the open, it surged like energy on the air, crackling around them, and Akasha clearly felt it too, something out of the ordinary and
unexplainable.

When it finally faded, Akasha sounded breathless as she looked at Cinderella in the darkness. "You could stay here, Cinderella," she offered gently, "but,
if you do, you stay at their command."

Cinderella felt burdened at once by the words, heartbeat slowing with dread. "I have always lived at the commands of others."

"If it is freedom you are seeking," Akasha declared, "you will not find it here."

Staring up at her in bewilderment, Cinderella understood the word. She had heard it said many times, but had believed it something she already possessed.
Troyale, it was said, was a free kingdom. One could always leave its walls. Even if she had the courage to leave the home of her family, though, where was
she to go? Beyond the village, there was nothing but the forest, as far as she ever knew, and a cold or hungry death come winter.

With nowhere that freedom truly existed, it was never something Cinderella had sought. Hearing her say it, though, she realized Akasha spoke truth. That
night, as she had run from the prince, from the life he offered, away from the cruelty of her family, but no less a prison, freedom was exactly what she
had been seeking.

T
he servants drooped like late-summer flowers, still serving their purpose, but losing their luster. Jackets wrinkled and hats sat askew as they went about
their work, clearing away dishes and refilling glasses.

Around the table, the merchants and artisans glanced to the high windows, watching early light fall against the stone, knowing the hour was nigh when their
shops would need opening, their trades doing and their livings earned, all with half-lidded eyes.

A scant number of those blessed with royal invitation had dared take their leaves before the party was called to a close, but only one section of the table
had energy to spare. Several youthful admirers gathered around Snow White, seemingly enthralled with her charming, gullible demeanor, while all others hung
on for the sake of the king's good graces, and, perhaps, those of the future queen herself.

"Three-hundred cobs?" Queen Ino's ears caught on Snow White's laughing response to a young man, sharply-dressed and attentive. "I mustn't believe you. Our
huntsman, Gurr, swears there are none that weigh over two-hundred cobs."

"Your huntsman is mistaken," the young man replied, drunk on too much wine and Snow White's undivided attention. "I fought the beast myself."

"How many heads did it have?" Snow White questioned.

"Just the one, Silly Girl," he countered with a grin. "There are no giant cats with more."

"Perhaps, I will believe you then," Snow White smiled.

She should not have believed him. The tale the boy told was so tall, no one in the room could see the top of it, but Snow White would believe it, of that
Queen Ino was certain. For the girl, one truth eliminated any lies that came before it. It was in Snow White's nature to be dangerously trusting, like a
fly that crawls into the mouth of a frog for shelter.

"My king, I do apologize." An old farmer rose from the table, looking too tired to stand. He had brought in the kingdom's most fruitful crop. Due in no
small part to him, the people of Aulis would eat all winter. Dressed in his finest, the dirty nature of his work still hung upon the farmer like a shroud.
"I must start my deliveries."

"Of course, My Friend," the king nodded, and Queen Ino sneered at the false endearment. No bridges of friendship crossed between royalty and peasantry,
and, even choosing to use the word, the king did not get up to shake the weathered hand that would sustain the life of his constituents goodbye.

The farmer was grateful at any rate, even if only for his release, and his courageous exit proved encouraging for the rest of the townspeople, who decided
it a good opportunity to make their exits as well, causing a sudden stir within the hall as chairs scraped the floor in relief.

"Snow White, the sun is coming up," Kind Kardon gently informed his daughter, who only seemed to notice the commotion once he had spoken.

"Just a while longer, Father," Snow White pleaded, soft brown eyes shining brightly, with exhaustion or lingering excitement, Queen Ino could not tell.
"Those who wish to leave may leave."

Said, Queen Ino noted, as if they needed her permission. As grown adults and members of a free populace, they did not, of course. And yet, they did. For,
though Snow White needn't permit them to return to their lives, she could, at her will, order them to stay, which was all but the same.

"All right," King Kardon responded, sitting back to take a drink, too coddling to tell his daughter that it was he who was tired, which showed in his slow
blinks and the lines that cut deeper into his face as he looked affectionately upon her.

The advantage of his unwavering adoration of his daughter was that it so often took attention off the queen, allowing her a measure of freedom she never
thought to possess. Realizing she could go unnoticed in the mass exodus from the room, though perhaps not as unnoticed as she would have liked in the
painfully bright gown, Queen Ino stood in the flourish of activity and snuck away amidst the bustle of departing guests.

Torches along the corridor led away from the dining hall, and a few guests did notice her, offering the queen courteous goodbyes or nervous nods.
Acknowledging them with a tight smile, Queen Ino felt icy hands clutch at her, recognizing, at once, the cold pull of death. Frozen for a moment by the
sensation, she stood in the entrance hall, watching villagers depart. Intent on their destinations, they did not linger, heading off with all due haste to
work or home for abbreviated sleep.

The wave of commoners flowing out the castle doors, the guards were on alert, making sure no one deviated from their leave, and Queen Ino slipped through
the doorway on the wall opposite the stairs unseen, the silence beyond the heavy wooden door a blessed relief from the celebration of Snow White's coming
of age. One more word on the girl's unsurpassed beauty, or her kindness, or her heart two sizes too big for her chest, and Queen Ino might well have lost
what little she had eaten, for the feast had been made up of Snow White's favorite dishes and her taste in food was as poor as her taste in gowns.

