Snow White and the Huntsman Read online

  Copyright

  Published by Hachette Digital

  ISBN: 978-1-405516-07-5

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2012 Universal Studios

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

  Hachette Digital

  Little, Brown Book Group

  100 Victoria Embankment

  London, EC4Y 0DY

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Contents

  Copyright

  Part one

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Part two

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Who will you be

  when faced with the end?

  The end of a kingdom,

  The end of good men,

  Will you run?

  Will you hide?

  Or will you hunt down evil

  with a venomous pride?

  Rise to the ashes,

  Rise to the winter sky,

  Rise to the calling,

  Make heard the battle cry.

  Let it scream from the mountains

  From the forest to the chapel,

  Because death is a hungry mouth

  And you are the apple.

  So who will you be

  when faced with the end?

  When the vultures are circling

  And the shadows descend.

  Will you cower?

  Or will you fight?

  Is your heart made of glass?

  Or a pure Snow White?

  Once

  upon

  a

  time…

  It was the coldest winter the kingdom had ever known. Frost covered the gravestones. The rosebushes in the castle garden were nearly bare, their leaves shriveled and brown. King Magnus stood on the edge of the forest with Duke Hammond, waiting for the other army to arrive. The king could see his own breath. The slow, steady clouds expanded in front of his face, then disappeared into the cold morning air. His hands were numb. He didn’t feel the weight of the armor on his back, or the way the chain mail pressed against his neck with metal so cold it stung his skin. He didn’t worry about the enemies on the other side of the battlefield, and he wasn’t afraid.

  Inside, he was already dead.

  Yet his army stood behind him. One of the horses whinnied through the fog. It has been nearly a year, he thought. She died almost a year ago. He had held her head in his hands, watched as the life left her eyes. What was he to do? Who was he without her? He sat in his chambers, his young daughter perched on his knee, but the cloud of grief was too thick. He couldn’t hear a word she uttered. “Yes, Snow White,” he’d say, his mind somewhere else as she peppered him with questions. “Right, my darling, I know.”

  Far across the field, he could see the enemy army. They were shadow warriors, a dark clan gathered by some inexplicable, magical force. They stood in the morning mist as ghostly silhouettes—nameless and faceless. Their armor was a dull black. At times it was hard to tell where the forest ended and they began.

  Duke Hammond turned to him, his brows knitted together in worry. “From what hell comes this army?” he asked.

  King Magnus set his jaw. He shook his head, trying to pull himself out of the stupor that had lingered for months. He had a kingdom to protect, now and always.

  “A hell they’ll soon revisit!” he yelled. Then he raised his sword, leading his troops to charge.

  They raced toward the enemy army, their swords aimed at the figures’ throats. Soon the shadows were upon them. The warriors’ armor was similar to theirs, but beneath it were black shadows that shifted and swirled like smoke. A faceless warrior ran toward King Magnus, his weapon drawn. The king swung his sword, and the figure shattered like glass, thousands of black shards flying out in every direction. The king looked up, stunned. All around him, his men were attacking the shadows, and one by one, each warrior exploded into the morning mist. The sparkling shards fell to the ground and disappeared into the hard, frost-covered soil. Within minutes, the field was empty. The king’s troops stood there, alone, the sounds of their breaths the only thing left hanging in the air. It was as though the enemy army had never been there at all.

  The king and Duke Hammond shared a confused look. Through the fog, the king could make out a small wooden structure standing between the trees. He started toward it. When he was twenty feet away, he could see it was a prison wagon. He dismounted his horse and peered inside, noticing a woman cowering in a corner. Wavy blond hair cascaded down her back. A veil hid her face.

  She’d been taken captive by the army—who knows what they had done to her? The dark forces were said to have killed and maimed hundreds of prisoners, even some children. He swiftly brought his sword down on the lock, smashing it.

  “You are free now. You have nothing to fear from me,” he spoke to her, reaching out his hand for the young woman to take. “What is your name, my lady?”

  Slowly, the woman turned toward him, her small frame becoming visible in the light. She rested her thin hand in his and lifted her veil. King Magnus stared into the woman’s beautiful, heart-shaped face. She had full lips and heavy-lidded blue eyes, and two thin gold braids pulled her hair away from her high cheekbones. She couldn’t have been more than twenty years old.

  “My name is Ravenna, sire,” she said softly.

  The king was silent. Everything about her—her nose, her fingers, her lips—was beautiful and delicate. In that moment, he felt the warmth of her hand. He could smell the fresh pine trees around them. He remembered clearly the day he’d met his wife, the only other woman who had ever made him feel this way. It had been summer, with dappled sunlight playing over the leaves of the apple trees.

  But in this moment, the sorrow finally lifted. As he stood there before Ravenna, his heart wild in his chest, he suddenly felt alive again.

