by Jim C. Hines
“No thank you, Your Majesty.” Talia’s voice shook. “I’ve been ‘rescued’ once before.” She glanced at the river, and in that moment, Danielle knew what she was about to do.
“Talia, wait!” Danielle started to move toward Talia. As soon as she turned, the darkling raced forward. Danielle spun around, swinging her sword to drive him back.
Talia could barely walk. There was no way she would be able to swim. “Beatrice will send someone to revive you,” Danielle shouted. “Don’t—”
“Sorry, Princess,” said Talia. She had moved past the vines, so the sun illuminated the now-plain features of her face. She looked so exposed and vulnerable, like a frightened child. “I can’t do it.”
Before Danielle could move, Talia stepped into the water. Danielle ran after her. The scrape of claws on rock made her turn.
The darkling leaped.
Danielle swung with all her strength, severing the darkling’s arm. His body crashed into Danielle, knocking her down, but he didn’t attack. Shrieking in pain, he raced back to Stacia.
“Brahkop, take her!” shouted Stacia.
Danielle backed toward the water as the troll approached. She had to get to Talia before—
“Stop running,” Stacia commanded. “Drop the sword.”
Though she fought with all her strength, Danielle could only watch as her fingers relaxed and the sword dropped to the ground.
In a heartbeat, Brahkop was there. Ropes of hair looped around Danielle’s limbs, hoisting her into the air.
It felt like Brahkop would crush her bones. Danielle closed her eyes and did her best to ignore the pain.
Help me, Wind, she whispered silently. On rare occasions, birds and other creatures had obeyed her even before she asked for their help. Like her wedding day, when she pleaded for them to break off their attack on her stepmother and stepsisters. Some of the doves had turned away the instant Danielle realized what they had done, before she had spoken a single word out loud. Please.
Of the three aviars, only Danielle’s was still in any condition to help. If she hadn’t already fled back to the pixies. If she was willing to risk herself to come to Danielle’s aid. If she could hear Danielle’s plea at all.
Stacia drew a knife from behind her back. The long, triangular blade was made of a dark metal, almost as black as the darklings. “Don’t move,” she said. Danielle fought, but she couldn’t even blink as Stacia stepped closer.
A high-pitched scream filled the cave. Hooves rattled against the stone as Wind burst through the vines.
Brahkop dropped Danielle and advanced toward the aviar. His hair spread out like a bizarre, oversized spiderweb, while other tendrils reached for Wind. Had he attacked like that back at his shop, Danielle and the others never would have beaten him. He had been holding back, deliberately letting them escape so they would come to Fairytown.
Go, Danielle said silently. Help Talia. Quickly, before she drowns. Take her to Arlorran.
Wind danced from side to side, seeking a path through Brahkop’s web.
She’ll die, Danielle said. Please go.
The aviar galloped away. Danielle heard her splashing through the water, and then there was nothing but the sound of the waves. She prayed Wind had been fast enough.
“Charlotte, go and tell the Duchess we’ve dealt with the trespassers,” said Stacia. “But do not—”
“—say who you’ve captured,” Charlotte muttered. “I know, I know.”
Danielle watched her go. Of course they couldn’t tell the Duchess they had imprisoned the prince and princess of Lorindar. The Duchess would have no choice but to act, or else risk violating Malindar’s Treaty. But so long as nobody mentioned their names, the Duchess could enjoy the benefits of ignorance.
Sunlight flashed off Stacia’s knife, focusing Danielle’s attention. She held her breath, waiting for the first cut. But instead, Stacia rolled back her sleeve and sliced her own arm. Her stare seared Danielle’s skin as she walked in a slow circle, dripping a ring of blood around Danielle’s feet.
“Did you truly think you were meant to be a princess?” Stacia asked, and now it was undeniably her stepsister’s voice. “That destiny would set you upon the throne of Lorindar? ‘Queen Cinderwench.’ What a laughable idea.”
She leaned closer, until her cheek touched Danielle’s. “I know how uncomfortable you’ve been these past months, a clumsy duck trying to live among swans. Don’t worry, my dear stepsister. With the magic I’ve learned from Queen Rose, I’ll be more than happy to return you to your proper station.”
