Fairest of All (8 page)

T
he Queen had taken to her bed for many weeks after the funeral. She felt conflicted about refusing Snow when she came to visit. She wanted so desperately to comfort the girl, but she could not. Seeing the child only reminded her of her husband. His eyes seemed to look at her from Snow’s face. And similarly, seeing the Queen in this state would surely disturb the poor girl.

But it wasn’t only Snow. Since the King’s death, the Queen had refused all visitors, save one. Verona had been ever at the Queen’s side, pleading with her to get out of doors and into the sunshine.

“My Queen, won’t you see your daughter today?” Verona pleaded. “Perhaps you can take a walk about the grounds. She misses you terribly. It’s been weeks since you’ve emerged. She loves Uncle Marcus, Aunt Viv, and the Huntsman, but she needs you.”

“I’m not up to it just yet, Verona,” the Queen responded.

“Very well. Remember me whenever you are in your darkest moments. I will be here for you whenever I am called upon.”

“I know, sister. And I am grateful for it. Now please, let me be.”

Verona curtsied and left the room, but the Queen knew she had every intention of returning. Verona had not been able to spend much time away from the Queen.

As soon as she was certain the door had locked, the Queen walked over to the mirror—a ritual she engaged in daily since the funeral. She longed for the Slave to appear there. She wanted—needed—news of her husband and assurance of his well-being in the world beyond.

But all that stared back at her when she searched there was her own reflection.

She stared at herself, broken and numb. She looked ragged and haggard. Her swollen eyes and puffy cheeks accentuated her blemishes and other imperfections. And her hair had been neither washed nor braided in weeks.

She despaired over what she’d become. Perhaps her former beauty was simply an enchantment after all…one cast by her husband. And when he died, her beauty—a
false
beauty—died with him. How could she have ever thought herself to be beautiful? That she looked like her gorgeous mother, or rivaled, in any way, the King’s first wife, or even little Snow?

Then, as she stared at her hated face in the mirror, on the brink of a despair she would never be able to recover from, something began to take shape beyond the glass. In a swirling mist inside the mirror, the Slave appeared. The Queen felt a twinge of hope and possibly even joy, leap up inside of her.

“It has been quite some time, daughter. Did you enjoy the funeral?” the Slave asked.

The Queen’s lip stiffened. “It was a beautiful ceremony befitting a beautiful man and celebrating his life. And now I need something from you.”

“And what is that?”

“News of my husband.”

The face in the mirror laughed. “News of the King ended with his life.”

“Can you not see all?” the Queen asked.

“I cannot see beyond the grave. But I have the ability to see all things in these lands. I can see things that can make you terribly sad. And I can see things that might even make you very, very happy.”

“What could possibly make me happy again now that my husband is dead?” the Queen asked.

“I think you know,” the face replied, and then faded from view.

The Queen banged on the glass and called out to the Slave, but he was gone. Though the Queen did not know when he would return, she suspected he would. When he did, she would be prepared.

And in the meantime, she had a message to send.

T
hough they lived almost an entire land away, the sisters arrived just a day after the Queen sent for them. Verona sneered and scowled as they made their way into the castle scuttling about, chattering, as usual. She viewed the speed of their arrival as one more odd happening to add to the list of those the sisters had accumulated. Snow White made herself scarce, and the attendants at the court all seemed reasonably disturbed by the women.

They did not have to deal with them for long, however. The Queen requested that the sisters be brought to her chamber immediately upon their arrival at the court.

“Sisters,” the Queen said, “welcome.”

“We are—” Lucinda said.

“Privileged,” Ruby finished.

“The scars of your husband’s loss show upon you,” Martha said, reaching out and plucking a gray hair from the Queen’s head.

The Queen shifted uncomfortably. At one time she would have banished the sisters from the kingdom forever for doing such a thing. But there was something she needed, and she knew only the sisters could deliver it.

“Last we met…” the Queen began.

“The funeral—such a sad day—yes, sad, sad, very sad,” the sisters clucked.

“Last we met,” the Queen began again, ignoring their interruptions, “you spoke of my mirror.”

Three eerie smiles spread across the sisters’ faces in tandem.

“The Magic Mirror,” Lucinda said.

“The portal to the Other World,” Ruby continued.

“The one which contains the soul of the maker of mirrors,” Martha said.

“So you know of it,” the Queen acknowledged.

