Once Upon a Time: New Fairy Tales Paperback (24 page)

“In the end, though, I sent for her. Reports of her mourning, her

burning anguish, warmed my very soul. I could
imagine
it for I know her as well as I know myself. But there is no true joy in suffering that one cannot witness, child,” the Black Bride said, then she snapped

scarlet-tipped fingers, and the ankle chain evaporated. Before Emer

could take advantage of this freedom and make it to the open

window, the Black Bride wrapped both hands around the raven’s

trembling form. She held the bird as if intent upon stilling her heart, then kissed the top of her head. Whispering
flux
, she threw the girl—

not upward, but forward.

The raven-girl’s shape became fluid, like water tossed from a

bucket. Her feathers disintegrated, her beak receded to a pert little nose, legs lengthened and grew feet with soft pink toes, the tips of her wings split into fingers. Emer plummeted like a surprised stone, landing half on, half off the fusty carpet, scattering canine courtiers and confused coneys as she went. Naked and suddenly cold, she

sat up slowly, feeling sick, stunned. Her mother, as if released from a cannon, sped toward her, hands reaching, lips curving, focusing

entirely on her child, drawn by that agonizing relief which makes

caution flee.

The Queen’s hands were not as Emer remembered; once soft as

silk and pale as moonlight, they were now red, the skin split and

dry, callused, coarsened from gripping sword and reins. But the eyes, silvery blue, the gaze wide and wise as an owl’s—those were her

mother’s without doubt. Emer nestled into the embrace, feeling as

much as hearing a
thrum
as the White Bride crooned her love.

• 202 •

• Angela Slatter •

“Oh, sister, how sweet!” The Black Bride teetered on the edge of the dais, shuddering with the effort of her magic. “What was lost is found.

You didn’t look for me like that, not even to make sure I was dead.”

“A mistake I will not repeat, sister,” said the White Bride as she rose.

“Now, now, sister, don’t be too hasty. Didn’t I give her back? Isn’t she safe? Isn’t she lovely and whole, unlike we who still wear our

battle scars? Didn’t I give you hope?”

“Only as one doles out breadcrumbs, sister, for without hope,

suffering tastes flat,” said the White Bride, which set the Black Bride off into peals of laughter.

When she calmed, wiping spittle from her lips, she looked fondly

at Emer and the White Bride. “Didn’t I say so, little one? That we

know each other as well as we know ourselves? You should find
this
no surprise at all then, sister dear.”

And the Black Bride clapped with a noise like a lightning strike

and shouted something Emer couldn’t quite comprehend, a word

that slipped over her ears like oil across skin, and left nothing in its wake but a slight ringing. Where her mother had stood, half-buried

under the fox fur hood, was a sleek alabaster she-hare with eyes of

silvery blue. Emer could do nothing but stare through hot tears as

the Black Bride hobbled down the steps and scooped up the animal

that made no move to run.

“No feathers for you on this occasion—I do like variety. I would

we had more time for thrust and parry—I could play this game

forever—but you’ve taken so long to find us that my time is running

short. Your child must be swift if she wishes to save you.”

An iron cage, which had not been there moments before, appeared

at the foot of her throne. The Black Bride urged the animal in and

latched the door. “Best keep her here, though I’m sure she’d be

terribly popular with the boys,” she cackled, then shuddered into a

fit of coughing that resulted in something nasty spattering on the

stone floor. A spaniel footman hurried forward to lap it up. Emer

shuddered to think of her mother at the mercy of the legions of

bucks, whose noses twitched at the smell of a female.

• 203 •

• Flight •

Unsteadily, the girl picked herself up and wrapped her mother’s

cloak around her, clinging to the warmth left within. She worried

at the hood between her fingers as she tried her voice, found only a raucous sound, tried again and managed, “Why? Why all this?”

The Black Bride gave her an astonished look. “For the sport, of

course. The vengeance.”

Emer looked at the hare, the Queen-that-was, and quivered. “If I

was the bait, then she’s taken it. You win . . . What use have you for me now?”