CHAPTER 11
DANIELLE HUMMED AS she rubbed a soapy rag over the wooden floor of Stacia’s bedroom. The humming bothered her far more than the actual cleaning. Her mind was her own, but thanks to the curse Stacia had cast, her body now obeyed her stepsisters. And Stacia preferred her slave cheerful.
Danielle couldn’t even turn away as the harsh, caustic fumes of lye soap began to rise from the floor. The Duchess mixed her soaps with various flowers to soften the scent, but for Danielle, the smell of rose and honeysuckle mixed with lye was worse than the soap, triggering the nausea which had plagued her for . . . however long it had been.
She clenched her jaw and tried to breathe as little as possible. It didn’t help. She could only watch as the meager contents of her stomach spilled onto the floor she had nearly finished cleaning.
With a groan, Danielle returned the rag to the bucket and stood. She stretched her back as she studied the mess.
A soft splash drew her attention to the corner of the bedroom, where a miniature waterfall trickled from the wall into a small, triangular pool. The water emitted a sparkling blue light as it splashed into the pool, so that the bedrooms were never truly dark.
A pair of pale, pink-eyed fish splashed again. Stacia rarely bothered to feed them, and since caring for Stacia’s pets wasn’t one of Danielle’s duties, she was helpless to do anything herself. If not for the algae growing along the stones, the fish would have starved long ago.
The sight of the pool reminded her of the walk through the Duchess’ cavern, following Stacia and Charlotte after their fight in the cave. She had kept her head bowed, already a slave to Stacia’s magic. But she had glimpsed the great waterfall pouring down the side of the cavern into a wide lake, filling the air with soft blue light.
How long had it been? Her stomach was significantly larger than when she was captured. Trapped here in the tunnels of the Duchess’ cavern, with the sun and the sky nothing but memories, she didn’t know if weeks or even months had passed. If Talia had survived, she certainly would have reached Beatrice long ago. The fact that nothing had happened meant . . .
Danielle tried to wrench her mind to more pleasant things, but even her thoughts refused to obey her. Surely Beatrice wouldn’t have given up. Snow had talked to her. She knew about the Duchess.
She knew, but they had no proof. No witnesses. Nothing that could force the fairy court to help. Ambassador Trittibar would do what he could, but . . .
Humming through her tears, she grabbed another rag and began sopping up the worst of the vomit. Once she finished the floors, she still needed to dust the common room and take care of the laundry. She tried to lose herself in the physical labor, to let her mind find peace the way it used to back in her father’s home.
Her eyes ached. Not for the first time, she wished for enough freedom to at least light the oil lamps. A copper pipe ran along the front wall, about a foot from the ceiling. Bands of rusted metal secured the pipe to the wooden planks of the wall. The slow-burning oil came from a second pipe which disappeared into the wall above the door. Chains by the door opened and shut a tin hood, and the flint and steel built into the mechanism lit the wicks.
Crude windows were painted on every wall, as well as the ceiling. The angles of the walls were distorted, as if giant hands had squeezed the rectangular room from opposite corners. The walls themselves were clearly an afterthought, clumsily erected to hide the fact that they wer
e living in caves. Gaps along the edges had been filled in with plaster. Every time someone bumped a wall, Danielle had to sweep up more plaster dust.
She grimaced and plucked a silver hair from her rag. On top of everything else, Brahkop the troll had a shedding problem. Every evening Danielle swept and scrubbed the floors of Stacia’s room, and every morning, enough troll hair littered the floor and bed to weave a small rug.
Her lower back ached as she scrubbed harder, cleaning every last trace of vomit, then buffed the floor dry.
Good-bye. She didn’t know if the fish could hear her. But after so long without a voice of her own, she would have been happy to talk to her own mop.
She crossed the hall and entered the large common room. As always, her eyes were drawn to the far end, where Snow’s coffin sat upon a polished table that appeared to be made of stone. Stacia hadn’t bothered to create a lid. Either she hadn’t been strong enough, or she simply hadn’t cared.
