I believed her, too. I wouldn’t trust my own opinion of someone’s trustworthiness when lives were at stake, but three months was a long time to get away with regularly doctoring the food.And a crowded room was normally the best place to get away with something like that, but you’d have to move like a frightened fence lizard to get away with it under this woman’s nose.
Plus, that put us right back to the question of knowing what, specifically, Snow would eat. When the cook was preparing the food herself, it would be easy, but not any longer. But Snow was still getting worse, not better.
“Do you ever send her up a tray before bed?” I asked. “Cookies or… I don’t know… hot chocolate or something like that?”
To my surprise, she shook her head. “Not since she’s been feeling poorly. She didn’t eat more than a bite or two for a while, and then the trays started being sent back untouched. I begged her to tell me if there was any treat she wanted me to make, but no matter what I make, she just picks at it.”
I thanked her for her time, complimented her sandwiches—she grinned and took a slight bow—and then went back to my room in time to dress for dinner. With the king. Again.
The footman placed a platter of delicate tidbits on the table before us—I had no idea what they were, except colorful and in layers—and another lifted them onto our respective plates. Snow lifted her fork, and I stretched out a hand. “Snow, switch plates with me, please.”
She blinked at me. So did everyone else at the table. One of the advisors started to say something, but the king cut across him. “You think…?”
“I don’t,” I said, “but I want to be sure.” For all I knew, the plates had a clear solution of arsenic drizzled on them before being set down.
Lady Sorrel took matters into her own hands by taking Snow’s plate and passing it to me. I passed mine back. Snow gave me a thoughtful look, then began to eat. So did everyone else, withoutnotable reluctance. I took a bite of mine. Something in aspic. The layers were flavored with different fruits. It tasted good, even if it was a trifle absurd looking.
The main course was a steaming platter of chicken in a golden sauce. Lady Sorrel took Snow’s this time. The energetic advisor turned to the king and said, “Your Majesty, would you like to trade as well?”
By dessert, it had become a game. I swapped my trifle with the king and then with Lady Sorrel. Snow’s changed hands three times, to her muffled giggles. The energetic advisor got his own dessert back again and pouted dramatically.
Snow never ate much of any of the dishes, but at least I could be fairly sure that for that one meal, she was safe.
When I arrived at Snow’s rooms on the next day, everything was the same as it had been, except that Snow had a cat in her lap and was petting it.
I had honestly never given much thought to the sort of cat that a king’s daughter would have as a pet. Something white and fluffy, maybe, with a jeweled collar and a tail like a feather duster.
This cat… was not that. It was the shade of dark gray that people call blue, it was short-haired and skinny, and it was missing an eye. Also, it had an expression like it was thinking about disemboweling everyone in the room.
“Have you met my cat?” Snow asked me.
“I have not, no.” I inclined my head politely to the cat, who gazed at me in silent contempt. Its one good eye was sulfurous yellow.
“He’s just like one back at the palace.”
“Is he?” I inched past cat and girl to my chair in the corner.
“Nurse won’t let him sleep with me at night,” Snow said, clearly aggrieved. “But helovesme.”
I try not to judge anyone, man or beast, by appearances, but let’s just say that I had significant doubts that a cat with that expression loved anything except murder.
“Now Snow, love,” Nurse said, “cats are dirty little things. And they steal your breath at night.”
“He wouldnever. He’s the sweetest. Aren’t you?” Snow picked up his front half, her hands under his forelegs, and made him dance back and forth. The cat’s face indicated not only that murder was on the table, but that the victim had now been selected.
“And he—”
At that moment, the cat decided that he was done. (I didn’t blame him, I’d have left as soon as the dancing started.) There was a flurry of motion, too quick for the eye to follow, and then Snow yelped and a gray blur shot past me, out the balcony door, and was gone over the railing before any of the humans could move.
“What did I say?” Nurse scolded. “And now you’ve got a scratch, and the saints help us if it mortifies. Hatha, get the salve.”
“I don’twantthe salve,” Snow said sullenly, sounding rather younger than twelve. “It stings.”
“It will sting a lot more if those scratches turn putrid and the surgeon has to take your whole hand off.”
“That won’t happen.”
“No, it won’t, love, because we’re going to wash it and put the good salve on it.” Nurse shot me a glance of mute appeal.
