A Fair Account of the Traitors Snow White and Rose Red

In the Ruins of Felgarde

I shiver as I rub the faint tingle of his touch off my wrists. How could I forget that Jack is spawn of the Crying Moon clan? I've got to stop tricking myself that he is even remotely close to humankind. No—our hearts are not so different; we each nurture our own bitter resolve.

My eyes blur and water suddenly, but I scrub them dry with a quick swipe and survey my surroundings. I'm not lost anymore; I know exactly where Snow has led us. The ruins of Felgarde—Mother's ancestral estate. Scorched masonry and rotted timber dot the field in ivy-covered mounds. Mother never had the site of her parents' grave rebuilt, and now a cracked unicorn statue wreathed in alyssum is all that remains to greet the youngest heiress of Felgarde.

Well, unless I count the cottage. But "cottage" is far too quaint a term. Snow was being rather polite—"hovel" would be a more appropriate name for the ramshackle hut. Mossy patches of thatching hang from the roof and the wooden structure reeks of dank decay. But at least the withered pear trees surrounding the humble abode blossom and fruit with a little coaxing from Jack's verdai. I gather the designated armful and approach the cottage with soft, hesitant steps. The door hangs half ajar, revealing nothing but shades of darkness. I gulp. What sort of man lives in such a willful state of decrepitude?

"Get on with it, Princess," Jack says as he perches on a cracked pillar of marble and takes a huge bite of pear. "My half of the deal is done, now you deliver the goods."

The crisp crackle of the fruit's flesh in his teeth makes my stomach grumble; I'm starving too. But there is an even deeper hunger gnawing inside me. I must know if Snow is right about my mother. Standing on the cottage's threshold, I tap on the door and clear my throat loudly.

"Ahem, pardon me, Sir, I've brought you some—"

"Snow, is that you?" a man's voice rasps from the dismal gloom.

Opening the door wider, I can dimly make out a rickety bed in the corner of the cottage. A bundle of rags shifts and reveals an emaciated old man with horrific burn scars marring the left side of his face and torso.

"Wrong princess," I say, trying not to recoil at his gruesome appearance. "I'm Rosavere, daughter of King Markham Leonesse and Queen—"

"Come closer, child!" he interrupts. "Let me look on the daughter of my little Estelle."

His Estelle? I find it hard to believe my mother ever entertained any sort of connection with this grimy man. Nevertheless, I set the pears on a dusty table and pull up a creaky stool beside the bed. The old man gives me a gap-toothed grin as he surveys me from tip to toe.

"Starbreak, child! You're a tall lass, nothing like your mother. Now she was a sparrow-boned creature."

I stiffen. No one would ever accuse me of being dainty, but I'm not exactly an ox, either. Nowhere near as beautiful as my mother, of course.

"I suppose you're wondering why I speak of her Royal Majesty like she was my own kin?" he chuckles. "Forgive me." I'm shamed by his humility as he rises halfway up in his bed even though his thin arms shake, giving me a deep bow. "Sanju Kage, personal guard of the Felgarde family at your service, Princess."

Despite the disfiguring scars, something in the aquiline curve of his nose strikes me as familiar. "Sir Sanju, by any chance are you related to Simon Kage?" I blurt out.

I cringe as Sanju spits over his shoulder. "Aye! That squirming eel is my twin brother. He abandoned the Felgarde's service decades ago to join the Green Guild's governing council, so I count him no flesh of mine."

I bite my lip. Black orchid oil has drastically stretched the years between them—Sanju could easily be mistaken for Simon Kage's father! But I didn't come here to discuss the Green Guild's prime minister. "Please, Sir, Snow sent me to speak with you about my mother, and a secret that belongs to her—and you."