The Stepsister Scheme (6 page)

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Authors: Jim C. Hines

BOOK: The Stepsister Scheme
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Talia turned to the queen. “Bea, I’ll have my hands full keeping this one out of trouble.” She jerked a thumb at Snow, who rolled her eyes. “I can’t be a nursemaid to both.”
Danielle folded her arms. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but your son is also my husband. My own stepsister may have taken him. The question isn’t whether or not I’m going after her, it’s whether or not these two are coming with me.”
The queen studied her for a long time, until Danielle began to think she had overstepped herself. “Three extraordinary girls,” she whispered, with another of those soft, sad smiles. “I can see why Armand was drawn to you.”
“Your Majesty—” Talia began.
Beatrice raised one hand. “My dear Talia, this is the girl who snuck from her house for three nights to attend the winter ball, under the very noses of her stepsisters and stepmother. When they discovered the truth, they locked her away. Yet when Armand appeared, she again escaped her prison to find him. Would you have me lock Princess Danielle in the dungeons to prevent her from doing what she believes is right? Do you think even that would stop her?”
“
I
could stop her,” Talia muttered under her breath.
“That’s enough.” Beatrice leaned forward to kiss Danielle’s forehead, then did the same to Talia and Snow. “Danielle must be a part of this. I feel it in my heart.”
Talia shook her head. “I hope your heart doesn’t get us knifed in ours.” With a sigh, she turned back toward the doorway. “Come on, Princess. Let’s get you ready.”
“Find my son,” Beatrice said, turning back to the mirror. “And stay safe.”

 

CHAPTER 3
C
LIMBING UP FROM the secret chambers beneath the palace was less disconcerting than the descent, but by the time they reached the top, Danielle’s hands had cramped into claws. Years of servitude had given her strength, but climbing used different muscles than cleaning. Beneath her, Talia muttered impatiently as she waited for Danielle to open the hidden panel.
Danielle started to step into her room, but Talia moved past her. She searched the room, then dropped to the floor to check beneath the bed.
“What now?” Danielle asked, once Talia waved for her to follow. The pillow Talia had stuffed into the window frame blocked the sunlight, giving the room a cold, evening feel. She moved the pigeon to the center of the bed, then bent to retrieve a chunk of bread from the floor. Everything was as it had been, from the scattered mess of her meal to the bloody dove staring sightlessly at the ceiling.
Danielle picked up the dove, moving him to the desk next to the books. She took off the scarf she had used for the pigeon and wrapped it around the dove’s body to make a crude shroud. Once they returned, she would see about giving the bird a decent burial, perhaps by the bakery, given how the dove had taken to swooping down to swipe whatever fresh-baked goods he could get his claws on.
“You’ll need to change your clothes,” Talia said, eyeing Danielle’s dress.
Cobwebs had turned the blue velvet gown a dingy gray. The heavy skirt had probably dusted the entire height of the pit. Dirt and grass streaked the shoulder, where Talia had pushed her to the ground earlier. Dots of ink and blood stained the side. Danielle’s hand traced the design on the bodice, a soaring gull outlined in tiny pearls. Armand had commissioned the design for her.
