Cursed: An Anthology E-Book

Neil Gaiman

• Herausgeber: Titan Books
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

Twenty curses, old and new, from bestselling fantasy authors such as Neil Gaiman, Christina Henry, M.R. Carey and Charlie Jane Anders.ALL THE BETTER TO READ YOU WITHIt's a prick of blood, the bite of an apple, the evil eye, a wedding ring or a pair of red shoes. Curses come in all shapes and sizes, and they can happen to anyone, not just those of us with unpopular stepparents...Here you'll find unique twists on curses, from fairy tale classics to brand-new hexes of the modern world - expect new monsters and mythologies as well as twists on well-loved fables. Stories to shock and stories of warning, stories of monsters and stories of magic.TWENTY TIMELESS FOLKTALES, NEW AND OLDNEIL GAIMANJANE YOLENKAREN JOY FOWLERM.R. CAREYCHRISTINA HENRYCHRISTOPHER GOLDENTIM LEBBONMICHAEL MARSHALL SMITHCHARLIE JANE ANDERSJEN WILLIAMSCATRIONA WARDJAMES BROGDENMAURA McHUGHANGELA SLATTERLILLITH SAINTCROWCHRISTOPHER FOWLERALISON LITTLEWOODMARGO LANAGAN

Leseprobe

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Cover

Also Available from Titan Books

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

MARIE O’REGAN AND PAUL KANE

Castle Cursed

JANE YOLEN

As Red as Blood, as White as Snow

CHRISTINA HENRY

Troll Bridge

NEIL GAIMAN

At That Age

CATRIONA WARD

Listen

JEN WILLIAMS

Henry and the Snakewood Box

M.R. CAREY

Skin

JAMES BROGDEN

Faith & Fred

MAURA MCHUGH

The Black Fairy’s Curse

KAREN JOY FOWLER

Wendy, Darling

CHRISTOPHER GOLDEN

Fairy Werewolf vs. Vampire Zombie

CHARLIE JANE ANDERS

Look Inside

MICHAEL MARSHALL SMITH

Little Red

JANE YOLEN AND ADAM STEMPLE

New Wine

ANGELA SLATTER

Haza and Ghani

LILITH SAINTCROW

Hated

CHRISTOPHER FOWLER

The Merrie Dancers

ALISON LITTLEWOOD

Again

TIM LEBBON

The Girl from the Hell

MARGO LANAGAN

Castle Waking

JANE YOLEN

About the Authors

About the Editors

Acknowledgements

CURSED

ALSO AVAILABLE FROM TITAN BOOKS

Dark Cities: All-New Masterpieces of Urban Terror

Dead Letters: An Anthology of the Undelivered, the Missing, the Returned…

Exit Wounds

Hex Life

Infinite Stars

Infinite Stars: Dark Frontiers

Invisible Blood

New Fears: New Horror Stories by Masters of the Genre

New Fears 2: Brand New Horror Stories by Masters of the Macabre

Phantoms: Haunting Tales from the Masters of the Genre

Rogues

Wastelands: Stories of the Apocalypse

Wastelands 2: More Stories of the Apocalypse

Wastelands: The New Apocalypse

Wonderland

CURSED

EDITED BYMARIE O’REGANAND PAUL KANE

TITAN BOOKS

Cursed

Paperback edition ISBN: 9781789091502

Electronic edition ISBN: 9781789091519

Published by Titan Books

A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd

144 Southwark Street, London SE1 0UP

First edition: March 2020

2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

This is a work of fiction. Names, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (except for satirical purposes), is entirely coincidental.

Introduction © Marie O’Regan and Paul Kane 2020

Castle Cursed © Jane Yolen 2020

As Red As Blood, As White As Snow © Christina Henry 2020

Troll Bridge © Neil Gaiman 1993. Originally published in Snow White, Blood Red, edited by Ellen Datlow and Terri Windling. Reprinted by permission of the author.

