Stepsister(4)

Two


The little toe was the hardest.

Which didn’t come as a surprise. It’s often the small things that hurt the most—a cold glance, a cutting word, laughter that stops when you enter the room.

“Keep going,” Maman urged. “Think of what we will gain—a prince for you, perhaps a duke for Tavi, a home for us all in the palace!”

Isabelle heard the desperation in her mother’s voice. She knew that the dressmaker had cut off their credit and that the butcher had sent a boy to the house with an overdue bill. She tightened her grip on the knife and finished what she’d started.

The blinding pain, the smell of seared flesh, and the sight of her own toes lying on the hearth were so horrible that for a few seconds Isabelle was certain she would faint, but then Adélie was at her side with gentle hands and soothing words.

A wad of soft cotton was brought. A fresh white stocking. Brandy. And the glass slipper.

Maman handed it to her. “Put it on. Hurry,” she said.

Isabelle took it. It was heavy in her hands and cold to the touch. As she slid her foot into it, pain bit into her, sharp-toothed and savage. It moved up her leg and through her body until she felt as if she were being eaten alive. The blood drained from her face. She closed her eyes and gripped the arms of her chair.

And yet, when Maman demanded that she get up, Isabelle did. She opened her eyes, took a deep breath, and stood.

Isabelle could do this impossible thing because she had a gift—a gift far more valuable than a pretty face or dainty feet.

Isabelle had a strong will.

She did not know that this was a good thing for a girl to have, because everyone had always told her it was a terrible thing. Everyone said a girl with a strong will would come to a bad end. Everyone said a girl’s will must be bent to the wishes of those who know what’s best for her.

Isabelle was young, only sixteen; she had not yet learned that Everyone is a fool.





Three


Each step was agony.

Halfway down the hallway that led from the kitchen to the foyer, Isabelle faltered. She heard a thin, rising wail. Had it come from her?

“It’s Ella,” Maman said darkly. “Hurry, Isabelle. We must finish this business. What if the prince hears her?”

Just before the prince had arrived, Isabelle had locked Ella in the attic. Ella had wept. She’d begged Isabelle to let her out. She wanted to see the prince. She wanted to try the glass slipper.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Isabelle had told her. “You didn’t even go the ball. You’d only embarrass us in your ragged dress.”

It was a cruel thing to have done. She’d known it even as she’d turned the key in the lock, but it hadn’t stopped her. Nothing stopped her anymore. God in Heaven, what have I become? she wondered, as she heard another wail.

Maman eyed her closely, so closely that Isabelle felt she could see inside her.

“Let her out, Isabelle. Do,” she said. “The prince will take one look at her and fall head over heels in love, like every other man who sees her. Do you want to be kind or do you want the prince?”

Isabelle tried, but could not find an answer. The choices Maman gave her fit no better than the slipper did. An image flashed into her mind, a memory from long ago. She, Tavi, and Ella had been playing under the ancient linden tree that shaded the mansion.

A carriage had pulled into the yard. Two men, associates of Ella’s father—Isabelle and Tavi’s stepfather—had gotten out. Being genial, well-mannered men, they’d stopped to chat with the girls, but what happened next had changed everything.

Isabelle wished she could go back in time. She wished she could stop what had been put in motion that day, but she didn’t know how.

And now it was too late.

Who set us against each other, Ella? she wondered. Was it those men? Was it Maman? Or was it the whole heartless world?





Four


“Keep your weight on your heel. That will help with the pain,” Maman advised. “Come now. Hurry.”

She pinched color into Isabelle’s bloodless cheeks and together they continued down the hallway.

The prince, the grand duke, and the soldiers who’d accompanied them were all in the foyer, waiting for her. Isabelle knew she must not fail as her sister had.

Tavi had fooled everyone at first, but as she’d walked out of the house to the prince’s carriage, her heel had bled so much that she’d left carmine footprints on the ground.

No one had noticed the bloody tracks in all the excitement, but as Tavi had neared the carriage, a white dove had flown out of the linden tree. The bird had landed on the prince’s shoulder and had begun to sing.

Blood on the ground! Blood on the shoe!

This false, heartless girl is lying to you!



The prince had paled at the sight of so much blood. The grand duke, a rangy, wolfish-looking man, had become furious when he’d learned that his sovereign had been tricked. He’d demanded that Maman return the glass slipper, but Maman had refused. She’d insisted that Isabelle had a right to try the slipper, too, for the prince had decreed that every maiden in the kingdom could do so.

“Are you ready?” Maman whispered to Isabelle now, as they approached the foyer.

Isabelle nodded, then walked out to greet the prince. She’d glimpsed him at the ball, but only from a distance, and when he’d arrived at the mansion, Maman had quickly ushered her into the kitchen.