“I thought I’d have more time,” the Black Bride murmured, not

to Emer, but to the ghosts, the nobodies with whom she regularly

conversed. Blinking, she looked down at the girl, as if calculating

fitness for purpose. “You’ll have to do.”

“Do what?”

“You want your freedom, don’t you?”

Emer nodded. The Black Bride mirrored the movement and went on.

“Retrieve something for me, and we’ll see what we shall see about

that
.”

“That’s hardly a bargain,” Emer said, surprised at her boldness.

The Black Bride ignored her.

“I’ve sent that lot many times.” She shrugged dismissively towards

the milling crowd of ravens, “and all they’ve brought back are excuses and complaints about the loss of this cousin or that brother. What I need can be obtained only by someone with pure intent—and we

both know that’s not me—once it’s taken, of course, it can be handed over to whomever the acquirer pleases. It seems a fair price to me,

for your liberty.”

“And my mother—her life, freedom, her true form,” Emer said.

She had listened for so long to the Black Bride’s tricksy tongue, to conditions that seemed carelessly worded but were not, to deals she’d made with all those princes who now wore fluffy tails and pointed

ears.

“Very well, clever little miss.” The woman frowned, curious. “What

did you think about? When you were bird-brained?”

• 204 •

• Angela Slatter •

“Worms. Sky. Flight.”
Home. Mother. Father.
Emer’s short life had been determined by the whims and demands of others; therefore,

she chose to keep some truths for herself this time.

“Ah.” The Black Bride seemed disappointed, and sat back on the

moth-eaten damask cushions of her throne. “So. There is a castle

atop a mountain of glass, almost a day’s distance. Inside is a very

special crown, which you will retrieve.”

“And how do I climb slopes of glass? Will you give me wings

again?”

“No, I can’t trust you not to fly away. You said yourself, in that

form all your thoughts were those of birds—you’ll lose focus, grow

forgetful.” She shook her head. “In the stables, there’s a horse—

actually there are many, but you can’t miss this one. A suitable beast, but with a foul temper.” The Black Bride sighed. “You’re a clever girl, Emer, so listen carefully: there are no second chances for you. If you do not return here before the turning of a day and a night with the

crown, I will kill your mother. Understand? I’m sick with waiting.”

“Is there a map?” Emer inquired stiffly.

“Follow the river—that’ll be map enough.”

“What’s so special about this crown?” demanded the girl, her spirit

growing the longer she stood on her own two fleshy feet.

The Black Bride’s eyes slid to the animal in the cage at her feet.

“Enough questions. Go, and be quick about it.”

The bird had spent all the time since they’d left the castle pattering across the horse’s broad shoulders, up and down its neck, and making occasional forays onto saddle’s pommel. In turn, the roan had not

stopped whickering in irritation and shaking itself hard enough that both bird and rider were almost dislodged. The raven—Bertók by

name—also kept up an unrelenting monologue.

“And
that
,” he said with a meaningful look at the gingham bundle tied behind Emer, “if I’m not mistaken, is a loaf of bread and a flask of wine that will never run out. Purely magical, very valuable. The

dog, I’m sure, was not meant to give you
that
.”

• 205 •

• Flight •

A tired-looking Alsatian with sad eyes, green waistcoat, fawn

breeches, and mauve frock coat, had been instructed to find Emer

clothes and food and send her on her way. He’d led her to a room

decorated with colorful arras, furniture of pale honey wood, and

brightly bleached linens. An alcove housed a tub; ancient copper

plumbing rattled as the valet drew a bath. In all the past months,

Emer had never suspected a room like this existed here.

She was provided with trousers and shirt, highly polished leather

boots, and a worsted wool cloak, all in varying shades of black. Emer ignored the cloak, keeping instead her mother’s fur and hood. When

she was washed and dressed, her guide took her to the stables and

pointed out her steed.

