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Authors: Jim C. Hines

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BOOK: The Stepsister Scheme
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Danielle had nearly choked when she heard that last variant.
She grabbed the bread and tore off a hunk of crust, which she tossed to the window. The dove fluttered to catch it before it hit the ground. Bread dangling from his beak, the dove flew up to perch upon a tapestry to the left of the window. Crumbs fell past the old weaving, a faded depiction of the Midsummer War. The tiny stitching showed fairies and their enchanted servants standing at the edge of a great crevasse as armored knights and human wizards drove them back.
An old wine stain made a skirmish between human cavalry and a pair of griffins appear even bloodier. Danielle ran a finger over the stain. White wine should bleach out the red, and would be far less noticeable. She turned to ask for a bottle of white wine, then bit her lip. Talia was right. She was no longer a servant. But old habits were hard to break.
“The birds, you train them?” asked Talia.
“Not exactly.” Danielle grabbed another piece of bread for the dove, wondering how she could explain without convincing yet another servant that their new princess was mad. This was the first time Talia had spoken to her, beyond the requirements of her duties. “You usually tend to the queen.”
A brief nod as Talia straightened the candleholders mounted to either side of the window. Each was hand-carved oak, shaped to resemble a dragon. The dragon’s tail held the candles, while a mirror clutched in its claws reflected the light back into the room.
“Do you have family here at the palace?” Danielle asked, trying again.
“No.”
Silence stretched between them, until a shout from the hallway made Danielle jump.
“I wish to see my stepsister at once!”
Danielle’s throat tightened as Charlotte barged through the door, escorted by two guardsmen. It was nearly four months since the wedding, and the sight of her elder stepsister was still almost enough to make her bow her head. Almost.
“You can go,” Danielle said to the guards.
They hesitated, then bowed and backed away.
“Are you sure, Highness?” Talia asked.
“She’s still my sister.” Danielle forced herself to meet Charlotte’s angry glare. Small, mostly-healed scabs marred the beautiful porcelain of her cheeks. Charlotte was taller than Danielle, her limbs graceful and slender. She wore a heavy blue cloak with gold trim, which accented her brown curls. Ribbons of silver and gold were braided through her hair.
Charlotte’s neck muscles tightened as she studied Danielle in turn, taking in the emerald gown, the silver comb in her hair, the simple ruby bracelet one of her ladies-in-waiting had insisted she wear, saying it highlighted her eyes. Danielle fought to keep from fidgeting. She was still uncomfortable with the luxury of palace life, but she wasn’t about to let Charlotte see that discomfort.
This wasn’t the first time Charlotte had visited the palace, using her relationship with the princess to try to ingratiate herself to various nobles. She had never before come to Danielle’s chambers, though.
The months had been unkind to Danielle’s stepsister. Charlotte’s mother had groomed her for a life of luxury, leaving her woefully unprepared to run the household that had once belonged to Danielle’s father. Charlotte’s face seemed paler than Danielle remembered, and her eyes were shadowed and bloodshot.
Talia stepped around the bed, putting herself between Danielle and Charlotte. “Would the lady like something to eat or drink?” she asked.
“I’m not here to dine,” Charlotte snapped. “I’m here to—” Her voice rose to a squeak as she spotted the dove perched on the tapestry. She backed away until she bumped the door, her wide eyes never leaving the bird. “Get that foul beast from my sight at once!”
The dove puffed out his feathers and flapped his wings, dropping the remainder of the crust to the floor. Charlotte screamed. She raised her hands to protect her face, just as she had done at Danielle’s wedding.
Danielle flinched at the memory. She remembered the hateful glares of her stepsisters, and the cool, calculating look in her stepmother’s eyes as she watched Danielle and her new husband pass through the crowd of well-wishers. She had tightened her fingers on Armand’s arm, telling herself she would not let them ruin this day. This was her day. Hers and Armand’s. Finally, she was
free
.
Despite everything, her eyes had begun to water. It should have been her mother standing there, not her stepmother. Her father, not Charlotte and Stacia.
