“I will tell you a secret, my little snow-thing,” Liora spat. “Husbands are not saviors. They are dogs waiting to be commanded and are lured by the simplest bone.”
The words barely registered. Snow White’s fingers slipped from the doorframe. She staggered forward. Liora gave the laces one final, brutal yank. Something in Snow White’s chestscreamed, then went eerily silent. Her head spun. The floor rushed up to meet her. She was vaguely cognizant of falling sideways onto the narrow bed. The last thing she thought before darkness swallowed her was of her father’s comforting arms.
Liora stood over her, heart beating only a little faster than usual. She watched the shallow rise and fall of Snow White’s chest, counting. Satisfied that the girl still drew breath, she turned at once. Her face, in the shattered reflection of the little mirror, was calm. Not a hair out of place. She turned to the door. The key in the outside lock glinted faintly. Liora stepped out and turned it with a decisive click. “There,” she said to the empty corridor. “Safe and sound.” Safe from the visiting dukes and lords. Safe from the mirror. Safe from any wandering, treacherous hearts she might catch. Liora’s own heart did not ache at all as she walked away.
Chapter eight
A Mother’s Gift
SnowWhitedreamedofdrowning. In the dream, she was at the bottom of the castle well, looking up at a round slice of sky. Her corset was made of stone. She clawed at it with numb fingers, nails tearing, but it would not loosen. Water rose around her, cold and relentless. When she opened her mouth to scream, no sound came out—only bubbles that drifted toward the unreachable opening above.
“Snow White.” Her name floated down from the circle of light. Liora’s voice. It echoed oddly off the stone. “Poor thing,” it cooed. “Always wanting air.” The water closed over her head.
She woke with a gasp that turned into a wheeze as pain shot through her side. Her ribs felt like they were on fire. For a moment she didn’t know where she was. The room around her swam in and out of focus: familiar stone walls, the narrow window with a slice of daylight showing, the rough wool blanket twisted around her legs.
“Snow White?” The voice came from closer this time—from just inside the room.
Snow White turned her head slowly. The movement made the world sway. “Mother?” she croaked.
Liora stood near the foot of the bed, dressed in a morning gown the color of cream. Her hair was loose down her back, unadorned. To anyone else she might have looked almost soft. “My poor girl,” she said, bringing a hand to her chest in an artful gesture of concern. “You slept through the entire ball.”
Snow White’s mind scrambled to catch up. “The—ball?” she echoed. The corset shifted under her as she moved. It dug into her still-tender ribs, a vicious reminder. “Wait, what… happened?”
“You must have fainted,” Liora said. “The excitement, no doubt. When I came to fetch you, you were already asleep. You barely stirred when we tried to wake you.”
“We?” Snow White echoed, trying to remember any touch but her mother’s hands on the laces.
“The maid and I,” Liora said smoothly. “Don’t you recall? No, of course not. You poor thing. You looked so pale. I thought it kinder to let you rest.”
Guilt flickered across Snow White’s face. “I—I’m sorry,” she said automatically. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”
“Nonsense,” Liora said. “It’s my fault for not realizing how delicate you still are. You need so much protection, my little snow-thing.”
Snow White almost laughed at that. Delicate. The girl who’d hauled buckets and mucked stalls for years. The girl whose hands bore calluses where other noble girls had rings. Her ribs throbbed. She winced, hand flying to her side.
Liora’s gaze sharpened. “Pain?” she asked.
“Just… sore,” Snow White said through gritted teeth. “I think the laces were tight.”
Liora’s lips curved in a sympathetic smile that never reached her eyes. “Yes, beauty is pain,” she said.
At that, Snow White had a faint recollection.
“But I have something that might make you feel better,” Liora interrupted. She stepped closer, reaching into the pocket of her morning gown.
“I thought missing the ball might sting less if you had a little present,” she said. “It’s been so long since I gave you anything. That was neglectful of me. A mother ought to spoil her only daughter now and then.”
Snow White blinked. The bruises on her ribs gave a sharp throb, a warning she couldn’t ignore. Suspicion won out over trust. “I don’t want it,” she said, pulling back against the pillows. “Please, Mother. I just want to sleep.”
Liora’s smile didn’t waver, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop. “Don’t be difficult, my little snow-thing,” she said, her voice a steely purr. “I went to such trouble.” She stepped closer, withdrawing the object from her pocket. It was a comb, gleaming with bone and garnets that looked like drops of frozen blood. It seemed to catch the light and hold the glare, like the jewels were pulsing with a faint, hypnotic rhythm. Snow White stared at them, feeling a sudden, strange lethargy seep into her limbs. She tried to look away, to scramble off the bed, but her body felt heavy, pinned by the Queen’s gaze.
“No,” Snow White whispered, the word barely forming on her lips. Something about the comb felt sinister.
“Hush,” Liora commanded. She moved with a speed that was terrifyingly graceful, sitting on the edge of the bed and gripping Snow White’s shoulder. Her fingers were like iron bands. “You used to love when I brushed your hair. You used to be such a good girl.”
“Mother don’t—” Snow White gasped, raising a weak hand to push her away.
Liora caught her wrist easily, pinning it to the mattress. “Beauty is obedience,” she murmured. She raised the comb, hereyes flashing with a dark, silent power that froze the air in Snow White’s lungs. “Let me make you perfect.”
