Grim grinned and picked up another glass bottle, throwing it against the far wall where it shattered into pieces with another sharp crash.
Snow stepped up to the gilded mirror on the wall, gazing into its silver depths that reflected him and Der and Grim. He reached up to brush his fingers over its polished surface, wondering if that was how his mother had been able to find him.
“What wouldst thou know, my prince?” intoned a voice that made all three of them jump. Snow looked around before realizing the voice seemed to have come from the mirror itself.
“Jiminy crickets, a talking mirror!” Der gasped, adjusting his spectacles as if he were not actually seeing it.
“What can you tell me?” Snow asked the mirror, suddenly curious. “Can you tell me the future?”
“I can only speak the truth,” the mirror replied solemnly. “The future is not yet determined, so there is no truth in it.”
Snow did not allow himself to become disappointed. Even if the mirror had been able to tell him what the future held, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know. If their plan succeeded, the weight of the kingdom would fall upon his shoulders, and there would be many decisions to be made, not the least of which was whether he remained in power. He couldn’t even be sure that the townspeople would not string him up or exile him from the land, as the son of the evil Queen who had tormented them for so long.
“There is one thing I wish to know,” he said softly, and he was aware that Der was silently watching him and Grim had paused in his smashing of the bottles.
“Then ask,” the mirror replied.
“Am I worthy of being king?”
“You have doubt in your heart,” the mirror said. “But the fact that you question your worthiness shows that you have a fair heart, the fairest in the land. Worth is not measured by beauty or gold, but by being fearless, fair, brave, and true. You are all of these things, and you are worthy of being king.”
Snow felt warm all over, aware that Der had slipped his hand into his and squeezed it tightly, and that Grim was still watching them from the nearby table. He had a good heart; the fairest, the mirror had said. Even should he not be king, he was still a good person, which was enough for him. “Thank you,” he said to the mirror.
There was a sudden sharp creak and snap from the area of the door they had entered. Snow looked up to see Queen Schön in the doorway, resplendent in a gown of deep purple, her gold, bejeweled crown atop her perfectly coiffed hair. The perfection of it was countered by the look of absolute rage marring her beautiful face as her blue eyes surveyed the wreckage of her magic.
“What have you done?” The sound was unlike any he had ever heard from his mother, her melodious tone now a feral-sounding growl through clenched teeth. He thought that, in that moment, if his mother had been able to transform into a creature with massive claws and fangs, she would have and would then have ripped him into tiny pieces. For just a moment, he was afraid. This was a woman who had killed him once before. Who had destroyed the lives of his lovers and their families. Had laughed while children cried and died of hunger in the streets. She was not to be underestimated, for her cruelty knew no bounds.
But then he felt Der and Grimwald straighten up on either side of him, strong as massive oak trees. They were ready to fight for him. For this kingdom. For everything they had lost. For everything they might lose again. He would not let them down, and he would not allow this awful, heartless woman to bring further harm to them.
“Hello, Mother,” he said, giving her an impish little smile, though his voice trembled just the tiniest bit. “You are looking beautiful as always.”
“Makellos,” the Queen growled, the sound low in her chest like that of bear or tiger.
Snow held up the shimmering glass vial in his hand so the Queen could see it. “Is this what you drink every day?” His voice was a bit steadier now. He could hear her inhale, see the flicker of recognition in her blue eyes. She swept her cold gaze over the shambles of her potions, the broken glass upon the floor and the shimmering layer of her ground gemstones that coated it. “I seem to have broken the large bottle. I always was so clumsy, wasn’t I?”
“You impudent little fool,” Schön said, narrowing her eyes at him. “What game are you playing at?”
“No game,” Snow said. “But this does appear to be the last of it.”
“And the miners have gone on strike,” said Der suddenly.
Grim took a step forward on his other side, his dark eyes full of murderous rage. “You ain’t gettin’ another swing of a pickaxe from any of us, unless it’s through your skull.”
The Queen’s countenance suddenly morphed. She straightened up, lifted her chin, and gave Snow a familiar cold look down her regal nose, a bemused chuckle escaping her lips. “Oh, my. Look at your gallant defenders,Snow White. Together, they very nearly make a whole man. How simply adorable.” Her voice had returned to its usual musical coo, dripping with venom. She stepped fully inside the chamber, between them and the door. “Well now. Here we are. No guards, no games, no disguises. Just mother and son, and a few… minor problems to be eliminated.”
Snow took a deep breath, his heart hammering in his chest. “I’ll smash it,” he threatened, giving the vial a shake so the silver liquid sloshed and gleamed. “And you will not be able to make more without your precious jewels.”
Schön laughed. “Oh, my dear, do you think I will not find others to work the mines? I can be quite persuasive.”
“I have an idea,” said Grim with a sly little smirk up at Snow. “Youshould drink the potion, your highness. You are already fairer than your withered old hag of a mother. You have even defeated death. And every day you will become more beautiful, while the ugly old Queen fades away and is forgotten.”
“What a lovely idea!” Der said. “I like it.”
“I like it as well,” Snow said, turning his sunny smile upon them both. He held up the bottle even as his heart beat a tattoo in his ears.
“You shall never be fairer than I!” the Queen screeched, flinging herself across the space at Snow. Her fingers, nails sharp as claws, extended in a grasp. For his face or for the bottle, he did not know. He only knew when the Queen’s nails raked across his cheek in a path of fire. His head snapped to the side, taking his body with it, and he went sprawling on the stone floor. The impact caused the vial to fly from his hand and hit the floor with a ring like a funeral bell, and his heart nearly stopped. If the cork had come loose or the vial had shattered, they would be done for.
“Snow, are you all right?” Grim asked as the Queen stumbled past them and dropped to hands and knees to scoop up the gleaming container from the floor.
