Stepsister(62)

As she brushed Martin, Tanaquill’s words, spoken when they’d met in the Wildwood, came back to her. They rang out so clear, so true, it was as if the fairy queen was standing right next to her. Find the pieces of your heart. Not someone else’s …

Nero was a piece of her heart. She knew this with an unshakable certainty. When she’d ridden him, she’d been braver than she ever thought she could be. It terrified her to admit this, because she knew if she lost him again, it would kill her.

“Nero is not going to die. We won’t let him,” Isabelle said, patting Martin’s neck. “Get some rest, old man. We leave after dark.”





Sixty-Six


“How hot does a fire have to be to melt gold?” Isabelle asked.

“Very,” Hugo replied.

“One thousand nine hundred forty-eight degrees Fahrenheit,” said Tavi. “One thousand sixty-four Celsius.”

“Had that right on the tip of your tongue, didn’t you?” Hugo said.

“What should I have on the tip of my tongue? The words to some silly love song? A recipe for meatballs?”

“Yes,” Hugo said. “Both of those would be good things for you to know.”

Tavi rolled her eyes.

The three were walking down the lonely stretch of road that led from the LeBenêts’ farm to the Maison Douleur in the darkness. Isabelle had decided to search the ruins of her old home in the hopes of finding something of value. She knew she could not move charred beams and heavy stones alone and had begged Tavi and Hugo to help her. Tavi had agreed because she knew how much Nero meant to Isabelle. Hugo had because he’d made Isabelle promise that if she found more than one valuable thing, she would use it to find somewhere else to live.

Isabelle had owned a few pieces of jewelry. So had Tavi. Maman had owned many. When the Maison Douleur burned, they’d all assumed that the fire had destroyed them, but they’d never actually looked. Now Isabelle was hoping that she could unearth a necklace, or perhaps a silver serving spoon, a gold coin—anything that she could barter for Nero’s life.

Martin trailed behind them on a lead. No one was riding him. He would need all his strength for what was to come. Hugo had a heavy coil of rope on one shoulder. He and Tavi were both carrying lanterns.

“Did you ever think about making sauerkraut with your cabbage?” Tavi asked. “That way you could have something to sell at the market in the winter.”

“Did you ever think of leaving things just the way they are?”

“No. Never. You can’t make wonderful discoveries that way.”

Hugo snorted with laughter. “Like the sweaty dead dog?”

Tavi shot him a look. “Whatever happened to it, anyway?” she asked.

“It’s still in a box in the wagon, under the back seat. I haven’t found a good place to chuck it yet. Someplace where it won’t kill someone. I’m hoping to find a bubbling lava pit one day. Or a dragon’s cave. Or the gates of hell.”

Tavi looked at the side of his face. “You’re funny, Hugo. Who knew?”

Hugo was silent for a moment; then he said, “Odette. She knows.”

“Odette from the village?” Tavi asked.

Hugo nodded.

“How does she know you’re funny?” asked Isabelle. She remembered seeing him helping Odette across the street earlier at the market.

“Because we’re in love. And we want to get married.”

Tavi and Isabelle stopped dead. Martin did, too. But Hugo kept walking, his hands clenched.

“Does your mother know?” Tavi asked, running to keep up with him. Isabelle and Martin trotted after her.

“That I’m funny?” Hugo asked.

“No, Hugo,” Tavi said. “About Odette.”

“Yes. I told her. A year ago.”

“Then why haven’t you married her yet?” Isabelle asked, catching up.

“My mother won’t allow it,” Hugo said forlornly.

Isabelle and Tavi exchanged glances of disbelief. Never had Hugo spoken so many words at once, or with such emotion.

“Hugo …”

“Don’t make fun, Tavi. Don’t,” he warned.

Tavi looked stricken. “I—I wasn’t going to.”

“Odette practically runs the inn. She keeps all the reservations straight. She makes the best onion soup you’ve ever tasted. And her apple cake … I would fight the devil himself for a piece of it. But my mother says a blind girl can’t run a farm. She says she’ll be useless, just another mouth to feed. She only sees what Odette isn’t, not what she is.”

Tavi put a gentle hand on his back.

“This world, the people in it—my mother, Tantine—they sort us. Put us in crates. You are an egg. You are a potato. You are a cabbage. They tell us who we are. What we will do. What we will be.”

“Because they’re afraid. Afraid of what we could be,” Tavi said.

“But we let them do it!” Hugo said angrily. “Why?”

Tavi gave him a rueful smile. “Because we’re afraid of what we could be, too.”

A silence fell over them then, as deep and dark as the moonless night.

Hugo was the first to break it. “What am I going to do? Can one of you tell me?” he asked. “She’s everything to me.”