Where all stories begin and intertwine.
Once, in a land whose name has long been forgotten, in a dark forest that may not exist today, there lived a woman with her son. The poor woman had no husband, and had been cast from the village she called home for having a son whose father she would not name. Magic, you see, was not commonplace then, and strange creatures did not whisk away women in the night to have their way with them. There were only ordinary people with ordinary hardships, facing a world that was sometimes cruel, and sometimes cruel of their own making.
Every week, the poor woman’s son went into the forest to fetch wood, and one day, when he had ventured farther than normal, he came across a young girl, who offered to help him carry the wood home. The child asked if this new friend was lost and needed a place to stay, but the girl smiled, and told him that she required nothing in return, and helped him carry the wood home, showing a strength beyond her size and age. When they arrived at the front door, the son called for his mother to introduce them, but the girl disappeared. He told his mother of this strange encounter, but she did not believe him.
This happened four more times, but on the fourth week, the girl gave him a strange, white flower before she left, telling him that she was going to go away for a very long time, but the flower would bloom when she returned. His mother, astonished by the sight of this new flower but still unwilling to believe his outrageous tale, allowed him to keep it and take care of it. The boy planted it in the garden. It grew a thick bush of thorns, tinged with red and harsh to look at, but though small buds formed, it would not bloom.
One year passed, and then another, and faithfully on did the boy take care of the thornbush, until one day, as he was carefully pruning the bush, he suffered a deep wound across his palm. The wound sickened, and the boy died that night. His mother buried him by the thornbush he had so carefully tended to.
The next morning, she left to gather firewood and discovered that all the flowers of the thornbush had bloomed, but were a deep red, unlike the pure white flower her son had shown her. She thought, then, that they were the most beautiful things she had ever seen, and in that moment, a girl appeared before her, exactly as her son had described. The girl asked for the boy, but the woman replied that he was buried there, aside the flowers. It was then that the girl plucked a flower from the bush, heedless of its thorns, and she told the woman thus, “This flower that was to be the symbol of my coming, has reddened with the blood of his faithfulness. It is to me as a gift arose from the ground, and so shall it be a gift unto this world, colored by the hearts of those who grow it.” She cast her hand wide and disappeared, and the flower fell to the ground. In a year, the land around the poor woman’s cottage was overrun by it. The woman sold the flower, calling it The Gift Arose, and grew wealthy on it.
The rose, as it would one day be known, did indeed grow in many colors and spread all around the world for its beauty, and someday the power it held would come to change the world, and be known as magic.
The first part of the long journey of the princess who would come to be known as Snow White.
As the fourth of eleven boys, Liam had never felt that he needed more siblings, but the King of High Country was not a man who cared what any of his children desired. He did know that his mother was weary and ill and did not need another squalling infant to care for, but the King of High Country was not a man who cared what his wife desired, either. At least, that was how Liam saw it. Their eldest brother, George, knew something, but George was 15, and apparently that was enough for him to be finally considered a man, while 10-year-old Liam and his younger brothers were still, as his father said, “worthless brats of the lowest order,” and “all a man could expect having married a peasant with nothing but beauty to recommend her.”
He remembered George’s face when they had caught their father saying that to a servant, while they awaited him outside the door of his study. He remembered because George had looked right at him, shaken his head and told him, “He doesn’t mean that. It’s a grown-up thing.”
“What is?” He’d asked.
George’s face had been grimly set, as he’d ushered Liam and their 9-year-old brother Christopher away from the door. “Not saying what they mean. He loves us, and mom. You’ll understand when you’re older.”
But Liam didn’t understand, and he understood least of all when sitting in a corner of his mother’s room, listening to her sew on the balcony in the early hours of the morning, before the sun had even begun to rise. There was no light to indicate that she had lit a candle for herself, so it was a wonder that she was sewing at all, but he had peeked his head around the corner here and there and seen her, sewing by the dim, cold light of the moon. He didn’t know what she was sewing, and he didn’t think she knew either, as even with full light he was certain it would be hard to see through the tears steadily dripping down her nose and onto the piece of cloth she was holding above her swollen belly, the sound of her unbridled sobs filling his ears and his heart. He’d come to show her a night-blooming flower he’d found peeking out through the snow of the garden under his own balcony, and hadn’t expected to catch her fully awake and crying.
A hiss of pain had him popping his head around the corner again to look at her, and he saw that she was staring at the railing of her balcony, her finger stuck in her mouth from where she’d pricked it. His first thought was that father would never have let her stick her finger in her mouth, but then he saw what she was looking at. At first, he had thought it was part of the moon, but a small glowing person was standing there. It seemed to look straight at him, so he ducked again behind the wall, but strained his ears to listen to their conversation.