At That Age © Catriona Ward 2020

Listen © Jen Williams 2020

Henry and the Snakewood Box © M.R. Carey 2020

Skin © James Brogden 2020

Faith & Fred © Maura McHugh 2020

The Black Fairy’s Curse © Karen Joy Fowler 1997. Originally published in Black Swan, White Raven edited by Ellen Datlow and Terri Windling.

Reprinted by permission of the author.

Wendy, Darling © Christopher Golden 2014. Originally published in Out of Tune, edited by Jonathan Maberry. Reprinted by permission of the author.

Fairy Werewolf vs. Vampire Zombie © Charlie Jane Anders 2011. Originally published in Flurb: A Webzine of Astonishing Tales #11, edited by Eileen Gunn.

Reprinted by permission of the author.

Look Inside © Michael Marshall Smith 2013. Originally published in Fearie Tales: Stories of the Grimm and Gruesome, edited by Stephen Jones. Reprinted by permission of the author.

Little Red © Jane Yolen and Adam Stemple 2009. Originally published in Firebirds Soaring: An Anthology of Original Speculative Fiction, edited by Sharyn November.

Reprinted by permission of the authors.

New Wine © Angela Slatter 2020

Haza and Ghani © Lilith Saintcrow 2020

Hated © Christopher Fowler 1995. Originally published in Flesh Wounds.

Reprinted by permission of the author.

The Merrie Dancers © Alison Littlewood 2020

Again © Tim Lebbon 2020

The Girl From The Hell © Margo Lanagan 2020

Castle Waking © Jane Yolen 2020

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

CURSED

INTRODUCTION

BY MARIE O’REGAN AND PAUL KANE

Curses.

You’ve gotta love ’em.

That staple of any fairy tale, the core of the morality stories we’ve all grown up with – stories that teach us lessons, feed our belief that guilt should be punished, keep us on the straight and narrow path, hopefully… The classic examples draw from folklore across the world, and in this anthology you’ll find stories drawing inspiration from the tales of Norway, Denmark, France and more. They include tales by the likes of Perrault, Hans Christian Andersen and the brothers Grimm (the originals written by the latter being much, much darker than a lot of people realise). Sleeping Beauty, for instance, pricking her finger and dropping to sleep for all that time. And look at Little Red Riding Hood, whose family was certainly cursed by that wolf – a curse in itself, if you believe some of the takes on it. Snow White as well, cursed by that witch of a queen and her poison apple. But, without the bad, how would we recognise the good?

Our aim in this book was simple. To use the idea of being cursed as a jumping-off point, offering writers the chance to rework some of the classics – as Jane Yolen and Adam Stemple do in “Little Red”, Neil Gaiman does in “Troll Bridge”, Lilith Saintcrow in “Haza and Ghani”, and Christina Henry in “As Red As Blood, As White As Snow” – making them their own and presenting very different spins on the familiar. At the same time we wanted to include new, modern “cursed” stories – morality tales from the likes of Christopher Fowler (“Hated”), James Brogden (“Skin”), Catriona Ward (“At That Age”), and Margo Lanagan (“The Girl From The Hell”). Not all of these stories fit the traditional fairy tale style, but all of them share the dark heart at such stories’ core.

Authors were encouraged to think outside of the box – or even inside it, literally, as you’ll see in M.R. Carey’s darkly comic “Henry and the Snakewood Box” and Michael Marshall Smith’s “Look Inside” – whilst drawing inspiration from sources such as Peter Pan (Christopher Golden’s “Wendy, Darling”) or the Bluebeard legend (Angela Slatter’s “New Wine”). Not to mention creating their own mythologies (Jen Williams’ “Listen”), drawing inspiration from or blending others (Alison Littlewood’s “The Merrie Dancers”), creating curses complete with their own rules (Tim Lebbon’s “Again” and Maura McHugh’s “Faith & Fred”), or even bringing in horror staples (Charlie Jane Anders’ riotous “Fairy Werewolf vs. Vampire Zombie”).

By the time you’ve finished reading all the amazing stories from these outstanding authors, all at the top of their game, you’ll realise that curses come in all shapes and sizes and are hidden in the most unlikely of places – as if you needed any more incentive to beware.