Relative to the liveliness in which she had spent the earliest of morning, the room had a feel of death too. Storage for that in the castle which went
unused, it was much like a crypt, and it indulged Queen Ino in her delicate state, whispering songs she had not heard since childhood, notes and chants as
clear in her mind as they had been in her ears as her tribe circled around her long ago, guiding her through the barren lands of the dead.

The way marked by moonlight, Queen Ino walked outside its fall, feeling safer amongst the shadow, until at last she alighted before the tall object in the
corner, hidden beneath a dingy sheet, as were all the other items in the room. With a glance behind her to ensure no ruffians had followed, she peeled the
cover carefully away. Even in the dim light, the mirror sparkled, its ornate silver frame out-shined only by the glass it held, flowing with waves of
color, the magic sparking before the queen, darker and more powerful than ever.

Pulled into its aura, Queen Ino recognized the new essence, and, both attracted and repelled, she pulled herself from its depths.

"Are you awake?" she asked. Voice rough, the question sounded wanton, and Queen Ino watched the mirror give a shudder that might have been a yawn.

"I am now," it responded with a sigh, none too pleased at the fact.

"Good," the queen uttered. Staring into the glass, she saw beyond herself, beyond the hideous dress, into the yawning chasm that threatened to consume her.
"Tell me."

"Tell you what?" the mirror goaded her.

"You know," the queen returned.

"And you know the rules," the mirror replied. "You made them yourself. Ask your question true, or I needn't answer."

Taking a breath, in no mood for games, Queen Ino pushed her shoulders back. "Mirror, mirror on the wall, who in this land is fairest of all?"

"My Queen, that is your title, as you want to hear," the mirror began. "These are the words that bring pleasure. If we turn what is known into sounds for
the ear, Snow White has grown fairer by measure."

"Snow White?" Queen Ino breathed, muscles in her neck going tense until she felt one pop on its own. "She is only a child."

"Children grow quickly, My Queen," the mirror responded. "As I am sure you have noticed."

Tears forming in her reflection, Queen Ino did not feel their sadness. It was rage that threatened to overwhelm her. Rage, and something else, something
stronger than her, something that tried to consume her. "You lie," she said.

"How, My Dear, can I lie to you?" the mirror asked, and with a careless yank, Queen Ino pulled the cover from where it rested atop the mirror and let if
fall into place over the glass.

By the time she made it back to the grand hall, the party had broken. Even Snow White's most fanatical hangers-on had made their way to their homes or
jobs, and the king had retired without making the effort to seek her. Were she a less capable woman, the queen might have been offended at his lack of
concern. As it was, she knew the king was well aware she would have surprise in store for any ambitious guest who might attempt to spirit her away, and
could hardly fault him for escaping while he could.

Where the king was gone, though, where everyone else had departed, Snow White remained. Alone in the hall, she looked up at Queen Ino with a smile as she
entered, and the queen felt panic set in as she looked for a servant or guard. Though never far, they were nonetheless absent from the room, and the walls
were thick around them. Listening as hard as she could, Queen Ino heard no one, and, glancing at the balcony, found even it abandoned.

"Mother," Snow White greeted her even in privacy, though they both knew it was a term of respect and not of affection, for their relationship had never
earned such distinction, neither able to embrace the other as her own.

"Snow White," Queen Ino swallowed, looking again for anyone who could come to her rescue, to pull her from the void, as she came to a stop at once, as far
from Snow White as the hall permitted.

Snow White had never been a particularly bright girl. She was kind and gentle and idiotic, always rushing toward whatever sentiments came her way with no
regard for how easily people feigned them, just as she rushed toward Queen Ino now, a small smile on her face as she threw her arms around the queen again,
squeezing tightly at her neck, so Queen Ino had to embrace Snow White just to keep the albatross from suffocating her.

Drawing breath, she was seized by the sanguine scent, the taste of blood in her mouth so potent she thought she had bitten her tongue.

"I know we are not as family should be," Snow White whispered, "but thank you, tonight, for pretending."

Not knowing how family should be, Queen Ino could neither agree nor disagree, though it occurred to her Snow White might not be as dumb as she acted, that,
perhaps, there was a sliver of insight behind that insipid exterior.

"Dream well," Snow White said, pulling back, her lips warm on Queen Ino's cool cheek.

As Snow White turned away, Queen Ino's hand worked beneath the low hem of her dress, closing around the worn handle of the dagger.

"My Queen." The voice rattled her, and Queen Ino saw through the eyes of a savage as she looked up to see Lemi staring down from the balcony. "Would you
like to retire?"

Eyes falling to Snow White's retreating form, Queen Ino fell back into a well-placed chair, too shaken to stand, too haunted to sleep.

The village slept during the day, in the early hours, adjusting to the night lost in honor of the princess. Within the castle, only the Queen and servants
remained awake. She, of her own accord. They, as a circumstance of their positions.

Upstairs, Snow White and King Kardon slept through daylight, the work of the kingdom on hold for no legitimate reason.