Stepsister(53)

She hadn’t expected that. She hadn’t expected him to remember the heart and wondered if he’d remembered other things that had happened here. If he did, he wasn’t sharing his memories. His eyes were elsewhere now, their depths hidden from her. He’d opened his satchel and was digging through it furiously.

“I have something for you,” he said. Quickly. As if he were trying to change a subject that no one had brought up.

He pulled out the same tools of his trade Isabelle had seen when he’d emptied his bag at the marquis’s, but he was taking out other things, too. Strange things. A human hand. Half a face. A set of teeth. Two eyeballs.

Isabelle’s own eyes widened in horror.

Felix noticed. He laughed. “They’re not real,” he said, picking up the hand and offering it to her.

Isabelle took it, half expecting it to feel warm. The painted skin was so lifelike. “Why do you have them?” she asked.

“I made them. I make a lot of body parts now, what with all the wounded men in the army camp. There’s such a demand for them that Colonel Cafard won’t let me enlist. I tried, but he said I’m more valuable to the army working for Master Jourdan than I would be working for him.”

Plus you can’t shoot straight, Isabelle thought, remembering the time they’d been allowed to fire her stepfather’s pistols. He’d hit everything but the target.

Felix continued to dig in his satchel, then finally he pulled out an object and put it in Isabelle’s lap. “There. That one’s for you.”

Isabelle put the hand down and looked at what he’d given her. It was a leather slipper, thin and finely stitched, with a gusset and laces above the arch. She picked it up. It was heavy.

“What is it?” she asked.

Felix didn’t reply. Instead, he took the slipper from her, opened the laces, and pulled out whatever it was that had made it heavy. As he put the object into Isabelle’s hands, she saw that it was a block of wood, carved in the shape of toes. Each was well delineated, separate from its fellows, sanded to smoothness.

“Toes …” she said wonderingly.

“Your toes,” Felix said, taking them back from her.

“That is an unusual gift. Most girls get sweets. Or flowers.”

“You were never most girls. Are you now?” he asked, an edge to his voice. He put the wooden toes back inside the slipper, then wadded a bit of lambswool he had in his satchel in after them. “Try it,” he said, handing the slipper back to her.

Isabelle hitched up her skirt and took her boot off. She put the slipper on, then started to tie the laces.

“That’s not tight enough,” Felix said. “It has to fit like a glove.” He leaned over her, pulled the laces tighter, and knotted them. “Stand up,” he said when he’d finished.

Isabelle did. The slipper fit better than a glove; it fit like her own skin. She put her boot back on.

“Take a step. But be careful. Don’t forget that you reopened your scar when you fell off Martin,” Felix said, shoveling body parts back into his satchel.

Isabelle clenched her fists. He was making her want something badly. Yet again. What if the slipper didn’t work? What if it hurt? What if it only made things worse? He had a talent for making things worse.

“Come on, Isabelle. You’re braver than this. Take a step.”

His voice was challenging, goading, and Isabelle bridled at it. He saw the fear in her, and she didn’t want him to. Gingerly, she put her foot down, holding her breath. It didn’t hurt. She exhaled. Took a step. And then another. The weight of the carved toes was perfectly balanced. The tight fit kept the toes snug up against the rest of her foot. Nothing slipped or rubbed. She’d never expected to walk without a limp again, and now she was. Her gait was smooth and easy.

Happiness flooded through her. She walked briskly back and forth.

“Take it slow,” Felix cautioned.

She ran back and forth.

“Isabelle.”

She jumped up on the mossy bank and jumped down again. Balanced on her new foot. Twirled. Lunged. Laughed out loud. Giddy and excited, she forgot herself. Forgot to be awkward. Forgot to be angry.

“Thank you, Felix. Thank you!” she said, and then she impulsively threw her arms around him.

She didn’t see Felix’s eyes fill with longing as she hugged him. She didn’t know that just for an instant, he pressed his cheek against her head. She felt his arms stiffen at his sides, though. She felt him pull away from her.

Hurt, she took a step back.

“Isabelle, I can’t—” Felix started to say.

“Can’t what? Get too close?” Isabelle asked, her voice raw. “No, you shouldn’t. I’m broken. And broken things draw blood.”

“Either I back away or I wrap my arms around you. And then what?”

Isabelle couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. “Is that some kind of rotten joke, Felix?” she asked angrily. “You should leave. Go. As far as you can.”

“I already tried that,” Felix said.

And then he reached across the space between them and cupped her cheek. Isabelle grasped his wrist, meaning to push it away. Instead, her fingers curled around it. She leaned into his palm, his nearness, his warmth, melting her defenses.

“Don’t,” she said. “It’s not fair.”