Why, they might even come in the form of words in an anthology… You just never know.

Curses.

You’ve gotta love ’em.

MARIE O’REGAN AND PAUL KANE

Derbyshire, July 2019.

CASTLE CURSED

Jane Yolen

The curse crawled silent as a serpent

Through the roots of the hedge.

Wallflowers wilted, though the garden

Remained as if painted onto the ground.

A hawk in a deep stoop falls

Bill-first onto the loam,

The moat serpent floats.

Horses stop between one whinny and the next.

Three guards, still on duty, draw no pay

For a hundred years, but still keep

Most of the castle safe,

Though not the tower room where the princess sleeps.

She is caught between one sigh and the next,

Lips pursed as if inviting a kiss,

Or tasting the sourness of age,

Or regretting everything except the needle in her palm.

AS RED AS BLOOD, AS WHITE AS SNOW

CHRISTINA HENRY

“It would please me more than anything in the wide world to see this ring upon your finger, for it would mean your consent to be my wife,” he said, and knelt before her.

A murmur went around the room – a rush of approval from the courtiers – for what more could their princess want than this prince? He was wealthy and handsome and came from a fair land, or so it was said, for his land was so distant that none among them had ever seen it.

His manners were so delightful that he had immediately been dubbed “Prince Charming”, though of course no one would show such disrespect by calling him this within his earshot.

Snow did not find him charming. When she looked into his dark, dark eyes she saw not the fizzy delight of charm but the flicker of a tongue through sharp teeth.

He held the ring before her, his smile white and easy and expectant. Charming had chosen his moment well. She could hardly refuse him before the whole court, however much she wished to throw the ring in his face and flee.

Snow’s eyes flickered to the King and Queen. Her stepmother’s mouth was flat, the corners of her eyes tight with fear. Snow’s father nodded and smiled like an old dotard, like he was enchanted – which he was.

The Prince waited, for he had all the time in the world to wait, and he knew what her answer must be. She saw all of this in his face, in the unworried curve of lips, in his eyes where the snake coiled.

“Of course I will,” she said, and she was proud that her voice was clear and ringing and that no one in the court would hear the terror boiling inside her.

She wished she had the courage to run, but a princess is raised to be polite above all else, and if she refused him there would be Consequences – and Consequences always meant war, particularly when a man’s pricked honor was involved. Snow loved her country and her people. She did not wish for them to suffer. So she had to take the ring, even though she knew it was a trap.

Snow saw, as if from a distance, her hand moving slowly toward Charming’s, saw the fine trembling of her blood underneath her white skin, saw the triumph slither across his fair face as he took her fingers.

Her body quailed as he touched her. The shudder seemed to please him all the more. His grip tightened until it was hard enough to bruise, and she thought he might be testing her, to see how much she would take before she cried out.

I will not, she thought, and her teeth ground together. I will not give him the pleasure.

The moment the ring slid over her knuckle and into place, it clamped down cruelly and bound to her skin with small sharp teeth. The ruby shifted in its setting, seeming to watch her like a bloodied eye.

His arm wound through hers, looking for all the world like a lover’s clasp, as they turned to face the court. Only Snow knew he held her in place, her butterfly wings flapping uselessly under his pin.

He kept her close for many hours, and she felt her smile straining but it did not falter. Snow would not show him weakness, though she knew he felt her revulsion and seemed to secretly delight in it.

As soon as she was able she slipped out of his arm.

“It is very close in here, my prince,” she said. “I must go and take some air.”

“Of course, my princess,” he said. “But hurry back to me, for I find I cannot abide a single moment without you.”

Several of the young ladies (and even some of the older ones, who ought to have known better) clucked happily at this, murmuring about how fortunate their princess was to have received the love of such a devoted prince.

Devoted, Snow thought bitterly as she slipped into the garden and tried not to think of it as running away. She only needed a moment to breathe, a moment apart from the miasma surrounding him.