  The king returned to the castle with the young beauty. The seasons changed. That initial joy only grew. King Magnus asked Ravenna to marry him. Each day he fell a little more in love with her, this young woman who had been taken from her home and kept by the enemy army. He was like a teenager in her presence—his cheeks flushed while she told him stories of her life before meeting him, how she’d lived on the edges of the kingdom with her brother, Finn, and her late mother.

  The king’s daughter, Snow White, would sit beside them at meals, her chin resting in her hands as she studied Ravenna. She was a child still, only seven years old. Together, they were a family. It was what the king had always wanted.

  He would watch Ravenna sometimes, how she smiled at Snow White or took her hand and led her around the castle courtyard. She seemed so very happy with them.…

  When the day of the wedding arrived, Ravenna stood in the back of the cathedral. Through the wooden doors, she could hear the crowd shifting in their seats. Her cheeks were powdered. Her lips were painted a deep bloodred, and her dress was laced up the back s
o tightly that she could barely breathe. She watched her reflection in the mirror on the wall, the slightest curl on her lips. Tonight, after the ceremony, there’d be no more pretending. She would finally get what she wanted.

  “You’re so beautiful.…” a small voice whispered.

  She turned to see Snow White standing in the doorway, watching her. Snow White took the end of Ravenna’s long white gown in her hands, pulling it up to keep it off the stone floor. Ravenna beckoned the king’s daughter forward with a slight flick of her wrist. “That is kind, child,” she cooed. “Especially when it is said that yours is the face of true beauty in this kingdom.” Ravenna touched the little girl’s cheek. Her skin was as perfect as porcelain. She had huge dark brown eyes and a hint of rose in her cheeks. Whenever she passed handmaids and soldiers alike, they were charmed, dropping down to one knee.

  The little girl looked up at her with eyes so innocent, so naive. Ravenna smiled down into the tiny face, knowing that this charade would end soon, and then she would right the wrongs that had been done to her and to her people. “I know it is difficult, child. When I was your age, I, too, lost my mother.”

  She stroked Snow White’s cheek. She could hear the orchestra in the front of the great cathedral starting up. Soon she’d walk down the aisle. It was all coming together as planned.

  As she waited for the music to begin, her thoughts drifted back in time to the day the king’s men had just arrived in her village. She’d been so young. Ravenna and her brother, Finn, had been in their mother’s gypsy wagon. They’d been together always, a small traveling clan, until the day the king’s army came. Her mother had held a mirror in front of her face.

  “This is all that can save you,” her mother told her. Then the older woman took her daughter’s wrist and held it over a bowl of white liquid, whispering spells beneath her breath. With a sharp blade, she nicked Ravenna’s wrist and let the blood drip into the bowl; the red shone that much more vibrantly against the white. Ravenna drank the potion quickly, swallowing it down. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes, she could still taste the strong, metallic liquid on her tongue. “Drink,” her mother had said. “And with it, you will have the ability to steal youth and beauty. For that is your ultimate power and only protection.”

  The king’s men worked their way through each wagon, taking the gypsies out of their homes and killing them. Finn was screaming. He wanted to protect her—that much Ravenna remembered now. Her mother had put her hands on their foreheads and whispered more spells, more words, putting a power in them that connected them both. They would always have each other, and Ravenna would be tied to him until death. Then they were running, so fast Ravenna could barely catch her breath.

  They had escaped, but their mother had been left behind. The hair on the back of Ravenna’s neck stood up as she recalled the way the soldier pressed the sword against her mother’s throat. Her mother had spoken her last words, calling out to Ravenna as she was dragged away. “Be warned,” she’d yelled, “by fairest blood it is done, and only by fairest blood can it be undone.” Then her mother had fallen to her knees, the gash spilling blood on the grass. Within minutes she was dead.

  “Ravenna?” a small voice asked. “Ravenna? It’s time.”

  Ravenna opened her eyes. Snow White was standing behind her, spreading out the train of her dress. The wooden doors had opened. A thousand eyes were upon her, waiting for her to walk down the aisle. She straightened, her blue eyes darkening as they locked on the king. The little girl is right. It is time.

  That night, as the last wedding guests drank and ate in the castle courtyard, Ravenna took the king to his bedchamber. She lay beside him in her white wedding gown, her long wavy hair loose around her shoulders, watching as he finished his wine. He ran his fingers through her golden hair and finally let them rest on her thin gold crown. Rubies and emeralds dotted the front. The groom was weakened by the day’s festivities, his movements slowed from so many drinks. He was an easy target.…

  She reached under the pillow and pulled out the silver dagger she’d hidden there just hours before. She raised it above her head, focusing on the center of his rib cage, where the bone concealed his heart. In one swift motion, she drove it into his chest, watching his body shudder from the sudden blow. “First I will take your life, my lord,” Ravenna whispered as his limbs finally went still. “Then I will take your throne.”

