Chapter 5 Fool's False Hope

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I pick up the piece of sharpened stone and wrap the bottom in a strip of rag to protect my hand. There on the ground…there before me…this isn't Sara anymore. Her soul has gone to Him above. This is…no, this is not Sara anymore…but it once was apart of her. I… Sara wants me to stay alive. She gave me a reason to live, and for her sake, to not squander all the good things she has given me, I must—My eyes open, terror and disgust churning my stomach. I roll over onto my hands and knees and heave violently, my body contorting in an attempt to expel the nightmarish contents from my stomach. I heave, heave, and heave, but nothing comes up.

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I scratch the rock along my wall, creating another chalky white line against the black stone.

"Day…seven hundred twenty-two," I say. I lift my eyes to the seven hundred twenty-two white marks filling the whole wall. Even if this day is not the seven hundred twenty-second day that Sara came into my life, it may as well be. The light clicking of claws scampering across the floor draws my eyes down to one ear. He scampers from under my bed over to the pile of ashes from my fire last evening, sniffing around the ashes. He must smell the rat that I had cooked last evening. I smirk at him and reach under my pillow, pulling out a wrapped bundle of leftover roasted rat brain.

"One ear," I call him, unwrapping the bundle and pulling out a piece of cooked rat brain. He does not look back at me. Of course, the stupid little vermin. I sigh and toss the piece of meat on the ground near one ear. He stops sniffing about the ashes and follows his nose to the rat meat on the floor. He picks up the meat in his mouth and devours it whole. Seeing him gnaw on that flesh, flesh that is just like his—I look away, my stomach churning in terrible ways that threatens me with heaving again. I tear off another small piece of the rat brain and force it into my mouth. I chew a few times, the meat tough and burnt, but it's so different, so much better tasting. I swallow the delicacy and pick up another piece, rolling it between my fingers.

"Do you ever dream?" I ask one ear. "There are a few dreams I have that are like…almost like I'm reliving the worst moments of my life over and over and over again. There's one dream in particular that's like that. I don't want to say much more about it, but I'm thinking about trying this new thing where I rattle off everything I see." I shrug and put the piece of rat brain in my mouth, pushing it into my cheek with my tongue to speak easier. "I'm not sure if it'll work, but"—I shrug—"what else do I have to do?"

I slowly eat my meal of rat while I look into the cell across from mine. It's empty of all her remains. I turn away, unable to look at the barren floor any longer. Do not remember it, Snow. Do not remember it! You're still alive! That's what Sara wanted. Against all odds, you're still here just as Sara wanted. Now think of it no more!

SLAM! of the wood door. I stiffen and listen closely. It could either be Finn or—Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Black glass knights! They are bringing someone! I scramble out of bed and bound to my bars, gripping them and pressing my face between them. I strain against the crusty iron bars to peer down the hall, the rust digging into the sides of my face. Three silhouettes march down the hall, the two black glass knights towering over the prisoner in the middle. The prisoner in the middle, a woman by the shadow of her dress, fights and kicks against the knights, hitting their glass shins with her boots.

The knights come between my cell and Sara's with their prisoner, their backs turned to me. The jiggling keys sound as one of the knights unlocks the cell door and pushes it open, stepping aside for the other knight and the prisoner. The knight holding the prisoner throws her into the cell. She trips and falls into the cell, her hands and knees barely breaking her fall. A twinge of anger fills my heart, anger at the knights that forced the prisoner into the cell so cruelly, but what can I do? And I wonder what she will be like. Will she mock me, curse me, or beg me to save her? Not one prisoner has been like Sara, not even the man who warned me against the food and drink brought to me.

The knight slams the cell door shut and locks it. The knight ties the keys to its belt, turns, and marches with the accompanying knight down the dim hall the way they had come. I watch them walk farther away for as long as I can, barely seeing them turn the corner and disappear from sight. The wood door slams shut, reverberating down the hall until its sound dies with the last thumping of the knights' boots.

