A Fair Account of the Traitors Snow White and Rose Red

Coward or Consort

I may not have inherited either of my parents' Grand Banes, but tonight I don't feel my usual crushing sense of powerlessness—

For this evening and this night only, I am a Grand Beauty.

By the time the palace bell tower tolls in the twelfth hour, a delicate lily aroma has soaked into my skin and my tangled locks have been viciously tamed into an intricate mass of braids piled atop my head. As I sit on my stool in front of the vanity mirror in my dressing parlor, Mother weaves ruby barrettes, star sapphire beads and emerald pins into each braid so that with every move my hair gleams with sudden hints of sparkle.

My new gown is spun from Sareval's legendary moonwing worms and lies strangely insubstantial against my skin, almost like a green mist that never quite settles. I don't like it. A pin pricks my scalp and I yelp, shifting on my stool.

"Stop fidgeting, Rosavere, or I'll stab you again," Mother commands as she adjusts a peridot pin in my hair.

"Sorry, Mother," I murmur, my eyes smarting. I wish my lady's maid Annelise were attending me instead of Mother. No, it is Nana Lune's presence I miss most tonight—my old nursemaid's ominous grumblings were never more bite than bark, and her arthritic knuckles could smooth any snarl. Of course, I can't blame Nana for leaving the palace after what happened to her nephew Micah in the Wildershade . . . the huntsman was all she had, but I had rather thought I was her family, too.

I raise my eyes to the glass oval set on the oak dresser in front of me. Ever since that night of splintering mirrors that claimed Father's life, no looking glasses are allowed in the palace except in private chambers. Mother loathes them; I can't even remember the last time I shared my reflection with Mother in a mirror.

She picks up a silver hair pin only to pause with the point an inch from my head as she notices it is crowned by a simple white pearl. A faint frown purses her lips. "I'm quite certain I instructed the maids to bring me only jewels this evening," she says. "No matter."

A tingling shiver shoots through me as the same breath she blows over the pearl gently brushes my ear. Her aura ripples over the pearl in a faint lavender mirage, the spiritual energy from her unraveling soul a barely visible gleam in the looking glass. The pearl quickly facets into a lucent green diamond that precisely matches my gown's hue.

Pride fills me as the gem's reflection winks in the mirror, for Mother is the only gloriphage in all the Kingdom Isles who can completely transform one substance into a flawless replica of another. The average gloriphage-made diamond will always betray tell-tale specks of its original matter, especially if the weaker aura sealed into it unravels over time. Of course, Mother's seals never unravel unless she wills it.

"It's beautif—" I start to say, and then cringe as Mother yanks my head back into proper position. How foolish I was to forget: feeble thanks please her little where obedience will do nicely. But as she slides the green diamond pin above my left ear, I stiffen.

"Place it on the right, please," I say quickly. Mother raises her brow at my sudden request, but withdraws the pin. I want no reminders of her tonight; my half sister always wore her mother Isabeau's pearl crescent barrette tucked behind her left ear. I sit perfectly still and make a mental note to remember where Mother positions the green diamond pin in my locks so I that can place it in a box of my favorite trinkets later.

A rare feeling of contentedness washes over me as I watch her slim gloved hands work in the glass. Barely three generations ago, Mother would've been torn from her family and exiled because her gloriphagy made her too dangerous to live among respectable society. Only the discovery of the Phantom Moth changed her fate as its gray silk threads can bind even the most stubbornly unsealed soul back to bone. Mother's ability magnified a hundredfold after Father's death, and I've rarely seen the bare skin of her hands since.