Snow went deep into the foliage, where none might stumble upon her by accident. She paused near her favorite pond, all covered in thick green lily pads with fat frogs perched upon them. Iridescent dragonflies soared back and forth, alighting here and there, and weeping willows hunched over the water, trailing their leaves.

Snow huddled into the secret shadows under the trees, twisting at the ring on her finger though she knew it was fruitless. The metal looked like silver, though it didn’t behave like any ordinary silver she had ever known.

As she twisted it the ring bit harder, its teeth pushing under her skin until blood welled up and Snow cried out.

“It won’t come off that way, though I expect you already know that.”

“Mother!” Snow said.

She ran to her stepmother, who stood still and weeping at the edge of the pond, her hands twisted together in grief.

The Queen folded Snow in her arms and they cried together, for she loved Snow as if the girl were her own daughter, and she had been the only mother Snow had ever known.

After the storm of weeping passed, they went under the tree again and sat together in silence. The Queen put a finger over her lips to show that Snow should ask no questions. With her other hand she pantomimed Snow dipping the hand bound by the terrible ring into the water.

Snow wondered at it but she obeyed, because her stepmother knew many things that Snow did not. The Queen had been born in an enchanted land – some of the enchantment clung to her still – and she could sometimes make little miracles happen.

The moment Snow put her hand into the pond she felt something shift and quiet. She had a strange sense that the eye inside the ruby had been blinded.

The Queen read the expression on Snow’s face, for they were close in heart if not in blood, and nodded.

“Sometimes water can subdue magic, though it is only a temporary reprieve. As soon as you take it from the pond the ruby’s eye will open again.”

“So it is spying on me,” Snow said. “I thought it was, though I nearly forgot after it bit me.”

The Queen nodded. “This Prince has powers even I have never seen. He cast his spell on your father so quickly and completely that I never had the chance to stop it, or even soften it. But I know that if your father were awake, and himself, he would never consent to this marriage.”

“But he is not awake, and not himself. And my three brothers are all away on affairs of the kingdom. There is no one to defend me from this wolf in our midst.”

“We shall have to do what we can, for all that we cannot wield a sword against him,” the Queen said grimly. “I would not have you harmed. And he does mean you harm. There can be no mistake about that.”

Snow nodded. “I can feel it. Though I don’t understand why, or why he came here for me in the first place. Or even why his charms don’t seem to affect you or me.”

“He came for you because of the same reason he cannot affect you,” the Queen said, and stroked Snow’s hair. “Your mother had a little enchantment in her, too, just a drop, and that drop was passed on to you, her lastborn child. It is not enough for you to weave spells, but enough to defend against them. Enough to keep the net that he casts on all others away from your eyes.”

Snow was surprised to hear of the enchantment in her mother, though not as surprised as she ought to be. I must have known, somewhere deep down. I must have felt it. Besides, it doesn’t matter now. The only thing that matters is that the prince wants me for it.

“If my power is so little then why would it interest him? Surely a man with magic like his would want a true enchantress as his wife, one who could pass the gift into his bloodline.”

The Queen tapped her fingers against her knee, as if contemplating if she should tell Snow what was in her mind.

“Whatever it is that troubles you, you should tell me,” Snow said. “I may not be married to him yet, but I am well and truly bound to him now.”

The Queen sighed. “It is only a rumor, nothing more. When I lived in my own land I heard stories of this prince’s father. They said that he had many wives and each one disappeared, never to be seen again. But it cannot be true, for if the princesses of many lands vanished then there would be outcry. Their fathers would march upon the kingdom, demanding to know the fate of their daughters. So this part cannot be true, not really.”

“Not really” means it might be true. It really might.

“And what is the other part of the story?” Snow asked.

“When this Charming arrived I sent out a messenger in secret to the prince’s land. Since he was so unknown to us, I thought it the best thing. The messenger only returned last night, though he rode there and back with all the haste he could manage. He told me that Charming has been married before, and that his first wife died. The prince, of course, has neglected to mention this.”

“Did the messenger say of what the wife died?”