The table was deep brown, lined like wood, but hard as rock. Embers still glowed in the fireplace at the end of the hall. When lit, the flames reflected from the mirrored coffin, sparkling over the walls.
Danielle fought to stop herself, to lock her muscles. Of all her duties, this was the most cruel. She would have happily mopped a thousand floors and swept an entire cave full of troll hair if she could have avoided this room.
Her struggles were useless. Grabbing a clean rag, she walked to Snow’s coffin and began to dust her friend.
Snow looked exactly as she had in the cave. She never breathed, though her skin remained warm to the touch. The cuts on her hand were still fresh enough that Danielle’s rag came away dabbed with blood.
A yellow spider had begun to spin a web between Snow’s left ear and the edge of the coffin. A sudden fury overcame Danielle as she ripped the web. She tried to squash the spider, but it burrowed into Snow’s hair and disappeared.
Danielle stared at the knife strapped to Snow’s belt, even as she wiped the dust from the hilt. If only she could break free long enough to seize that knife and—
And what? She couldn’t fight her way out of the Duchess’ land, nor could she defeat Stacia. If she had the slightest control of her own destiny, she wouldn’t be here, wiping dust from Snow’s face.
Danielle’s helplessness taunted her. Just as it did in Charlotte’s room, where Danielle’s sword was mounted over the bed. Every day, Danielle wiped the enchanted blade, wanting nothing more than to rip it down and fight. Every day, she failed.
She wiped her forehead on her sleeve, only then noticing the blood on her arm. The jagged edges of the coffin had cut the skin so cleanly she hadn’t even felt it. She pressed her sleeve against the cut until the blood slowed, making sure none dripped onto her friend.
Once she had finished with the coffin, Danielle turned to the rest of the room. Several other tables sat in the middle, each one carved from the same stone as Snow’s.
She had wiped two of the three tables when Charlotte came hurrying into the room. Charlotte had mostly recovered from the battle in the cave, though her nose still had a small lump near the bridge. “Stacia insists you return to her room once you’ve finished here. She says it smells like puke.” She grinned, clearly enjoying her sister’s misfortune.
“Of course, mistress,” Danielle said. Even as she despised the words, the mere act of speaking brought a huge sense of relief. So rarely did she hear her own voice, she sometimes began to wonder if she truly existed at all. At least with her stepmother, her body had been her own.
Charlotte plopped herself down on one of the huge cushioned chairs in front of the fireplace. She clapped her hands, and a darkling emerged from the shadows. Had he been there the whole time? Even the curse couldn’t stop Danielle’s shiver of revulsion.
“You, fetch me wine to drink,” Charlotte said. “Chilled. Something that doesn’t taste like fish piss.”
The darkling hopped onto the table and scurried toward Danielle. This was the same creature she had fought before. He moved like an animal, using his one remaining arm to help him run. He hissed, and for a moment, Danielle thought he was going to attack her. This wasn’t the first time he had taunted her. He could wrap those black fingers around her throat, and Danielle would simply stand there as he choked her to death. How many times had she awoken to find him staring down at her, as though he wanted nothing more than to wither her flesh away to nothing? But somehow, either the Duchess or her stepsisters kept the darklings under control.
“Go now!” Charlotte snapped.
The darkling tilted his head. Even up close, Danielle could make out only the faintest hint of a mouth or nose. And then he was scampering away.
“Do you know where my sister is now?” Charlotte asked.
Danielle waited to see if the curse would compel her to answer. This was the first time in a month anyone had asked her a genuine question.
“Well?”
“I’m not sure,” Danielle said. She spoke slowly, stretching out the words and savoring the brief control of her own mouth.
“After sending me to find you, she . . . they went traipsing off to meet with the Duchess.”
Danielle tried to respond—but couldn’t. Apparently, Charlotte had to ask a direct question.
“They’re in the tower, working on a way hasten the growth of your child.” Charlotte stood, stamping her foot and marching toward Danielle. “But did I rate an invitation to join them?”
