Fairest of All (4 page)

“You are not going mad, my love. You are simply exhausted. You are the strongest woman I know, but even you have your limits. I want you to rest tomorrow. I will spend the day with Snow, and then you and I will have the evening to ourselves.”

“I’m sorry, my love. I shouldn’t have blamed you. Please, put this out of your mind, my dear. I promise you all will be well,” the Queen said.

The King held the Queen tightly, and she broke down weeping in his arms. She was comforted there, and imagined that this is how a child must feel when she is being protected by her parent. Then the great Queen fell asleep in the King’s arms, sobbing.

I
n the days after the King’s departure, the Queen began to feel more alone than she had at any point since she’d arrived at the castle. She could share her horrible nightmares with no one. It was difficult enough for her to reveal her vision to the King. If she were to mention it to anyone she trusted less, she was sure they would charge her as a witch, and have her burned at the stake.

This made the fact that she was plagued with images of the man’s face all the more terrible. She thought of having the mirror removed, but that would simply arouse suspicion. She was confident that the King had written her vision off as a product of an exhausted mind. But she also knew that the others in the castle—including Verona—were aware that the mirror was a heartfelt gift from the King. How would she explain rebuking such a gift?

She decided to drape it with thick velvet curtains, hoping that keeping it out of her sight would also keep it from her mind, and prevent it from affecting her. When Verona questioned her, the Queen explained that she hoped the curtains would preserve the mirror by shielding it from the elements. A reasonable lie, which Verona accepted without question.

Still, the Queen was plagued by dreams about the man she saw in the mirror. He would smash it with his fists from within, glass shattering and flying in all directions. The Queen would bury her face in the crook of her arm as the glass sliced her. Her blood poured onto the floor, mingling with the jagged shards of glass. Sometimes in these night terrors, a man would crawl out from the mirror, grotesquely contorting his body, falling onto the ground, then grasping a large piece of broken mirror, clutching it so tightly it cut his own hand as he chased the Queen onto rocky cliffs.

She woke nightly in cold sweats, heart pounding, often to the sound of her own screaming. Some nights she woke in pain, convinced her feet were bloodied from running down stairs that were covered in broken bits of mirror, each shard reflecting a horrible image of the Queen, looking not like her beautiful self, but haggard, wart-covered, and aged.

She began to wonder if demons had invaded her soul. Riddled with anxiety over the mirror and deep sadness that she did not have her husband by her side, she began to feel afraid to leave her bedchamber. Each morning, Verona would arrive with fresh rose water in hopes she could convince the Queen to get out of her nightdress.

“I promise you will feel much better if you dress for the day, my Queen. It’s unhealthy to stay indoors so long. You look gaunt and haven’t eaten properly for weeks now. I wish you would tell me what’s troubling you.”

The Queen felt stung by Verona’s words. She gazed at her maidservant with hollow eyes.

“I can’t, Verona. You would think me mad.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

The Queen desperately wanted to share her visions with someone. And next to her King, of all the people in the kingdom, she trusted Verona most. She decided that she couldn’t go on any longer without sharing the vision in the mirror. If Verona betrayed her trust, the Queen would simply deny the story. After all, who would the kingdom believe…their Queen or a maidservant?

“Shortly before the King left I saw the face of a man in my mirror. He spoke to me.”

“What did he say?”

The Queen was so surprised by Verona’s calm reaction that she couldn’t even recall now what the man had said.

“Have you seen him since?” Verona asked.

The Queen shook her head.

Verona walked over to the mirror and parted the curtains. The Queen’s eyes widened in terror, but Verona cast a reassuring glance upon her. She revealed the mirror. There was nothing in it but a reflection of the room.

“See, my Queen, you have nothing to worry about. It could have been anything, a trick of the light, exhaustion; there are so many explanations.”

The Queen did not know whether she should find comfort in Verona’s words or fall into further trepidation. Now, the King and Verona had both dismissed her vision as an imagined threat. Did that not amount to madness?

“You, my Queen, are the boldest woman I know,” Verona continued. “Now please, get out of your bed and go out into the sun with your daughter. She is frightened with her father away. You must think of her.”

Verona was right, of course. Snow needed looking after.

“I don’t think we need tell Snow about this, Verona.”

“Of course not, my Queen. I will keep it between us. But make me a promise—the next time something weighs so heavily on your mind, please do come to me. I do hope you think of me as your friend.”

“As my
sister
, sweet Verona.”

The Queen rose from her bed, and as she did, she caught a glimpse of herself in the accursed mirror—tired and worn. Verona was visible in the mirror as well, as beautiful and serene as ever.

T
hat same morning, a messenger delivered a notice that three of the King’s distant cousins would arrive by the next morning. The typically even-keeled Queen was irritated by the unreasonably short notice. Why even send a messenger? Still, the King valued family above all else and made it clear that his kin were always welcome at the palace. The disjointed yet lyrical letter was composed of three different hands and was signed by three women—Lucinda, Ruby, and Martha.

