Ash and Snow by Silvana G. Sánchez

Author:Silvana G. Sánchez
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Second Star Press

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I’m lying on a bed of grass. The song of morning birds wraps me in a gentle croon. Rose petals drift in the breeze, smooth as they spill on my cheeks. Their sweetness fills my lungs. I dig my hands in the thick grass and rake small pebbles with my fingers. Their warmth stirs a tingle as I press them into my palms. I blush in the radiant sun. My lips ease into a pleasant smile.

Slowly, I rise. I find myself sitting on top of a hill. Whitehaven Castle’s silvery turrets gleam miles away. I’ve never seen the spires so clearly. The reason hits me quick. Winter does not swathe the land in its hazy hold as it has for centuries; its frosty storms, so unremitting, they gave Mother reason to name me Snow—even if Father favored Maleath. In the end, I kept both names.

I tilt forward, taking in the precious view of sun-kissed trees and blossoming fields that stretch before me. All this time, so much beauty has lied dormant beneath layers of frost and snow...

“Maleath,” a woman says behind me. “It’s time to come home.”

My expression slips into a frown. “I don’t want to.” I pout, shaking my head. “I like it here.”

A delicate hand glides over my shoulder. “The queen, my love…” the voice whispers, the mildest warning in my ear. It rings loving and true. So terribly familiar.

I snap out of the daze. “Mother?” I breathe, whirling back. My gaze sweeps through the surrounding forest. I search for her, any sign of her, to no avail.

“She wants your heart,” Mother reminds me. Her voice drifts in the distance. “You must be brave, my dear. She’s coming.”

A flicker of panic washes through me. In a brutal shake, the ground breaks beneath me and I plunge into fathomless darkness.

I’m sitting on solid stone. My hands clutch what feels like icy armrests. At the first ray of light, I glimpse the long hall, lined with ancient mirrors, the crooked chandeliers swinging in the freezing air, the tattered golden carpet, tarred with ashes.

I’m sitting on the White Throne.

A rippling pool of shadows lies before me. From this pond, a most menacing figure rises. Daron Blackstone, drenched in thick tar, dripping darkness as he stands. His mouth slackens in a silent shriek that rattles my nerves to the core. He drags a foot forward, and suddenly, the captain collapses to his knees and melts into a puddle of mud that flows towards me.

Within seconds, Daron’s shadows bleed into my feet. The sludge climbs the throne, slow and viscous, fastening my legs, gluing my hands to the marble stone.

I writhe in the grip of darkness, useless, as the tar grasps my shoulders and tightens my chest. It clutches my throat, and seals my mouth shut. My eyes open wide in terror as a scream slices through the fog of my brain.

“Snow,” a man calls. The voice is remote, but clear.

My breath stalls. I can’t move. I can’t breathe.

“Wake up, lass,” he says.

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