The Stepsister Scheme

by Jim C. Hines

  “Snow said you could help us,” Danielle said.

  “Maybe. Who is it you’re trying to find?”

  Danielle glanced at Talia and Snow. “How did you know we were looking for someone?”

  “I’m the Royal Summoner for Her Majesty the Queen.” Arlorran straightened. “It’s what I do. My gift from the gods, if you will. Most of the time, it’s nothing more than enchanting a new goblin so folks can call him to lead them through the hedge.”

  The purple pixie returned with Arlorran’s drink.

  “Thanks, Fraxxle,” said Arlorran. He took a deep swallow, then sighed. “I do special assignments for the queen herself, along with the occasional freelance job. When the price is right. Summoning a dryad across the chasm to frolic with the satyrs, for instance. Tragic, that chasm your people made. The dryads wound up on the king’s side, while the queen kept the satyrs for herself. They sneak across the bridge sometimes, but my way’s quicker and safer.”

  “Does that mean you’ll help us?” Danielle asked.

  “For such lovely women as yourselves, I might be able to assist you, for a small fee. Maybe something like—”

  Talia reached around to pluck the cup from his hand. Ignoring his squawks, she took a quick sip, then said, “Think long and hard before you finish that sentence, gnome.”

  “Right.” Arlorran snorted, and his gaze went to Danielle’s stomach. His eyes lit up. “In that case, how about—”

  This time it was Danielle who interrupted. “If you ask me for my unborn child, I’ll have Talia stuff you into your own pipe.”

  “Humans,” muttered the gnome. “Some of you treat your kids like they’re dragon’s gold. Others trade their offspring for a good drink, or even a mediocre one. Speaking of which, I believe that’s mine.” He leaned over to grab his cup back from Talia. “And you still haven’t told me who it is you’re looking for.”

  “My husband,” said Danielle. She lowered her voice. The closest benches were empty, but who knew how acute the pixies’ hearing was. “Prince Armand.”

  Arlorran raised his cup. “A right bastard, leaving you in such a state. Now a gnomish man, he’s loyal to his mate. None of this sneaking away in the night, abandoning—”

  “He was kidnapped,” said Talia. “They brought him to Fairytown.”

  Slowly, Arlorran lowered his drink. His voice soft, he said, “That’s a serious accusation. We’re not in the habit of allowing criminals through these walls. These kidnappers, were they human?”

  Danielle nodded.

  “Then they’d need magic to get in.” He sucked on his pipe, but the embers had died. He harrumphed and held it out to Snow. “Do you mind, hon?”

  Snow touched her mirror, and a tiny flame appeared on the tip of her finger. She poked the bowl of the pipe until a thread of smoke began to rise.

  “That’s better. So tell me, who is it that took your husband?”

  “My stepsister,” said Danielle.

  “Witch?”

  “Charlotte’s the one who told me about it, but Stacia was involved as well. I’m not sure—”

  “No, no,” Arlorran said, rolling his eyes. “I mean, is she a witch?”

  Danielle hesitated. “I guess so.”

  Arlorran sucked his pipe, then blew smoke toward a pink pixie on a higher bench. “Can’t help you. Sorry.”

  “Why not?” asked Snow.

  “Summoning is a temperamental magic,” Arlorran said gently. “Goblins are easy. The blue runts have no real willpower to speak of. I can do most humans, too. Or I could if the treaty didn’t forbid it. But witches are another matter. If they’re strong enough to take your husband and get through the hedge, they’re strong enough to bind him, too. I’d like to help you, but there’s no way I’ll be able to yank him away from your stepsisters.”

  Danielle turned to Snow, pleading without words for her to argue.

  “I don’t understand,” said Snow. “You told me you were the most powerful summoner in history, that you could conjure the lice from a beggar on the far side of the world.”

  “Right, and I told those lovely pixie girls I was only a century old. What’s your point?”

  “You lied,” Snow whispered.

  “People do that,” said Talia, shaking her head in disgust. “Come on. This is a waste of time. We’ll find him ourselves.”

  “Hey now, don’t be like that,” said Arlorran. “You ladies wouldn’t understand, looking the way you do. But for someone like me, all old and shrunken and wrinkly, how else am I supposed to hold the attention of such a lovely woman?”

