by Jim C. Hines
“I think you’ve been horribly mistreated.” Danielle was amazed she could get the words out without vomiting again. “But if you really care about Armand—”
“Even if I was his true love, I can’t free him. I’m not allowed to see him, let alone kiss him. Not that he’d let me.” She wiped her nose on her sleeve. “Stacia has a husband as well as a prince, and they both love her. How is that fair?”
Danielle’s breath caught. So many curses were broken by something as minor as a kiss. “Is that the weakness in Stacia’s spells?” Danielle asked. “If he kissed me—”
“He could kiss you all night long, and you’d still be cursed.” She sneered. “He doesn’t love you anymore, remember?”
“But I love him. If I kissed him, would it break Stacia’s love spell?”
Charlotte shrugged. “Probably. Most of Rose’s curses have that loophole. Something about leverage and possibility. An unbreakable spell takes too much power. True love is rare enough most spells are never broken. I don’t really understand it all. Magic makes my head hurt.”
Slowly, Danielle’s hope gave way to despair. What good was knowing how to break the spell when she had no way of doing so? This was simply one more torment. To kiss Armand, she would have to be free. Armand could be standing right here, arms wide, and the curse would stop her.
Purple rivulets of wine dripped down Charlotte’s chin as she took another drink. “You’re not the one keeping him from me,” she mumbled. “It’s that baby.”
The door slammed open. Stacia took one look at Charlotte, and her face twisted with disgust. “I told you to fetch Cinderwench, not to lounge about getting drunk.”
Charlotte belched.
“How ladylike,” Stacia said. She turned to Danielle. “Come with me. Before I set you to work, there’s something I’d like to try.”
Inside, Danielle recoiled from the gleam in Stacia’s eyes. What were they going to do to her son? She could have killed Stacia in that moment, but her body obeyed her stepsister’s will.
Two darklings waited in Stacia’s room. Danielle recognized the one who clutched a platter of steamed fish in his single arm. Stacia must have intercepted him on his way back to Charlotte.
Both darklings crowded behind Danielle as Stacia led her around the bed to the small altar in the back corner. Stacia had forbidden Danielle to clean it, or even to touch it, and Danielle gave silent thanks every day for that small blessing.
The marble slab was stained with blood, along with the greenish residue of some old potion. Powdered ash covered the surface, and a halo of black wax showed where a candle once sat. Clots of wax had dripped down the side, black icicles that melted into the cracks between the floorboards.
“Please sit down,” Stacia said, gesturing to the bed.
The false kindness in her voice made Danielle ill. She sat on the edge of the bed, as far from the altar as she could.
Stacia clucked her tongue, and the two darklings climbed onto the bed, one on either side of Danielle. The crippled darkling set Charlotte’s meal on the blanket. He peered into Danielle’s face, so close that his breath dried her skin.
“Wait,” Stacia said. The darklings sat still. Their breathing was slow and congested, like that of an old man with a cough. One played with the cooked fish, dragging his fingers through the meat again and again until it was barely recognizable.
Stacia drew her knife and stepped over the altar. “I hate this part,” she muttered. A quick cut to her arm opened an old wound, and blood dripped down to splash on the stone.
Stacia clenched her other hand over the cut. She set the knife on the altar and turned to Danielle.
She untied Danielle’s apron and tossed it to the floor. Danielle held her breath as she approached, but the only thing Stacia did was press two bloody hand-prints onto Danielle’s shirt, just beneath her ribs.
“Queen Rose is worried about your baby,” Stacia said. “She feels he won’t be far enough along to serve as a proper host when the time comes. Fortunately, I was able to suggest a remedy. Would you like to know what it is?”
“What are you going to do to me?” Danielle whispered.
“Not me. Them.” She gestured to the two darklings.
Danielle glanced at her arm, where the darkling had grabbed her back in Arlorran’s home. The skin and muscle had mostly recovered, but she still remembered the cold of the darkling’s grip, the weakness of her arm as his touch aged her flesh.
