Inside the carriage, the King’s coffin was covered with flowers. Red roses. The Queen’s favorite. He had requested it in the papers he had left before his first campaign away from her. The Queen wore a black dress with deep red beading. Her hair was pulled into a lavish braid and coiled upon her head. She was shielded from the rain by servants who held a thick black cloth over her head. Snow, the broken child, was outfitted in a dress of the deepest red. The Queen wondered if the girl would ever be happy again. And, if so, would she have the right to be?
The Queen, who had not appeared publicly since the King’s death, stood, with Verona’s help, as the body was stowed away in the mausoleum. Verona put her arm around her Queen—her friend—and led her and Snow back to the carriage, to be transported back to the castle.
“’Tis a pity—”
“Such a shame, really—”
“So young, so—”
“Beautiful, he was, and now…gone.”
The Queen looked up.
The sisters.
“We needed to be here,” Lucinda said.
“We hope you don’t mind,” Martha continued.
“After all, we parted on such sour terms, last visit,” Ruby finished.
The Queen was too exhausted from grief to feel anything but apathy toward the sisters. Now was not the time to become incensed.
“Thank you,” the Queen replied.
“We assume—” Lucinda continued.
“You have received our gift?” Martha finished.
The Queen nodded absently, not even truly processing which gift they were speaking of. Not thinking about the mirror at all.
“He can be a bit coldhearted and brutish, that father of yours,” Ruby said. “Please do let us know if he needs taming.”
Verona glared at the sisters standing there, soaked from the rain. She was tired of their cryptic talk and riddles. She jerked the Queen and her daughter closer to her side, ushering them away from the sisters and into their carriage. The sisters took quick, short, birdlike steps away from the funeral, and the Queen wasn’t sure if it was her grief playing tricks on her or if she really did hear laughter coming from the sisters as they went away.
The 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.
Though 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.