by Jim C. Hines
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.
“Drop the knife.” Talia’s voice was cool and firm, more commanding than any servant. She stood in the doorway, holding one of the oversized crossbows normally carried by the palace guards. Made of polished black wood with gleaming brass trim, it should have been more than enough to compel obedience. Danielle had no idea how Talia had gotten through the door, but her timing was divine.
“Wait,” Charlotte cried.
“No.” Talia pulled the trigger. A steel-tipped bolt buzzed through the air.
At the same time, the dove lurched toward Charlotte, as if an invisible hand had struck him from the side. The bolt tore into the dove’s chest. He slammed into Charlotte, leaving a bloody smear on her shirt, then dropped to the ground. Tiny legs twitched slowly.
Talia didn’t hesitate. She threw the crossbow at Charlotte’s face, bloodying her nose and knocking her into the wall. Talia slipped a toe under the tray Danielle had thrown. A flick of her foot brought the edge of the tray into her hand. Talia spun, moving like a dancer as she hurled the tray into Charlotte’s forearm. Charlotte’s knife clattered away.
Talia strode across the room. “Stay down, Princess.”
Charlotte backed toward the broken window. She closed her eyes, and her lips moved as if in prayer. An instant later, the window frame cracked and fell away, taking the remains of the glass.
Talia leaped, but Charlotte was faster, pulling herself through the opening even as Talia’s fingers brushed her ankle.
“Damn.” Talia drew back from the window. “She didn’t even sprain an ankle.”
Danielle turned to check on the dove, who lay in a pool of blood. One look was enough to tell her the bird was dead. The tip of the crossbow bolt protruded from the dove’s back, propping him to one side. She brushed a finger over the soft white feathers of his head, blinking back tears.
One of the pigeons had also been injured. He dragged his wing along the floor as he approached. Danielle scooped him gently into her hands. “He’s still bleeding.”
Halfway to the door, Talia stopped to stare. “He’s a pigeon.”
“They saved my life.”
Talia shook her head. “I saved your life. They distracted your stepsister long enough for me to get here.”
Danielle looked at the open door. “How did you—”
“No time. Stay here with your birds, Princess. The guards will be here very soon.” She slammed the door behind her when she left.
Danielle fought to keep from shaking as she climbed to her feet and peered out the window. Far below, Charlotte sprinted across the courtyard. She had dropped three stories from Danielle’s window, but she ran with only the slightest limp.
&nb
sp; Danielle inspected the pigeon’s wing. The bleeding didn’t look too serious, but she still fought the urge to seek out the king’s surgeon for help. Instead, she set him gently on the middle of the bed. For most of her life, her stepsisters and stepmother had kept her locked away. She refused to let Charlotte confine her now.
“Thank you, my friend,” she whispered. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Wiping her face, she hurried out the door after Talia.
Beams of golden sunlight illuminated the corridor as Danielle raced toward the stairs. Startled guardsmen lurched out of her way. One called out to her, but she ignored him.
Up ahead, Talia had already disappeared down the staircase. Danielle grabbed the folds of her gown with her free hand and ran faster.
By the time she reached the courtyard, Danielle’s heart was pounding in her chest and she had begun to sweat. Far ahead, Talia whirled, one hand slipping up her sleeve. Her expression changed to annoyance when she recognized Danielle.
“I told you to wait, Princess,” Talia said, in a tone nobody had dared use to Danielle’s face since the wedding.
“She’s my stepsister,” said Danielle, still running. “And I won’t have your death on my conscience. Go and tell the guards what’s happened.”
Talia ran alongside Danielle. “I sent the guards to watch you. Which they’ve obviously failed to do.”
Neither woman slowed. Danielle could see Charlotte pulling herself up on to the roof of the chapel. How she had climbed the stone walls, Danielle had no idea. Probably the same way she had survived the drop from Danielle’s bedchamber.
Talia pulled ahead of Danielle as she sprinted through the garden, stooping once or twice to snatch something from the soil and earning a curse from one of the gardeners. Danielle did her best to keep up.
The sun illuminated Charlotte’s form as she climbed to the peak of the chapel roof. Arms outstretched for balance, Charlotte walked toward the steeple.
By now, several people had emerged from the chapel to point and stare. Two guardsmen rushed from the northwest tower.
At the top of the steeple, a wooden cross decorated with silver towered over the chapel. The inlaid metal still gleamed, despite being almost twenty years old. Charlotte stretched one hand toward the cross. Danielle wasn’t sure what she hoped to accomplish. If she could pull herself up, she might be able to jump to the north wall of the castle, but the guards were already closing in. She would be trapped.
Talia drew back one arm and hurled a round, green object toward Charlotte. Danielle saw another in Talia’s left hand, and recognized it as an unripe tomato. The first tomato caught Charlotte on the side of the head.
Charlotte’s hand slipped from the cross. Her arms whirled as she tried to regain her balance. She started to fall, then leaped.
“Charlotte!” Danielle shouted.
Crenellated stonework rose to shoulder height on either side of the walkway atop the wall, making the jump even more difficult. Charlotte started to fall, and then it was as if the air itself gathered to lift her. Wind whipped her hair as she drew up her legs to land neatly in one of the gaps between the stones. She hopped down onto the walkway and turned back and forth. To Danielle’s eye, she appeared frightened.
“Easy there, girl,” shouted one of the guards.
Charlotte turned away, staring out at the sea below.
Another guard approached from the northeast tower. “Nothing there but a long drop and a messy death on the rocks at the bottom of the cliff, lass.”
Danielle reached Talia in time to hear her mutter, “Sounds good to me.” Talia raised her second tomato.