Whimpering pulls my eyes to the cell across from mine. The prisoner is standing there looking at me, hugging herself tightly. Tears stream down her grimy cheeks. Her hair is fire-red and frizzy—hair not of a native Taboran. There is terror in her wide eyes. Her whole body trembles. I sigh. I've seen women like her before, so full of fear. They either grow angry with me or they beg me to save them. The meeker they are, the more likely they are to plead with me to save them, and she is a very meek creature.

"I'm sorry this happened to you," I tell her. I know I still have such a negative view of her—something that mama would be greatly disappointed in me for having—but I refuse to mock the foreign woman and laugh at her when she begs me to save her. Ever since Sara, I refuse to do so.

The woman shakes her trembling head, her eyes still wide with fear. "Do you know what they will do to me?"

I open my mouth to answer, but I stop. This woman is so frightened. Do I really want to add to her fear and make the last moments of her life worse for her than they already are?

I close my mouth and nod. "Yes, I do."

The woman looks at me, waiting for me to explain more. I keep silent.

She swallows, still so fearful. "Could you tell me what they will do to me, or…," she trembles more and holds herself tighter, "or is it best to remain ignorant?"

This foreigner—God, she is puzzling. She not only gave me an easy way to answer, but she also recognized my discomfort in having to explain the horrific details. I am not about to put my hope in her that she will be different just as Sara and the man who saved me from being poisoned, but I still recognize her considerate nature.

I swallow hard. This is more difficult than it has ever been for me. "It is best to remain ignorant."

The foreign woman nods, still trembling. She squeezes her eyes shut and weeps softly. She collapses to her knees before her bars and grips them, bowing her head and weeping. My heart aches. She is a pitiful sight. I wish there was something I could do to comfort her, but what can I do from behind my bars? I sink to my knees to be on the same level with her. It's the most I can do.

"What is your name?" I ask her.

The woman lifts her head to me, tears silently falling down her cheeks. "Greta," she says, her voice trembling with tears.

"Greta," I say, forcing a smile—a strange, foreign feeling on my lips. I haven't smiled for two years now. Not since Sara. "What a beautiful name."

"Thank you," Greta says. She bows her head and weeps silently, clinging to her bars for dear life. Greater sorrow and pity for her swells my heart. I haven't felt this in a long time.

"God, Greta"—I shake my head sorrowfully—"I am so sorry this happened to you."

Greta lifts her glistening eyes to me. "I hope the judge angel looks upon me with mercy. I have not led the best life."

I shake my head. "Nor have I." Greta is accepting of her imminent death just like Sara was. "How were you captured?" I ask.

Greta wipes some of the tears from her eyes and returns her hand to the bar. "I was trying to reach Duke Hammond's fortress under the cover of a caravan. I was hoping to find my father and brother there. They had gone out with our pack mule and haven't returned for some months now, so I was hoping that perhaps they found refuge there. The Queen's phantom soldiers found our caravan and raided it. Many of us were taken as prisoners and the few men who fought back to defend us were killed."

My heart aches more. Before I was imprisoned, Ravenna claimed that she took the lives of the evil and guilty, spared the innocent, and freed slaves and captives. Now, she is capturing innocents, imprisoning them, and striking down whoever dares to stand up against her and fight for those they love.

"I am so sorry you had to endure that," I say, my eyes prickling with tears and blurring my sight of Greta.

"You have a sincere heart," she says tearfully. "Thank you."

I shake my head. "Hardly."

We fall into silence, my mind turning to William, Duke Hammond and his Duchess. If I had not been captured that fateful night, I would be with my godparents now, raised as their own. By now, I would have been William's wife. I remember seeing Duke Hammond lifting William onto his horse and riding off into the night from my balcony, fleeing with the others who were fortunate enough to escape Finn's surprise attack, but did they make it to Duke Hammond's Fortress? Sara said something about forces amassing there, but I was quick to interrupt her. Even if what Sara said was true and a rebellion of sorts has gathered at Hammond's Fortress, mortal men are powerless against Ravenna's black glass knights, or phantom soldiers, as Greta called them. That's beside the point, though. What I truly want to know is if William and Duke Hammond made it back safely to Hammond's Fortress. Greta would probably know.

