“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.”
Chapter 21
Assoonasshe’dsaid it, a sense of relief pounded through her. She had never admitted it to anyone. Master Harwin had guessed, but she had never said she was the missing princess. She had never acknowledged that he was right.
It was as though saying it aloud would conjure Seraphina’s dark magic. She knew the queen had the Magic Mirror, but not knowing how it worked, she wasn’t sure if she was able to see her at this very moment with Roderick. She assumed that was the case. And if it was, then telling Roderick the truth—her truth—would be no surprise to Seraphina.
Still, she needed to be careful and choose her words.
Roderick waited patiently for her to tell her story. He had one hand pressed against the tree trunk, the other still clutched the sheathed dagger.
“My mother died when I was quite young,” she said. “I don’t remember her. My father remarried when I was six because he was certain I needed a mother in my life. He married Seraphina. When I was eight, my father died. Seraphina killed him because she wanted to rule the Mystic Vale. What she did not know was that my father’s title passed to me. She would not rule as regent. She had no power there.
“To gain control, she told me everyone in the castle hated me. She told me I was nothing but a useless child and the best thing for me was to leave and never return. That if I returned, she would make sure I would live out my remaining days in the dungeons under the castle.”
“And you believe her?” Roderick asked.
“I was eight. Of course, I believed her. I ran away. I ended up here in the Wyldwood. As soon as I stepped foot into the forest, I understood it. And it understood me. I was connected to nature in a way I had never been connected before. Eventually, I found my way to the foot of Faradill. The elves found me the following morning and took me in as one of their own. They raised me. I’ve lived in the eleven village for ten years.”
“Do they know who you are?” he asked.
“They do not.” She sighed. “I suppose I will have to tell them in time.”
“Why don’t you?”
