Stepsister(101)

“You ask a great deal,” Tanaquill said. “Nothing comes from nothing. Magic must come from something. Coaches can come from pumpkins; that is child’s play. But an army? That is far more difficult. Even I cannot make a private out of a pebble, a major out of a mushroom.”

“We brought you these,” Isabelle said, hurrying to the coffins. She picked up a figure—an officer holding a saber across his chest—and put it in Tanaquill’s hand.

Tanaquill regarded it. She cocked her head.

“Please, Your Grace,” Isabelle said. “Please help us.”

Tanaquill’s deep green eyes caught Isabelle’s. Held by their gaze, Isabelle felt as if the fairy queen could see deep inside her. Tanaquill stepped back, raised one hand high, and swirled it through the air.

A breeze rose. It turned into a wind. And the wind curled in on itself, spinning in a widening gyre.

Isabelle’s pulse quickened as the wind whirled the figurines out of the coffins and spread them across the lawns, the gardens, the paddocks and fields.

When the coffins were empty, the wind stopped.

And a new sound rose.





One Hundred and Twenty-One


Isabelle felt the ground under her feet rumble and shudder.

Creaks and groans and sharp, shattering cracks were heard—the sounds trees make in a violent storm. Isabelle looked out over the hills and fields, illuminated now by the dawn’s first light.

Felix’s tiny carved figures were growing.

Isabelle’s heart beat madly as she watched them. Wooden bodies drew breath. They stretched tall, heads back, arms open wide to the sky. Wooden cheeks flushed with color. Blank eyes ignited with the fire of war.

Shouts carried across the fields as sergeants ordered men into formation. Isabelle heard the heavy metallic clunks of rounds being chambered and rifles being shouldered. A sea of blue uniforms flowed around her.

Two horses jumped the paddock fence and galloped to Tanaquill. As the fairy queen stroked them and spoke to them, Isabelle realized that they were the two she had rescued. They looked nothing like their former selves. Their coats gleamed; their manes rippled. They huffed and blew and raked at the ground, impatient for their riders.

Tanaquill stepped back as two men—lieutenants, Isabelle reasoned, judging from their uniforms—claimed the horses. They swung up into their saddles easily, lengthened their reins, then turned to Isabelle.

“Our general, mademoiselle. Where is he?” one of them asked her. “We await our orders.”

Isabelle craned her neck. She looked past the lieutenants. Out over the garden. The paddocks. Searching for their general. He would be tall and powerful. Scarred from his many battles. An intimidating man with a fierce bearing.

But she didn’t see him.

“Where is he?” she asked, turning to Felix. “Where’s the general?”

“Isabelle …” Felix said, shaking his head. “I—I didn’t carve one.”





One Hundred and Twenty-Two


“Felix, what do you mean, you didn’t carve one?” Isabelle asked, panicking.

“I was going to carve him at the end. I’d finished the soldiers and all the other officers—I just didn’t get to the general.”

“What are we going to do?” Isabelle said.

“What about the marquis?” Tavi asked. “He would make a good general.”

“Yes! The marquis!” Isabelle said, turning to Tanaquill. “I’ll go fetch him. It won’t take long. It—”

“There’s no time,” Tanaquill said, cutting her off. She pointed at the enchanted army. “Look at them.”

The soldiers’ movements were becoming stiff and jerky. Their color was fading. Their eyes were dulling.

“What happening to them?” Isabelle asked, distraught.

“They are warriors. They exist only to fight. If they have no general to lead them into battle, their fire fades. The magic dies.”

Isabelle’s panic bloomed into terror. She couldn’t lose this army. It was the only chance Ella had. The only chance their country had.

“What about Felix? Or Hugo? Can you transform one of them into a general?” Isabelle asked.

She turned to the boys, expecting to see Felix wearing a uniform, to see Hugo with a sword, but they remained exactly as they were.

“What’s wrong? Why didn’t anything happen?” she asked.

“That is your wish, not theirs,” Tanaquill replied.

Isabelle turned to the two boys. “Please,” she begged them.

“Isabelle, I’m a carpenter. I haven’t even reported for training yet. I’d get these men killed,” Felix said.

Hugo shook his head; he stepped back.

Isabelle pressed the heels of her hands to her head. “What can we do?”

Tanaquill circled her again. “What is your heart’s wish, Isabelle? Its truest wish?” she asked.

“To save my queen, my king, my country,” Isabelle babbled madly. “To save innocents from being slaughtered.”

But again, nothing happened.

“To give these fighters a general who is brave. Who’s a true warrior. Who will give everything to the fight—his blood and tears. His body and soul. His life.”