Stepsister(43)

“Earlier, you said, Not after I’d lost all the things that were important to me. But you were going to say, Not after I’d lost all the things I loved.”

“What if I did?” Isabelle asked warily. “What does it matter?”

“It matters because once I thought …” His eyes found hers. “That I was one of those things.”

And suddenly, Isabelle lost the small amount of composure she’d been struggling so hard to hold on to. How dare he, after what he’d done.

“And people say I’m heartless? You’re cruel, Felix!” she shouted, her voice cracking with anger.

“Me?” Felix said. “But I didn’t—”

“No, you didn’t. And that’s where the trouble started. Goodbye, Felix. Yet again.”

Isabelle turned Martin around and touched her heels to his side. Martin must’ve sensed her upset, for he obeyed her command immediately and launched into a canter. They were across the clearing in no time.

Isabelle rode away without once looking back.

Just as Felix had.





Forty-Six


In the Wildwood, Fate bent down to a patch of mushrooms, slender-stalked and ghostly in the pale light of a crescent moon.

She plucked a plump one. “Amanita virosa, the destroying angel. Horribly poisonous, Losca,” she said, handing it to her servant. “And essential when making any ink with a greenish hue such as Jealousy, Envy, or Spite.”

Fate had brought some inks with her from her palazzo, and she’d been making more, but she needed to get Isabelle’s map back in her clutches before she could use them. Getting Isabelle in my clutches would be helpful, too, she thought. How can I convince her of the folly of struggling against her fate when I never even see her? Chance had contrived to meet the girl twice already. Fate knew she needed to pull Isabelle firmly into her orbit, but how?

“Making ink tonight? Even though you don’t have a map?” said a voice from the darkness.

Losca squawked with fright. Fate, not so easily startled, turned around. “Chance?” she called, peering into the shadows.

There was a whoosh, and then a brilliant, blazing light. Three flaming torches illuminated Chance, his magician, and his cook.

“How uncharacte?ristically optimistic of you,” Chance said baitingly.

Fate gave a contemptuous laugh. “How does the skull look? The one on Isabelle’s map? Has it grown any lighter?”

Chance glowered.

“I didn’t think so.”

“I’m winning,” Chance said, jutting his chin. “I’ve given her one piece of her heart back. The boy loves her and she loves him. Love has altered the course of many lives.”

“I hear that meeting didn’t go quite to plan,” said Fate, with a coiled smile. “I hear they didn’t exactly fall back into each other’s arms.”

“Next time I see that raven, I’m going to shoot it,” Chance growled, casting a menacing glance at Losca.

“You’ve won a battle, not the war,” said Fate dismissively. “It’s easy to love the lovable. Can Isabelle love when it hurts? When it costs? When the price of love may be her life?”

“Mortals aren’t born strong, they become strong. Isabelle will, too.”

“You are many things,” said Fate, shaking her head. “Most of all, you are ruthless.”

“And you are dreary, madame,” Chance said hotly. “So dreary, you’d have everyone in bed at eight with a cup of hot milk and a plate of madeleines. Can’t you see that the courage to risk, to dare, to toss that gold coin up in the air over and over again, win or lose, is what makes humans human? They are fragile, doomed creatures, blinder than worms yet braver than the gods.”

“Challenging the Fates is hard. Eating madeleines is easy. Most mortals choose the madeleines. Isabelle will, too,” Fate said.

As she spoke, the moon disappeared behind a cloud.

“It’s getting late. Past midnight already,” Fate said. “There are dangerous creatures afoot in the woods at this hour, and I and my maid must return to the safety of Madame LeBenêt’s farm.”

Fate’s shawl had settled in the crooks of her arms; she drew it up around her shoulders. Her gray eyes settled on the three burning flames held aloft by Chance and his friends. Suddenly, she smiled.

“It’s so dark without the moon. So hard to find one’s way. Might I beg a torch from you?” she asked.

Chance hesitated.

“Come, now,” Fate chided. “Surely you wouldn’t deny an old woman the means to light her way home?”

Chance nodded and the magician handed her torch to Fate.

“Good night, Marquis,” Fate said. “And thank you.”

Chance watched her as she started off, her torch held out in front of her, her maid scurrying behind her. He could not see her face, nor hear her voice as she walked away. Had he, he might’ve realized how foolish he’d been.

“Yes, there are dangerous creatures afoot tonight, Losca,” Fate said to her servant. “And none more dangerous than me.”





Forty-Seven


The drunken man swayed back and forth as violently as if he’d been standing aboard a small boat in rough seas.