a few who weren’t interested in the charms of a maiden. Ash shouted to those guards’ horses, who promptly bucked their riders to the ground.
They raced past to reach the open farms beyond the edge of town. From here, they might be able to simply outrun the queen and her men. How many times had Stepmama and the Red Hoods escaped the law in her youth?
“I know what you’re thinking,” said Ash. “But Nana’s tired, Snow and I are riding double, and Legs is off who knows where. Also, it’s been a long day, and I really want to stab someone.”
Stepmama nodded. “We finish this.”
They found the queen a half-mile up the road, surrounded by roughly a dozen guardsmen. Ash cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted. Birds swooped from the trees in response to peck, scratch, and of course, to poop. Ash had probably been quite explicit about that last bit. Mice, chipmunks, and other rodents scurried out of the weeds to bite exposed ankles and crawl up inviting pant legs.
One guard managed to raise his crossbow. Goldie ripped the stuffed weasel from her shoulder and hurled it into his face. It wasn’t much of a missile, but the sight of the unnaturally gaping weasel flying as if to bite off his nose made him cry out and raise his arms.
Stepmama drew her sword, a short, single-edged blade. Nana knocked the struggling guards aside, and Stepmama jumped to the ground to yank open the door of the ornately decorated carriage.
The interior was empty. Stepmama whirled, but it was too late. A second group of guards emerged from the woods, crossbows raised and ready. Goldie spun toward the closest, but a bolt punched through her shoulder, and her chain clinked to the ground.
“If they resist, shoot them, and then shoot their horses.” The queen emerged from the shadows. She patted the hand mirror hanging from her belt and gave Stepmama a mocking smile. “Mirror, mirror, at my side. Show me where the Red Hoods ride. You really thought you could hide your plans from me?”
“Mirror, mirror, made of glass,” said Ash. “Shove that thing right up your—”
Goldie punched her in the shoulder before she could finish. Good to know her uninjured arm still worked.
The queen was softer than Stepmama remembered. Gone were the worn, fur-trimmed leathers and metal rivets, replaced by velvet and silk. Her skin was almost as pale as her daughter’s. It was hard to imagine this pampered royal helping to kill Grandma all those years ago.
Stepmama dropped her sword.
“The knives too.”
She removed both daggers and nodded for the other Red Hoods to do the same. “What will you do to my girls?”
“Well, they’re not true Red Hood Riders, are they? Just children playing dress-up. But they did kidnap my daughter. I could order them executed, but I may just lock them away until they’re too old and withered to present a threat.”
She drew a short sword and walked closer. “You, on the other hand . . . I remember you.”
“Mother, stop!” cried Snow.
Stepmama opened her fan and used it to cool her face. “Is it true what happened to your man? They say he died breaking into a house. That he tried to sneak down the chimney and ended up falling into a pot of boiling water. What an embarrassing death for the leader of the mutts.”
The queen snarled and lunged. Stepmama snapped her fan shut and stepped into the attack. She jabbed the butt of the fan into the queen’s wrist, then struck the bridge of her nose. As the queen stumbled backward, Stepmama twisted the sword from her hand and brought the blade around to press against her throat.
“I wasn’t always a Red Hood.” Stepmama pulled the blade just enough to start a trickle of blood down the queen’s neck. The guards lowered their weapons. “I used to ride with another gang back home. In your language, the name translates to ‘Fangirls.’”
“And then what happened?” Legs demanded. She was furious about having missed the excitement.
It was Snow who answered. “Stepmama told me it was my right to decide my mother’s fate.”
“You should have shoved her into an oven and let her burn,” said Legs. “No, wait. Throw her into a tub full of vipers and toads and spiders.”
Snow stared.
“Don’t worry,” said Goldie, who was adjusting the stuffed weasel on her shoulder. Porridge was slightly worse for wear from being used as a weapon. “She’s an odd one, but you get used to her.”