Schönheit's Arc

Chapter 3 of 4

The roots held the door shut, and the huntsman was gone. But Snow White sat at the long table with the knife still in reach. She watched Schönheit the way a rabbit watches a fox. "For now," the girl had said. For now was not forever. Schönheit needed the cold to thaw before it could become love. So she did what she always did when her hands felt empty. She summoned help. She spoke to the walls of the cottage, and the walls answered. The brass clock on the mantel woke first. Its gold face turned, and two small feet stepped down onto the floor. "Madam," it said, bowing at the waist. "Supper, I think. A girl this thin needs supper." It marched toward the hearth and clicked its tongue at the cold ashes. Snow White stood and backed against the wall. The knife came up. Schönheit lifted one hand. "They won't touch you." She whistled low. The wolf padded in from the shadow of the door. Its coat was dark brown and gray, its eyes calm. It lay down at the girl's feet and put its chin on the floor. It did not bare its teeth. It only waited. Snow White stared at it. Slowly her hand lowered. Outside, wings beat the air. A green dragon landed by the window and folded itself small. Its features were fine and frog-like, its scales patterned with gold. It nosed the shutter open and dropped an apron of wild plums onto the sill. Then it settled, watching the girl with round blue eyes, harmless as a house cat. The clock built up the fire. The room warmed. The dragon rolled a plum across the table with one claw, straight to Snow White's hand. She caught it. She looked at the fruit, then at the wolf, then at the small brass servant fussing over a pot. "They serve you," she said. "They serve the forest," Schönheit said. "And so do I. I only asked them to be kind." Snow White set the knife down on the table. She did not hide it. She just let it go. She bit the plum. Juice ran down her chin, and for the first time she laughed, quick and surprised, at the dragon that had fed her. Schönheit felt the win settle in her chest. The girl no longer flinched. The cold suspicion had cracked. But Snow White wiped her mouth and looked straight at the goddess. "You made all of them," she said. It was not a question. "The wolf. The clock. The stories. You told me I belong to no one. But everything here belongs to you." Schönheit had no answer ready. She had won the girl's trust. Now the girl understood exactly what she was, and the next question hung in the warm air. If Snow White chose her, would that choice be free, or only one more thing the forest had arranged?