“Why do I always have to carry everything?” Snow asked as she stepped out of the privy. Two large sacks hung from her back, the straps crossing over her chest.
“Because you’re the one who insists on bringing your entire wardrobe every time we leave the palace.” Talia took one of the sacks and brought it to the foot of the bed. A rainbow of silk, satin, velvet, and linen began to pile onto the mattress as Talia dug through the clothes, until the pile threatened to topple onto the poor pigeon. Danielle squeezed past Talia and moved him to safety.
Eventually, Talia produced a faded pair of trousers and a loose-fitting yellow shirt. A matching cap followed. “Wear those, Princess.”
Snow dumped the other sack at the foot of the bed. She watched the pigeon hop back, and smiled. “He’s moving well. I doubt he’ll be flying for at least a month, but he should recover.”
“Let me know when the two of you are finished worrying about birds,” Talia said. “Some of us would like to try to save the prince, too.”
“Oh, hush,” said Snow. To Danielle, she added, “The body can recover from almost anything, given time and strength. You just have to help it along.” She reached out and patted the pigeon’s head.
“Thank you,” said Danielle. She pulled up the trousers, then took the calf-high boots Talia had produced from the second sack. They smelled like rotting grass.
“Carry this as well,” Talia said, handing her a slender, sheathed dagger. The hilt was gold and ivory. Leaping dolphins adorned the black leather hilt. “Dolphins are dangerous creatures. They look beautiful enough, but they can kill a shark.” She arched an eyebrow. “Get the point?”
Danielle strapped the knife to her hip. A brown vest with a poorly mended seam hung low enough to hide the weapon from casual view.
“Good enough.” Talia turned to Snow. “If you’re finished with the bird?”
Snow clapped her hands and hurried to the bed. Danielle turned away as Snow began to strip, tossing her clothes to the floor. Talia did the same, though she at least moved around behind the curtained bed for modesty.
“How do I look?” asked Snow. She wore a low-cut gown the color of blood. She tossed a light riding cloak over her shoulders, pulling the rabbit fur trim to her cheeks. She smiled and curtsied. “The Lady Anneliese Elina O’Dette of Emrildale.”
Talia shook her head. “That is . . . atrocious.” To Danielle, she said, “Call her m’lady. Anne of Emrildale, if anyone asks. I trust you’ll have no trouble pretending to be a servant?”
“I think I can manage,” Danielle said, matching the dryness in Talia’s voice.
Talia finished pulling on her own boots, then began to dig through the second sack. She donned a shoulder bag, inserting the spindle whip she had taken from below. She also produced a pair of slender, metal-topped sticks which she used to twist her hair into a tightly braided knot at the base of her neck.
“Let’s get moving.” Talia paused at the door. “I doubt we’ll find anyone at the house, but if we do, you stay behind me, Princess. If I say run, you run. Understand?”
Snow clapped her hands. “Come along now. I’ll have no bickering among my servants.” She slipped past Talia and stepped into the hall.
As she followed, Danielle heard Talia muttering, “Next time,
I
get to be the spoiled wench.”
 
