door at the end of the hallway, she saw herself as they must see her: magic eyes and wild hair and edges never quite substantial, never quite real. She was more than any of them expected. She was far more than any one thing. She existed beyond the witches or the monsters. She existed outside the realms of possibility.
I am queen.
Ren opened the door and walked inside.
52
“WELCOME, IRENA.”
A woman sat on the other side of the room, behind an enormous desk of carved glass. It was supported by golden antlers instead of regular table legs. Snow-white furs covered the floor.
It was the first nonglass room in the whole castle.
Ren stared.
Whereas the castle was pale, the woman was pure intensity. Long, mahogany-colored hair cascaded over her shoulders, parting around a face of sun-kissed skin. At the point formed by the angles of her cheekbones, her lips were shellacked red. Her eyes, fringed with depthless black, were gold. She wore a silver-white gown with a high collar and sleeves that reached to her wrists. The gown sparkled, as if faceted, and Ren knew, instinctively, that somehow—some way—it, too, was made of glass. Its paleness only enhanced her color.
Into the silence, Ren asked:
“Who are you?”
The woman in the chair stood up. The gown chimed. She walked around the desk, the gown rippling like waves. Her hair caught unseen lights; like the Mountain, like the castle, it glowed.
“My name is Dagmara,” she said. Like her gown, her voice chimed. Red lips over white teeth. “Irena, I am the queen.”
Ren’s stomach plummeted the entire length of the Glass Mountain. Probably hit the bottom of the valley floor.
“You’re—”
“Yes,” said Queen Dagmara. “Your mother.”
She smiled. It was radiant. It bit Ren right to the core. Ren could hardly believe her ears. Her eyes. Shock had a hold on her, and everything else was pushed out.
Then Queen Dagmara said: “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to tell you that, Irena.”
Ren swallowed.
“Someone else told me,” she said. Then amended: “Well, something else.”
Queen Dagmara’s lashes fluttered. She produced a soft, liquid smile.
“Ah, yes,” she said. “The Leszy.”
Ren was too surprised to speak. Queen Dagmara seemed to wait for her to gather her wits, reaching out, readjusting an inkwell on the desk. The gown was more like a cape, with tight, fitted sleeves and gossamer-thin glass between the sleeves and the bodice. It reminded Ren of the wings of a dragon.
The Dragon.
“So,” said Ren, voice trembling with fury. “You’ve chosen the side of the monsters?”
The queen burst out laughing.
It was loud and beautiful, and with another ripple of glass, she raised her hand to her mouth. She smiled around the hand, eyes glittering. She looked . . .
Feline.
“Certainly not,” said the queen. “You’ve got it all wrong, Irena.”
Ren spoke through gritted teeth. “Enlighten me.”
She didn’t trust herself not to transform. Not to leap across the table and tear the queen to pieces, right then and there. She wouldn’t have cared. Any sympathy she’d had for this queen was long gone. This wasn’t her mother. Her real mother was home in the castle, mourning the death of her brother.
Ry?.
Unperturbed, Queen Dagmara smiled warmly.
She didn’t seem to notice that her daughter’s skin was rippling with suppressed fury. That fur was dancing in and out of sight. That her nails were slipping out, shifting back in. That her eyes were twitching between animal and human, wanting to be animal, not ready to change.
Yet.
First, Ren had to know.
“You’ve grown up to be a warrior,” said Queen Dagmara. “So much more than we could have dreamed.”
We.
Gold flashed outside the window. The Dragon was circling. Ren wasn’t afraid of it, or if she was, then the fear rolled straight into fury. Became indistinguishable. Fed the roiling, burning storm inside her. The queen reached out, as if she was going to touch Ren’s cheek. Ren twitched back, like a cat. The queen’s hand fell away, and for the first time, her expression faltered.
Ren hung back. She’d seen enough monsters. Played enough games. Slipped through enough loopholes, made enough enemies. She prowled before the desk.
“I think,” she said levelly, “I should hear everything.”
The queen sighed. She gestured to one of the chairs near the desk, draped in more white fur.
“Very well,” said the queen. “Sit down, Irena.”
Ren did not sit. The queen did not seem to mind. Instead, she rested her chin on one supremely elegant hand and smiled. Her mouth was thin and feline. It took Ren a moment to realize it was her mouth, too.
“A little over seventeen