Through Eyes of Green

By Christine Smith

Pure, icy silence surrounded the cavern as Kai beheld her. She didn’t say a word. No intake of breath, no movement. Her eyes were the last link of life—two swirling, black pupils attached to a young girl’s body of solid ice. But in those eyes, oh, within those eyes the entire galaxy danced its mad, endless waltz.

The twirl of infinite stars slowed, and a shape replaced the dizzying turn of worlds until Kai could see a perfect reflection of himself within each pupil.

Snow covered his head and his fine, royal blue fur coat—hanging heavy and awkward on his thin frame. He drew it closer.

The snow never ceased. Despite an icicle-wrought ceiling above, it fell endlessly, and yet only two inches of the stuff ever covered the rocky floor.

For this was the Snow Queen’s domain. And her prison.

“I see my sight is serving you well.”

Though her frozen lips did not—could not—move, her lilting voice flowed through his mind as clear as the chill down his back.

The image of him in those unearthly pupils drew closer, as if he stepped toward a mirror.

He slid backward, though the image did not change. She could see everything. “Yes,” he said.

“So why are you here?”

He swallowed, looked away from her frozen form, never aging since that fateful day.

“With my eyes you have everything you want, can see every corner of the earth. Yet you come back here.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, although he still saw the room, saw himself standing with snow-capped hair and that pretentious coat—but from her point of view. Because that was how it worked, ever since he broke the mirror.

This place had been a frequent haunt of his childhood, back when her cheeks were rosy and warm. Back when she smiled. Back when she was his best friend—the daughter of the Snow Queen, ruler of the fae mountains perched high above his own struggling human kingdom.

“Have you come to gloat, Kai?”

“No!” His eyes flew open, disconnecting his sight from hers as his shout echoed through the cavern.

“Then why?” Though her voice could not echo, for it only reached his mind, it still struck harder and stayed longer than any scream of his own. “Have you not tortured me enough?”

He took in a shuddering breath, that ever-sharp pain behind his right eye stinging worse than ever.

“Don’t have green eyes,” his mother often said. But he did. He always wanted. Wanted and wanted and wanted. Because he’d never had, living on the dirty streets of a worthless kingdom. When he discovered the Snow Queen’s All-Seeing Mirror—a mirror that could reveal any place in all the galaxy—his wanting became unbearable.

So he stole it.

He did not know at the time that it held all of the Snow Queen’s magic. Or that she would die if it was shattered.

He could still feel that awful moment—running through the icy cavern with it clutched to his chest, the princess chasing after him, begging. His claim that he needed it, needed food, needed money, needed… No. Wanted. The princess’ cry, his foot skidding on the ice, the mirror slipping from his fingers, falling, falling… And then that horrid, piercing shatter of a thousand shards flying through the air—one into his right eye, another into her heart, freezing her forever.

Her mother withered to nothing, the fae kingdom fell into shambles, while he walked away into riches.

With the shard in his eye and the other in her heart, he could use the new Snow Queen’s magic, use her to see any corner of the world. He became his king’s eyes—spying on enemies, searching for hidden treasure, whatever he needed. All while she was trapped, forced to look upon whatever he bid her. Year after year after year.

He had never returned. Until today. Everything he had ever wanted lay in his grasp. But with all that wanting finally satiated, a new hollow aching took its place.

“Kai.” Her voice whispered through his mind. Gone was the frigid bite; only weariness weighed upon her words. “Why have you come?”

He forced himself to look at her, really look. Not with her infinite eyes magicked by the All-Seeing Mirror, but his own eyes. His all-too-greedy, all-too-human eyes. For a moment he could almost see her—golden-haired and laughing with a warm glow across her smooth skin.

He fell to his knees, dropped his head. “I made a mistake, Catelina. I allowed my eyes to become green, to be blinded by envy.” He took a shuddering breath as that ache squeezed until he could barely breathe. It had to be let go.

“You, Catelina. Your friendship, your love, was enough to fill my wanting to overflowing. It was my heart that became frozen. I do not expect your forgiveness, but I need you to know: I am so, so sorry.” He closed his eyes and, for the first time since a mirror shard flew within, tears fell.

A soft, warm hand touched his chin. “Kai.” The gentle voice did not enter his mind but flowed through the air.

His eyes flew open, and there she stood, no longer a girl but a young woman. But those eyes were exactly as he remembered. Gone was the swirling universe, replaced with sparkling blue irises more beautiful than the thousands of things he had seen through them.

With a tear-filled smile, she held out a hand. Before he even looked, he knew what it held. The pain in his right eye had vanished, the hollowed ache had filled. For in her palm puddled his tears, with a tiny mirror shard in the middle.

Catelina blew it away, tears and all, and then cupped his face in her palms. “Dear Kai. Your tears of repentance have made us both whole.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Christine Smith lives in the south where days playing in the thick woods first sparked her love for enchanted forests and magical lands. One day she thought it’d be fun to write stories about such things. Nearly 20 years and much caffeine later, she’s still writing. A rare extroverted writer, dragon-lover, and fairy tale enthusiast, her greatest passion is spreading the world with words of light and a touch of fairy dust.

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