“Oh, stop worrying. Do you think we would endanger Rose’s future body?” asked Stacia. “Rose thinks we can protect you from the darklings’ power. If all goes as planned, your child will age by days or even weeks, leaving you unaffected. You should be thankful, dear stepsister. Most women would pay dearly to bypass some of the pain and discomfort of pregnancy.”
Stacia used a feather to brush more of her blood onto Danielle’s shirt. “If you would be so kind as to hold still? For your own safety, as well as your son’s.” She turned to the darklings. “Touch only those places I’ve marked.”
Mother, help me, Danielle prayed. She fought to get away from the bed, to evade those twisted shadows who even now reached for her stomach. Sweat turned her skin clammy. Her muscles tensed and her limbs trembled, but she couldn’t even lift her fingers from the bedcovers.
The darklings pressed their hands to the bloody prints Stacia had left. Heat flared at their touch. Pain tore her skin. Her insides churned until she thought she would be sick. Stacia grunted and took a step back.
“Enough,” Stacia said. Her face was drawn, and she held one hand to her forehead. “Enough!”
The darklings backed away so quickly that one landed in the pool with the fish. He scurried out and stood dripping in the corner.
“Rose’s spell isn’t as painless as she thought,” Stacia muttered. “Still, you’re starting to bulge a little more. That’s something, at least.” She wiped her hand on her skirt, leaving bloody streaks.
Danielle’s whole body shook. Everything had happened so quickly. She looked down at herself, seeing the curve of her stomach. Her ribs felt like she had been pummeled from within, and her skin threatened to tear open. And then she felt a small blow against her rib cage. She gasped.
“What is it?” Stacia snapped.
“The baby,” Danielle whispered. “He moved.” The baby kicked again, and Danielle realized she was smiling.
“Good. That means he’s still alive.” Stacia massaged her forehead and stepped away. “Get back to work. This place still stinks.”
She disappeared without another word.
Danielle did her best to carry out Stacia’s orders. Her body was exhausted, whether from fear and tension or the darklings’ touch, she didn’t know. Sweat stung her eyes as she retrieved her apron and fumbled with the ties.
Don’t worry, she whispered to the squirming baby in her womb. How much had the darklings aged him? Enough for him to twist about and stomp on her bladder, at any rate. All this time, she had hoped Talia or Beatrice would find her, but she couldn’t afford to wait any longer. I promise I won’t let them take you.
She pulled out a jar of honey-scented oil and poured it on a rag. The too-sweet smell made her queasy, but she clamped her jaw and began rubbing the oil into the floor where she had vomited earlier.
Can you hear me, friends? She looked toward the wall beside the fish pool. To one side, in the shadows where the pool touched the wall, a bit of wood and plaster had been gnawed away, opening a slender crack.
It had taken Danielle more than a week to duplicate her feat back at the cave, speaking to the animals without words. The first to respond had been a mangy black rat who was missing most of his tail.
Since then, she had managed to befriend four more rats. They were timid creatures, terrified of the darklings who roamed the corridors, but Danielle had earned their trust. She told them when it was safe to sneak in and eat the crumbs from Charlotte’s bed, or warned them about the arsenic-laced meats and cheese left in the c
orners.
It was Charlotte who did that duty, whining at great length every time she had to replace the poisoned bait. Despite the curse, Stacia was still too suspicious to trust Danielle with poisons.
Too suspicious, and yet not suspicious enough.
Two rats responded to Danielle’s call, squeezing through the crack and darting into the relative darkness beneath the bed. One was her tailless friend. The other was younger, her black fur sleek and oily. Both were thin and hungry.
Go ahead, Danielle said, glancing at Charlotte’s abandoned meal. The rats didn’t hesitate, racing to the plate and using their front paws to pack their cheeks with smashed flakes of fish meat.
Danielle worked while they ate, waiting until they had devoured their fill. It’s time.
As one, the rats disappeared again. Danielle scrubbed the floors while she waited. She prayed as she worked, asking for help and forgiveness both.
