The Snow Queen's Shadow Read Online Free PDF Page B

finally escaping at midday. She grabbed a quick meal from the kitchen and made her way to the chapel, where Beatrice’s body had been laid out in preparation for the funeral.
    Honor guards stood to either side of the entrance. Danielle greeted them in passing and ducked inside. Sunlight shone through the stained glass windows at the tops of the walls. The air smelled of incense, a mixture of lavender and cypress, which rose from silver thuribles, incense burners suspended from the ceiling behind the altar.
    At the front of the church, Queen Beatrice’s body rested upon a waist-high platform to the right of the altar. Her hair had been left loose, framing her face in gray. She wore a formal blue gown, and her gold crown rested upon her chest.
    Danielle wiped her face. Beatrice never wore her crown when she could avoid it. She had always been happier in a sailor’s jacket, her hair catching the ocean winds. It was as though an imposter lay in Beatrice’s place, as if this were all some cruel jest.
    Armand and Jakob stood beside the body, talking to Father Isaac. Jakob looked like a miniature version of his father. Both wore tailored black jackets, dark trousers, and polished boots. But where Jakob was sniffling and wiping his nose on his sleeve, Armand’s face was stone.
    “She looks so fragile.” Danielle scooped Jakob into her arms. Loose threads hung like the legs of an insect where he had managed to lose the top button of his jacket. His small fingers gripped Danielle’s cloak.
    “Why won’t Gramma wake up?”
    Danielle kissed him, unable to answer.
    “Because your grandmother is dead,” Armand said.
    “Why?” Jakob burrowed his head into Danielle’s shoulder. “Why is she dead?”
    “Your grandmother was sick for a very long time,” Danielle said. “She was hurting, and she was very tired. She’s not hurting anymore. She’s at peace.”
    Jakob turned his head, peeking at Beatrice from the corner of his eye. “Will you die?”
    “Yes,” said Armand. “Everyone dies.”
    “But not for a long time,” Danielle said sharply. “Armand, what’s wrong?”
    “You’d prefer I lie to my son?”
    “I’d prefer you remember he’s not yet three years old. He doesn’t understand—”
    “What is there to understand?” Armand stepped away, turning his back on the queen’s body. “These empty rituals we perform to comfort ourselves? We will spend these days paying our respects to a broken husk. We will share pleasant memories, ignoring her flaws and making her out to be a saint called back to Heaven. We will cry false tears, though all knew she was dying. We will ‘celebrate her life’ and pretend death doesn’t wait to take us all at any moment.”
    There was no compassion in his voice. He spoke as though to a stranger. Momentarily speechless, Danielle turned to Father Isaac. Isaac had known Armand for years, long before Danielle came to the palace
    “Your Highness, your son looks to you for strength,” said Isaac, his words ever so slightly chastising.
    “He looks for lies.” Armand barely even glanced at Jakob. “We dress death in its finest garb, arrange it to appear restful and calm. Let him see the world as it truly is.”
    “As it truly is?” Isaac’s bushy brows lowered slightly.
    Danielle reached toward Armand’s shoulder. “Armand, that’s enough. What’s the matter?”
    Armand pulled away. “My mother is dead. I’ll thank you not to harangue me with foolish questions.” With that, he walked out of the chapel, leaving Danielle to stare in silence.
    “What’s wrong with Papa?” Jakob asked.
    “He’s upset.” Danielle squeezed him tight, planting another kiss on his sweaty brow. Had Armand been anyone else, she might have suspected him of drinking, but Armand rarely indulged these days. “Sometimes it’s easier to be angry than sad.”
    Isaac placed a hand on Jakob’s back. “Your father loves you. His anger is not toward you.”
    “Mad at Gramma?” Jakob