I scrub my tears away. "Greta?"

She looks up at me, tears still in her eyes, but she has stopped weeping. "Yes?"

"Do you know if Duke Hammond and his son live?"

Greta sighs. "They maybe alive, but I do not know. I heard that Duchess Hammond is ill, but beyond that, I do not know. I'm sorry."

Duchess Hammond is ill? A pang pierces my heart. My hands slip from my bars and drop in my lap. "That's alright," I say. "Thank you." I hope Duchess Hammond recovers. And God, I pray that William and my godfather are alive and well. Please, if they are, watch over them.

"How were you captured?" Greta asks. "Were you traveling by caravan, too? Or was your village raided?"

"What!?" I ask, my jaw dropping. Ravenna is raiding villages, too!? What is she doing!? She has become everything she swore she would never become. Maacthis' evil has consumed her whole. This is not the Ravenna I know…or knew.

I manage to compose myself enough to say, "No. No, I've been imprisoned here for…" I look at the seven hundred twenty-two white marks filling my two cell walls "…fourteen years now, I believe."

Greta gasps. "Fourteen years!? Why so long!?"

I shake my head. "I don't know. I don't know why the Queen hasn't killed me yet. With all I have been hearing about her"—my heart aches terribly—"she's not the woman I once knew. She's changed."

Greta nods slowly. "I heard that she and the long dead Princess were very close. They were as mother and daughter, always together, always laughing and smiling when they were with each other. We all loved Ravenna at one point, didn't we? It seems so long ago since we did."

So long ago, indeed. Memories flash across my mind, memories of Ravenna and me sitting before the fire, my head on her shoulder and her arm about me as she reads a fairy tale to me from the book in her lap, memories of her and me brushing Duncan II's golden coat, saddling him up, and taking him out for a ride along the shoreline, memories of us talking, laughing, smiling, her revealing to me all the secrets of her power as our trust grew—"What is your name?" Greta asks.

I frown. Should I tell Greta my true name, or should I keep it secret? Do I really want to give her false hope? Hope is real, that much I know, but there is such a thing as false hope too. I could lie or I could tell her the truth. God, would telling her the truth be the better choice? Not only would I be choosing truth, but perhaps this false hope would help distract Greta from her imminent death.

Here goes nothing. "My name—" I halt, still unsure whether I should lie or tell the truth…but I have already chosen. "My name is Snow White."

Her eyes widen. "Princess Snow White!?" She looks me from head to knee, knee to head, her eyes wide with disbelief. "It cannot be!"

I nod slowly. I cannot decide if I regret telling her my true name or not.

"By God above, Princess, forgive me for not addressing you properly before!" She bows her head suddenly. "Please forgive me!"

"Oh please don't be like that!" I say. "How could you have possibly known? And look at us!" I hold my arms out, gesturing to all that surrounds us. "Titles, status, lordship—none of that finds a place here." I drop my hands into my lap. "We are the same here, you and I."

Greta frowns and looks down at her lap, looking abashed. "I'm sorry, Princess."

A twinge enters my chest. "No, forgive me, Greta. I should not have been rude to you."

She looks up at me and smiles sheepishly, saying, "You have done nothing wrong."

I frown at her. I have done something wrong, yet because of my dead title that means nothing now, she will not hold me accountable for my misdeeds, therefore she is not granting me her forgiveness. I could continue pressing her to see me as her equal, but I will gain no ground with her. She is the meek and gentle type who will not break the rules even though they are dead. I admire that in some ways, but it can also be a source of annoyance and frustration.

