Stepsister(102)

Tanaquill stopped in front of Isabelle. She pressed a taloned hand to her chest.

Isabelle could hear her heart beating, louder and louder. The sound was crashing in her ears. Filling her head.

Tanaquill’s voice cut through it like thunder. “I will ask you one last time, Isabelle—what is your heart’s desire?”





One Hundred and Twenty-Three


Isabelle tried to speak, to form words, but her heart was pounding so loudly, the sound filled her throat and they wouldn’t come.

She closed her eyes and a thousand images swirled through her head. She saw herself as a child, happy and free. Before she was told that she was less than, that all the things she loved were the wrong things.

She saw herself flying over fences on Nero. Galloping over fields, the mud flying from his hooves. She saw herself climbing to the top of the linden tree with Felix, imagining the branches were the rigging of a pirate ship. Fighting duels with a mop handle. Fighting off a hungry wolf from the chicken coop with nothing but a broomstick.

Those childhood images vanished and others came. She saw herself fighting against Maman. Against dull boys she wouldn’t have willingly spent ten minutes with, never mind a lifetime. Fighting against the endless dreary days of teacups and cakes, fake smiles and small talk.

Isabelle saw now that she’d been fighting her entire life to be who she was.

With anguish, and hope, and yearning, she asked her heart how to win that fight.

And her heart answered.

She covered Tanaquill’s hand with her own.

And Tanaquill, smiling, said, “Yes.”





One Hundred and Twenty-Four


Isabelle opened her eyes and looked around.

Tanaquill had stepped away, into the shadows under the linden tree.

But Tavi, Ella, Felix, and Hugo were frozen in place. They were staring at her. Tavi was smiling. Ella was wide-eyed. Hugo was openmouthed. Tears were spilling down Felix’s cheeks.

Isabelle looked down at herself and caught her breath.

Her worn dress was gone. She was wearing leather breeches, a tunic of chain mail, and a gleaming silver breastplate. In her hands she held a finely made helmet. The weight of her armor, and the drag of her sword at her hip, were sweet to her. She felt taller, stronger, as if she were no longer made of blood, bones, and tender flesh, but iron and steel.

A high, fierce whinny echoed across the gray morning.

Isabelle turned and saw a black stallion cantering up the drive. He was wearing a blanket of mail and a silver faceplate. He looked fierce and majestic, a horse fit for a warrior.

He slowed to a trot, then stopped in front of Isabelle and snorted. Isabelle laughed. She patted his neck.

“He was shut in a stall. In a stable in the village,” she said, turning to the fairy queen. “How did he get out?”

Tanaquill shrugged. “Kicked the door down, I imagine. You know what he’s like.”

Isabelle walked around to Nero’s left side. Hugo held her helmet while Felix boosted her up into the saddle. Tavi and Ella gathered close.

The lieutenants sat up tall in their saddles, awaiting orders. All across the grounds of the Maison Douleur, in its fields and meadows, soldiers stood at attention.

It was dead silent as they waited, their eyes on Isabelle.

“I’m afraid,” she whispered, squeezing Felix’s hand. “I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never been a general.”

“You know the most important thing,” Felix said. “You know how to be brave. You’ve always known that.”

“You know how to outmaneuver the enemy,” Ella said. “You got us here.”

“You know how to fight,” Tavi said.

“You’re the worst girl I’ve ever met, Isabelle,” Hugo added, with touching sincerity. “You’re so tough and stubborn, you give me nightmares.”

Isabelle gave him a tremulous smile. “Thank you, Hugo. I know there’s a compliment in there somewhere.”

“Go now,” Felix told her, releasing her hand. “And then come back.”

Hugo handed Isabelle her helmet. She took it, then bowed her head to the fairy queen. “Thank you,” she said, with a catch in her voice.

Tanaquill nodded. “What was cut away is whole again,” she said. “The pieces of your heart are restored. The boy is love—constant and true. The horse, courage—wild and untamed. Your stepsister is your conscience—kind and compassionate. Know that you are a warrior, Isabelle, and that a true warrior carries love, courage, and her conscience into battle, as surely as she carries her sword.”

Isabelle put on her helmet. She drew her sword from its scabbard and raised it high. Nero stamped at the ground. He turned in a circle and pulled at the reins, eager to be off. The muscles in Isabelle’s arms rippled. The sword’s silver blade gleamed.

A cheer rose, a war cry from two thousand throats. It rang out over the land and echoed through the hills. Isabelle smiled, reveling in the thunderous sound.

“Soldiers!” she shouted as it died down. “We march on a fearsome enemy this morning! He murders our people, he plunders our villages and towns, lays waste to our fields. He has no claim to our lands. Greed and bloodlust are all that drive him. He and his fighters are without mercy. Their hearts burn with the flames of conquest, but ours shine with the light of justice. We will surround the Devil’s Hollow. We will fight him there, and we will vanquish him!”