by Jim C. Hines
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
“WE WILL FIND PRINCE ARMAND.”
Danielle’s throat tightened.
“South,” said Snow. “Charlotte fled south.”
“We’re on the northern edge of an island nation,” Talia said. “Do you think you could narrow it down a tad?”
“I can’t. She’s hidden from the mirror, the same as Armand.”
Danielle cleared her throat. “My father’s house is south of here.”
Talia shook her head. “Charlotte knows we’ll be hunting her. To hide in such an obvious place would be the height of stupidity.”
Danielle folded her arms. “Charlotte let her mother cut off part of her heel because she believed that would be enough to convince Armand she was me.”
“Good point.” Talia snorted. “Come on, Snow. Let’s go visit the de Glas house.”
“I’m going too,” said Danielle.
“Charlotte already tried to murder you once today,” said Talia.
“I lived with Charlotte and Stacia for most of my life,” said Danielle. “I know them. I can help.”
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. . . .”
Also available from DAW Books
JIM C. HINES’
Jig the Goblin Series:
GOBLIN QUEST (Book One)
GOBLIN HERO (Book Two)
GOBLIN WAR (Book Three)
Princess Series:
THE STEPSISTER SCHEME (Book One)
THE MERMAID’S MADNESS
(Book Two, coming in October, 2009)
RED HOOD’S REVENGE
(Book Three, coming in 2010)
Copyright © 2009 by Jim C. Hines.
eISBN : 978-1-440-65869-3
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For Skylar
CHAPTER 1
DANIELLE WHITESHORE, FORMERLY Danielle de Glas, would never be a proper princess. Not if the title required her to actually remember so many trifling details. She hadn’t even learned the proper forms of address for human politicians, and now her tutor expected her to memorize The Mortal’s Guide to Faerie Courtesy: Navigating the Eightfold Path of Fey Politics by the end of the week?
True, it was mostly her own fault. After her wedding, the king’s steward had presented her with a trunk full of scrolls and books, “To study during your tour of Lorindar.”
For three months that trunk had gathered dust while she and Prince Armand traveled the kingdom. She had tried to study, but there was so much to see. The old Coastal Highway to Colwich, with the ocean to one side and snow-painted oaks on the other. The bridge to Emrildale, built centuries ago by dwarves without mortar of any sort. Only the weight of the intercut stones held the great arches aloft. Every day brought new wonders.
With Armand’s help, Danielle had learned enough to avoid embarrassing herself as she was introduced to various lords and ladies. She still couldn’t remember the difference between a viscount and a baron, but so long as her mistakes were minor, nobody dared to complain.
As for the nights . . . her cheeks grew warm. Suffice it to say, she had spent very little time studying books. The extra three days they spent snowed in at South Haven had been particularly educational.
Still smiling at the memory, Danielle picked up another book from the bedside table. She opened to a random page and read:
Indulge not overmuch
in wine or beer.
Pick not thy nose,
scratch not thy rear,
and all shall say
“A lady sits here.”
Danielle slammed the book shut and tossed it after the first. Much more of this, and she would be ready to go back to cleaning floors and cooking meals for her stepsisters.
She stood and rubbed her eyes. The polished black-and-white tiles were cool beneath her feet. The breeze from the open window carried the damp, salty taste of the ocean.
Her nose wrinkled. The breeze also brought the faint smell of manure from the gardens below.
Danielle walked to the window and knelt on a padded bench which had been embroidered with some royal crest or another. This one had a blue unicorn and a green bird that looked like a bloated chicken.
She pushed open the window, running her fingers over the rippled panes of glass. Tiny specks marred the glass: iron filings scattered into the mix when the panes were first formed. Pixie glass was supposed to protect a room from fairy magic, but in truth, iron only affected the weakest of curses. Still, enough people wanted such protection to keep Danielle’s father in business for a good many years.
She smiled, remembering one of her father’s last pieces, a window he had done for Duke Rokan of Little Hill. Mere filings sprinkled like pepper in the glass weren’t enough for Rokan. For two weeks Danielle’s father had worked to align dozens of tiny iron crosses, each one spaced evenly over the glass. A second layer of glass was then baked over the first.
Danielle had been only eight years old, but she remembered the finished window so clearly she could almost reach out and touch it. Not a single bubble or ripple had marred the glass. At a casual glance, the crosses appeared to float in midair within the frame.
A loud cooing sound made her smile. She leaned out, twisting her head to see several pigeons and one old dove perched on the green copper gutters which ran the length of Whiteshore Castle. The dove fluttered down to land on the sill beside her arm.
Danielle laughed. “I’m sorry, I’ve nothing to give you. You’ve already feasted on leftover muffins, cookies, and that bit of jam sandwich I smuggled up yesterday. If I feed you any more, you’ll be too fat to fly.”
The dove opened his mouth and cooed again, clearly unconcerned by such eventualities.
“Your Highness?”
Danielle jumped, and the dove fluttered his wings in annoyance.
A servingwoman stood in the doorway, a wooden tray in one hand. A trencher of bread sat in the middle, filled with glazed cherries and strawberries. A bronze cup stood beside it.
“Good morning, Talia.”
The morning sun shone on her brown skin. Her voice was clear and smooth, almost musical. Only the slightest accent, an emphasis on the longer vowel sounds, di
stinguished her words from a native Islander. Danielle guessed her to be from the Arathean Deserts to the south, but Talia had never responded to Danielle’s overtures.
Danielle still couldn’t remember half of the nobles who visited each day, but she knew the names of every servant in the palace. Some were uncomfortable with the princess’ familiarity, while others had started to relax in her presence.
Talia fit neither category. Strong and slender, she appeared only a little older than Danielle’s eighteen years, yet something in her bearing made Danielle feel like a child. She bowed her head slightly, every movement proper, but her dark eyes met Danielle’s without flinching. “I thought you might appreciate a snack.”
On the windowsill, the dove cooed and hopped closer. Danielle glared in mock annoyance. “Did you arrange this?”
“Highness?” Talia was staring at the dove, clearly skeptical of a princess who chatted with the birds.
“Thank you for the food,” said Danielle. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”
Talia nodded and brought the tray around the bed. With her free hand, she stacked Danielle’s books to one side of the bedside table, then set down the tray, all so smoothly the wine in the cup barely even rippled.
The movement pulled back Talia’s sleeves, revealing pale scars across her right forearm. Talia noticed Danielle’s gaze, but didn’t bother to adjust her shirt. Instead, she moved to the bed, straightening the covers and returning The Mortal’s Guide to Faerie Courtesy to the stack on the table.
“Don’t worry about that,” Danielle said. “I can—”
“You are princess of Lorindar, Your Highness,” said Talia. “Not some ash-covered slave girl from the city.”
Danielle flushed and turned away. Everyone in the palace knew of her past, though nobody would speak of it to her face. Within days of the winter ball, rumors had spread through the city, growing wilder with every retelling: she had snuck from her house to attend the ball—no, she had stolen a carriage—no, she had ridden within an enchanted pumpkin, drawn by giant mice!
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 borde
red 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.