Though they had attended the wedding, the Queen had escaped their stares, which made her uncomfortable, and managed not to speak to them.

This time, there would be no avoiding the sisters. Would they prove to be as intriguing in person as their letter had suggested they would be?

The indistinguishable triplets exited from a black horse-drawn carriage. Their long faces were painted a ghastly white, their cheeks were blushed with the brightest pink, and the center of their lips were painted a vivid red, which created a tiny bowlike effect. They resembled broken dolls, once loved but long forgotten. Their hair was glossy black streaked with white and adorned with red feathers. They looked like the oddest of beasts, and they walked in a way that brought to mind pecking birds.

Their dresses were the color of eggplant, iridescent, changing from black to deep purple depending on the light. They were cinched tightly in the bust and waist, but overly voluminous in the skirts, creating a bell effect. Their tiny black pointed boots poked out from the bottoms of their dresses like slinking creatures seeking prey. They stood, the three of them abreast, arms linked, gazing at the Queen in that same fashion she remembered from her wedding day, when she was briefly introduced to them.

Their faces impossible to read, they looked neither pleased nor dissatisfied.

“Welcome, cousins. How was your journey? I dare say you must be exhausted after so many days of travel.”

Martha spoke first, “We are quite—”

Ruby took over, “Rested, cousin—”

And Lucinda finished, “Thank you.”

Verona spoke up, “Shall I show you to your rooms then, and send a girl to help you unpack? I am sure you are eager to refresh yourselves after your long excursion.”

Only Lucinda answered, “Indeed.”

The odd sisters tottered behind Verona, their tiny feet clicking on the stone floors as they chattered to themselves.

“I can’t imagine it,” said one. “Unfathomable, really,” said another. “Inconceivable!”

Verona only heard little bits of their conversation and wondered what they might be discussing. She resisted the urge to look back at them as she imagined the expressions on their faces—pinched in distaste, as if having smelled something rotten. Verona smiled weakly; the thought of the castle being inhabited by these peculiar women amused and disturbed her in tandem.

“Here we are, Lucinda, this is your room. Ruby and Martha, I have rooms for you down the other hall,” Verona said.

Lucinda simply said “Not—”

Ruby continued, “Acceptable.”

“No, not,” Martha finished, “in the least.”

“Come again?” was all Verona could muster.

The three sisters stared chillingly at Verona.

“Is there something wrong with your room, Lucinda?” Verona asked.

They responded as one, “We prefer to sleep together.”

“I see, of course. I will have one of the grander chambers made ready then. In the meantime, would you like to take tea in the morning room?”

Lucinda said, “That would be—”

Ruby finished, “Lovely,” and Martha thanked Verona as she took them to the morning room. The room was infused with light, and tea was set at the center table, where Snow patiently waited to meet her cousins.

Verona motioned to the maid to rearrange the chairs so the sisters might sit together across from Snow. They nodded appreciatively to Verona as they took their seats. The scene looked like a macabre tea party hosted by a beautiful cherub and attended by overgrown dolls dressed in funerary garb.

“If you could pour, Snow, I have to see to your cousins’ new room,” Verona said.

Snow smiled. She liked the idea of playing the lady.

“And ladies, if you could please excuse me? I must be off,” Verona said, curtsying slightly and then leaving the room.

As soon as Verona was out of sight, the sisters each put their hands on the table, clasping each other’s, looking to Snow expectantly.

Snow poured the tea for her cousins, happy that she managed to do so without spilling a single drop.

“Would you like cream and sugar?” Snow asked.

“Yes, please.” The sisters responded in harmony.

“So tell us, Snow—”

“How do you like—”

“Your new mother?” they asked.

“I like her very much,” Snow replied.

“She isn’t ever—”

“Cruel to you?”

“She doesn’t lock you away—”

“To shield herself from your beauty?”

Snow was confounded. “No. Why would she do that?”

The sisters looked at each other and smiled.

“Why indeed?” they replied in unison, then broke into a cackle. “She isn’t the stepmother—”

“Of fairy-tale myths then?”

“Lovely.”

“Though a bit boring—”

“If you ask me.”

“We hoped for—”

“Some excitement, some intrigue.”

“We will make our own then!” they said together. “Yes, we will make our own.” And they giggled uncontrollably, high-pitched, and wickedly.

Snow laughed nervously, too. The three sisters stopped their laughter and turned their steely eyes back to Snow. They could have been statues that had been left in the wind and rain for too many years, the weather leaving cracks in their faces. Snow couldn’t help but feel a little frightened of them.

“I would hide her away,” said Ruby.

“As would I,” said Lucinda.

“I wouldn’t. I’d cut her into bits and make a potion of her.”

“Oh yes, and we’d all drink her….”

“Indeed. She’d make us beautiful and young again.”