“Of course we do! It was—”

“We who created it—”

“Though not created it, as in tempered and gilded—”

“But we who captured the Mirror Maker’s soul—”

“Not captured”—Lucinda spat—“he granted it to us—”

“And we captured it, tied it up in spider silk webbing, as it floated out of his body and up, up, up—”

“And we who took it and locked it away—”

“In the Magic Mirror. Don’t forget, sisters—”

“It was he who had asked, he who had begged—”

“He who bartered his soul away.”

The sisters began to cackle again.

The Queen stared at the women coolly. “I demand you tell more. What is this barter you speak of?”

The sisters began a tale that was less fragmented than the Queen had ever heard usher from their lips.

They spoke as one. “You see, the maker of mirrors, his wife wanted a child—wanted a child more than anything. Yet she was barren. And the maker of mirrors could not bear to see her unhappy. And we, we cannot bear to see one so unhappy, so we engaged the maker of mirrors. We told him, that for a price, we could make it so that his wife might bear fruit. But the cost was not small—”

“His soul,” the Queen finished.

The sisters nodded in agreement, then continued.

“So, the child was hers—and his—but he owed us dearly….”

The Queen was perplexed by her emotions. She should hate the sisters for what they had done to her father, but the Queen herself so hated the man that she took great comfort in the sisters’ weird imprisonment of him.

“Go on,” the Queen commanded.

“So when the child was born, we sealed the deal for his soul, and he had his gift—his child. We would claim his soul once he shuffled off this mortal coil. A pity—an irony—that your mother would not live to appreciate his sacrifice.”

“We delivered the mirror to your husband,” Lucinda said.

“And did you the favor of having him give it to you,” Ruby finished.

“Oh dear, how hard it must have been for you to be without either of your loving parents,” Martha said, grinning.

“But now, with the Magic Mirror, your father is always near,” Lucinda said, grinning now, too.

“I believe you said something to me at the funeral. About the mirror. About my father. About taming the spirit within,” the Queen said, ill at ease with the conversation and becoming increasingly anxious.

“Are you experiencing problems? Is it not working quite right—are you having some trouble calling upon your father, my dear?” the sisters asked, moving dizzyingly from one speaker to the next.

“Yes,” the Queen said. “Can you show me how to tame the spirit?”

The sisters chuckled.

“Are you certain that is what you wish?” they asked.

The Queen nodded.

“You might find yourself ruined by the things—”

“He tells you.”

“Go on. I command you,” the Queen snapped.

The sisters shuffled over to the mirror and linked their hands. They held their arms over their heads and began to chant:

Slave in the Magic Mirror,

Come from the farthest space.

Through wind and darkness we summon thee.

Speak! Let us see thy face.

A cool wind began to blow through the room, and the curtains danced like ghosts. A flame appeared in the mirror, and then—the face appeared in a swirling purple mist, just as it had all those times before. But something was different. The face in the mirror was almost expressionless and much more docile than it had previously been. Was what they said true? Had their incantation tamed him?

“What wouldst thou know, sisters?”

The sisters chuckled and sniggered.

“Why have you been so very unruly for your new mistress?” the sisters asked.

“I have not been kind to Her Majesty, this I know and this you can see, for she has never summoned me with the power that shackled me by thee.”

The sisters laughed again. “You may leave now, Slave,” the sisters said. And the face in the Magic Mirror dissolved in a swirling purple whirl.

“Does this tutorial suit Your Majesty?” the sisters asked.

“Very much so,” the Queen said, smiling. “You may go now.”

“Before you send us on our way—” Lucinda said.

“We’ve left you another gift—” Ruby continued.

“You will find it in your dungeon. Use it—” Martha said.

“Well,” Ruby finished.

W
hen evening fell and the sisters had left the court, the Queen approached the Magic Mirror, still tired, but more hopeful now that she would find what she looked for there. She was so fixed on the mirror that she did not give the sisters’ second gift a thought. She gazed into the reflective glass and considered what she would ask. Then she recited the sisters’ incantation and called forth the Slave in the mirror.

“What wouldst thou know, my Queen?” the Slave asked.

“I wish to know of my husband. Is he well? Is he among the gods or the demons?”

“I have told you before, my Queen, I cannot see beyond that which can be seen.”