“Who are you?” He heard his mother say, voice a little shaky, but clearly scrambling to regain her composure.
The voice that answered back was soft and melodic, but somehow also clear enough for him to hear. “Why, I’m a fairy, of course.”
There was a moment’s silence, and when she spoke again, the queen’s voice was much calmer, much calmer than Liam felt. A real fairy. What did it want? “And why are you here, fairy?”
The fairy’s response was cryptic at best, “It sounded like you might need me. Why are you crying, Queen Elena?”
“I- Well, what does it matter?” She snapped back, taking a deep breath in.
“I only want to help.” The fairy responded soothingly. “I am the fairy of this castle, you know. The fairy godmother of all your children.”
His mother made a coughing sound that Harry had once said was her “bad word sound,” but spoke politely, “The fairy of this castle? Is that why the king has been blessed with so many sons?” She sounded tired, but there was something else in her voice, too, something Liam didn’t understand.
“No, my dear.” The fairy said, kindly. “I’m afraid that was all thanks to the two of you. Magic is powerful, yes, but with humans we find, it always comes with a hefty price, and is best used in moderation. But is that what is upsetting you? Having another son?”
His mother laughed a bitter, watery laugh. “No, they are all good boys. I’m just- this is not the life I wanted.” She admitted. “This cold palace and that terrible man. When Johannes brought me here, I thought it would be good for my family, for the people of my village. I haven’t had word from any of them in years. I used to dream,” she said wistfully, “that I’d marry my childhood sweetheart from the village, and have two children, one boy and one girl. The boy would take after his father,” and here she laughed, for every one of them had taken after their father indeed, with their light brown hair, warm skin, and bright eyes, “and the girl would take after me.” Liam had never heard his mother talk this long, but it seemed she could not stop, once given the chance to describe the life she had lost, the hometown she’d always refused to tell them about. “She’d have the pale skin and black hair my own mother brought with her from the North, dark red lips like blood against snow. Some small piece of home. Sometimes I wish I’d never gotten on that boat, never had to live this life at all.”
It seemed she had finished, and at last the fairy spoke, “I’m afraid there is no magic that can turn back the time or bring back the dead, but if it would bring you some comfort, I could show you an image of the village you left behind. I could even make sure the child in your belly grows to be a girl, just as you described.”
His mother seemed startled, though not pleased. “You could do such things?”
“It would be quite the simple matter to show you your old village, though if you wished for a girl, I’m afraid something terrible would likely happen to your sons in exchange.”
His mother’s response was prompt, “Thank you kindly, fairy, but I must decline. I’m afraid I wouldn’t recognize my village now, and I am not foolish enough to trade anything for the well-being of my sons.”
“Very well.” The fairy said, conceding graciously. “I had only wished to grant you a blessing, for you have been a kind queen to this nation, for the hard lot you have been given, and I have seen your health wane, so this child will likely be your last.”
Liam started in his hiding place, and dared to sneak a look at the two of them again, but from his mother’s expression this was no surprise, she just shook her head sadly and said a quiet word he could not hear. He stayed where he was, unmoving as his mother sighed heavily, took up her embroidery and crawled back into bed, and only when her breathing had slowed in the steady rhythms of the little uneasy sleep she would get, did he slip from her room quietly, rushing through the cold stone halls in his bare feet until he made it to his own.
He sat there in the dark of his own room lost for words for a moment, then he thought to try something, something perhaps absolutely crazy. “Fairy godmother?” He called into the air, hesitantly. At first nothing happened, and he thought that it was foolish to try, but he turned to go back to bed and found the little fairy standing on his bed. He hadn’t been able to look closely before, and only now saw that the fairy was a very small, very beautiful little person with slightly pointed ears and slender limbs, a motherly expression on its face. Gleaming, insect-like wings sprung from its back, currently folded down. He jumped. “Fairy… godmother?” He asked again, this time with more incredulity than hope.
She laughed a quiet, tinkling laugh, “Yes, that’s me, Prince Liam. Do you need something?”
“Oh. Uhm. Well- Well, I-.” He wasn’t supposed to eavesdrop, how was he supposed to know what to say? “I didn’t- I’m sorry I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.” He said, wrinkling his face up uncertainly.
“That’s quite alright, young prince. I saw you hiding there.”
“Oh. Well then, can I- ask you something?” He said, hesitantly.
She laughed again, not unkindly, “You certainly may.”