The Black Bride had been right—so many princes had left many,

many horses—but this one stood out. At least twenty hands high

and with a burnished hide, he wore no shoes for his hooves were of

spiked bronze. When Emer knelt before him, his golden gaze was

measured. She held out the apple she’d kept back from her own quick

meal and he deigned to sink his sharp teeth in its firm flesh. The dog, noting the beastie’s compliance, swiftly—and with palpable relief—

saddled him, while Emer explored some of the stalls, patted the more biddable animals.

“Ahem. Excuse me, miss?” came a voice from the shadows.

At first, Emer couldn’t find the source, but when her eyes adjusted

to the gloomy corners she saw a withy cage hanging from one of

the rafters. Inside was a defeated-looking raven. His eyes were dull until Emer approached. Then, a flare of recognition and something

else: a fire within, a swirling conflagration of green and red and gold, orange and azure and magenta.

“You!” she’d screamed, rage rushing through her, and strode

forward, intent upon throttling the bird. The raven flapped wildly,

shouting, “Now, don’t be hasty, I can explain!”

“This is all
your
fault, with your lying in wait and your pecking.

Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t wring your scrawny neck.”

“Well, strictly speaking, you need to shoulder some of the blame—

• 206 •

• Angela Slatter •

you were alone, wandering about outside. Well-behaved princesses—”

he broke off as Emer began to shake the cage. “I’m sorry! Don’t hurt me, I can help you.”

The bird’s terror broke through her fury and Emer suspected that

the anger she felt was the sort of ire her aunt gave in to every day. She stepped back, shuddering with shame.

“No, I’m sorry I scared you.” She reached for the latch and lifted it.

“How is that I can understand you?”

“You were one of us for an age, it’s bound to stick,” he said, tentatively climbing out onto her proffered forearm. “If you’re going where I

think you’re going, I really can help. Please let me come along.”

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now Emer’s head

was fit to burst.

“When the old bat finds out what he’s done he’ll be a pair of

slippers in the blink of an eye. Mind you, might come in handy,”

wittered Bertók.

“Why were you in that cage again?”

“Injustice! As always. ‘Bertók, you talk too much. Bertók, you ate

all the wild cherries. Bertók, you didn’t bring me back that crown.

Bertók, you’re snoring too loudly.’ It’s getting so a bird can’t fart let alone express an opinion without getting locked up.”

In the brief respite while he took a breath, Emer used the chance

to change track. “You mentioned a giant?”

“Giantess. Always hungry—I don’t know if they’re all like that. I

wonder—”

“So, this giantess lives atop the glass mountain and has the

mysterious crown and eats everyone who comes to visit?”

“Well, except us—except the ravens—not enough meat. But it

doesn’t stop her using us for target practice.”

“And the crown can only be gained by someone with pure intent?

I don’t imagine that would include you.” The bird didn’t answer.

“Raven?”

He gave a shrug of sorts. “Well, that’s what we told her—the part

about pure intent.”

• 207 •

• Flight •

“You lied?” Emer was less scandalized than delighted by this

breathtaking bit of avian bravery. “You lied to
her
?”

“She doesn’t know everything, you know,” the raven squawked.

“She’s just so . . . We couldn’t bear the idea of losing more of our number every time she sent us off on one of those quests. She’s

crippled but she’s got everything and it’s never enough. Imagine her with that crown, whatever it does, still demanding more, more, more!

We—I—thought if we put her off long enough, maybe she’d run out

of time, so we haven’t been trying too hard to do what she’s asked.”

“Why are you helping me? After all, you were the one who started

this whole thing.” She waved at him so he could see the scar still

marring her palm. The bird had the good grace to look embarrassed.

“It’s not easy, you know. Disobeying her takes effort and it hurts.

And I had no idea of what she was planning. I’m sorry for what I

did. You deserve no more torment, nor does your mother. You saved

me from that cage and I owe you a boon. I’ll help you retrieve what

you need; what you do with it after is something you must consider

carefully.”

The journey had been interrupted only by the raven’s chatter. They

had covered leagues and leagues, the line of the river easy to follow, the roan tireless and intent. Yellow eyes gleamed from shadows and