“Childbirth,” the Queen said.

“But you do not believe this,” Snow said.

“There is no child in the prince’s household, though I suppose it might have been stillborn. And no one saw his wife after she went into his castle. Not even once.”

Snow felt a chill run over her skin. “I can’t let him take me.”

“I don’t think we have any choice about that now. He will marry you and you will go with him, because you cannot refuse without causing a war,” the Queen said.

“I wonder if that was what he wanted, really,” Snow said thoughtfully. “He did bring a very large army for a prince who claims he came to court a wife.”

“My messenger said that Charming’s country is not fair, or even close to it, so mayhap you are right. We have many more resources than he. But I don’t think he intended to leave without you, in any case, whether he gained you by fair means or foul. It is the way he looks at you.”

“Yes,” Snow said, and trembled. “I see the way he looks at me.”

“But I will try to do what I can. First, we must remove that spy from your finger. It’s already swallowed some of your blood, so the charm is well-fixed, but we might be able to poison it into releasing you.”

The Queen patted Snow’s knee and said, “Wait here.”

She went away into the garden and returned with an apple, a beautiful round red one, irresistible in its charms. From a fold of her gown Snow’s stepmother took various small vials.

“Did you think you were going to have to free me from an enchantment this evening?” Snow asked, surprised that the Queen had all these items at hand.

“I was hoping to poison the Prince, but I never had the chance. He is very careful with his food, you know.”

“Yes,” Snow said. “That boy who stands at his elbow tastes everything.”

“It was never a very good plan to begin with, I confess, only a desperate one. If he suddenly died of poison in our castle then his troops, who mass outside our gates, would surely have attacked.”

“So you’ll poison me instead?” Snow asked, watching her stepmother drop various liquids on to the apple.

The queen muttered some words as she did this, words that Snow didn’t understand with her mind but with her heart, words that sounded like the hot sun and blowing sand and the cool dark of shadows beneath a pearled moon. They were the words of the Queen’s homeland, that enchanted place she had left because she fell in love with a King who lived in a far green country.

“I am tempering the charm so that it will not poison you to sickness. It is just enough to make the ring sick of your blood. But you must only eat one bite of the apple a day, and take care that the ring does not see you doing it, for anything the ring sees so too will the Prince see.” The Queen handed the apple to Snow.

Snow took a single bite of the apple before tucking it away in her skirts. That bite was strange on her tongue, spicy instead of sweet, and left a trail of fire in her throat.

“I don’t know what else I can do for you,” the Queen said, “except that the moment your brothers return I shall send them after you. The prince cannot deny his wife’s kin entry into his castle, and he cannot harm you as long as they are near.”

Snow did not say aloud what she was thinking, for she saw the same fear on her stepmother’s face.

What if I don’t survive long enough for my brothers to find me?

“As soon as your hand is free of the ring you can hide from him,” the Queen said. “Until then any effort you make would be pointless, for he could track and find you as surely as any falcon. So hold your tongue, and hide your heart, and pretend to be a good and loving wife until that day.”

“And then?”

“And then, my daughter,” the Queen said, “you must run.”

* * *

The wedding took place three days later, in the center of court, with the sun shining through the high windows and flower petals strewn upon the stone floor. Everyone smiled and cheered when the prince kissed their princess, and Snow held herself still and did not shrink from him, though she wanted to.

When the prince pulled his head away Snow saw puzzlement there, as if he expected something else.

“What is it, my prince?” she asked in a low tone as streamers and roses were tossed at them.

“It is only that your mouth is like sweet wine touched with spice,” he said. “I expected the sweetness, but not the spice.”

She knew it was the poison apple that he tasted, and she feared that he might discover her secret, so she said (in an almost flirtatious manner that was very unlike her), “I find that all things sweet taste better with a little bite, don’t you?”

He stared very deeply into her eyes, and Snow felt an uncomfortable pricking sensation all over, like he was trying to see into her heart. But she built up a wall of thorns all around it and kept her secrets there, and finally he looked away, a twist of dissatisfaction on his lips.