It was not manly to cry, but Liam found the tears making their way down his face anyways. “Is- Is mother really going to die?”
“We fairies do not see the future, little prince, but with her health as it is… it is likely.” The fairy answered without hesitation. A small sprig of gratitude planted itself in Liam’s heart, that this tiny creature did not quibble with words, trying to keep from him the horrible truth he thought he had the right to know. The doctors and his father and his mother, even George, had never given a straight answer, perhaps because they had thought the truth would be too much, and he had not known how much he had needed precisely that truth, as large and heavy as it was, until it was finally granted to him.
He rubbed his face with his sleeve, and still sniffling loudly, asked, “Can’t you fix her? You have magic.”
“It is her time, my dear. If I were to use magic to cure her at this stage, another would have to lose their life in exchange.”
“Then-” He said, still hiccupping tears, “Then, I want you to give her a girl. Just like she always wanted. I don’t- I don’t care what happens to me. She should have just one thing she wanted in her life. Please.” He felt a small hand press against his forehead, and lifted his arm from his face to see the fairy looking at him, smiling in a way that was almost sad.
“I think she already had eleven things she wanted in her life, my prince. But if you insist, perhaps she does deserve one more.” And when he closed his eyes to squeeze out another little fall of tears, the fairy was gone.
Elisa was 3 when the King of High Country decided to remarry. He had said that it was for the sake of his children who had been motherless for too long, but George was probably the only one of them who believed that. The only child their father seemed to really care about was Elisa, but George knew better. He knew all about why the King gave little Elisa everything she wanted, why his mother had cried night after night homesick and tired and constantly pregnant. He also knew that their father tasked him silently to watch over the others and give them everything the older man couldn’t, and of all his siblings, he was the one who had seen the visage of that powerful man kneeling helplessly at the foot of a grave – the grave of a woman who had never loved him, and had never tried. So, when the young woman, not much older than himself, walked into the palace with the dark eyes and rounder features characteristic of the people of his mother’s old village, he told his brothers to welcome her with a smile, and his sister to be on her absolute best behavior.
The problem was that the minute she laid eyes on them, George knew she hated every single one of her new stepchildren. Every one but Elisa. And then she opened her mouth to speak and he knew why. “So you’re Elena’s children! I knew your mother when I was a little girl.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Queen Morrigan.” He said, dutifully, shifting slightly so that she wouldn’t see their third youngest, Jack, making a face at her.
“Oh please,” He didn’t trust her saccharine voice for a second, “I’m not queen yet, and I would like it if you’d all feel comfortable enough to call me mom.” The woman could not have been more than 10 years older than him, he could not possibly imagine calling her mom.
“Certainly.” Was all he said, but then she shot him an absolutely venomous look, as if he had personally offended her, and he found himself wishing that he hadn’t said anything at all.
She leaned down in front of Elisa, who was wearing a little red bow in her hair and was holding his hand, “Hi.” She said, sweetly. “What’s your name?”
Elisa scooted slightly behind his leg, but answered in a giggly little whisper. “Elisa. I’m free.” She held up the first two fingers of her free hand, then tugged on George’s hand to let him know she was letting go, before adding the index finger of her right hand to the mix.
“Well it’s nice to meet you, Elisa. You’re already three, huh? Such a big girl. I’m Morrigan. I’m going to be your new mommy, now, so I hope we get along.”
Elisa blinked her wide, dark eyes at the other lady and then did a clumsy little curtsey. “It’s nice to meet you, Queen Morrigan.” She said. But though she had practically mimicked him verbatim, the words seemed to charm the lady this time, and she flushed and curtsied back. Their new mother spared not a glance towards the rest of them.
It was with this sort of calm resignation that George spent the rest of their first meal together as a family, and the next, corralling his brothers and quietly trying not to let the woman spoil Elisa. It wasn’t much different from what he had to do normally, anyways. The real disaster, however, came right before the wedding ceremony began, when they were all gathered together preparing to greet their father’s new bride in front of the whole country for the first time. Of course, Jack started it.
“I hate her!” He spontaneously shouted, in the quiet of the waiting room.
“Jack.” George said, with a sigh.
“You hate her, too, don’t try and pretend you don’t.” The 6-year-old said, sticking his tongue out at George.
George rolled his eyes, “I don’t hate her, Jack, and even if I did, it’s not a nice thing to say.”
“Well, she does hate us.” Liam said, glumly.
George shook his head and adjusted Benjamin’s collar, “I’m sure she’s just adjusting to having 12 new children, Liam.”
