Snow White Lake

1.

“When will he come?”

“When the moon falls into the sea and the cock crows backward. When Grundel the Elder learns how to sew with a pine needle and a thread of laughter. When there are enough stones piled up to block his way.”

“That will take too long. I want to go out and find him myself.”

“That’s not how it is done.”

“Why not?”

“Drink your potion.”

2.

“When will he come?”

“Not for a long time. Stop fidgeting and gather blueberries like you were told.”

“But if he comes and I’m not here? What if he meets me while I’m doing chores and I’m all dirty and covered in stains? He’ll never love me if he thinks I’m just a filthy peasant girl. Please, can’t I stay in the house?”

“Then who would pick the blueberries?”

“Jesminda!”

“I’m not going to wake her simply because you are lazy. When you are a queen, you will need to show grace and poise in all situations. Go into the forest.”

“But. . . what if there’s a dragon?”

“There aren’t any dragons in the forest, and even if there were, none of them would come for you. That’s not your tale.”

“I hate you!”

“Then you will be happy to get away from me and get some fresh air. And even if you do hate me, you must never say it. A queen must be kind and loving to all.”
“When I am queen, I’m going to make them chop off your head.”

“That’s not your tale either. You don’t frighten me.”

“. . . Where’s the basket?”

“Good girl. And make sure you’re back in time to take your potion.”

3.

“Why isn’t he here yet? Beryl’s prince came ages ago, and she’s younger than me!”

“Do not be so impatient, and do not envy Beryl. Her tale is not one you should wish to have. Be happy that you are who you are.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Beryl’s prince was no such creature, but rather a king.”

“That’s not fair!”

“From her own kingdom, my dearest. That was her father.”

“But—but he kissed her.”

“As you say.”

“I thought she cried with joy. . .”

“Every tale wanders through unhappy places, little one. Some are worse than others. Beryl will receive her happy ending, but with much cost before it is done. You must concentrate on your own narrative.”

“What is my tale? You never say.”

“That’s not how it is done.”

“Why?”

“Just take your potion.”

4.

“What is he like?”

“You’ll see.”

“Is he very handsome? Aurora says that he is handsome, but she sometimes lies just to see what would happen.”

“Patience, little one. You shall see when you meet him.”

“. . . He is a prince, isn’t he? And good? Tell me that he is good.”

“You must calm down. Why don’t you take your potion?”

“Not yet. Please, at least tell me his name!”

“You do not know him, little one. Not in your tale. It is important that you meet properly.”

“I’m just glad he’s here. I can’t wait to get out of here. I want to wear beautiful gowns and jewels and have dozens of servants to wait upon me, and a husband who adores me and obeys my every desire.”

“That is not a very good way to rule a kingdom, little one.”

“I know, but I just can’t stand it here anymore! Chores, and plain dresses, and all these other girls who are just as important as me so that I can’t feel better than anyone. I hate it.”

“You might miss it, someday. Circumstances can change and worsen. I shouldn’t tell you this, but. . . while your prince is here, little one, you will not go to him directly. Your tale is short, but only because much is left out of it. Only the middle of your story is in the tale; much in the beginning and all of the future is left out of it.”

“But there is a happily ever after, isn’t there?”

“. . . Probably, little one, but, well. . . your tale is the only one that never says. When you leave here, you have no guide until you first meet your prince, and then it is only there for a few hours, from evening until the next morning. And even then, you will be unaware of it.”

“But you promised me a happy ending.”

“I know.”

“You promised!”

“One last lesson for you to learn. Sometimes, people lie even when they don’t want to.”

“I thought you were supposed to care about me!”

“I do, but there is only so much that I can do, even for you. I have no tale of my own, and I am in no-one’s. That, I suppose, would be my story if it were the kind that is told. Calm down, little one. Drink.”

5.

I shiver. It is raining, and my fair hair trails over my face like waterweeds. My dress, as fine as I could ever wish when I first began to walk, is muddy and torn. A flash of lightning illuminates a castle in the distance, and I stumble toward it.

The thunderclap startles me, and I fall, knocking my hip against an uprooted tree. I wince, knowing that there will be a terrible bruise there. Before I left the lake, I had never been hurt before, even in the worst falls. Now I can raise welts on my skin with an absentminded scratch of an insect bite.

Whimpering, I climb to my feet and walk again. I move slowly, afraid to lose my way in the storm, guiding myself by the lightning. I miss my nursemaid, whoever she really was.

At last, I stagger to the end of the drawbridge. I reach to knock at the door, but the slippery flagstones unbalance me. Shrieking, I scrabble for something to hold onto, but there is nothing, and my head hits the ground with a terrible—

6.

All at once, there is a pounding at the door. The prince and queen, who were renewing their argument over the suitability of the newest set of princesses, look up in surprise. Who would be out in this weather?

The steward bows to them and scurries out to see what the commotion is. The prince loses interest and glares at his mother again, who glowers back.

Returning, the steward ushers forward a girl, dripping wet and half-dead with exhaustion.

She is the most beautiful girl the prince has ever seen, he thinks, even with the mud that covers her clothes.

The queen looks at her son’s reaction and worries, fingering her dinner of peas. She thinks that she will have to be very clever to test this girl.

The girl stands, and blinks away the water on her long eyelashes, and doesn’t think anything at all.