Chapter 20

A sense of triumph went through Roderick when she confirmed she was, in fact, Snow White. They stared at each other. Then she slapped his hand away. She spun away from him, her hair flying around her head and her body rigid with her anger.

He saw the sigil when he was in Queen Seraphina's castle.

Even though the innkeeper never spoke of Snow White by name, when the man told him about the princess who disappeared years ago, he put the pieces together. He had a feeling that if Snow White reappeared after years of being in isolation, the people would rally behind her and help her get her throne back. They'd had enough of Seraphina's high taxes.

Snow White put distance between the two of them, then spun back to face him. Her cheeks were flushed. There were deep lines between her brows.

"Well? Are you going to kill me?"

How could he kill a woman as lovely and magical as her? He thought of the wooden box in which he was supposed to place her heart and pushed away a shudder.

The enchanted blade he forged for the queen was hidden in his saddle bag. The one he had forged for himself was belted to his side. But she hadn't noticed that.

"I'm going to show you something."

She huffed, clearly annoyed he had refused to answer her question once again. He walked over to the saddle bag and pulled out the enchanted blade. He'd carved the handle himself from rosewood and inlaid it with intricate gold spirals. The grip was solid against his palm when he tested it. Now, the blade was encased within a leather sheath.

Holding it in his hands, he walked back to Snow White and paused in front of her within arm's reach. Her gaze was leery as she eyed the dagger in his hands.

"Sometimes I accept commissions. This was one of them." He extended the dagger to her. When she hesitated, he said, "Take it."

She reached for it. He noticed her hands shook slightly as she removed the weapon from his hands and held it.

"Wield it," he said.

Curiosity replaced her leeriness as she pulled the dagger from the sheath. She stifled a little gasp as the moonlight caught along the iridescent edge of the blade, making the rainbow light dance up and down the perfect steel. Eyes lit with wonder, she turned the blade back and forth watching the flickering light. She shoved it back into the sheath and handed it back to him.

Reluctantly, he took it.

"Don't you want to know who commissioned it?" he asked.

"No but I suppose you're going to tell me."

"Queen Seraphina came to my forge and asked me to make her an enchanted blade." He held it up. "I did. Then she asked me to hand deliver it to her in her castle in the Mystic Vale."

Snow White looked utterly unimpressed. "And?"

"I took her the blade, but she decided she no longer wanted it for herself. She wanted someone to use it on her behalf."

"This is a fascinating story," Snow said. "Perhaps you'd like to get to the point?"

"She told me she wanted the heart of her enemy cut out and brought to her in a wooden box."

Her face paled. She understood what he meant and eyed the dagger once again.

"This dagger…this enchanted dagger was meant to kill you."

"She sent you here to kill me, then," she said. "Because I am a threat to her and her throne."

"Yes," he agreed. "But I'm not here to kill you."

"Then why are you here?"

He dropped to one knee and held the dagger up to her. "I'm here to bequeath this enchanted blade to you so that you may defeat the queen and regain your throne."

She froze, gaping at him in disbelief. Her eyes met his, glittering with skepticism she no doubt felt.

"How am I supposed to defeat the queen with nothing more than a dagger?" she demanded.

"I will help you."

She huffed out a breath, then pushed her fingers through her long, tangled locks. "Get up."

"You are the rightful ruler of the Mystic Vale—"

"I know who I am. Get up , please." Frustration edged her voice.

He stood, unable to stop the flood of disappointment. She had refused the dagger. Was she also refusing the call to reclaim her throne?

"There is much you don't know," she said. "Much you don't understand."

"Then tell me. I wish to understand. To know. I want to help you."

"You don't even know me," she snapped.

"That's true. But I know what the people want. I heard it throughout the villages as I traveled to the castle. They want Seraphina gone. And they long to have their rightful ruler back on the throne," he said. "They aren't sure if you're dead or alive. They hope you're alive."

"All of this is too much."

She turned away and started through the forest, her bare feet near silent along the bracken. He marveled at that a long moment before he was spurred into action. It was then he noticed she wore a shift and a dressing gown over it. She had fled her house in the middle of the night and hadn't bothered to dress. Something about that endeared her to him.

Still holding the dagger, he followed her as she made her way through the woods with a clear path in mind.

"You don't understand anything about me or who I am," she said.

Her pace was quick. She wasn't even winded as she made her way through the trees, holding up the edge of her gown to keep from tripping.

"Returning to reclaim my throne is not as simple as everyone seems to think."

"Everyone like who?"

"You, Master Harwin, the dark wizard." Realizing what she said, she snapped her mouth closed, pressing her lips into a thin line.

"Who is Master Harwin?" he asked, still following her. His booted feet crunched over the bracken.

She halted, turned to him in a huff. "You walk too loud."

Then she picked up her skirt and ran. He was so shocked by what she said, he didn't think to follow her. He stood there, watching her long wavy hair bounce up and down her back as she made her way through the trees, her white nightgown a beacon in the night.

Finally, he spurred his feet into motion and ran after her.

He found her kneeling at the foot of a large oak tree, one palm flat on the trunk and her eyes closed. He halted. She seemed to be in some sort of meditation. After a long, quiet moment, she opened her eyes and fixed her gaze on him.

"Faradill says I should trust you, though I don't know why."

"Faradill?"

She glanced upward at the treetop. He understood then. Faradill was the oak tree. She waved him toward her with her free hand. He approached. When he was close enough, she reached for his free hand and pulled him down to the ground. A small smile played upon her lips. She pressed his palm against the trunk next to hers.

The deep, ancient voice boomed inside his head.

Hello, Roderick, master of the forge.

"He knows my name," he said.

"Of course, he does. I told him. Faradill is the oldest, wisest oak in the forest."

You are an elemental, like Snow. You are also an Artificer.

"He called me an Artificer." A shudder of confusion went through him. He had never heard the term before.

"I can hear him, too, you know," she said. "And yes. You're an Artificer."

"What is that?"

"Tell him, Faradill," she said.

You have an ancient power none now possess. You have the ability to manipulate fire, air, and earth.

"Is he wrong?" she asked.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry. "No."

"Good." She took a deep breath, expelled it. "No one knows the story I'm about to tell you. Not even Faradill. Not even the elves."

"Elves?"

"Shh," she said. "I am also an elemental. I am one with nature, as you are, but not as powerful as you are. I can speak to all manner of creatures. The elves helped me hone that ability from the time I was a child. And yes, it's true. I am the missing princess. I am Snow White, heir to the throne of the Mystic Vale."