“Stop lying!” Liam burst out, surprising him. The younger boy pointed at George furiously. “You always thought you were more grown up than us, but we’re not stupid, you know. The only one of us that hag cares about is Elisa, just like father, and you know it.”
Benjamin started to cry and needed to be picked up. Christopher rolled his eyes, curled up in the corner, and covered his ears. Stephen was staring intently at a flower he’d picked for a girl he said was coming to the festivities today. James, David, and William stared out the window refusing to listen. Harry and Luke exchanged glances that told George they secretly agreed with Liam, and that troublemaker Jack just looked delighted that people were fighting on his account. Nothing as exciting as fights ever really happened in their family.
George looked at Harry and Luke and Liam, the three eldest under him. All he did was look, with the light brown, almost amber-colored eyes he’d inherited from their father, so cold despite their warm color. He liked to think he wasn’t going to end up like their father, but some small part of him died just a little, as he watched all three grow silent and wary in the face of his stern expression. Very, very quietly he told them, “It doesn’t matter if she hates us, and it doesn’t matter if we hate her. We are the princes of High Country.” And then he surprised himself by finding the bitter words falling from his mouth, “No one cares what we think.”
That was when Elisa, who had been perfectly quiet before then, tugged on his pant leg. “I care what you think, Georgey.” She said, looking at him very seriously.
She then passed out 11 of the ugliest rocks George had ever seen to each of her brothers, and by the time he had swallowed the lump in his throat, George realized Liam had started to cry. That, of course, set Benjamin off crying again, and the wedding was, by far, the worst day of George’s life. It wasn’t just because the wedding was a pain and his siblings were distraught, however. It was the worst day of his life, because through the haze of painful pleasantries and dreary celebrations, he found himself for just a moment beside his new stepmother.
The two of them were strangely alone at the edge of the ballroom, both taking a rest while others danced, and George resolved to say nothing and move away as soon as he could find a reasonable explanation for having done so. He was not prepared at all to hear the new queen speak, and even less so for what she said, “You boys really do look like your father, not at all like Elena. But you most of all, Prince George.” He had by this time turned his head to look at her, and so could not have missed her staring at him full in the face, open disgust and contempt curling her lip. “You have the same look in your eyes. I’m sure your father would be very proud if you inherited his kingdom one day. More’s the pity.” And without explaining that last sentiment at all, she plastered on one of her sickly sweet smiles and returned to the festivities.
Stephen
“Where are you going?” A girl’s voice asked.
Stephen whipped around from his perch on the castle wall he was planning to scale down, and hissed at the 10-year-old, “Elisa go back.” Ever since she had learned to “sneak,” she’d been insufferable, following them around and getting into places she wasn’t supposed to. She’d even learned to sneak out of her etiquette lessons to join them in sword or archery lessons, not that she was very good. Now for her to be following him as he snuck out of the castle….
“You’re going to see Zellandine again, aren’t you?” She hissed back at him, a knowing expression on her childish face.
He flushed slightly. “No.”
She pouted, folding her arms across her chest, “Every time you leave to see Zellandine, father yells at George in his office, you know. And then Jack threatens to run all the way to the Northern country just to prove he can go farther than you, and Morrigan gets father to lock him in his room.”
A hand covered the little girl’s mouth before she could say more. Their entire brood of twelve had gathered at the castle wall and here he’d thought he’d been doing such a good job. George lifted his chin at him, “Go on.”
“It’s not fair.” Elisa complained, peeling George’s hand away from her mouth. “Why does Stephen get to go on adventures while everyone else has to get yelled at?”
“Elisa, he hasn’t been sneaking out to see Zellandine. He only did that once.” Liam explained, crouching in front of her.
“Liam.” George scolded, but the younger boy just stared up at him defiantly. He was shorter and more slender than the well-built George, but the two of them had butt heads enough for neither of them to back down.
“She has a right to know, George. If we catch Morrigan practicing witchcraft, it affects all of us, even her.”
Elisa frowned at Liam. “Morrigan wouldn’t practice witchcraft! Morrigan is mean, but she’s not really bad at heart. She tells me stories about mama.”
Stephen grunted and hopped down from the wall lithely, irritated at having to watch this conversation. “So you’ve noticed, too?” He asked his brothers, ignoring Elisa. She threw a punch at his stomach, but he dodged.
Liam cast George and Harry a look, “Jack noticed first when she locked him in the West Tower that one time. You know how good he is at sneaking out of places, but every time he tried to leave, he found himself back in the room. Then there was that servant who got executed for trying to poison her. George had told her to report if she found anything strange in Morrigan’s room. A week before she got executed, she brought him a weird chest she’d never seen in the castle before. It took a while for Harry and I to figure out how to crack it open, but… there was a heart in it. I think it was a human heart.” He and Stephen scrunched up their faces in identical expressions of disgust, Liam from remembering, Stephen from imagining.