  Danielle saw Snow smile, though she raised a hand to hide it the moment Talia turned toward her.

  “I’m the summoner for the queen, that much is true. But magic has limits. You know that.” He took another puff from his pipe. The smoke made Danielle’s eyes burn. “Sorry, lass. I wish I could help, I truly do.”

  “You haven’t even tried,” Danielle said. “Charlotte and Stacia are new at this. They might not have thought to protect Armand from a summoning spell. Or maybe they made a mistake. You can’t just give up.”

  “Actually, I can,” said Arlorran. “It’s my right as a bitter, half-drunk old gnome to give up any time I like.” He grinned and finished the rest of his drink. “And once I’m fully drunk, it will be my right to go home and pass out until it’s time to enchant the next filthy, foul-mouthed, rat-eating goblin.”

  Snow reached out to touch his arm. “Please try,” she said. “For me? I’ve so wanted to see gnomish magic in person.” She lowered her eyelashes. “There’s so much you could teach me, and it seems the least you could do, after the way you deceived me.”

  “Not tonight, ladies.” He hopped down, landing hard on another bench. “I hope you find your fellow, truly I do. But if things don’t work out and you find yourselves in need of . . . comfort . . .” Eyebrows wagged as he slid down to the next bench. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he yelled.

  “Where are you going?” Danielle asked.

  Arlorran patted his stomach. “Water the trees. Too much pixie juice.” He gave them a quick salute with his empty cup, then hurried along the bench toward a small, satin-curtained opening in the wall, where he disappeared.

  Snow was already unclasping her choker. She held it in front of her and squinted at the center mirror. When nothing happened, she tapped the glass a few times with her nail.

  A blur of movement swept through the tiny glass, and then Beatrice’s face appeared. “You’re in Fairytown?” Her voice carried a strange aftertone, like tiny chimes.

  “Arlorran can’t find the prince,” Snow said. “Do you have any other contacts we could talk to?”

  “Most of our communications with Fairytown are carried out strictly according to the treaty.” Beatrice’s face shifted, like she was trying to look through the mirror to see where they were. “Is Danielle all right?”

  Danielle took the choker from Snow’s hand. “As long as Talia doesn’t try to feed me any more nadif.”

  The queen smiled. “I remember the first time I tried it. And the first time I snuck some onto Theodore’s eggs.” Her expression turned somber. “I will talk to Trittibar. In the meantime, Snow could try again to use your child to find Armand.”

  Her voice broke slightly when she spoke her son’s name. She glanced away for a moment. “Be safe. All of you.”

  “We will.” The mirror shivered, and soon Danielle saw only her reflection. She returned the choker to Snow, then slid to the edge of the bench. A pixie fluttered out of the way as she lowered herself to another bench.

  “Where are you going?” Talia asked.

  “To change his mind.” Danielle hopped down to the platform Arlorran had taken, then hurried toward the passage where he had disappeared.

  “He’s been doing this for hundreds of years, Danielle,” Snow said as she followed after her. “If he says he’s not strong enough to break through your stepsisters’ spells—”

  “He’s already
lied once,” Danielle countered. “Charlotte and Stacia tried to hide Armand from you, but they couldn’t. Not completely. You tracked him to Fairytown, didn’t you?” Deep down, she knew Snow was probably right. But she couldn’t simply give up.

  “I know my stepsisters, Snow. They’re lazy. Especially Charlotte.” Charlotte, who had never once lifted a finger around the house. When Danielle had been sick for a week as a child, unable to tend to the others, Charlotte hadn’t even bothered to comb her own hair. The tangles had been so bad, Danielle was forced to cut them out when she finally recovered.

  Of course, Charlotte hadn’t been too lazy to beat Danielle for that supposed insult. Nor had she shown any reluctance to bully Stacia into cooking the meals and cleaning the dishes until Danielle was well enough to take over again. That was one of the few times Stacia had shown Danielle any kindness, bringing her tea and medicine to speed her recovery.

  Danielle pushed through the curtains into the cramped tunnel Arlorran had taken. A brisk wind chilled her hands and face. She crawled upward, the air growing colder until the darkness opened into a crude wooden platform jutting out from the tree. Overhead, she could see where a second tree had fallen onto the first. That must be the tree they had entered from the road. The two had grown together, branches and bark merging into a single mass where they intersected. She looked around, spotting several small wooden outhouses built against the trunk.

