The dungeons were cold and had been neglected for nearly a decade. There had been no need to upkeep them with no new prisoners being brought down with any sort of frequency. Now the only prisoners were a shattered skull and an ex-queen.
Grimhelde sat huddled in a corner to avoid a steady drop from the ceiling that fell at the center of the cot she'd been given to sleep on. Not that she would ever sleep there. A strong smell of mold wafted from the damp fabric. The straw filling had squished under her tentative patting and hadn't sprung back after she'd removed her hand. Beneath it, decayed remains of some animal filled the cell with a horrid smell.
They'd torn her dress in the struggle to push her in. The tear down the side gave the cold a direct access to her skin and chilled her all the way through. A plate of untouched food sat at the doorway to the cell, if anyone could consider it food. The bread was as moldy as the straw they'd expected her to sleep in. There was no telling what the gray slop beside it was, but Grimhelde was sure she'd seen it move on its own.
Her only source of light was a low burning torch attached to the wall by the stairs. It did little to bring any warmth but at least it gave her a good chance to inspect the area and dream of escape. The iron cuffs hadn't been removed and any magic she was able to push from herself rebounded back when her energy was spent.
How was it possible that she'd been so completely cut off from everything? Surely Eirwen hadn't learned magic after her turning. Grimhelde's heart clenched as she remembered the girl's pale face, as pale as when she'd left her on the floor of the cottage.
The cottage! Grimhelde gasped and looked at the solid cuffs encasing her wrists. Eirwen had no need to learn magic when she was surrounded by mages willing to do her every bidding. For the first time, true fear gripped her.
The door to the dungeons swung open on rusted hinges. The feeble torchlight illuminated Eirwen's shoes as she descended the stairs and reflected off her red eyes as if they were hidden rubies. They locked on Grimhelde and seemed to hold her in place. Two mages and the prince followed behind her but it was clear they weren't there to protect her. She was unlikely to need protection ever again.
"Come to gloat?" Grimhelde snapped.
"Oh come now, stepmother, try not to sound so grim," Eirwen sighed. The pale yellow hem of her dress fluttered around her feet as she glided forward. Her footsteps were eerily silent. "I thought we might catch up before I got around to gloating, as you put it."
Grimhelde stood and rushed the bars that held her captive, slamming her palm against them. "If you had just behaved and done as you were told this could have all been avoided," she snapped. "Insolent child, I was searching for the cure so that you would avoid becoming exactly like your wretched mother."
Eirwen examined her pale hands, patiently waiting for Grimhelde to silence herself. "I had things well in hand before you decided to destroy everything my mother had set in place. I even tried to explain it all to you and you decided it would be easier to kill me than to listen." The princess, soon-to-be-queen, crossed the space between them and tapped the bars locking her stepmother inside.
Her prince had followed behind and leaned against the far wall, his eyes never leaving Grimhelde. Where Eirwen's gaze was full of a patient anger, his was cold. At any moment he looked prepared to leap at her and tear her throat out. He bit down on his lower lip and the tip of an elongated fang peeked into view for just a moment.
"You see," Eirwen continued, "I've taken the past few days to observe you. I can see your pain at the decisions you think you've been forced to make. These were your choice but I can at least sympathize with thinking you were doing the noble thing. I too once thought sacrificing my own happiness for those I loved would solve everything. That's why I left you know."
Eirwen held up the leather bound diary her mother had left behind. She flipped through the yellowed pages and stopped near the middle before holding it up so Grimhelde could read in the dim light. Eirwen was able to recite the words without seeing them after the months on end of reading the journal front to back. She spoke the words as Grimhelde struggled to comprehend what she was looking at.
"My dearest daughter," she began. "You're sleeping soundly now and my heart hangs heavy as I think of your fate. I pray to any deity that may lend me a kind ear you are able to break free of this curse that has haunted me these many centuries. Even as a nachtengel I must live in fear of a hunter finding me and destroying what peace I have found here. Your father, these lands, and you are all the perfect pieces of the tapestry of my life.