"With you alive," Greta starts, drawing all my attention to her, a sickening glimmer of hope in her eyes, "you could escape, go to Duke Hammond's fortress—"

"Escape is impossible!" I say, fighting to keep my anger and frustration contained. I grip my bars tightly. "You see these bars? We will never get past these with our lives. We will only get past these bars when they decide to kill us." Greta's eyes will fill with fear now and she will beg me to escape and save her. It's only a matter of moments before she gives into her desperation. I watch her closely, waiting for the fear to fill her face.

A little fear enters her eyes, but her shoulders slowly drop with sadness. "We all have prayed for fourteen years to be delivered from the Queen's tyranny. Now to learn that you're alive…you're the true heir to your father's throne! You are our hope!—"

"I cannot be anyone's hope!" I say, my skin flushing with hot blood. My eyes widen along with Greta's, both of us surprised by my outburst. The air between us becomes despondent and I let go of my bars, dropping my hands in my lap. "Again, I'm sorry," I say softly. "There is no escape for either of us, only the promise of death, but we choose whether that promise has power over us or not. We will die, but will we die strong and happy, or will we die weak and subdued? That is our choice. That's where we can place our hope."

Greta's eyes glisten with tears as she slumps back on her heels. "Is that the fate you have consigned yourself to?"

I shake my head at her. "I don't believe in fate. I believe in the here and now and what we make of it. I will stay here with you at these bars until they come for you, or for me, or for us both. I just—" I take in a shaky breath "—the most I can do for you is to be here with you so that you're not alone."

"I…" She swallows hard and nods once. "I see...thank you."

An uncomfortable silence settles between us. I know that she and I both wish that so much more could be done to save our lives, but I'm no fool. I will not be tricked by false hope as Ravenna deceived me.

"Princess?" Greta asks, her voice small and pitiful.

"Yes?" I give her my full attention.

She taps her fingernails against her bars. "Will you–could you pray with me, please?"

"Pray with you!?" I ask, disdain sneaking into my voice. There have been a few times I prayed to God out of my own desperation, but prayers most often, if not always, go unheard. My fervent praying did not save my three toes.

She nods solemnly. "Please pray with me. It will bring me comfort."

I sigh. Prayer—a feeble illusion to comfort those in desperate times, but if this is what brings her comfort, then I will pray with her. I have prayed in desperate times even though my faith in God is…shaky, at best.

I nod once. "Of course."

Greta smiles weakly. "Thank you, Princess."

I almost tell her to stop calling me that dead title, but I bite my tongue. Greta clasps her hands in prayer and closes her eyes, bowing her head to the distant and deaf god above. I imitate her, clasping my hands in front of me and bowing my head. I say silent, meager prayers for Greta while peering at her from under my lashes. She looks calmer, her shoulders relaxed, her body no longer trembling. Prayer is usually a waste, but if it brings her comfort, then this is not a waste.

Moments pass. I run out of little meager prayers to say, so I repeat them again, again, and again. We pray in silence as the sun wanes behind the clouds, putting us in near darkness. It always seems to be dark when the black glass knights come for their prisoners. Why?

"Princess?" Greta asks, breaking our silence.

I look up at the shadow of her head, her face hidden in the darkness. "Yes?"

"There's some bones in here…'' She gestures to the few small bones scattered about her cell, careful not to push a single one from its place. "Where did they come from?"

Fear fills me. Will she ask where the rest went? I take in a deep breath to compose myself. "Those are some of the bones from the prisoners who died in your cell. Your bones will not be amongst theirs."

Greta nods, her body trembling a little. "Where's the rest?"

I nearly freeze up, but I conjure up a quick lie. "Ravenna's brother and her black glass knights come and collect most of them and take them out. I'm not sure why."

"Oh," Greta says, her body trembling more. God, for her sake and mine, I hope she believes me. How horrified she would be to know the evil, grisly truth. A frigid wind ghosts down the nape of my neck and passes through the little tears in the back of my dress. I shiver and sit back on my rump, drawing my knees to my chest and hugging them for some warmth. God, each passing day and night has grown colder, almost to the point of being unbearable. I hope there is at least one dress left behind for me to salvage, or a pair of trousers or a tunic or something!

