Stealing Snow (20 page)

“Welcome to the Claret,” Jagger said as he let go of my waist.

I shoved him not so gently away. My head was full of questions—but they would have to wait because all my brain
cells were currently trying to comprehend the building before me. This wasn’t one of my dreams, but it very well could have been.

It was hard to tell if the castle was English or Russian, but it looked like a chimera, a mythical creature composed of part man and part lion. I half expected to see part of a pyramid on the other side of the Claret.

The combination of building materials was seamless. Wavy glass met the bottom of the highly decorative Russian palace, which in turn flowed into the English battlement wall’s stones, which led into a pointy cone steeple that connected to a set of Roman columns topped with a triangle of marble filled with tiny sculptures. And on either side of the castle was a dense forest unlike any I had ever seen. The trees, the thicket, and the grass were all red. The Lights in the sky were dimmer than even the night before, their colors fading into the dark sky, making the red all that more stark in contrast.

Something told me that Jagger really, really wanted to show off this view.

“Come on,” he said, and began to move toward it.

“You live here?” I asked, processing. “You said I was a princess. Are you some kind of a prince? Because I have no intention of getting married anytime soon…”

I had read too many fairy tales, but even so, I was pretty sure happily ever after wasn’t how my story ended.

“Relax, Princess, I’m not that kind of prince,” he countered lightly, still walking toward the castle and staring at the facade as if he, too, were still fascinated by its existence.

“What other kind of prince is there?”

I stood my ground for a beat. Some part of me did not want to follow until I had answers. But when the wind picked up, I could see him shiver. I could stay outside forever. But maybe Jagger would be more talkative inside.

When we got to the castle’s giant wrought-iron double doors, they opened automatically. I hesitated. He glanced at me, as if to say it was only a few more steps after coming all this way.

I stepped over the threshold and into the Claret. The anteroom was as eclectic as the facade, in contrast to Kai’s home, which was economical and perfect. Jagger’s was massive and the opposite of organized. Every style of decor from modern to baroque was represented.

A trio of sculptures greeted us, each in a different style and material, depicting the same woman wearing a crown. I looked at the faces of the gold, silver, and bronze statues, looking for a likeness of my mother. The River Witch had said she was a queen, after all. But she was not the one depicted here. In every incarnation, the woman’s hair was wild, her smile was broad, and the expression more spirited than royal.

The floor of the anteroom glittered with a mosaic of colorful stone. The walls of the anteroom were covered in tapestries, each with a different crest.
Does this place represent more than one kingdom?
I wondered, trying to make sense of it.

The giant doors closed and locked behind me with a wave of Jagger’s hand.
Is this a trap?
I thought a second too late.

I looked at him hard. The desire to punch him again rose.

“How did you do that?” I demanded.

“I’m a borrower. A Robber. I am not like you, or a real witch. My gifts come from without, not within. I wasn’t so lucky.”

A thief. Was everything here borrowed? Even the facade?

“I don’t have any magic,” I argued, thinking that magic wasn’t what I would call it. A runaway, unwanted force of nature, maybe?

“You know you do,” Jagger said. “You just don’t know how to use it fully. I can help you with that … Maybe we can help you with that.”

We?

I already had a teacher in the River Witch. It was the Bale part that interested me. If he could help me get back to Bale, it didn’t really matter what he or his friends stole.

Turning back was not an option. Curiosity won out over my growing sense of dread. I walked with Jagger through the anteroom and into another room, ready to find out who “we” really were and how they would help me rescue Bale from the King.

The “we” turned out to be the girls from Stygian, the ones selling bits of magic in colorful bottles. When Jagger and I entered the Throne Room, I saw twenty or so girls lounging on velvet sofas. I searched for the one with green hair who had winked at me, but I could not find her among them. I had no idea who these people were or what was going on. If this was supposed to help me understand the truth, it wasn’t working.

Every single one of the girls was beautiful. In fact, they were a whole other level of pretty that surpassed what I saw on TV back at Whittaker. They were different sizes and shapes and colors. I had never seen skin like that before. Each girl’s skin shared a mysterious glow with the aurora borealis, which had no business being above wherever the heck we were.

As we approached, I felt twenty pairs of eyes following us.

“That is Margot,” Jagger whispered, pointing to a platinum blonde with an angular, brown face.

She was sitting on a throne decorated with gems. Hers was the face that I had seen cast in metal.

“She considers herself a queen, and us her subjects.”

“Back at Whittaker, I knew people who considered themselves all sorts of things,” I whispered.

Even if I hadn’t recognized her image, I would have known she was their leader. She was holding court. The girls were busy talking and laughing, but they were stealing glances at her for approval. And judging from her smile and her posture, she was enjoying every second of it.

Jagger stuck close to my side, and I wasn’t sure if he was being protective or territorial. The stares from the girls ranged from daggers to curiosity.

“Queen Margot, may I present Princess Snow of Algid,” Jagger said with a flourish and a bow when we finally reached her.

I was suddenly embarrassed by my simple pale-green dress. The clothes that Gerde had made me were a marked improvement over my gray Whittaker wear, but these girls took fashion to another level in the same way Kai had taken architecture. They were vibrant flowers, and standing in their presence, I felt like a common weed.

Jagger rose, meeting Queen Margot’s gaze with a humility I hadn’t seen in any of our previous encounters. It was clear that she had sent him to get me. But to what end?

I bowed my head to her, too—not out of deference, but a tactical decision that I hoped would pay off. A bow from who she thought was a real princess should count for something.