“It will never last,” her stepmother had said, loud enough for Danielle to hear. “As if a prince could be happy with such a common girl.”
Charlotte and Stacia had laughed, as did a few others in the crowd. The prince’s arm tensed. But before he could speak, a group of doves swooped down, wings fluttering as they clawed and pecked at Danielle’s stepmother. Charlotte and Stacia screamed. Stacia tried to club the birds with her hands, but her efforts only drew the birds’ wrath to herself and her sister. Only when Danielle begged the birds to stop did they finally fly away, leaving her stepmother blind and bloodied.
Given the events of that day, Danielle could understand Charlotte’s reaction. She turned to address the dove. “Go,” she said. “I’ll save some food for you and your friends.”
Obediently, the dove hopped from the tapestry and swooped out the window. Charlotte shoved past Danielle, pulling the window shut so hard one of the panes cracked. Her hands shook as she fastened the latch.
“He wouldn’t have hurt you,” Danielle said.
Charlotte whirled. Pointing to the scabs on her face, she said, “Your filthy birds disfigured me for life. They murdered my mother. They would have killed me as well, if we hadn’t fought them off.”
“They didn’t murder—”
“Shut up.” Charlotte pulled her cloak tighter, like a child trying to protect herself from the cold. “They blinded her. For seven days she lay in bed as the wounds spread through her blood.” She laughed, a high-pitched sound that bordered on madness. “Releasing doves at a wedding is supposed to be a sign of prosperity. Tell me, Princess, what does it portend when the doves try to
eat the guests?
”
“They were confused and scared,” Danielle said.
“They swarmed over us.” Charlotte swiped the wine cup Talia had brought and drained it in one motion. “Nobody else received so much as a scratch.”
Danielle shook her head. She was certain she hadn’t ordered the birds to attack her stepmother and stepsisters. Not once in all the years since her father’s death had she struck back at her tormenters. Whatever fluke had caused the birds to attack, Danielle was positive she hadn’t been the cause.
Almost positive.
Charlotte tossed the cup to the floor and glared at Talia. “Haven’t you better things to do? I wish to speak to my stepsister about my inheritance, and I’ll not have a servant lurking about, gathering bits of gossip like a dog snatching scraps from her master’s table.”
Charlotte used to speak to Danielle in that same, dismissive tone. But Danielle had never met that disdainful glare with such a cold, tight smile. Talia stooped to retrieve the cup, using the hem of her apron to blot up the spilled wine. Her eyes never left Charlotte’s face.
“I would be happy to escort you to the chancellor’s office,” Talia said. “Father Isaac is highly knowledgeable about such matters, and he—”
“I see,” Charlotte said. “Now that you’ve married into royalty, you hope to use your newfound friends to bully my sister and me, to rob us of everything we have left.”
“That’s absurd,” said Danielle, already weary. “Thank you, Talia. I’ll ring if we need anything further.”
Talia hesitated, then turned to go.
The instant the door closed, Charlotte whirled on Danielle. “You murdered my mother,
Your Highness
.” She still moved with a faint limp, courtesy of that night when Prince Armand had arrived at the house bearing Danielle’s lost slipper.
Danielle took a deep breath. “Is that why you’ve come? To hurl your grief and anger at my feet like the soiled linens you used to fling on my floor? I’m sorry about your mother, Charlotte. I asked the king and queen to provide healers, but—”
“My sister and I want
nothing
from you,” said Charlotte, stepping so close that spit sprayed Danielle’s face. From the smell, Charlotte had imbibed far more than a single cup of wine today. “Unless you’ve the power to raise the dead?”
Danielle took a discreet step back. “Then why are you here? Your mother left everything to you and Stacia. My father’s home, my mother’s garden, all of it belongs to you now. What more do you want from me?”