"What season is it?" I ask Greta.

"Early winter."

"Early winter," I mutter to myself, hugging myself tighter. Last winter was far kinder than that one before, but God above only knows how kind this winter will be.

"I may have clothes to spare—"

"No!" I hold my hand up, stopping Greta. She stops tugging at her clothing. I wrap my arm about my legs. "Please don't."

"Are you sure?" she asks.

I nod once. "I'm sure." I watch Greta until she slowly lowers her hands to her lap. Something is different this time…as if something is closer to me than it has ever been. It's not death. It gives me…hope. Why?

Sara enters my mind. I grab her ring hanging from my neck. Sara entrusted me with her ring. I will never escape to deliver her ring to her husband. Even if I ever did escape—just to entertain this fantastical dream—how would I ever find her husband while fleeing for my life? I would not know which way to go nor who to turn to. If Ravenna has been taking the lives of the good and the innocent, then all who would remain would be evil men. Even if there is that one good soul left who would help me, most everyone I ever loved betrayed me in some way, small and big. Ravenna betrayed me and imprisoned me. Papa brought her into my life. Even if he did so unwittingly, he still brought her here and made her tyranny possible. Mama told none of us about her illness until it was too late for anyone to help her. Wessel abandoned me. He would have been knighted, too, the coward! William…my heart sinks just from the thought of him. Duke Hammond never came to rescue me. William may be the only one who has never hurt me nor betrayed me. Sara, too, though I only knew her for a day.

SLAM! of the wood door echoes down the hall. I freeze up and listen closely.

"Princess—"

"Shhh!" I hush Greta, looking back at her. She quiets.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. My heart drops. Black glass knights—they're coming for Greta.

"Princess!?" Greta calls out to me, her voice trembling.

My heart softens towards her and I grip my bars. "I'm here, Greta. I'm here for you."

"I'm frightened!" She clutches her bars and pulls herself up against them, perhaps hoping that the rust has weakened the iron over the years so much that if she leans against them enough, they will break. Desperation threatens to take hold of me. What can I say to comfort her?

"I'm here, Greta. I'm here. I'm not leaving."

"Princess!—" The knights come between Greta and I, their massive black bodies and black cloaks hiding her from me.

My eyes fill with hot tears and spill down my cheeks. "Greta…"

The knights unlock her cell door with the jiggling of keys and push it open, the hinges squealing loudly. They enter into her cell and grab her. She screams, chilling my blood. I whimper as fear rises up in me. I fight against the urge to squeeze my eyes shut and cover my ears so that I don't hear the tearing of her dress when the knights strip her naked. Greta screams and struggles against them as they drag her out of her cell, her dress still on her body. Why?

"Greta?" I ask and cling tighter to my bars, the rust cutting into my hands. I wince from all the sharp stabbing pains in my hands, but I tighten my grip about my bars. Why am I calling out to her, clinging to my bars tighter?

"Find a way out!" Greta tells me as the knights drag her down the hall the way they always come. "Get out of here! Go to Hammond's! Set your people free!"

"Greta!" I say. The knights turn the corner with Greta, their rhythmic march receding.

"Escape!" Greta says. The wood door slams, echoing down the hall until silence comes. I cling to my bars for dear life, stuck staring at the last place I saw her struggling silhouette. Escape? Set my people free? Were those truly her last words to me? I've heard hundreds, perhaps thousands of people's last words over my fourteen years of imprisonment, but never did I hear anyone pleading for me to escape. She did not beg me to save her, but to save my people. My people? Is anyone really my peo—

"Escape," a sinister voice says from somewhere in the dark. My stomach churns. I look where I think I heard the voice from.

"Is that what you're plotting?" the sinister voice asks from the darkness, allowing me to spot the shadow of his head barely standing out against the dark hall. He nearly blends in. I see how I missed him in the midst of the knights dragging Greta away.