Christopher just sighed and brushed his hands off, even though there was nothing on them. “It’s not really much of a surprise. She’s told me herself that her mother was a witch.”
They all turned to stare at him. “When did she tell you that?” Jack asked first, a mischievous half-smile on his face.
Christopher shrugged, “A few years ago. What does it matter? You all were too busy with all your… complicated stuff, and we all knew she was a hag anyways.”
“She’s not a hag!” Elisa protested. “And she’s not a witch. Maybe her mom was one and left her that gross box, that doesn’t mean she is one, herself. She’s always been nice to me.”
Jack made an impatient noise at her, flapping his hand dismissively, “That’s cause she liked mom. Y’know how she is, going ‘Elena, Elena.'” He mimicked in a rude falsetto.
“I know that!” Elisa almost shouted, causing several people to shush her. “But she can be a really nice person. She cares about the country, and about us.”
Jack scoffed at her outright, but it was Stephen who spoke up, pulling his fingers thoughtfully through his almost golden-brown hair. “Well, maybe about the country, but whatever she’s planning, it’s probably not going to be good for us. She had pieces of paper with our names on it in a cottage in the woods, along with twelve dead, plucked birds.” His face scrunched up in that disgusted expression again, “She’s making shirts out of the feathers. I’ve been messing with it, but last time I was there, she was almost done with them.”
“You don’t know that cottage is hers.” Elisa continued to protest, although her brothers were mostly talking over her.
“Oh yes we do.” Stephen retorted. “I’ve seen her coming in and out right around dawn. I was planning to go burn it down today before she gets there. If you don’t believe me, see for yourself.” He said, finally annoyed enough to issue a challenge.
“Okay, I will.” She snapped back.
“You certainly will not.” George said, sternly. “Not just the two of you.”
“Well, I’m burning it today, so if any of you want to see it, then today’s the day.” Stephen said, and before anyone could stop him, he had made it over the wall. Jack was halfway over as well in a heartbeat, and Elisa wasn’t far behind.
Elisa
Elisa moved quickly, before her eldest brother could stop her, and she and Stephen and Jack were halfway down the hill towards the forest when Liam’s head popped over the wall. He and George were the most overprotective, after all. What she didn’t expect was to see all 9 of the others when they finally made it to the cottage.
“See?” Stephen said, looking smug.
The little place was most definitely creepy. It was made entirely of stone, except for its red, tiled roof, and looked a bit like it was falling apart. The windows were made of such a thick, warped glass that it was impossible to see much inside beyond thick, dark red curtains framing them. The really creepy part, though, began when Stephen strolled forward and took a small folded knife from his pocket, giving his palm a tiny little cut and then pressing it against the door’s handle. He gave it a little jiggle, then spat on his pinky finger and jammed it into the keyhole, and the door suddenly obligingly popped open.
The very first thing Elisa noticed was the dead snake nailed to the inside of the door. Stephen’s voice was unamused, but still slightly smug as he explained, “If you don’t do that weird little ritual, the door won’t open, no matter how much you yank on it.”
There were also, just as he had described, twelve dead, featherless swans piled in one corner. A large rug covered the floor, and the walls were covered with bookshelves filled with strange books without names on the bindings. Several weird shirts made of feathers were hanging from a line from the ceiling, and in the center of the room sat a cauldron filled with a dark red liquid that looked suspiciously like blood. Although it had looked small from the outside, all twelve of them had no trouble fitting in the space.
“I told you.” Stephen said, pulling a flint from his pocket. “Now get out, I’ve gotta burn this place down before she does something with these weird shirts.”
“Wait!” Elisa cried back, grabbing his arm, still unable to believe what she was seeing. “We don’t know what this place is or if it really belongs to her.”
“Elisa, let go.” Stephen insisted, shaking his hand loose, and that was when the first of the sparks began.
“Stephen!” George called, fear evident in his voice. Both of them turned to look at him, then at where he was looking; a small lick of flame had bit the corner of the rug, and was starting to spread across the floor.
“Woah.” Stephen said, in alarm. “I didn’t even strike the flint, yet!” He seemed more surprised than anyone, and stamped his booted foot on the flames, but instead of going out, they shot across the floor at even greater speed, setting the cauldron boiling and crawling up the curtains covering the windows.