  Arlorran hadn’t bothered with the outhouses. He stood at the edge of the platform, one hand holding a rope railing as he relieved himself over the edge.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Crude, smelly things,” he said, twitching his nose toward the outhouses. “The pixies built ’em for us unfortunate souls who can’t flitter off to some private place to take care of business like the birds do. Those who aren’t too drunk to fly, that is.” He pointed to a puddle of glowing green liquid near the edge of the platform.

  “What is that?” Danielle asked.

  “Pixie piss.” He finished his business and turned around, still tucking his shirt through his belt.

  The platform vibrated slightly as Snow and Talia emerged. Snow was retying her choker around her neck. Neither woman spoke.

  Danielle took a deep breath. “What will it take for you to try?”

  “I told you,” said Arlorran. “Against a pair of witches, there’s nothing—”

  “I’m not asking for promises,” Danielle said. “I’m asking you to try. Gold, jewels.” She glanced at his flushed face. “Wine. Surely there’s more to your desires than women and unborn children. Name your price.”

  “No promises?” Arlorran stared at her. “No guarantees? I try, nothing happens, and you pay my price? No tricks, no complaints to your queen?”

  “I love him,” said Danielle.

  Arlorran shook his head. “You think the laws of magic give one whit about love, girl? I’m telling you, any witch worth her salt will—”

  “Then it doesn’t work, you get what you want, and we leave you in peace,” Danielle snapped. “Will you help me find my husband or not?”

  “You’re making a mistake,” Talia muttered, but she made no move to stop Danielle.

  Arlorran cast a speculative look at Snow, then sighed. “Wings.”

  “What?” Danielle looked from Snow to Arlorran and back. “I don’t understand.”

  “Wings.” He hooked his thumbs together and fluttered his fingers. “Just once, I’d like to buzz around like those little glowbugs. See the world like they do.” He shrugged and turned away. “My magic is a one-trick deal, and the few witches in Fairytown aren’t the kind of folks I’d ask for a favor. You give me wings so I can fly, and I’ll do my best to help you.”

  “Snow?” Danielle asked.

  Snow shook her head. “I’ve never tried transformation magic before.”

  Arlorran shrugged and started to step past them.

  “My mirror has all of the magic my mother used,” Snow continued. Her words rushed together as she spoke. “I don’t look at those spells much, because some of them are . . . unpleasant. But she changed her shape when she came to poison me. That was no illusion. I would have seen right through it. That was true transformation, which means the spell should still be in the mirror. It might take me a little work to adapt it for your wings, but I’m almost sure I could do it.”

  She smiled. “Of course, you’d have to come to the palace for a while. We’d need to spend a lot of time together, so I could prepare the spell.”

  “That’s a mighty tempting offer,” said Arlorran. “But if you fail, I’m left with nothing.”

  Snow folded her arms. “Days or weeks with me, and you call it nothing?”

  Arlorran backed away until he bumped the railing at the edge of the platform.

  “How is your risk any different than mine?” Danielle asked.

  The gnome stared, then chuckled. “True enough.” He grabbed Danielle’s hand, still keeping her between himself and Snow. “Stand close to me. It’ll help with the summoning. You’re the one who loves him, after all.”

  “I thought you said love didn’t matter,” said Danielle.

  Arlorran grinned, but he didn’t let go of Danielle’s hand. He lifted his chin, closed his eyes, and said, “Armand Whiteshore.”

  Nothing happened.

  “Sorry, lass,” Arlorran said, patting Danielle’s hand. “It’s like I said, your stepsisters have him all tied up. Magically, that is.”

  “That’s it?” Danielle stared at Arlorran. Her chest tightened. Despite everything Snow and Arlorran had told her, deep down she had been sure it would work.

  “You want thunder and colored smoke, I can do that,” said Arlorran. “But that kind of effect costs extra, and it won’t make one bit of difference.” He tugged her toward the tree. “Come on. I’ll buy you a drink. The pixies make a mint-and-acorn drink that will—”

  “Summon Charlotte,” Danielle said. She yanked her hand away and turned to stare up at the leaves overhead. Lazy or not, Charlotte wouldn’t risk losing Armand. Not after all she had done to steal him away. But would she remember to cast the same protections for herself? Stacia probably would, but Charlotte was another matter. “Please.”