"Finn," I say. My chilled blood heats up to a boiling point, flushing my face and swelling my chest. He steps out of the darkness into a lighter patch of darkness before my bars, his white hair barely visible. He glares down at me, his sneer easy enough to see despite the dim light.

"What are you doing?" Finn asks, the question strikingly odd with his sinister tone.

"What do you mean?" I ask. How my body begs to tremble with fear before him, but I fight it. Too long I trembled in fear at his feet. I will not tremble before him ever again! He slowly crouches before me, his height and bodily strength over me still just as imposing as if he was standing.

"You know what I mean, little bitch."

I shake my head slowly, confusion furrowing my brows. "No, I don't know what you mean. All I am doing is kneeling here in this hell, clinging to my bars, and looking into the face of hell's worst demon with no more fear in my heart."

Finn scoffs at me. "You do have fear in your heart. I feel it." He leans closer to my bars, putting our faces only inches from each other. "I see it. I'm going to ask you once more. What are you doing?"

My heart thrums like a hummingbird's wings. Cold perspiration forms all over me, soaking my dress and molding it to my body. The cold sweat drips down the sides of my face and makes my hands clammy. It takes everything in me to not shrink back from him despite my fear. I have no idea what he is talking about, and the wrong answer will mean death for me. But what answer can I possibly give him that will satisfy him? If the truth leads me to my death, then it leads me to my death.

"I answered you before. I do not know what you mean."

His face contorts into a more hideous face. "DAMN YOU!" He pounds his fist into my bar beside my face, making me flinch and almost retreat to the farthest corner of my cell, but I fight the urge to retreat and keep my face at my bars. The muffled metallic hum of his fist against my bar fades to silence except for his loud, harsh breathing flaring his nostrils.

"My sister is very close to relinquishing her word to keep all men's hands from you. Give her a few more days, she will relinquish her word. When she does, I will come into your cell along with every man who wants to come in, and we will all fuck you as the whore you are. I promise you that I will make you know hell intimately. When you are at the height of humiliation and shame, I will slit your throat and revel in it while you bleed out on this floor. Some of the men may fuck you as you die, and they may even fuck your corpse."

His evil, vulgar words nearly make me retch, but I manage to keep my meal of rat down and keep my eyes with his.

"You hold no more power over me," I say with a soft yet resolute voice.

Finn yells and draws his knife, arcing it back over my head. I nearly shrink, but I pull my bottom off my heels to kneel, looking his blade straight in the eyes if his blade had eyes. Finn starts bringing it down to strike me, but he stops the sharp point of his knife an inch before my eye, the blade trembling in his hand. He growls and repositions the point of his blade at my throat.

"I will slit your throat deeply as you're being fucked. You'll clutch at your throat and you'll die that way, and I will watch every moment of it." Finn rises to his feet abruptly, sheathing his knife by his hip. He turns from me and marches down the hall, turning the corner and disappearing from my sight. The wood door slams shut.

I stay at my bars on bended knees. Finn has threatened me with such evil before, but never has he been so angry and out of control. All I did differently was stand up to him in silence and refuse to tremble before his feet out of fear. He must hate that. He is a man who wants control over everyone, perhaps even over his own sister.

I cannot shake the feeling that something is different about all this. The knights did not tear Greta's clothing from her body. Greta was begging me to escape this hell and go to Hammond's fortress. Sara spoke of forces that were, perhaps still are, amassing at his fortress. The way Finn acted...he asked me what am I doing. He grew angry with me when I told him for a second time that I have no idea what he is talking about, and he grew far angrier when I took his power over me away from him. He did ask me about escaping and what I am plotting, so perhaps he believes I am devising a plan to escape. God above and Satan below both know that I am not, but Finn seems convinced.

There is no escape from here, only the hellish release Finn promised me when Ravenna relinquishes her word. She will relinquish it, that I do not doubt. It is only a matter of time, and there is not a damn thing I can do about it except wait…but I still cannot shake the feeling that something is different. It's in the air. Finn must have sensed it when he was here. I sense it now. Something is different, but what?