“Everybody out. Now.” George demanded, grabbing both Elisa and Benjamin’s hands as if they were still small children and dragging them to the door. The door, which Elisa could not recall anyone closing, however, was jammed shut, and no matter how much weight George put against it, it would not open.
Smoke filling the air, the twelve of them began to cough. George continued banging against the door, while Stephen and Liam tried frantically to put out the flames, but the last thing Elisa saw before she lost consciousness was her brothers falling one after another to their knees.
When Elisa awoke, she was lying in her bed with both her father and Morrigan sitting at her bedside. “What happened?” She croaked.
“Elisa!” Her father cried, looking as if he hadn’t slept for days and grasping her hands, looking too shaken for words.
“Father?” She tried, but her voice was scratchy, and she found herself coughing.
“Shh.” He soothed, brushing the hair from her forehead.
“You breathed in quite a lot of smoke, dear.” Morrigan said, looking worried and also tired. “Don’t try to speak too much.”
“What happened?” Elisa asked, shakily. “Where- where’s George?” He’d be the first one she’d expect by her side, even if he’d gotten hurt in the fire. “And- and Stephen and Benji and Chris? Are they all okay?”
Morrigan’s face fell. “I- I’d found this strange cottage in the woods a year ago, and had been visiting to see if I could find the witch who lived there. I eventually figured out how to open it, but I could never catch anyone there. I went again today, and- well, when I saw it was on fire- When I opened the door, you and your brothers were on the floor. I managed to get you out, but when I went back for your brothers… a beam fell from the ceiling and blocked the door. I couldn’t get the rest of them out. I’m so sorry, Elisa.”
“What?” Elisa asked, in shock, her mind refusing to comprehend what her stepmother was trying to tell her.
“They’re all dead, Elisa. Your father’s men found their bodies in the wreckage this morning.” Morrigan said, refusing to look her in the eye.
Elisa looked over at her father. He was also not looking her in the eye. He held her hand in a death grip, pressing it to his forehead, and she watched his big body shake, though no tears fell from his eyes. Shaking, she stared between them, and then she shouted, “Get out! You’re lying. It’s just like they said, you’re a witch! It’s all your fault. Get out, get out! Both of you get out of my room!” She shrieked at them, and when Morrigan wrapped her arms around her in a hug, she screamed and fought and cried until the little bit of voice the fire had left her was gone.
Ivan
Ivan cared very little for the finery of nobles, and the grand halls of the castle of High Country barely caused him to blink. The hand-carved bow on his back and heavy animal furs lining his shoulders lay in sharp contrast to the metal and leather armor of the guards, and the marble pillars and elegant candelabra decorating the castle.
The armed guards flanking him had grim expressions and wore the livery of the special guards of the Queen of High Country, and the only reason he had not slain them both when they had demanded he come with them was the faint curiosity he had felt at how brazenly they had worn those colors when they had stepped into the inn where they had found him, deep in the kingdom of the Enchanted Forest, where they held no authority.
They had not said a word on the long carriage ride over, and were silent still as they escorted him through the halls and to the private chambers of Queen Morrigan of High Country. The room was relatively small and cozy, but grandly furnished with dark silks and velvets. A bronze chalice stood on a white, wooden dressing-table partially covered with a strip of red velvet, and it caught his eye for the massive, gold-framed mirror hanging in front of it. More specifically, he could not help but note that the mirror was not reflecting the chalice at all. Also missing, in that reflection, was a large, intricately carved chest standing under the window across the room that looked almost as if it had been carved from a large piece of ivory. The windows were covered with thick curtains and the room was dimly lit only with rows and rows of candles lining the room.
The hunter had heard rumors that the Queen of High Country was a witch, but he had not expected her to furnish her rooms so obviously, not when there were allegations that she had orchestrated the King’s mysterious death three years ago. It was easy to blame his weakened heart on the grief he had felt at the loss of all eleven of his sons, harder to protest that she’d had nothing to do with it, when her room practically reeked of magic.
The woman in front of him did not match the expectation her room gave him at all. She was young, fairly pretty, and finely dressed in a single light gown of fine black muslin. It would have taken him a moment to realize who she was, in fact, if she hadn’t been wearing the jewel-studded golden crown of the current ruler of High Country. He would have thought she looked rather harmless, but the expression on her face was neither queenly nor harmless. There was a wild, almost deranged look of anger and fear in her eyes, and she was gripping her hands so tightly together her arms were shaking.
“The huntsman you asked for, Your Majesty.” One of the guards told her.
She waved her hand at him, “I can see that. Now, get out.” The guards left without a word, and Ivan thought he saw a note of relief in their eyes.