Charlotte smiled. Her free hand unfastened the bronze clasp at her neck, and her cloak slid to the floor. Beneath, Charlotte wore peasant’s garb: a loose shirt of white linen, and a rough brown skirt. Normally, strings of gold or jewels would have adorned her long neck. Today she wore only a leather necklace threaded through a smooth blue stone. A long hunting knife hung from a rope belt. Her feet were bare, aside from a soiled bandage on her right foot. Charlotte’s own mother had cut away part of her heel in a deranged attempt to fit Charlotte’s foot to Danielle’s discarded slipper.
“I’m here to do what my mother should have done,” Charlotte whispered. Eyes wide, she yanked the knife from its sheath.
Danielle backed toward the wall. The knife alone wasn’t enough to frighten her. She couldn’t count the number of times Charlotte had threatened to throw Danielle into the fireplace, or bury her in the garden, or drag her down to the canals and drown her like an unwanted kitten. But those clothes . . . Charlotte would have sooner died than be seen in such poor fashion. She had always been her mother’s fancy doll, garbed in the most expensive dresses and jewelry, even as Danielle shivered in ash-stained rags.
“You like it?” Charlotte asked, stroking her necklace. She waved a hand at the door. The iron bolt slid into place.
“How did you do that?” Danielle asked.
The blade caught the sunlight as Charlotte approached. “You think you’re the only one with secrets? I know all about you, little Cinderwench. How your dead mother enchanted the prince, making him choose you over me. How she showered you with silver and gold for the ball. How she helped you scar my face and murder my mother.”
Danielle reached the bedside table. Never taking her eyes from Charlotte, she reached down until her fingers brushed the edge of the tray Talia had left.
“I tried to help you and Stacia,” Danielle said. “Armand wanted you imprisoned for your deceptions. I’m the one who urged mercy. I allowed your mother’s will to stand uncontested, rather than fighting you for my father’s home. I gave you the chance to start your own lives.”
“The life I wanted, the life I was promised, is the one you took from me,” Charlotte said. “You should thank me,
Princess
. Soon you’ll be with your beloved mother.”
“At least I’ll be safe from yours,” Danielle snapped.
Charlotte’s eyes widened.
Danielle swung the tray with both hands, scattering the remnants of her meal across the room. As a weapon, the wooden platter was slow and awkward. Charlotte twisted, catching the blow on her left shoulder. She grabbed the other side of the tray, then sliced her knife at Danielle’s arm.
Danielle released the tray. The knife missed, and Charlotte stumbled back. She threw the tray to the floor and advanced again.
“Help me, friends,” Danielle whispered. She picked up
The Tome of Noble Manners
and held it in front of her body. It was no shield, but given the wordiness of the author, the book should be able to stop a knife.
Charlotte lunged. Danielle moved the book, catching the knife near the corner. The steel barely penetrated the heavy cover, but the force behind the blow was enough to knock Danielle into the desk. Other books clattered to the floor. The inkwell fell and shattered.
Perhaps it was madness, but as the book was torn from Danielle’s hand, her only thought was how difficult it would be to clean the ink from the tile grout.
The bedroom door rattled in its frame, but there was no way to unlock the bolt from the outside.
Charlotte reached for Danielle’s throat, and the window exploded inward. Shards of glass tinkled to the floor as the old dove led a pair of pigeons into the room. Charlotte screamed and spun, slashing wildly.
Danielle ripped one of the pillows from the bed and flung it over Charlotte’s arm, tangling the knife. When Charlotte turned, Danielle punched her in the nose. Charlotte stumbled back. Danielle grabbed the stool and raised it overhead.
Before Danielle could strike, Charlotte touched her necklace and shouted, “No!”
The stool shattered. Charred wood and splinters rained down around Danielle. Charlotte blinked, looking almost as shocked as Danielle felt.
A pigeon caught Charlotte’s hair in his feet and tugged. Another pecked her ear. She waved the knife about so frantically she almost cut her own face, but it was enough to drive the birds back.
Danielle raced toward the bed, but her foot slipped on the books, and she fell hard. She rolled away from Charlotte, broken glass and wood pricking at her back. One of the pigeons dove for Charlotte’s face, but a lucky swing of the knife sent him tumbling against the bed, blood dripping from his wing.
BOOK: The Stepsister Scheme
5Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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