“You honor me, Princess Snow,” Margot said with a tight
smile that seemed to cover the giddiness that my gesture sparked. “It’s not every day we are graced with true royalty. And by someone as infamous as you, to boot. The King is looking for you. It’s not safe for you out there, wandering the woods of Algid alone. I’m glad you chose to seek asylum within the walls of the Claret.”

Jagger shot me a sideways glance and a toothy grin that said he was impressed.

“Everyone, welcome Princess Snow,” Queen Margot instructed, her voice formal and lilting.

There was a shift in the crowd, which instantly came to attention. The girls scrambled to their feet within seconds.

One, if possible even prettier than the rest, stumbled forward and curtsied. Her hair was deep red, and she had medium-brown skin. Her eyes were also brown, but rimmed with gold.

“We’re not used to being around actual royalty,” the girl said. Her voice was filled to the brim with sarcasm. She bent into another exaggerated curtsy but was unsteady on her feet and ended up falling on her perfect bum.

“Enough, Fathom,” Queen Margot warned.

The red-haired girl retreated to her overstuffed chaise, still laughing. There was something in the way she looked at me that felt familiar.

Margot gave me a sympathetic look. “Jagger, why don’t you show the Princess to her room? She can get acquainted with the girls in the morning.”

I’m pretty sure “acquainted” isn’t what Margot means
, I thought, feeling very unwelcome in the crowd. At least in this place, my
cage would be a gilded one. I just hoped it had a lock to keep Fathom out. I didn’t know her, but I suspected she would be trouble. I could feel it.

I didn’t have time for the drama. I was here for a purpose. I needed us both to just get to it, despite Jagger’s look that told me to hold back and play it out at Margot’s pace.

“Did Jagger tell you what I require?” I asked. “He said you could help me get my friend back from the King’s castle.”

“Did he, now?” she said with a laugh that denoted that Jagger might have made a promise that he could not deliver.

“I will give you whatever you want in exchange. But time is not on my side.”

Margot laughed again.

“If you are not interested, I will retrieve him myself,” I said, prepared to walk away.

“With your snowflakes, my dear?”

“Yes,” I said, feeling my cheeks begin to burn.

My knuckles began to itch; my claws about to stretch out.

I felt a surge of anger rise from within, but tried to tamp it down. I didn’t know what would happen if I couldn’t control my temper here. Would I bring on another ice storm? Or freeze the room solid? Or worse?

If they didn’t let me out of this room soon, it wouldn’t be my choice anymore.

I looked up at the ceiling. Giant icicles had formed on the tile, razor sharp and shaking.

The icicles fell with a thundering crash. I shielded my eyes, not wanting to see what the ice guillotine had done to Margot.

When the room grew deathly cold and quiet, I dropped my hands, afraid to see the possibly bloody aftermath of my snow. I heard clapping and saw that the ice had fallen in a circle around me—but also around Margot, who stood before me unscathed.

Margot let out a gleeful yelp.

“So marvelous. But you will need to do better than that to extract a boy from the King’s clutches without impaling him. I can help you.”

With that, she downed a vial of liquid and disappeared.

“Come on,” Jagger said, steering me toward the room’s giant double doors again.

As I let him lead me away, the other girls inspected my icy handiwork. It wasn’t panic that I had inspired. It was curiosity. When I glanced back, I saw the mermaid-haired girl pick up one of my icicles.

As we made our way down the hall, Jagger tried to explain the Queen’s behavior.

“She’s not a real queen. Margot was born without royal or magical blood. She came from nothing and nowhere, and she built all of this.”

I feigned interest in the wallpaper as we walked. I did not want to talk about what had happened back there. I had thought I had come so far with Nepenthe. But it was luck instead of intent that stopped me from slicing Margot in half with my icicles.

“It’s not you. Well, it is,” Jagger continued.

The walls were adorned with a variety of sconces—each one unique—and tapestries from different time periods.

“We… spent a lot of magic in the Other World,” he explained. “I was sent there to find someone.”

“And I’m not what they expected?”

“You’re not
who
they expected. I was supposed to bring back Margot’s daughter, a girl who had gotten lost. But I found you instead.”

“Lucky me.”

“Hopefully, lucky for all of us,” he said ruefully. “I’d used a locator spell to find Margot’s daughter. Only magic’s a little more imprecise once you get to the other side of the Tree. Or at least it’s supposed to be. I felt a surge of magic when I was looking for her. Unlike anything I’d ever felt. And it turned out to be you.”

I thought of the time I’d pushed Magpie and she wound up paralyzed on the floor of the Whittaker drawing room. I didn’t know it then, or maybe I did deep down. I remembered how cold she was and the blue of her lips. Her accident must have been caused by my snow. By me. It had to be that.

“And how did you know who I was?”

“You look just like your mother.”

Jagger took a coin from his pocket and flipped it in my direction. I caught it—to my surprise. I was never much of an athlete. On one side of the coin was my face staring back at me. Only, it wasn’t me. It was Mom.

“Your mother was the only royalty anyone ever believed in. At least in my lifetime.”

“Why?”

“Even though she was a witch, she was really just a common person like the rest of us. Lazar married her anyway, and it gave people hope, even after he froze our lands over.”

I felt my eyes go wide in disbelief. My mother was a lot of things. Now, I could even buy that she turned out to be a magical being from another land. But one of the people? My mother was always above … apart.

“Did you know her?” I demanded, annoyed at him suddenly. This bit of information seemed like something he should have mentioned before now.

“I don’t remember her, but the elders do. She died young, saving her child. Your mother was the stuff that legends are made of—except the story turns out to be only half-true. She is alive, and so are you.”

“Who is Margot’s daughter?” I asked.