Mirrored Snow [novel]

Chapter Eight

I flitted aimlessly between mirrors for the rest of the day. When Marianne Proust, the head of the treasury's daughter and one of my favourite occupants in the palace, sang to her reflection in a hallway mirror I danced in the background. I watched as two maids flirted in the laundry, narrating the thoughts that were no doubt rushing through their minds as they 'accidentally' brushed against each other, lips a breath apart before they broke away, blushing.

I couldn't go home without information for the queen, but I didn't want to spy on Snowdon either. He was already suspicious about the pomegranates and after my slip up in the kitchen, I didn't want to give him any other reasons not to trust me.

I was also trying to avoid having another conversation with him until I'd had a chance to rehearse what I was going to say. I wasn't certain I could lie to him if he asked me outright why he should fear the queen. And if Snowdon confronted her, if he somehow gave away that he could see me, or that I'd warned him about the queen's wrath... I didn't want to think what she might do to my family. Or to me.

Perhaps because of my own turmoil, it took me a few hours to notice that the palace had a different feel to usual. There was a lightness in the air, an optimism I hadn't sensed before. Despite the snow on the ground, windows had been thrown open to let in air and light. Sunlight danced on the marble floors, illuminating paintings and glancing off mirrors. People offered tentative smiles to each other as they passed in the hallway. For the first time I could remember, the palace staff seemed united.

Hope. He'd barely been in the palace a day, and Snowdon had already brought his people hope of a better future.

I only hoped I didn't manage to help the queen crush it just as quickly.

As the queen's lunch was finishing and people were beginning to retire to their rooms to prepare for the grand ball, I noticed one palace worker who wasn't as hopeful and relaxed as the rest. Lyona was hurrying out of the eastern doorway, casting furtive glances over her shoulder as she stole out into the snow. Intrigued, and desperate for anything that wasn't related to Snowdon, I watched as she pulled a white shawl up over her head, concealing her red braid and making her less visible in the snow to anyone glancing out from the palace.

Lyona hurried towards the stables. They were one of the ground's smaller structures, never frequented by the queen, who had no time for horse riding and only ever required steeds to pull her along in a carriage. It had once spanned two stories, housing eighty horses with their groomsmen living overhead, but it now held only twenty, and the small staff employed to keep them lived in the servants' quarters of the palace. The rest of the building had fallen into disuse.

But that didn't mean that it wasn't frequented for other purposes. I remember Lyona meeting Gabe in the abandoned rooms three summers ago. I hadn't seen her return to the building since he'd left.

I expected her to head through the main doors, into the bustling stalls on an errand for one of her superiors who didn't want to venture into the cold. Instead, she took the route round to the side of the stable, quickly vanishing from sight. I knew where she had gone – had seen her take that route a hundred times – what I didn't understand was why.

I closed my eyes and followed.

I entered the room before Lyona did. It was more or less as I'd remembered. On its cobweb strewn, grey walls hung three antique mirrors, installed before the rooms had no longer been needed. I took my place in the largest mirror, which was hung above a cracked fireplace. The room's faded, slate curtains had been drawn on the palace side, casting a gloom which the dozen candles on the salvaged sideboard could have dispelled, if lit.

The only difference in the room was the number of chairs – and the people sitting in them.

There were six in total, seven when Lyona entered the room.