That was a question. Danielle tried to set her fears aside as she searched for the right words to respond.
“I’m sorry, Charlotte. You don’t deserve to be treated this way,” Danielle said. What Charlotte did deserve, Danielle kept to herself.
Charlotte wandered over to Snow’s coffin. “We were supposed to summon our mother, not hers.” She poked Snow’s cheek, then shivered and drew back her hand. “I understand why your friend murdered the old hag in the first place.”
For once, Danielle was glad the spell stopped her from speaking her mind. Snow’s mother had been a selfish, controlling, cruel woman. It was easy to see how her stepsisters’ spell had mistaken Rose Curtana for their real mother.
Danielle began to wipe the final table. The curse was tugging her back to work, but she slowed herself as much as she could, drawing out her time with Charlotte. After all, Charlotte wanted to talk, which meant she had a duty to listen.
“Stacia spends all of her time with her lumbering troll husband and that dead witch,” Charlotte complained. “They leave me with a crippled darkling and his friends for company. Do you have any idea how degrading that is?”
Once again, the curse saved her. If not for Stacia’s magic, she would have laughed in Charlotte’s face. For years, her friends had been rats and pigeons. She kept her words as sympathetic as she could. “They don’t appreciate you.”
“They don’t need me. They have you. You and that brat in your womb.”
The darkling returned, carrying a dusty green bottle. Charlotte grabbed it from his hand, bit the cork free, and spat it into the fireplace. “Now fetch me something to eat. Something cooked!”
As the darkling left, Charlotte shook her head. “The first time I commanded that little snake to bring me food, he left a pile of fish guts on my bed.”
Danielle tried to speak, but her jaw refused to move.
“Brahkop said the Duchess would take care of us. He promised us a home worthy of royalty. I should have known it would be little more than a hole in the earth. He’s a troll.” Charlotte took a deep swig of wine. “What does Stacia see in that hideous beast?”
The question gave Danielle the chance she needed to speak again. She clenched her jaw, fighting for control of her voice. “He loves her.” Then, quickly, she added, “How long until Rose takes my son?”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “At the conjoined moons, a few weeks from now. When the two crescent moons come together on midsummer’s night. Magic that powerful is bound to draw the attention of the king and queen, but t
hey’ll be . . . occupied.” She drank more of the wine and turned away. “Stacia says it’s the only time they set aside their differences and enjoy one another’s company.” She flushed. “You wouldn’t believe the mischief the other fairies cause during the conjoined moons, when their rulers are too distracted to notice.”
Charlotte laughed. “At least then I won’t have to listen to Rose prattling on about her kingdom and her lost powers and her precious mirror. Stacia’s bad enough, but both of them in one body is more than I can take.”
She returned to her chair and took another drink. The bottle was half empty already. “Was the prince gentle?”
“I don’t understand,” Danielle said, still thinking about midsummer’s night.
“In bed. When he . . .” She pointed to Danielle’s stomach. “He was supposed to be mine, you know. Mother promised. I want to know what I missed. Was he kind?”
“He—” Danielle ground her teeth together. Charlotte had no right to those memories. “Tell me where he is.”
“He has his own cell, somewhere in the tower. He thinks he’s back home, and that Stacia is his wife. They’re holding him in case something happens to your baby. He truly loves her, you know.” There was no triumph in her words, only bitterness. “I thought if I could show them that I could control the magic, that I could kill you—”
Charlotte slammed the wine onto the floor so hard Danielle thought the bottle might break. “And then Brahkop learned you were pregnant! That’s twice you’ve stolen him from me. I’m prettier than you or Stacia. Why am I the one who’s alone?”
“Do you love him?”
Charlotte stopped moving. “What?”
“Armand. If you loved him, you wouldn’t let Stacia and Rose keep him locked away like this. You have me. Let him go.”
“So he can return home, find someone to break the curse, and lead the entire kingdom here to rescue you?” Her laughter had a hysterical note. “Really, Cinderwench. Do you think I’m stupid?”
Foolish, not stupid. Foolish and trapped and lonelier than you’ve been in your entire spoiled life.