The Queen considered this. All hope that she would know what had been in store for her husband after his death swiftly left her. She could barely see her reflection beyond the face in the mirror. But what she could see terrified her. She was as ugly as her father had always said she was. There was only one thing other than news of her husband that might lift her spirits.

“Tell me, mirror, who it is that is fairest in the land?” she said desperately.

“Are you certain that you wish for me to answer that request?” the Slave asked.

“Certain,” the Queen said gritting her teeth.

“Know that I am bound by the truth,” the Slave replied.

“Then, if it is not I, tell me who it is,” the Queen said, becoming enraged.

“I did not say it was not you. I told you I could not lie. I thought you should be aware before treading into this territory.”

The Queen sneered and nodded.

“Who is she, Slave? Who is the fairest one of all?” the Queen asked.

“You have been weathered by this experience. You are worn and…” the Slave said.

“Out with it, man!” the Queen yelled, pounding her fist upon the mantel and shouting. “Who is fairest in all the land?”

“You are, my Queen,” the Slave replied. Then he disappeared in a swirl of mist, and the Queen could once again see her face. Her eyes narrowed and a wicked grin stretched across one corner of her mouth.

S
hortly after her exchange with the Slave in the mirror, the Queen finally emerged from her chamber, looking as regal as ever. And it had been as Verona said it would be—the kingdom had waited to embrace the Queen as their sole ruler. And they did so in the grandest fashion imaginable.

The day was a whirlwind of red rose petals floating magically in the air, evoking the day she married the King, which caused a tight pain in her chest and the threat of tears. Snow rushed to the Queen and hugged her around her knees. Verona stood beside them and smiled.

“Oh Momma, I’ve missed you so much!” the girl cried. Uncle Marcus and Aunt Viv waved from the sidelines as the Queen took Snow in her arms and the gathered crowds cheered.

The day was filled with festivals, banquets, and merriment. And as evening fell and the Queen retired to her room, she found herself armed with a new confidence. She approached the mirror in her chamber and said to her reflection, “I am the fairest of all.”

She felt renewed, not just by the kingdom’s embrace of her, but something else entirely. All those years ago, after her father’s death, she had thought she had exorcised his ghost from her mind. But it wasn’t so. Not until she watched his face tell her how beautiful she was—the fairest in the land, in fact—did she feel such a weight lifted. She had power over him now, the way he’d had it over her for so many years. And she was going to exercise it.

S
he called forth the Slave in the mirror, just as the sisters had taught her. When he appeared in lapping tongues of flame and plumes of purple smoke, she recited the sisters’ incantation, then continued, “Magic Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?”

The Slave, who was bound by honesty, admitted to the Queen that she was the fairest of them all, and the Queen was put at ease. The fear that she had grown into the haggard witch her father once labeled her melted away. Any insecurities she might have had vanished. Even her deep sorrow over the loss of her king was allayed when she heard and saw the Slave in the mirror—the soul, the very
face
, of her father who once battered her with demeaning and disparaging words—admit that she was beautiful; that she was the fairest in the land.

The Queen soon found that on days when she had forgotten to consult the mirror, she was ornery, bitter, and anxious. She snapped easily at her attendants, even those people closest to her—Verona and Snow. She would find herself short of breath, with a tightness in her chest. And she knew that the only way to cure these ills was to relent to her obsession and return to the mirror—to her father’s face, to hear him say that she was lovely. That she was beautiful. That she was fairest of all.

And so, it became a ritual for the Queen. Each day she consulted the Magic Mirror, engulfed and possessed by her vanity, still bereft over the death of her husband. She used her father’s validation to cure all her fevered nightmares of loss, of growing old, of being the thing, the terrible ugly woman, her father had always told her that she was.

The mirror, for its part, always told the Queen the truth. That she was the fairest in the kingdom. And then, unexpectedly, it gave the Queen a different answer.

“Famed is your beauty, Your Majesty, but another lovely maid I see….”

A terrible rage boiled within the Queen. She felt transformed. She had never experienced a feeling like this before. It felt terrible and absolutely wonderful all at once. She never knew such jealousy, or that such an emotion could stir up such anger, perhaps even hatred. And with that hatred, an undeniable
power
.

“Who? Who is it? Speak, Slave!” the Queen barked.

“Grief and loss, my Queen, have not diminished her beauty; her face is not lined with tragedy. Nor is she marred with pain and suffering as you have so clearly been. This maidservant—”

“Maidservant?” the Queen said sharply.