When the rats returned, Danielle’s eyes watered with gratitude. They dragged a filthy handkerchief Danielle recognized as belonging to Stacia. They quickly opened the handkerchief to reveal hard, moldy nuggets of poisoned cheese. Until this moment, she hadn’t been certain the rats were following her instructions. Now all she needed was to find a way to return that poison to her stepsister.
Danielle stood, wincing at the pain in her back. She searched the room as she straightened the bedcovers. Perhaps the pillows? Would arsenic work through skin contact? Better for Stacia to consume it directly, but how could Danielle’s rats slip the old cheese into her food without being noticed?
Stacia’s knife. Day after day, Stacia drew her own blood to work her magic.
The rats were already moving. The younger one hopped onto the altar and braced the knife with her paws. The older one began rubbing his bit of cheese back and forth along the dark, bloody blade.
Be careful, Danielle said.
Soon the rats traded places, smearing more poison onto the edge. There was justice here. Stacia would be the one to use the poisoned blade on herself. It would be her own choice, her willingness to practice dark magic that killed her.
If the poison worked. If the rats had amassed enough to kill a grown woman.
Danielle gathered up the remains of the fish, then looked around for anything else to clean. With the exception of the altar, the room was spotless, which meant she had no excuse to remain.
The rats had already returned with more poison. Wash yourselves in the pool when you’ve finished, especially your paws. Eat nothing until you’ve bathed.
She hoped the water would dilute any remaining poison enough that it wouldn’t hurt the fish.
As she left the room, she closed her eyes. Forgive me, Mother. All those years, she had tried to obey her mother’s final words, to remain pious and good. Not once had she fought back against her tormenters. Now she would murder her own stepsister.
I have to protect my son. Surely her mother would understand.
Despite everything, guilt and doubt shadowed her as she headed toward Charlotte’s room to finish cleaning. The baby kicked again as she shut the door, and then there was only guilt.
CHAPTER 12
DANIELLE DUMPED THE LAST of the boiling water into a great pot, then began hauling Brahkop’s clothes across the room. She only managed to fit three pair of trousers and one shirt into the pot before the water slopped over the edge. She glanced at the remaining pile and sighed. She’d be up all night trying to get everything clean.
She grabbed a paddle and began to stir, mixing the soap and the clothes together. Blue sparks in the water flickered as she stirred, the only source of light in the small room. Whatever magic caused the water to glow, boiling did nothing to stop it.
More water splashed onto her feet. Wonderful. For the rest of the day I’ll smell like troll pants soup.
Footsteps in the hallway made her look up, though she dutifully continued to stir the laundry. The door opened to reveal Charlotte’s none-too-steady silhouette. “Danielle?”
Danielle’s breath caught. Only a day had passed since her rats poisoned Stacia’s blade. Could the poison have worked so soon? “I’m here.”
Charlotte crooked one finger, beckoning.
Danielle abandoned the laundry and stepped into the hall. Most of the oil lanterns were shuttered, but there was still enough light to see the way Charlotte stared at Danielle’s stomach. Throughout the day, her apron had mostly concealed the effects of the darklings’ touch, but Danielle had taken it off and rolled up her sleeves to do the laundry.
“Stacia really did it,” Charlotte said. She reached out, brushing her fingers over the brown bloodstains on Danielle’s shirt. Danielle shivered, remembering Stacia’s touch, and that of the darklings. She had spent most of the day terrified that they would return to try again, but apparently Stacia hadn’t yet recovered.
Charlotte turned and walked down the hallway. “Come with me.”
Danielle followed. The two darklings played near Stacia’s door. The door was open, the room beyond dark and empty.
The darklings had captured a small, yellow-striped snake. One had driven a nail through the snake’s tail, pinning it to the floor. The other was chortling and jabbing the snake with a burning stick. When the fire on the stick died, he climbed the wall and stuck the end into one of the oil lamps to relight it.
Don’t fight them, Danielle pleaded as she passed. Don’t let their torments arouse you. They’re children. They’ll grow bored and move on. She doubted the snake would listen. Its pain and panic were too strong.
Charlotte led Danielle into her room, shutting the door behind them. “Sit down.”
