A Fair Account of the Traitors Snow White and Rose Red

Warm Crimson Heart of the White Lady

Elf.

That word belongs to a long-dead nightmare. Now it is mine.

I know I should be afraid of him; trembling in abject terror, really. But even if I could snap the wisteria vine shackling my wrist, there is nowhere I could run that is far enough away. No seed is safe from the elves' Grand Bane—verdai allows them to speak directly through all rooted things. The Orchid Keeper could coil a thousand living bindings around my body with a single silent command.

Yet, strangely . . . all I feel is profound anger. The elf's question infuriates me—"Why do you have her eyes?" My peasant's dress is torn and caked in mud, my hair a scarlet nest of snarls, but I can still glare like a proper crown princess.

"The Leonesse blue can be traced back nine generations to my namesake, Rosavere, first geomage and founding queen of Albemar!" I snap. "Snow White has no special claim to them."

The elf stares at me like I've fractured my skull. Perhaps I have. I did fall down the watchtower's stairs rather spectacularly. His voice cracks as if he hasn't used it often, but his tone is firm.

"Take me to her."

My jaw drops. What could he possibly want with Snow, revenge for icing him in the watchtower? Hmm . . . "monster versus monster." I could think of no better outcome for either of them. Perhaps they'll destroy each other and do our kingdom a favor. I gesture to the west. "My sister lurks somewhere in the Wildershade. Give her my coldest regards when you meet her."

The elf abruptly turns his back on me and heads westward. This would be a most satisfactory conclusion to our conversation if I didn't find myself dragged behind him like a wayward stray on a tether. I threaten him with a thousand deaths from Mother's gloriphagy and Faylen's blade, demanding my release until I'm hoarse. I am utterly ignored. As the elf tugs me onto a trackless path in the brush leading towards the foothills of the Wildershade, I dig my feet into the dirt.

"Let me go!" I demand, trying my best to sound like a royal sovereign instead of a petulant brat. "I must warn my mother of the Green Guild's abominable treachery on that black orchid plantation. The Queen will surely punish—"

My captor stops in his tracks so suddenly that I nearly slam into him. "Warn her?" His laughter is a rude and entirely common sound that tempts me to slap him. "The Queen authorizes every experiment on the orchids, no expense spared."

"You are mistaken." I keep my voice perfectly low, utterly reasonable. "My mother would never sanction kidnapping innocent Albemarians—" But my protests turn to gagging as the elf thrusts a fist next to my face and unclenches his fingers. A single smashed orchid flower lies in his palm. The petals are bone-white except for a startling splash of crimson in the inner core. A familiar stench assails my nostrils, the same foul odor that had wafted up from the trapdoor in the watchtower.

"Your mother awaits the perfection of the White Lady from her throne even now," the elf mocks. The smell of the sickly pale flower makes me dizzy, but his wiry arm won't budge an inch even when I shove it. "Did you know that when a black orchid is grown in absolute shadow, her petals lose their darkness?" he asks. "But nourish her with human blood and she gains a scarlet heart. It took thirty corpses to raise this fair lady, but now she'll never show her face." He blows on the sickly flower. The petals curl like dried paper in the waning afternoon sun and disintegrate.

A chill shakes down my spine. "How dare you slander Queen Estelle!" I snap. "Mother would never allow such a horrid bloom in Albemar." My stomach curdles as I wonder just how many cart loads of prisoners have fed these White Ladies. "You're just Kage's lackey," I persist. "Obviously he has deceived you—" I cough as the elf flicks his hand and the putrid dust scatters on the breeze.