“I cannot deny that you are beautiful, my Queen. But I also cannot lie. You are outshined by Verona. She is the only woman within the kingdom who outstrips you in beauty.”

“How I wished for your love when I was a girl, how I would have thrived if you had just shown me one little bit of approval! And now, you use it to destroy me and the woman I care for most in this land, the only family I have left? No, I do not believe you. In fact I do not believe that this is happening at all. I must be dreaming or under some spell, I am sure I will awake and find this was all a horrid dream conjured by my suffering and grief!” the Queen said.

“Would you be happier then without me, my Queen? It was your calling me that brought me here in the first place; but if my being here causes you pain, I will happily leave you, until you call upon me again,” the Slave told her. And her father’s image disappeared from the mirror.

Just then, Verona walked into the room, holding Snow by the hand and glowing with blissfulness. Verona was so fair and so lovely. And for the first time in her life, the Queen hated her for it.

“Apologies for disturbing you, Your Majesty,” Verona said. “But the reception celebrating an entire moon since your return to us is about to begin, and we thought we would accompany you to the great hall where everyone is waiting to receive you.”

“Yes, of course; thank you, Verona,” the Queen said. But she suddenly felt none of the sisterly love she’d always had for Verona.

“Then shall we proceed?” Verona asked, clearly growing uncomfortable from the Queen’s stares.

“Not until I’ve kissed my lovely daughter, Snow. And how are you on this day, my lovely little creature?”

“Happy to see you, Momma. I missed you while you were sick and am so happy you’ve been well for so long.”

“I missed you too, my little bird, I’m sorry I didn’t see you as often as I should have while I was unwell.”

“I’m happy to see you now, Momma. You look very pretty today, and so does Verona. Don’t you think so, Momma?”

“Yes, she looks quite lovely,” the Queen said flatly. “Very well then, let’s proceed and enjoy this day the way it was intended.”

And the three beauties made their way to the great hall. Could it have been the Queen’s imagination, or were many eyes truly upon Verona as they arrived? The Queen attempted to banish all thoughts of what the Slave had said about Verona. But it was impossible to distract herself from his words. And as the evening and the following days passed, the Slave in the mirror always answered the same way.

Verona was the fairest of all.

The Queen felt torn between her love for this woman who had been like a sister to her, and her—was it also
love
?—for her father. No, it was something more terrible than love. His approval was an obsession and an addiction. And Verona, simply by being in the court, was preventing the Queen from receiving the daily affirmation from her father that she so needed.

And why would she want such approval from her father? What would it say about his nature that he would find her beautiful again simply for acting on jealousy? What would it say of
hers
?

So, the Queen told herself it wasn’t for vanity’s sake when she finally decided to send Verona away to a neighboring kingdom on a diplomatic assignment. No, it was merely for the sake of the Queen’s own peace of mind, and in the interest of preserving the women’s friendship.

For Verona, the good-bye was tearful. Snow, too, could not contain her sorrow. After all, the child had lost so much. And now the woman who was closest to her after her stepmother was departing as well. The Queen remained stony, icy, unmoved. And directly after Verona’s carriage pulled away, the Queen whipped up her cape and returned to her chamber and the Magic Mirror.

The Queen slammed her door shut and stalked toward the mirror. She hesitated. What if it did not work? What if Verona was only the first of many in the kingdom who were fairer than she? The Queen finally found the courage and once again called upon the Slave in the mirror. She searched her heart for her motivations. As the flames began to appear in the mirror, part of her hoped the Slave would not materialize. She didn’t really know which scenario would ease her mind: to find him there or not.

And then the Slave appeared in his swirl of purple mist.

“What wouldst thou know, my Queen?”

“Magic Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?”

“You, my Queen, are the fairest in all the lands, now that Verona has set foot on distant sands.”

The Queen felt all the tension flow from her body, and every muscle in her body relaxed. She took a deep breath and sighed. But something within her was still unsettled. What was she becoming? How was it that she chose her own beauty over her dearest companion?

“Slave, I’ve another question for you,” she said.

“I am bound only by honesty, my Queen.”

“Perhaps I am fairest in the land. But how is it that I can once again be happy?”

“Happiness is beauty, and beauty is happiness. Beauty brings joy whether possessed by man, woman, girl, or boy.”

“How I wish that were true,” the Queen said.