They were to depart immediately after the wedding, for now the Prince’s business was concluded he wanted to return to his own kingdom. He said that this was because he’d been away too long and that he must secure his borders, but Snow knew it was because the sooner he secreted her away then the sooner he could complete his plans for her.

But I have many days of travel, she thought as she climbed inside the carriage. I have time still.

The prince had insisted – in a manner both smooth and uncompromising – that Snow had no need of a lady’s maid to travel with her.

“I have many servants in my palace, and there is no reason for one of yours to make such a long journey.”

The Queen had tried to argue, to speak of the impropriety, but the King had only waved his hand in a vague way.

“Snow will be in the company of her husband. There can be no impropriety,” he said, and of course the King’s word was the final one.

Oh, Father, Snow thought in despair. What will you think when you wake up from this enchanted sleep? Will you be horrified at what you have allowed to happen?

So Snow sat alone in the carriage with the curtains closed while her new husband rode his horse with his men. Every day she took a secret bite of the apple that the Queen had given her and every day the ring seemed to loosen a little, though the gaze of the ruby never darkened.

She tried not to worry about her future, or if she would even have one.

She tried not to worry about what would happen when he demanded his marriage rights.

Thus far her new husband was unfailingly polite and solicitous of her comfort. Each night, when they made camp, he made certain that Snow was comfortable in the grand tent while he went outside to sleep. But she saw the gleam in his eye, the one that said he was anticipating some future pleasure, and that gleam made her shudder and turn away.

At last they arrived in the Prince’s country. Snow peered out the window of the carriage and saw only grey – grey rocks and grey tree bark and heavy grey clouds that hunched over the land. There were hardly any crops, and those that she saw were thin and sickly, the same as the people who tended them.

How do the people survive? she wondered, and then thought that this must be a very unhappy kingdom if its ruler neglected his own people so.

The Prince’s castle was perched on a high hill with a steep road that rose to meet it. All around the base of the castle was a huge field of boulders that made it impossible to reach the castle by any route except the road.

One way in and one way out, Snow thought, eyeing the rocks. Unless one is very brave, or very foolhardy.

As the gates of the castle closed behind her carriage, she thought: I might be very foolhardy. I may have to be.

The Prince offered his hand so Snow could climb from the vehicle. As she placed hers in his grasp the ruby ring shifted on her finger. It was only a little, hardly noticeable at all, but the Prince gave her a sharp glance.

Some of the teeth have receded, she thought, and then she smiled at him with her very best princess smile and said, “Where is the chatelaine?”

The Prince narrowed his eyes and said, “My home is very unusual. You will see once we are inside.”

Snow was half-sick from anxiety. Had the Prince seen the movement of the ring, or did he think he imagined it? Did he suspect her? She’d hoped that the ring might loosen before they arrived at the castle. She’d had some notion of slipping out in the night and disappearing into the wilderness of the Prince’s country. But there was no wilderness here, no easy escape, and though the ring was not as tight as it had been it still would not leave her finger.

I must wait. I must bide my time until he cannot track me, cannot find me.

There was no man at the door of the castle to greet them, nor the chatelaine. There was no servant waiting inside to take Snow’s cloak or to lead her to a room where a bath was waiting. There was only the ringing echo of the door slamming shut behind them.

Snow stared around at the empty hall, at the threadbare tapestries, at the rotten straw covering the stone floor.

The Prince’s face was no longer charming. There was no need for the mask now that he was away from others.

“Where are all the servants?” Snow asked. Her voice came back to her, a hollow thing in this joyless room.

“Anything you require, this castle will provide,” he said. “You need only ask.”

More enchantments, Snow thought in despair. No nosy maids and lads to wonder why the lady of the house is screaming.

She longed to fidget with the ring, to see if she could yet free it, but instead curled her fingers into fists beneath the sleeves of her gown. She would not draw attention to the very thing she wished the Prince to ignore.

The apple was hidden in her skirt. There was only a little of it left now, the seeded core showing on all but one side. Snow could only hope that there was enough poison left to free her.