  Arlorran sighed. “What’s her full name?”

  “Charlotte—” Danielle hesitated. Charlotte had been Charlotte de Glas for many years, but she had never accepted Danielle or her father. “Charlotte Moors.”

  Arlorran spat and rubbed his palms together. “I’d better get a nice, cushy bed when I come to the palace. And I want a room where I can see the ocean.”

  “I’ll give you mine,” Danielle said. “Just try.”

  He nodded and repeated the name. “Well, sharpen my ears and call me an elf.”

  Danielle’s heart began to pound harder. “It worked?”

  From behind them, Charlotte said, “It worked.” Then a powerful wind flung Danielle toward the edge of the platform.

  CHAPTER 8

  AS DANIELLE STUMBLED forward, she saw Talia drawing her whip. Danielle’s waist hit the railing. She tried to catch herself, but she was moving too quickly.

  The line from Talia’s whip hummed, then arced past Danielle’s arm. The line hit her bicep, and the weight snapped around, looping three times before slamming into the muscle. Wind buffeted her body, and the whip dug cruelly into her arm as Talia pulled. Danielle grabbed the whip with one hand, clutching the railing with the other.

  “No!” Charlotte screamed. She pulled a knife and grabbed the blade, raising it to throw.

  “Charlotte Moors,” said Arlorran.

  Charlotte vanished, reappearing beside Arlorran, four feet to the left. The knife spun harmlessly off of the platform, ripping through leaves and branches as it fell.

  The wind died down. Talia tugged Danielle away from the edge, then drew her sword.

  Charlotte clutched her necklace in both hands, whispering an incantation, when something silver plunged into her forearm. Charlotte screamed and ripped out a
metal snowflake, slightly smaller than her palm. Blood dripped from one of the sharpened points.

  She tried again, taking the necklace in her other hand, and then Talia’s boot slammed into her stomach. Charlotte dropped to the ground. Before she could move, Talia grabbed her hand and twisted, flipping her onto her stomach. Her screams died abruptly as Talia’s sword touched the back of her neck.

  “Another attack, mundane or magical, and you’ll be dead before you feel me move.”

  Charlotte stopped squirming.

  “Give me your arm,” Snow said, kneeling beside Charlotte. She tore away Charlotte’s bloody sleeve and wadded it into a ball. “Never rip the blade from the wound,” she muttered. “That only makes you bleed worse.” She pressed the makeshift bandage over Charlotte’s arm. “Danielle, I’ve got a bunch of long, clean rags in my bag. Can you get me one?”

  Danielle finished unwrapping the whip from her arm. She would have a few rope burns, as well as a nasty bruise, but it was far better than the alternative. She glanced over the edge and shuddered.

  Snow’s bag was near the doorway into the bar, well away from the edge. Danielle dug through the bag, shoving past dresses and cloaks and bits of silk better left unexamined until she found Snow’s medical supplies. “You have an awful lot of bandages in here.”

  “I travel with Talia a lot.” Snow tied the bandage into place on Charlotte’s arm, then used the end to clean the blood from the metal snowflake. “Aren’t they pretty? Talia made a set for me last year,” she said. When no blood remained, she slipped the steel flake into a hidden pocket on the side of her trousers. “They were a birthday present.”

  Snow used another bandage to bind Charlotte’s wrists. Only then did Talia step away and retrieve her whip. Danielle followed her.

  “Thank you,” Danielle said. “If you hadn’t caught me—”

  “You should have expected something like this.” Talia shook her head. “But I should have, too.”

  “You’re very good with that.” Danielle nodded toward the whip.

  “A zaraq whip was the last thing I saw before I slept, and the first weapon I mastered after I awoke.” A short, bitter laugh escaped Talia’s lips. “It was an assassination attempt gone wrong. My parents did what they could to protect me. We had bodyguards and wizards, food tasters and trained guard dogs. Everyone in the family drank a cocktail of various antitoxins each morning, mixed into our cactus juice.” She made a face. “The cactus juice tasted worse than the antidotes. Not that it mattered. The poison on the needle of that zaraq whip had a magical component. I was asleep before I hit the floor.”