Poised upon it now, she gave the guard permission to let the huntsman in.
He walked in, gaze downcast, his brown hair falling in front of his eyes. As soon as he got close enough, he knelt before her.
“Rise, huntsman, as I have a task for you,” she said. It occurred to her at that moment she didn’t even know the man’s name. He’d carried out many tasks for her over the last few years. Unspeakable tasks that he would take to the grave, and yet she still greeted him as if he were almost a stranger. It was for the best.
The huntsman removed his cap and looked at her, waiting for more direction. He had learned the hard way that she didn’t take kindly to interruptions.
“I would like you to take Snow White into the forest where she can pick wildflowers.” A devilish smile played on her lips. “And there, my faithful huntsman, you will kill her.”
He looked taken aback. “But Your Majesty! She’s the princess!”
“Silence!” she commanded, her eyes flashing like fire. “You dare question your queen?”
“No, Your Majesty,” he said softly, hanging his head again.
She drummed her fingers on the throne. It thrilled her to know he had no choice but to follow her command. If he didn’t, he and his family would suffer the consequences. “You know the penalty if you fail.”
He did not look up. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
His word you cannot trust! she heard a voice in her head say. She knew it wasn’t her own. The mirror knew everything. Ask for proof, you must.
Proof.
Yes.
Her eyes landed on the red box she kept on her throne. She used it to collect taxes from the foolish men her guards brought to her when they failed to make their payments. The box was empty at the moment. She’d cleared it out only yesterday. Lifting it, she examined its design more closely than she had in quite a while. It featured a heart with an arrow sticking through it. How poetic.
Queen Ingrid held the ornate box out to him. The huntsman looked at her worriedly, which was thrilling. She could not believe how long it had taken her to do this. Oh, how she would enjoy it. “But to make doubly sure you do not fail,” she said, the words sounding deliciously slippery on her lips, “bring me back her heart in this.”
Thirty years earlier
They sat on the floor, facing one another, knees touching in front of the warm fire. She spread the wooden figures out in front of them on the small linen towel.
Her younger sister, Katherine, clapped excitedly when she saw them. “Oh, Ingrid, you made more!”
Katherine picked up the small wooden knobs upon which Ingrid had painted faces, and looked at them lovingly. They were wearing scraps of cloth Ingrid had found in Mother’s old sewing basket. Father thought he had thrown all of her things out when she died, but Ingrid had shrewdly hidden the basket under her bed. She knew they’d need it for mending and sewing new clothes. The dresses they had weren’t going to last forever.
Her father had no head for girls. He left them to fend for themselves most days while he worked in the village at the blacksmith’s. It was a long time for the two of them to be alone—before the sun rose and after it set—but that suited Ingrid just fine. She didn’t much like having him around.
“Yes,” Ingrid told her, holding up a small king with a paper crown on his head. “Here is King Jasper and Queen Ingrid and Katherine, the good fairy.”
Katherine laughed. “You’re the queen! That’s okay. I quite like being a kind fairy.” She touched the small paper wings Ingrid had glued to the back of the wooden dowel. “Do I have magic powers?”
“Of course you do,” Ingrid told her. “So does the queen, of course. Everyone should know magic.”
Katherine’s sweet face clouded over, the flames making shadows dance on her button nose. “Good magic, right?”
“Of course,” Ingrid said. They’d heard Father talk about ridiculous rumors of witches who dabbled in the dark arts, but he swore it was all rubbish. And on this fact, Ingrid tended to agree with him. Magic didn’t exist. She was sure of it. If it did, she would have found a way to save Mother from her illness.
But Katherine was only ten. She should believe. At thirteen, Ingrid was older and wiser, or so she told herself, and in Mother’s absence, she tried to teach her sister all that their mother would have if she were still alive. That meant she tried to teach Katherine how to write and read, among other things. Father had stopped their schooling when Mother died.
“Your place is to keep house,” he told Ingrid. “Cook, clean, look pretty, keep your mouth shut, and be ready to serve me when I get home.”
Like he was a king. He wasn’t, that was for sure. Ingrid couldn’t stand the sight of him when he came home some nights—later than he’d say he’d be, smelling like the devil. Some evenings he wouldn’t even eat what she’d cooked. He’d just stumble into his bed and stay there till they woke him in the morning. Ingrid liked those evenings best. She and Katherine could eat without saving him the biggest portion, and they didn’t have to hear his belligerent mouth. He was so angry all the time, as if he hated them for living when Mother had died.
So, if Ingrid had to tell Katherine some white lies to keep her from hating their life the way Ingrid did, she would.
“Katherine is a good fairy, and good fairies and sprites have the best kind of magic,” Ingrid said, taking her sister’s wooden dowel and flying it above their heads like a bird.
They played for what felt like forever, and Ingrid finally allowed her shoulders to relax. Dinner was cooking in the fire—a stew that would feed them for days—and with any luck, Father wouldn’t be back till the sky was black as night.
So when they heard the door thunder open while the sun was still high, both girls jumped. Father had come home early.
Ingrid hated that she looked like the man. She wasn’t balding, of course, but she had his wiry brown hair, whereas Katherine’s was black like Mother’s had been. Ingrid had his eyes, too—black as coal—while Katherine had Mother’s brown ones. It seemed unfair that her sister should get to look like the parent they both loved fiercely, while she had to be reminded of the man they loathed.
“Why are you both sitting on the floor like dogs?” he bellowed, one hand gripping the doorframe.
“Sorry, Papa!” Katherine jumped up and one of the dowels began to roll away from her, coming to a stop at their father’s feet.
He bent down and peered at the dowel. It was Fairy Katherine. “Toys? You two were playing with toys?” He moved toward them quickly. Ingrid instinctively put her hand in front of Katherine to keep her out of Father’s way. “You are supposed to be doing chores! Cooking! Women don’t sit on the floor, Ingrid. You are too old to behave like this.”
“Supper is already on, Father,” Ingrid said calmly as he stomped around the room. “We weren’t expecting you for a few hours.”
“Got dismissed,” he muttered. “Docked a day’s wages for showing up with half a mind.”
He was unsteady on his feet. Why had he come home? Now they’d be stuck with him in as foul a temper as ever. Ingrid felt the walls closing in.
“Why don’t you go to sleep?” Ingrid suggested.