“When am I to meet your father?” she asked, for of course he was a prince because his father was still king.

“My father has not been feeling well of late,” the Prince said. “When he is better, I shall take you to him.”

This was patently a lie, but Snow said nothing. She had to stay quiet and submit for as long as necessary. She could not let him suspect that she was planning to escape.

Though where I will go and how I will get there I have no notion.

That was for later. First she had to get out from under his eye. Nothing was possible until then.

“You may go anywhere in the castle except the east wing,” the Prince said, waving his hand in the direction of a thin, curving stair to the left. “The castle is very old and it is not safe there. Your room is this way.”

He indicated a wider stair and that she should follow him. She did, her heart pounding, wondering what he would do now.

But he only led her to a wooden door with a large red ruby set in it, a ruby like a bloodied eye. It was the twin of the jewel in Snow’s ring, and her mood fell further when she entered the room and discovered the jewel was visible on both sides.

Eyes everywhere, she thought. What am I to do?

“You may bathe and change and come down to dinner,” he said. His lips were curved in that terrible satisfied smile again, as if he’d noted her glance at the ruby.

He knows that I know, and it amuses him. It amuses him because he is certain I can do nothing about it. I am only a rat in a maze to him. No matter how I twist and turn he is certain I cannot get out.

“Thank you,” she said, very primly, and showed no sign of the surprise she felt that there was a large tub of water in the corner of the room, steam rising gently from the surface.

Aside from the tub there was only a four-poster bed with a faded red blanket upon it. A white gown was laid over this for Snow to wear after her bath.

As she slid the gown over her head, she wondered how she might bind the laces in the back without a maid. Then she cried out in shock and terror, for the laces tightened without the work of any hand, and the sash was tied behind her waist. A large toothed comb was run through her wet hair which was then bound up in braids and pinned at her crown.

Throughout all of this Snow made no noise except for her initial cry, though inside she trembled and shook. She would not show any weakness to the Prince, who was surely watching and waiting for her to panic.

I will not. I am a princess.

Snow carefully laid her other gown out on the bed and slipped the last bit of apple into her new gown, her body blocking the view from the jeweled eye in the door.

She thought the door might slide open without a touch, but she found she needed to open it the regular way. She also noticed that there was a small, old-fashioned key in the lock. This she took and kept next to the poisoned apple, though she had no illusions that the Prince would not have a key of his own.

The Prince sat opposite her at dinner, making light small talk that she answered without really listening. She noticed his hair was wet and assumed he too had bathed, though he hadn’t bothered to shave his face. He had just the beginnings of a beard coming in at his jaw, and the candlelight cast strange shadows that made it appear blue instead of dark as the hair on his head.

When they completed their meal, Snow wondered what would happen next. At home there would be singing or sewing or storytelling after a meal, or sometimes dancing. She did not wish to dance with her husband, nor did she think that music would echo sweetly in this hall. Any song would be fouled by the air.

“You may go up to your room now,” he said. “I have some business to attend.”

“Of course,” Snow said, and climbed the stairs.

Her heart lodged at the bottom of her throat. He would come to her when his business was completed, whatever that might be. There was no army to hear him now, as there had been on the road.

Am I to sit in my bedroom trembling like a little rabbit, waiting for the fox at the door to come and eat me at his pleasure?

She entered the room and shut the door behind her. The red eye blinked at her, and she felt a sudden surge of anger.

Why should I be spied upon like a criminal? Why should he have that satisfaction? At least with the ring I can tuck it in the folds of my skirt.

Snow yanked her traveling gown from the bed and tore the sash from it. She pulled several of the pins from her hair and tacked the sash up on the door, covering the ruby eye. A strange buzzing sound emitted from it as it was covered, like it was an angry bee trying to loose itself.

“See how you like that,” Snow said.

Then she took the key out of her pocket. She couldn’t fool herself that the Prince would be kept out by such a feeble attempt, but she locked the door anyway. At least she would have a few moments to prepare herself while he unlocked it.

