Stepsister(35)

“I can't quite make that out. The glasses aren't powerful enough, but I think Isabelle asked her for help,” said Chance. He ran his hands through his braids, then pointed at the cook. “I’ll need a gift. I can’t go empty-handed. Are there any rabbits in the larder?”

“I used the last ones for the stew we had tonight. I have pheasants, though,” he replied, heading for the kitchen.

“I’ll take them,” said Chance.

“You’re going to look for Tanaquill now?” the magician asked. “It’s nearly midnight!”

“I don’t have a choice,” Chance said. “Fate saw that detour, too. She’s hunting for the fairy queen as we speak, I’m sure of it. I’ve got to find her first.” He sped off after his cook.

The scientist, his face etched with worry, picked up the rose-tinted glasses and polished them. “She’ll eat him alive,” he said.

The magician stared after Chance, a worried look on her face. “You’re right,” she said. She patted her hip, making sure her dagger was there, then added, “I’m going with him.”





Thirty-Nine


The fairy queen was standing in a clearing in the Wildwood, an enormous yellow-eyed owl perched on her forearm.

It was well after midnight, but the darkness only set off her vivid presence. Her russet hair was braided and coiled. A circlet of antlers adorned her head. She wore a dress that shimmered like a minnow, and over it a cape of gray feathers held together at the neck by a pair of large iridescent beetles, their powerful pincers clasped.

Chance had found her by following her magic. It left traces, silver drops that gleamed on the forest floor, then slowly faded. As he and the magician watched, hidden in a copse of birch trees, Tanaquill stroked the owl and whispered to him, heedless of the sharp, curved beak that could crack bone and rip out hearts, of the curved talons that could flay hide.

“Ready?” Chance whispered. The magician nodded, and they both stepped out into the clearing.

“Hail mighty Tanaquill!” Chance called out. “My search is at last rewarded. It’s an honor to be in your presence.”

Tanaquill laughed. It was the sound of the autumn wind swirling dead leaves around. “You’ve been in my presence for a good half hour, cowering behind the birch trees. I smelled you. And your pheasants.”

Chance approached her, with the magician close behind him. “Please accept them, Your Grace, as a small token of my esteem,” he said with a bow, holding the birds out.

With a sneer, Tanaquill refused them. “Leave them for the vultures,” she said. “They like dead things. I prefer my tribute living. The heart beating, the blood surging.”

She put a hand on Chance’s chest. Leaning in close to his neck, she breathed in his scent, licked her lips. Chance was enthralled by her beguiling green eyes, like a mouse transfixed by a snake. He’d let her come too close.

The magician saved him. She pulled him away, then stood in front of him, her hand on the hilt of her dagger. Tanaquill snarled like a fox who’d lost a nice fat squirrel.

“Why are you here? What do you want of me?” she asked.

“Your help. I want to save a girl. Her name is Isabelle. You know her. I have her map. Drawn by the Fates. It shows that you spoke with her.”

“And just how did you come to possess the map?” Tanaquill asked. “The Fates guard their work closely.”

Chance explained. As he finished, Tanaquill made a noise of disgust. “I want nothing to do with your foolish games,” she said, walking away. “I do not serve you or Fate. I serve only the heart.”

Chance took a desperate step after her. He couldn’t let her slip away. He was certain something important had passed between her and Isabelle. Something he could use to help the girl.

“Volkmar comes closer to Saint-Michel with each passing day,” he said.

“What of it?” said Tanaquill with a backhanded wave.

“He has rewritten Isabelle’s fate. In blood. But she can change it. If she can change herself.”

Tanaquill’s laughter rang out through the Wildwood. “That selfish, bitter girl? You think she can best a warlord?”

“It is not only the village, and the mortals who live in it, that will fall. Volkmar plunders and burns everything in his path. The Wildwood and all that dwell in it … they will not survive him, either.”

Tanaquill stopped. She turned around. Sorrow and anger warred in the depths of her fierce eyes. Chance saw her distress. And pushed his advantage.

“Please, I beg you. What did Isabelle say to you?”

“She asked for my help,” Tanaquill said at length. “She wishes to be pretty.” The fairy queen spat the word.

“And did you grant her wish?”

“I told her I would help her,” Tanaquill replied in such a way that Chance had the distinct feeling she was evading his question.

The fairy queen continued. “I also told her that she would have to earn my help by finding the lost pieces of her heart.”

“Those pieces … what are they?” asked Chance.

“Why should I tell you? So you can find them and drop them into her lap?”

“So I can give her a chance. That’s all I ask. A chance at redemption.”