  She strode out of the chamber and down the hall, leaving the king twisted in the bloody sheets. She moved quickly, descending the stairs to the castle’s portcullis. Her brother, Finn, was waiting outside the latticed iron. His army was behind him, the shadow soldiers barely visible in the moonlight. She raised the metal gate, and the soldiers flooded inside. Within minutes, they’d descended on every inch of the castle.

  While the soldiers fought, Ravenna returned to her room. She could hear the cries of civilians downstairs, and the clinking of sword against sword as the soldiers locked in battle. One of her brother’s men brought in a massive mirror. It looked like a round shield of highly polished bronze. When she was alone, the air outside her room filling with shouts and yells, she gazed into the mirror’s reflective surface. It was much bigger than the one her mother had held before her all those years ago, but it held even more magic.

  “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?” she asked, leaning toward it.

  The surface of the mirror rippled. Liquid spilled onto the floor around Ravenna’s feet, reforming into a bronze statue nearly as tall as she was. The figure appeared as though it was draped in thick fabric, but it reflected back the room around her. The mirror man’s face showed Ravenna’s face just as it was. “It is you, my Queen,” it said. “Yet another kingdom falls to your glory. Is there no end to your power and beauty?”

  Hearing the mirror speak, Ravenna knew the magic her mother had given her was boundless. In her presence, kingdoms fell, men perished, and even simple objects took on a magical life, revealing secrets no one else could know. She raised her hands in the air, feeling the fight in her fingertips, remembering all that her family had given up to the king. He was finally dead. The kingdom was hers again. No one could hurt her now, or ever again.

  When the fighting ended and the courtyard was silent, she went back down the stairs. The shadow warriors were assembled in the stone courtyard. Blood was spattered on the tables and chairs. Plates were broken on the ground, the remnants of the celebratory dinner strewn everywhere. She didn’t shudder at the sight of the bodies, some of them women, slumped over in their seats. The surviving wedding guests and nobles were lined up against the wall, held back by Finn’s army.

  “What shall we do with these?” one general asked. The women clasped their hands together, begging for mercy. A few noblemen even teared up. They pulled their children close, trying, however uselessly, to protect them. Ravenna shut her eyes and remembered her mother—how all the women in her village had been so brutally slaughtered. This was what was meant to happen. It had been the king’s mistake—not hers. This was how it was supposed to be.

  “To the sword,” she said, her voice flat. She wrapped her robe tight around her and shuddered from the cool night air. Then she turned on her heel to go.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Finn holding the little girl. His knife was pressed against Snow White’s neck. Something in the girl’s face caught her by surprise, this young child who just hours before had held up her wedding dress. Her lips were trembling, and her eyes were brimming with tears.

  “Finn—no!” she cried, the words coming out before she could stop them. He narrowed his eyes at her, as if he weren’t quite certain who she was. She straightened, trying not to seem weak before her brother, who had just fought so valiantly in her name, never questioning her commands. “Lock her away. One never knows when royal blood will be of value.”

  Her eyes met Snow White’s. The two stared at each other, the chaos swirling around them. Women were dragged outside to be killed. Noblemen str
uggled against the soldiers’ grips. A little boy was screaming for his mother, his face tear-streaked and red. But in that moment, Ravenna saw only Snow White, and Snow White saw only her. Ravenna rested her hand on her chest, wondering what it was that she felt for this young child, the heir to the very kingdom she had overthrown. They were bound together, somehow, by some strange, powerful force.

  Ravenna stood there, her hand over her heart, until Finn left for the dungeons, dragging Snow White behind him.

  The child’s eyes never left hers. She was still glancing over her shoulder, looking back, until she disappeared behind the heavy wooden door.

  By

  fairest

  blood

  it is

  done…

  Finn was watching her again. Even lying in her bed, her eyes half closed, Snow White could see his shadow on the dungeon wall. She didn’t say anything. Instead, she shook the matted blanket off herself and folded it on the narrow cot. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to undo the knots that had formed at the nape of her neck. Then she knelt down, starting her fire as she did every day, twisting the wood back and forth, back and forth, until the thin shavings caught. By the time they flared up, bringing warmth to her fingers, Finn was gone.

  She held out her hands, taking in the heat. He visited her some mornings, watching her from beyond the bars, his small eyes darting above his long, thin nose. He never said anything, never left anything—not even a plate of food or a jug of water. She wondered if it made him happy to see her now, just past seventeen, still locked away in the tower dungeon. Did he feel any remorse? Did he care? She doubted it. He was his sister’s brother.

  Snow White pulled her tattered dress around her body, tucking her bare toes underneath the hem. It had been ten winters. At a certain point, she’d stopped counting the days or weeks, instead paying attention only to the changing seasons. She could see the tops of the trees from the cell window. She knew each limb as well as she did her own. In the warmer months, bright green leaves burst from them, spreading out, staying that way through the height of summer. Then they would change. The green gave way to golds and reds, until all of them shriveled and fell, one by one, onto the hard soil.