“We’d need a raven’s—”

“Feather and the heart of a dove—”

“Of course, and don’t forget—”

And they all said, “A lock of her dead mother’s hair.”

Snow grasped the arms of her chair in fear. Her eyes grew wide and her lip began to quiver. She stood up and backed away from the sisters as far as she could. And then, to her great relief, Verona reentered the morning room.

“Ladies, your room is ready. I can show you now, unless you are still enjoying your tea and cakes.”

The three sisters stood as one, bowed to Snow, and followed Verona to their rooms where their trunks were waiting for them.

The sisters surveyed the room. “Nice enough.”

“Yes, this will do.”

“We can unpack ourselves. You may leave.”

They giggled as Snow darted past their room with her hands covering her face. Verona caught a glimpse of Snow and quickly excused herself to follow the girl, but caught some of the sisters’ chatter as she left.

Lucinda said, “Do you think we should take Snow—”

“Into the forest? Yes.” The sisters looked at each other with wicked smiles and took to their high-pitched laughing again.

S
now was in a panic and making little sense when she tried to recount to her mother and Verona what had happened during the tea.

“Oh, I think they were just teasing you, darling. They are rather eccentric,” said the Queen.

“Wicked senses of humor if you ask me, my Queen, weaving tales of potions,” Verona said, looking horrified. “Snow, did they actually say they were going to cut you into pieces?”

Snow nodded, frowning terribly.

“Well, I don’t think they meant it seriously. They couldn’t have. Perhaps Snow can dine with you tonight, Verona, so I may have dinner with these interesting ladies myself and get a gauge of their natures.”

And she looked to Snow. “I will tell them, my dear, they are not to tease you so cruelly; I won’t have it. Don’t you worry, little bird.”

Snow looked relieved.

Verona asked the Queen for a word, and the Queen obliged.

“Snow may be but a frightened child, my Queen, but I also heard the sisters talking among themselves as I left their chamber. They mentioned taking Snow into the woods. Given what Snow has already told us of them, I would advise we keep a close watch on the sisters, for I do not trust them.”

The Queen sighed heavily.

“Thank you, Verona. I appreciate your loyalty and the love you have for my child.”

T
hat evening, in the smaller hall, the Queen had arranged for a splendid dinner for herself and the sisters, while Snow dined with Verona. The women ate sparingly, picking at their food like birds. They said nothing most of the evening, until Ruby broke the silence. “I fear we frightened Snow with our teasing.”

Martha continued, “We can get rather carried away sometimes.”

And Lucinda said, “Oh yes, we didn’t mean any harm, you see.”

And then they said together, “We love our little cousin.”

Lucinda went on, “You see, we spend most of our time alone. We have only ourselves for company. And we divert ourselves with storytelling.”

Ruby continued, “Oh yes, we get carried away at times.”

Then Martha said, “We’re very sorry.”

The Queen smiled. “I thought as much. I’m so happy to hear this. It grieved me, the thought of having to scold three of the King’s family. Now there seems to be little need for it, other than to advise you to be aware of your odd tales and stories, and not to recount them before my daughter.

“So tell me, ladies, what diversions would please you while you are here?”

The three of them answered as one, “A picnic with Snow.”

The Queen laughed. “Perhaps you mean a picnic
in
the snow. It is nearly the winter!”

“Yes, but there is no better time—”

“To visit the forests—”

“Than when the trees are in their death throes—”

“And flashing their brilliant colors!”

“And if that is too cold—”

“Then there is always Apple Blossom Meadow”

A picnic—so, that is what Verona must have overheard the sisters planning when they spoke of taking the girl into the woods.

“What a wonderful idea,” the Queen said, “And it can easily be arranged. I think she would love to have an outing; what a lovely day that will be. We should make a grand event of it and dress for the occasion; she will feel like a proper little lady.”

Lucinda looked disappointed about something, but before the Queen could ask what, she was distracted by one of the servants coming into the room with a message on a small pewter tray.

“Excuse me, my ladies,” said the Queen as she broke the letter’s wax seal. Her eyes widened, her face glowed, and then she burst out in elation, “Oh! This is wonderful news, indeed. I am so pleased.”

She turned to the sisters. “The King will be home in a fortnight!”

The three sisters smiled and said, “In time for the winter solstice.”

The Queen was puzzled. “Excuse me?” she asked.

“We assume you will keep up the traditions here in your new home,” said Lucinda.

Ruby continued, “We’ve heard such beautiful tales of how your family made such a lovely spectacle of the holiday.”

The Queen was taken aback that the odd sisters should have heard such tales of her family. But she didn’t have the time to pay it any mind. The King was returning.

“I hadn’t thought of celebrating in that fashion,” she said. “However I think since the King is returning in time, we
should
make a festival of it. I quite like the idea. What a wonderful homecoming it would be, and he will be so pleased to have his dear cousins here—say you will stay for the festivities!”

The three odd sisters answered in tandem, through odd, wide smiles.

“Of course we will, dear.”