“Wait.” Raising her voice, Danielle called out, “Charlotte, they’ll kill you if you try to fight.”
Charlotte began to laugh. She wiped her face on her sleeve, then spread her arms. “Let them. It doesn’t matter. Without your precious prince, you’ll never be anything but a filthy little serving wench.”
Danielle’s skin tingled, the hair on her neck responding to the barely-concealed edge of gloating in Charlotte’s voice. She glanced at Talia, who was watching Charlotte with the same intensity as a cat preparing to pounce.
“Order her taken alive,” Talia whispered.
“What?” Danielle stared, confused.
“The guards won’t take orders from a servant,” Talia said through clenched teeth. “Do not let her escape.”
“There’s nowhere for her to . . .” Danielle trailed off as she remembered Charlotte’s leap from the window, and the way she had practically flown from the chapel roof to the top of the wall. She raised her voice. “Guards, I need that woman taken alive!”
One of the guards raised his crossbow while the others closed in. Charlotte smiled and fingered her necklace.
“Be careful,” Danielle yelled. She knew that smile. “That stone around her neck, it’s magical!”
Talia swore and threw her last tomato. It flew straight and true, catching Charlotte on the ear and knocking her to the far side of the wall. Charlotte shrieked in rage, then pointed toward the approaching guards.
The guard with the crossbow stumbled. His weapon twisted in his hands, coming around to point at Danielle.
A sharp blow to the back of the knees knocked Danielle down. A heartbeat later, Talia’s foot slammed into Danielle’s shoulder, flattening her against the earth. The crossbow bolt thumped into the ground where Danielle had stood. She looked up, barely able to see Charlotte as she climbed onto the outer edge of the wall. The guards ran toward her. One nearly grabbed her arm, and then Charlotte leaped away.
Danielle got to her feet and ran for the nearest stairway, a sickening feeling in her gut. She wanted to throw up, but she forced herself to keep going. Up through the tower, through the guardroom, and out onto the wall.
Damp, salty wind made her stagger as she stepped onto the wall. The guards crowded around the point where Charlotte had jumped, all save the one who had fired his crossbow at Danielle. He was still staring at his weapon, his bearded face white.
He jerked to attention when he saw Danielle. “Your Highness, I . . .” He blinked, then flung the crossbow away like its touch burned his hands. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“I know,” said Danielle. She patted him on the arm as she hurried past.
One of the other guards moved to block her way. “You shouldn’t be up here, Your Highness. A single misstep—”
Danielle kept walking. He stepped aside at the last moment, so close she could smell the sweat in his uniform and the sharp, metallic scent of polish from his helmet. She moved to the outer edge of the wall, to the gap where Charlotte had jumped. Resting her hands on the thick, white stones, Danielle leaned out to stare at the sea.
Far below, waves broke against the rocks at the base of the cliff. Clouds of mist transformed to glittering silver fog where they met the sun.
“Where is she?” Danielle asked.
“We don’t know,” said the nearest guard, a boy no older than Danielle herself, to judge from his smooth face. “When she fell, the mist . . .”
“I saw it, too,” said another, rubbing his gray-stubbled chin. The single white plume on his helmet marked him as a sergeant. “The fog drew back, all but disappeared, and the water became still as ice. Then, for the life of me, it was like she shrank away to nothing.”
“There was no splash,” said a third guard.
“You two get down to those rocks and see if you can find any trace of her,” said the sergeant. “I’m going to go report this to the captain.” He gave Danielle a tight smile. “Don’t worry, Highness. We’ll take care of this.”
Danielle wiped her face and backed away, to the sergeant’s clear relief. She doubted the guards would find anything. From the look on the sergeant’s face, so did he.
Charlotte had escaped. She would never take her own life. She loved herself far too much.
“All right, enough gawking,” snapped the sergeant. “One of you lot escort the princess back to her quarters.”
/>
“I can do that, sir,” said Talia. Danielle hadn’t even noticed her. “I know you’ll want every man on the wall to help protect us in case that woman returns.”
He nodded and turned away, staring down at the ocean below. Talia took Danielle’s arm and tugged her back toward the tower. “Come, Princess,” she whispered. “We must talk.”
Danielle allowed Talia to lead her from the wall. She felt dizzy, her mind numb as she tried to understand what had happened. Charlotte had tried to murder her. And Armand . . . “What did she mean about my husband?”
Talia’s fingers tightened painfully on her wrist. “Come,” she said again.
As they hurried across the courtyard, Danielle glanced up at the iron cross and prayed for Armand.
CHAPTER 2
TALIA INSISTED DANIELLE remain outside until she examined Danielle’s chambers. Only after checking every blanket and tapestry did she wave for her to enter. The instant Danielle stepped inside, Talia shut and locked the door behind her.
The dead dove still lay on the floor. The blood had begun to dry, becoming a dark, syrupy puddle. A weak coo led her to the wounded pigeon, who was still crouched on the bed.
“You’re a witch?” Talia said, her tone making it less a question than a statement of fact.
Danielle stared.
“The way you command those birds. They fight and die for you.”
“They’re my friends,” Danielle said. “They came to me when my mother died. The birds and the mice, they helped me with my chores and kept me company through the long hours locked in the attic.”
Talia raised an eyebrow. “Best not to mention that to too many people. They think the royal family is quirky enough already.” She picked up Charlotte’s hunting knife. “You fought better than I expected, but you made a very stupid mistake.”
It was the first time since the wedding that anyone had spoken to her so bluntly. Anyone but her stepsisters, of course. Danielle was both relieved and annoyed. “What mistake was that?”