A wisp of smoke curled out of the keyhole.

Another enchantment? Something to stop me from using the key? Snow bent down to get a closer look. She didn’t see anything obvious, but she smelled something sweet and spicy in the air.

The apple, she thought. The poison from the apple. It must have rubbed off on the key.

She turned the knob and pulled the door. It held fast. Would it keep the Prince from her bed?

Snow’s trunk had appeared in her room while she was downstairs at dinner. She took out her nightdress. She expected the ghostly hands to come and unlace her gown as they had laced it up, but there was nothing.

Is that because I covered the eye on the door? It was an interesting notion, to be sure, one that might have implications for Snow’s freedom. But it didn’t help her remove a gown that required an extra person to put on in the first place.

After several irritating minutes attempting to wriggle out of the white gown Snow gave up and lay down on the bed in it, removing only the sash that pulled the gown close around her waist.

She thought she would be far too terrified to sleep but she must have dozed, for the next thing she knew it was dark and someone was fumbling at the door.

Snow sat straight up, blood roaring. She slid the ruby-eyed ring beneath the coverlet so that it would not know she was awake. The Prince’s voice came through the keyhole, the words indistinct but the meaning of them clear.

He’s trying to magic the lock open.

She heard his voice rise in frustration, heard him curse.

But the lock held fast.

“Open the door, my darling,” he said.

There had never been less affection in the word “darling” in all the history of the world.

Snow kept still, so very still, more still than the smallest mouse caught in the gaze of a cat.

“Snow White,” he called, low and crooning and meant to seduce, to charm, to enchant. “Open the door to your husband.”

I will not.

His hand shook the knob. She felt his anger then, his frustration, his hunger, and his hunger was a terrible thing, a thing that wanted to consume her. It was like a crashing wave that pushed against the door, seeping through the grain of the wood, pummeling her. Her hands grasped the bedclothes for dear life and she bit hard on her lower lip so she would not whimper.

“Snow White!” he said, and there was no more pretense then. “Open this door, I say. You have no right to refuse me.”

Snow wondered how much worse it would be for her later, for she knew in some way that she was only staving off the inevitable. But she could not bring herself to open the door. She could not invite the wolf inside.

After a time the rattling of the doorknob ceased. She heard him laugh, low and dark.

“There’s always tomorrow, my darling,” he said.

Snow did not sleep again that night.

* * *

The next morning, she took the last bite of the apple. There was hardly any magic left in it at all, for it didn’t burn with the same fire when she swallowed it. She knew some of the charm had come off on the key.

Snow parted the curtains and opened her window wide. The outside air was thin and chill but a weak sunlight filtered through the clouds. She turned the ring this way and that in the sun. The silver had a fine dark vein running through it that hadn’t been there at the start, and she thought the eye appeared cloudy, but it might have been wishful thinking.

She took a deep breath and unlocked her bedroom door. The Prince was not lurking in the hallway, waiting to punish her as she’d expected. Snow padded softly down the stairs and found breakfast laid out at the table, but there was no plate for the Prince and he was nowhere to be seen.

There was a small piece of parchment on her plate, a note written in a beautiful hand:

My darling wife, I have other duties that I must attend to today, but I will certainly see you this evening.

Snow thrust the note away from her. To anyone else’s eyes the note might look like the reassurance of a lover but she recognized it for what it was – a threat. And a promise.

Snow took her place at the table and ate, for she could think better if her stomach was full. She found she was hungrier than expected. She was reaching for another serving of toast when it happened.

The silver ring flew off her left hand and landed in the butter dish.

Snow’s heart swelled, for now that the ring was gone she could escape. In fact, she could escape at that very moment. The Prince was not there to stop her, and if any of the soldiers asked she could simply say she was going out for a walk. She was their princess now, and they could not control her.

She rose from the table with an idea of changing into something more suitable – the white gown was like a flag that would draw all eyes to her in the grey landscape (and perhaps that is what he meant for it to do when he gave it to you).

That was when she heard the woman crying.