"I know I will not be long for this world. On the day of the last snow before you were born, I pricked my finger on a broken mirror and saw the three scarlet drops in the snow. All I can hope for now is that you will remain safe and know that you are loved no matter where I am. Do not mourn for me, this is the only freedom from this curse for me."
She paused, red eyes roaming Grimhelde's face. "All this time you've painted her as the monster while she was only trying to live as normal of a life as she could," she snapped, anger leaking into her voice more heavily. Her shoulders fell back while she took a deep breath.
Grimhelde made a move to reach through the bars and felt a hand like steel wrap around her forearm. Ezekiel stood between her and Eirwen, fingers clamped down so tight, bone would snap if he squeezed any harder. Trying to ignore the growing pain, she glared at Eirwen. "There is no cure. I tried for years to find any chance at a cure because I loved you like my own."
"I was never yours. Though once I thought I might have loved you as a mother I can see now the barrier you put between us," Eirwen said. "The barrier you put between yourself and anyone who ever dared to care about you." She cleared her throat and looked back at the door.
The hinges whined in protest again and heavy leather boots tapped along each step. "I think in her own way she may have loved you, that at least is true," Ryker said from the foot of the stairs.
The last Grimhelde had seen of him had been a bloody mess on the forest floor as the life faded from his body. A new grace had settled itself over him and his movements flowed like early morning mist. He'd always been adequate at moving silently but this was something else entirely. It all fell into place when she saw the deep red of his eyes.
"You changed him?" Grimhelde looked at Eirwen in disgust.
"You left me to die, as if I was some inconvenience to you," Ryker snapped. "I swore my eternal life to Eirwen when I begged for her forgiveness in helping you destroy her family. I should have never let it go so far."
"It wasn't your fault," Eirwen touched his cheek and took the black feather he offered her. "And you've brought gifts." She twirled the crow feather in her fingers, face alight with glee. The smile showed off her needle sharp teeth that pressed into her deep red lips. She waggled the finger at Grimhelde tauntingly.
It took a moment for the familiarity of the feather to register, but when it did, Grimhelde's blood ran cold. The iron in the cuffs and the bars blocked her magic from reaching out externally, but she should have been able to feel the bond with her familiar even through the block. No matter how deeply she reached she found only emptiness. "What have you done?"
"For all the knowledge you've gathered over the last years, you are shockingly naive," Eirwen simpered. She called out to the door again and stepped aside as the seven mages carried a heavy flat object wrapped in black silk. They set it along the wall and allowed Eirwen to remove the covering.
The magic mirror warmed at the close presence to Grimhelde. "It responds to my magic, little snow apple. It will be of no use to you."
Eirwen shook her head and nodded to Ezekial who still held her forearm in his hand. He pulled a piece of shattered glass from an inner pocket and ran it along her hand. The drops fell across the floor as he tilted her hand for Eirwen to catch them along the feather.
"I have lived with mages far more powerful than you for some time now. They've taught me that blood is more useful than I had imagined," she began to explain. Allowing the blood to gather at the tip of the feather, she pressed it to the glass surface and wrote her name in careful script letters. The mirror seemed to drink the blood as greedily as its new master would. "Mirror, mirror on the wall, now answer to my call. Over the hills, far and wide, show me where the hunters hide."
"Yes, my master," the mirror's familiar voice responded.
A quiet gasp came from Grimhelde. She'd fallen back against the walls of her call, cradling her bleeding hand. "What are you doing?"
"You took my family before I could truly know them, so I will return the favor," Eirwen explained. "I'll find each and every hunter and pay them in kind for the pain you've caused me. Then, so that they can be reunited with you because I know you've missed them so, I'll bring back their hearts to keep you company."
"But... they're innocent, they've done nothing to you!" Grimhelde cried.
"So was I, but you saw to that," Eirwen said. She pointed at the mirror and smiled. "I'll leave this here for you, so you can hear their screams." The mages left first, standing guard in the hall like faithful knights. Ryker was the last out behind Eirwen and Ezekiel. They could hear Grimhelde screaming from the hallway but the sound was drowned out as soon as they stepped into the entryway where a jubilant crowd waited for their new queen.