Stepsister(14)

Now she was walking towards the village square. She and Tavi had decided to split up in order to finish their shopping faster, then meet back at their cart. Isabelle was headed there now, but the streets were unfamiliar to her and she hoped she was going the right way. Maman rarely allowed them to go to Saint-Michel. Only common girls traipse through the village, she said.

Isabelle was eager to get home. The rutted cobbles made for difficult walking and her foot was aching. Scents of the things she’d bought—slices of salty ham, tiny pickled cucumbers, a pungent blue-veined Roquefort—wafted up from her basket. Her stomach twisted with hunger. It had been weeks since she’d enjoyed such treats.

Isabelle made sure to keep her head down as she entered the square, hoping to go unnoticed. Though she couldn’t see much looking at the ground, she could hear a great deal.

Villagers stood together outside shop fronts and taverns, swapping rumors in tense voices. Volkmar von Bruch had raided another village. He was moving west. No, he was moving south. Refugees were everywhere. Good Queen Ella, God bless her, was trying to help. She had ordered noble families to open their manors and castles to children orphaned by the raids.

As Isabelle hurried on, she heard the sound of hooves on cobblestones. She turned and saw a group of soldiers approaching the square. Leading them was a tall man astride a beautiful white horse. Isabelle hobbled out of their way, joining the crowd at the fountain. No one bothered her; the people only had eyes for the soldiers. A loud cheer rose as they crossed the square.

“Bless you, Colonel Cafard!” a woman shouted.

“God save the king!” another bellowed.

The colonel sat tall and straight-backed in his saddle, eyes ahead. His dark blue coat and white britches were spotless, his boots polished to a high shine.

“At least Saint-Michel is safe,” a man said as the soldiers passed by. Others agreed. Hadn’t the king sent his finest regiments? Hadn’t the good colonel set them up right outside the village in Levesque’s pasture? Why, there were over two thousand soldiers in that camp. There was nothing to fear.

Though she was not cold, Isabelle felt a deep chill move through her. Someone’s just walked over your grave, Adélie used to say when that happened.

She had no idea that the bloodthirsty Volkmar had advanced so far into France. Neither she, Tavi, nor Maman had left their home in over a month. The last bit of news they’d heard—that the old king had died, that the prince had been crowned king and Ella queen—had come from the servants before they’d departed.

Distracted by the villagers’ talk, Isabelle did not see the pothole in front of her until she stepped down in it hard. A searing pain shot up her leg. She stifled a cry, limped to a lamppost, and leaned on it to take the weight off her throbbing foot. In agony, she glanced up the street hoping to see her cart, but there was no sign of it.

She did, however, see Odette, the innkeeper’s daughter, walking towards her, tapping her cane over the cobblestones. Odette was blind and used the cane to navigate the village’s winding streets.

Then Isabelle saw something else.

Cecile, the mayor’s daughter, and her gaggle of friends were walking behind Odette. Cecile’s eyes were crossed; her tongue was hanging out. She was waving her parasol in front of her as if it were a cane, mocking Odette. Her friends were giggling.

Dread gripped Isabelle. She knew she should go to Odette and defend her. But her foot hurt and she had no heart for another confrontation. She told herself that Odette didn’t know what was happening. After all, she couldn’t see Cecile, but she, Isabelle, could, and knew she would be the girl’s next victim. She looked around anxiously for a place to hide, but it was too late. Cecile had spotted her.

“Isabelle de la Paumé, is that you?” she drawled, forgetting about Odette.

As Cecile spoke, Isabelle’s eyes fell on the entrance to an alley. She didn't bother to reply but rushed down the narrow passage, heedless of the pain she was in. The alley was damp and smelled like a sewer. A rat darted out in front of her and someone nearly emptied a chamber pot on her head, but she managed to avoid Cecile and emerge on the very street where she’d left her cart.

Relief flooded through her. Tavi wasn’t there yet, but Isabelle was certain she’d come soon. In the meantime, she could sit down. Her foot felt like it was on fire now. As she hobbled towards the cart, though, guilt pricked her conscience. She thought about Odette. Had Cecile left her alone? Or had she been so frustrated she couldn’t taunt Isabelle that she’d tormented the blind girl twice as hard?

History books say that kings and dukes and generals start wars. Don’t believe it. We start them, you and I. Every time we turn away, keep quiet, stay out of it, behave ourselves.

The wrong thing, the cowardly thing, the easy thing. You do it fast. You put it behind you. It’s over, you tell yourself as you hurry off. You’re finished with it.

But it may not be finished with you.

Isabelle had been in such a hurry to escape that she’d started for the cart without looking up and down the street.

“Isabelle, darling! There you are!” a voice called out.

Isabelle’s stomach tightened. Slowly, she turned around.

Standing behind her, smiling like a viper, was Cecile.





Sixteen


Cecile, blond and haughty, strolled up to Isabelle. She was wearing a yellow dress, carrying a matching parasol, and trailing a dozen lesser girls in her wake.