Not a single guard appeared to notice as they walked through the palace. Several times as they passed servants or guards, Danielle thought she saw a flash of light from the mirrors on Snow’s choker. Each time, whoever they were passing would stumble and blink before moving on.
The soldiers at the southern gate barely glanced at them. Apparently, the queen had warned them that Lady O’Dette would be going for a stroll this morning. As for Danielle and Talia, they were simply two more servants. They might as well have been invisible.
Danielle found herself slipping into old habits with disturbing ease. She kept her head down and her gaze fixed on her shadow, a shrunken doppelganger of darkness trudging along the worn cobblestones of the street. The sun warmed her back and side, drawing beads of sweat from her brow. She stepped closer to Talia. “My stepsisters’ home is—”
“The Merchant’s Quarter, on High Street,” Talia said. She gave Danielle a small smile. “You don’t think Prince Armand came looking for you with only a single carriage and a few guards to defend him, do you?”
Snow hummed as she led them down the street, keeping to one side to avoid a mule-drawn wagon and other traffic. Young children scurried about, running errands or carrying messages for their masters. Servants hurried past with groceries for the day’s meals. Danielle barely stopped herself from waving at a hunched woman selling fruit. Old Mira had been a friend of her father, long ago, and she always used to slip sweets into Danielle’s basket when she was out running errands for her stepmother.
Snow’s appearance drew more than a few appreciative stares. She wasn’t helping matters, the way she smiled at everyone and deliberately wove about to splash through the puddles left from last night’s rain.
“Dignity, m’lady,” whispered Talia.
“Oh, save your stuffiness for the palace,” said Snow. Raising her voice, she began to sing an old drinking song about a sailor and a four-armed mermaid.
“We’re hunting a possible murderess,” Talia said.
“And if anyone looks too closely, I can always distract them one way or another,” Snow said, touching her choker.
“Finish singing the verse about the seaweed, and you’ll be distracting half the town,” Danielle said.
“I love that part.” Snow drew a deep breath, glanced at Talia, and bit her lip.
As they turned east, a gust of wind carried the smell of bloody meat through the street. Most of the butchers and tanners and furriers all crowded together along the same stretch of road. Blood ’n Guts Lane, the people called it.
Danielle had grown up within sight of the palace, but on a bad day the smell could carry all the way up to the Merchant’s Quarter. She smiled, remembering the first time Charlotte had left her window open after an especially hot summer day.
Up ahead, a black-furred mutt lapped at a puddle. He glanced up as they approached, his teeth bared. Danielle smiled and reached out to scratch his neck.
“Careful, Princess,” said Talia.
“Hunter wouldn’t hurt me.” Danielle rubbed the dog’s neck so hard his ears began to flap. Hunter gave one last snarl at Talia and Snow for good measure, then rolled onto his back in a puddle so Danielle could scratch his belly.
Snow rubbed the dog’s chin, giggling when he licked her wrist.
Talia cleared her throat. “Highborn ladies do not frolic. Especially with mangy dogs in the street.”
“You could use a good frolic,” Snow shot back. “So he’s filthy and smells of squirrel. He’s still better company than some of the nobles I’ve known.”
Another few blocks brought them to High Street, and Danielle’s heart began to pound faster. She was
home
. There was the house of Samuel the wine merchant, the windows still boarded to keep his eldest son from sneaking out at night to visit Matilda down the street. Beyond was the house where Mary Bloomfield lived with her granddaughters, telling fortunes and selling magical wards made with bits of glass and scrap iron.
Danielle smiled as she spotted her father’s house, a tall, weatherworn building with faded shingles and blue shutters. The house was roughly the same as those to either side: three stories, with the lowest level serving as the workshop and storefront. The large shutters to either side of the door could be propped up to provide shade for the men and women inside, while at the same time giving her father a place to sell his wares.
This morning, the shutters were all closed. The house appeared to be sleeping. Sleeping or dead. The gleaming sign which had proclaimed this the home of Charles de Glas, Master of Glassworks, was long gone. The empty bar where it once hung was rusted brown.
The highest window, just beneath the peak of the roof, was nailed shut. That had been Danielle’s room.
Now that they were here, Snow sobered. Chin held high, she led them to the house next door, where An-drew the silversmith worked with his sons. Danielle and Talia waited a few steps behind as Snow examined a bracelet.
“My sister, the Lady Bethany Celeste O’Dette of Emrildale, once purchased the most elegant vase from a glassblower near here,” said Snow. “Do you know where I might find him?”
Erik, Andrew’s older son, pushed the bangs from his eyes. “That would be Master de Glas next door. He’s been dead a little over ten years now.”
“How unfortunate,” Snow said. She held the bracelet to the light, sniffed, and set it down again. “What of his widow or children? Is there anyone from whom I might still purchase one of his pieces? Preferably something larger and more expensive than Bethany’s vase.”
“Sorry, m’lady,” said Erik. “His family lived there for a while, but lately it’s been as you see it, all locked up and empty.”
“But what about—” Danielle bit her lip, remembering her place. Where were her stepsisters staying, if not here?
Erik peered more closely at her, but then Snow leaned down to grab a silver rose brooch and he found more interesting things to study.
“I’ll take this one.” Snow reached into her satchel and dug around until she pulled out a small gold coin. “I’ve always liked roses.” She turned the coin over in her hand. “You’re sure the family isn’t here?”
Erik licked his lips. “They say Danielle married the prince, but I don’t know if I believe that. Folks like to tell stories, you know,” he added with all the wisdom of a thirteen-year-old boy. He hesitated. “It’s a strange place, that house. My uncle Cowen says the stepmother’s ghost is trapped up there in the attic, doomed to stay a year for every day of misery she put Danielle through. ’Course, Cowen also believes the fairies will steal his teeth if he sleeps with his mouth open.”

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