He stood there in silence, looking at the woman in front of him, assuming she had wanted to speak to him about something, since she had gone so far as to drag him here all the way over from the neighboring kingdom, but for the longest time, she said nothing. She didn’t even look at him at first, staring instead at her hands, and then glancing at the mirror, and then back down at her hands, twisting an old ring with a red stone around her middle finger over and over again. Ivan was a hunter, though; he could be patient.
After some time had passed, she finally looked straight at him. Her perfect posture, which had stayed firm throughout her manic pacing, however, suddenly morphed into something properly regal. Her chin lifted ever so slightly, and her dark eyes firmly fixed on him, but it seemed she was still not quite committed to what she had wanted to ask of him, because her voice was a little shaky. “You’re Ivan, the one they say is more ruthless a hunter of men than beasts?”
He shrugged, “That depends on if you believe men are not beasts.”
A flash of vicious pleasure seemed to war with the hint of guilt in her expression, making Ivan decide that her pretty face was actually kind of monstrous to look at. She paused for a moment longer, then said, “I want you to kill someone for me. A 15-year-old, sweet, innocent little girl.” Her face twisted in an even more horrific expression, as he realized she really believed the description she was giving him, and trying to convince herself that she didn’t care. “Is that a problem for you?”
Ivan just gave her a shrug and a measured look, keeping his true thoughts to himself, but answering honestly, “My reputation would be pretty poorly founded if I couldn’t kill women and children. No one is as innocent as people think they are.”
She gave a cough of laughter in response, “Tomorrow, you are going to accompany my stepdaughter, Princess Elisa, into the forest at the edge of the castle, and there you will kill her, carve out her heart, and bring it back to me. You will be richly rewarded. Do you understand?”
Ivan shrugged and nodded, “It seems a simple enough task.”
“Good. Now go. I look forward to seeing the fruits of your work.” She said roughly, then turned around dismissively.
Ivan exited her chambers and found the guards who had initially escorted him there waiting for him. They showed him to a guest chamber and gave him a guard’s uniform, showing him which room to report to tomorrow. It seemed like a lot of trouble to go to just to take care of a little princess, especially for a woman who was undoubtedly a witch.
Elisa
She knew the second she saw him. Morrigan had changed the guards accompanying her regularly in the years since her father had died, weeding out those who had been loyal to her family, and replacing them with men who were kind enough, but too frightened of the rumors that Morrigan was a witch to ever dare oppose a single command she made. Sometimes Elisa thought Morrigan had intentionally spread the rumors herself, once she’d realized the power it gave her, not that she needed it with magic at play.
The guard they gave her today was nothing like the usual type. He was quiet, but not subservient, and seemed uncomfortable in the uniform he’d been given. Not uncomfortable like a child in his father’s suit, the way some of the hired farmboys looked, but as if the uniform were too tight and restricting, like he was used to being more comfortable and casual in his skin. He didn’t seem to have any problems with the sword on his hip, but kept shifting his shoulders slightly as if adjusting something that should have been slung there.
After giving him a look, Elisa made him wait there while she got a letter from her dresser. She’d written that letter a year ago, when she’d figured out Morrigan’s endgame, and she supposed it was long since time. The hag had waited longer than she’d expected.
“Well?” She said at him, in a sort of displeased resignation. “Come on, then. I was going to… pick some flowers in the forest.” She gave a snort of derision at that stupid lie, and began walking out of the palace, fully expecting him to follow her.
While she hadn’t explicitly planned this excursion to pick flowers, Elisa did take her time going through the forest, picking up a small collection of flowers before making it to her final destination. It was only fitting after all, that she die where her brothers had.
Elisa stood in front of the burnt little pile of stones where a hut used to stand with the little bouquet of flowers hanging loosely from her fingers. With her back to the huntsman, she leaned down to place her flowers, then turned back around to look at him, and sat down on a smooth little rock she’d dragged over to this exact spot when she’d snuck out to visit this spot. That was before her father had died, back when Morrigan still cared about her safety.
She leaned back, palms against the stone, and looked up at the new guard, voice flat. “I’ve got a lot of questions, but in case you’re in a bit of a hurry, can you do me a favor?” The man seemed a little confused, but nodded generously. “After you’ve killed me, can you give Morrigan this letter?” She waved the old letter at him.
His eyes widened slightly in surprise, then went away rather quickly. This one seemed quick to catch on. At least Morrigan hadn’t decided to send an idiot to kill her. He was also somewhat difficult to read, as if being somewhat sardonically expressionless was his default.