Danielle took a seat on the floor. Charlotte tugged the chain to open the lanterns. Danielle squinted as her eyes adjusted to the light.
As always, Danielle’s gaze went to her sword, mounted over Charlotte’s bed on two wooden pegs. She could still see spots of blood on the hilt where the wood had cut Stacia’s palm, back in the cave.
“Do you know where your precious prince was tonight?” Charlotte asked.
Danielle shook her head. “Is Armand all right?”
Charlotte twisted her hands in the bedcovers, and for a moment Danielle thought she was going to scream. “We dined with the Duchess, and your prince could barely keep his hands off of her. Stacia and Brahkop were even worse. None of them even looked at me.”
“I don’t understand,” said Danielle. “He loved Stacia. The spell she cast—”
“Stacia doesn’t need him anymore,” Charlotte snapped. “The filthy troll was more than happy to have his wife back again. He and Stacia mixed a new potion, turning the prince’s affections toward the Duchess. He’s to be a gift for her.”
Leaving Charlotte alone and useless. The Duchess would take a human prince as her consort, payment for her hospitality. She wondered how long Stacia and Rose had planned this.
Charlotte bent down, retrieving a small clay pot from beneath the bed. She removed the lid and handed the pot to Danielle. “Drink.”
Danielle brought the pot to her lips. The smell was foul, like a tea made from compost. She gagged.
Charlotte snatched the pot. “Don’t spill it! Do you have any idea how hard I worked to brew this?”
“What is it?” Danielle asked.
“A brew of tansy and pennyroyal. I spent most of yesterday in the Duchess’ library, reading one dusty old book after another. I had to send Lefty to steal the ingredients.”
Danielle was still tired, and she didn’t immediately recognize that “Lefty” had to be the one-armed darkling. Then her mind seized on the rest of Charlotte’s words.
Her weariness vanished. She had once overheard a pair of women in the streets discussing herbs that could drive an unwanted child from the body. Tansy and pennyroyal were two of the most potent.
Her muscles tightened, and her hand shook as she reached out to take the pot from Charlotte’s hand.
“Isn’t this better than letting Rose have him?” Charlotte asked.
“Charlotte, why? There has to be another way,” Danielle said, seizing the chance to speak. Every moment she could talk was another moment she kept the poison from her mouth.
“Did you know that once a love spell has been broken, it can’t be redone?” Charlotte asked. “They severed Armand’s ties to Stacia. They can’t use magic to make him love her again. And they can’t risk letting him love you, or else your curse might be broken. If you lose the baby, they’ll have to give him to me. They’ll have to! Don’t you understand?”
“You don’t need to take my son,” Danielle said. “Can’t you just let me go?”
“I’m sorry.” Charlotte sniffed and turned away. “I truly am. But you’ve seen what Stacia’s become. Do you know what Rose would do to me if I helped you escape?”
“We could both escape,” Danielle said. “I’ll protect you. Once we’re back home—”
“There are worse things than darklings in the Duchess’ cavern,” Charlotte said. Her shoulders shook.
“Drink.”
“I’ll tell Stacia,” Danielle said through clenched teeth. She tried and failed to stop her arms from lifting the pot to her mouth.
“Then I’ll cut out your tongue.”
The pot touched her lower lip. The glazed clay was smooth as glass, and the smell seared her nostrils.
The smell. As her hands tilted the pot, she inhaled, deliberately filling her lungs with the putrid smell. She felt ill, but it wasn’t the stomach-knotting pains of nausea. She exhaled and breathed in again, willing herself to throw up. She began to weep. Even the smell of soap had been enough to trigger her vomiting. But that was before Stacia’s darklings had aged her baby, rushing Danielle along in her pregnancy. Her body still ached as it tried to adjust, but the nausea had passed. In her impatience, Stacia might have doomed the baby.
Mother, please help me. Don’t let this filth pass my lips.
“It’s the only way,” Charlotte said. “They’ll have to give Armand back to me.”
Danielle’s hand twitched. A few drops spilled onto her tongue. The taste of mint and camphor filled her mouth.