Since he didn’t seem to be the talkative type, Elisa filled up the silence for him. “So if you’re not the impatient sort, I guess we have a little time to talk before you kill me. Who are you? Where’d she find you? How much are you getting paid for killing me?”
He twisted his head in thought. “My name is Ivan. I’m a hunter from the Enchanted Forest. It seems she’s heard of my reputation. She promised me riches, and I left the price to her, since she has her own reputation among certain circles. I didn’t feel it was necessary to ask.”
Elisa nodded. “That’s fair. The Evil Queen does follow through with her deals.”
The man pulled his head back slightly, “You call her the Evil Queen?” He asked, though Elisa couldn’t pinpoint the emotion on his face motivating the question.
“No,” she said with a little laugh, “I call her Morrigan, but y’know,” she waved her hand, “that’s not the same thing. Morrigan lies. The “Evil Queen” her old thugs whisper about when drunk never breaks a deal. It’s uhm, you know… complicated.” She laughed again, knowing how utterly inadequate that word was.
“You are calm for someone who the Evil Queen wants dead.” The man who called himself Ivan offered, looking rather calm himself, for someone having a conversation with the person they were supposed to kill.
Elisa was blunt, “Yeah, well, when I finally figured out she’d killed my father, I figured I wasn’t long behind if she wanted true control of High Country. Speaking of, you’d better get to it, soon. It’s kind of nerve-wracking waiting for someone to kill you. Get it over with.” She looked at him, puckering her lip in an annoyed pout.
He shrugged, then sat down next to her on the ground, clanking awkwardly in his ill-fitting armor. “No one actually said I was going to kill you.”
For the first time in this conversation, Elisa was actually surprised, she looked over at him. “You weren’t hired to kill me?”
“I was, but what if I decided to spare you?” He asked, not looking at her.
“Spare me? Why? Is your reputation all smoke and mirrors, too?” She asked, genuinely confused, though a tiny shred of relief had wedged itself into her heart.
“No, I have earned my reputation.” He said, seriously. “But maybe someone changed my mind.”
“What do you mean by that?” Elisa asked, quietly, feeling tired by this exchange and the false hope he was giving her.
Ivan kept his answer simple and to the point, like he’d been doing through most of the conversation. Elisa kind of appreciated that about him. “Well, someone saved the life of a brother of mine, and in exchange, he asked me for a very simple favor. He wanted me to find a girl and tell her that he was doing well and missing her. And he said I would recognize her because she would have dark hair and white skin, red lips like blood against snow. I may be a hunter of men, but even I would be uneasy to kill someone who matters so much to someone who has helped me.”
For a long moment, Elisa was stunned into silence. It was true her looks were rather distinctive for any area this far south, but the only people who would send a message like that to her would be one of her brothers. A large lump formed in her throat, choking her into silence as she wrestled to squash the hope that her brothers, even one of them, might still be alive. That was impossible, and if she let herself entertain that hope, she was certain she would just fall apart then and there.
She blinked her black eyes rapidly and turned her face up to hold back the tears. She swallowed carefully, took in a deep breath, and let it out again. Without looking at him, she said quietly, “So if you’re not going to kill me, what now?”
“Now?” Ivan said, still thoughtfully, neither of them looking at each other at this point. “Run.”
Elisa shook her head. “She’ll know you didn’t kill me, and then she’ll kill you instead. She convinced you to bring back some proof, didn’t she?”
“A heart, but a deer’s heart should do as well.” He paused, and then surprised her by looking at her and asking, “Do you think that would fool her?”
Elisa stopped to think about it, “No, a deer’s heart would never fool the Evil Queen, but it might fool Morrigan. I told you. Morrigan lies.” Ivan didn’t seem to care that that didn’t explain anything. He just nodded as if a 15-year-old girl’s opinion was perfectly reasonable for a grown man to accept as truth, and stood up without looking at her.
“Go into the Enchanted Forest, Princess,” he told her, “and if you survive look for a man named Robin. Good luck.”
Elisa watched him go, mulling over the strange conversation they’d had, and still considering what he had told her. She’d never thought of running, but that was because Morrigan was all she had left, if- not that she was trusting that hunter’s word fully, but truly if- even one of her brothers was alive, that changed things. Maybe it was worth running, worth looking, worth hoping. She pressed her lips tightly against each other, and the description the hunter had been given came to mind. Red lips and white skin like blood against snow. The phrase had a nice ring to it. If she was going to live life on the run from the Evil Queen, she may as well take on an equally ridiculous title. “Snow White” would do quite nicely.
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