Stepsister(67)

Slaughter yard? Chance thought, outraged. I bet that miserable crone had something to do with it.

“What’s his name?” he asked nonchalantly.

“Nero.”

Ha! Chance crowed silently. It was all he could do not to dance a hornpipe on the top of the carriage. Her horse … a second piece of heart returned to her!

He had been watching Isabelle’s map closely and had noticed that two new lines had appeared on it. One veered into the Wildwood and crossed Felix’s path. The other careened to the slaughter yard. Chance had not been able to guess why Isabelle had made the second detour. Now he knew.

The boy, the horse, Chance thought, all that’s needed now is the stepsister.

Chance knew that if he was going to help Isabelle find the third piece, he needed to keep her here with him for a bit, to keep her talking and hopefully edge his way around to the topic of Ella. Fate had forbidden Isabelle from going to the Chateau Rigolade and had banned him from visiting the LeBenêts’ farm. This was the first opportunity he’d had to speak with her since Nelson had shot the chicken thief.

He sat down on top of the carriage and dangled his legs over the side. “You ride him as if you raised him,” he said, reaching a hand out. Nero walked over and allowed Chance to scratch his nose.

“I did raise him,” Isabelle said, patting his neck. “I got him when he was only a colt. For my eleventh birthday. He was a gift from Ella’s—I mean, from the queen’s father—my stepfather. Tavi and I, we’re the queen’s ug—”

“You’re her stepsisters, yes. I know. My magician told me. What an incredible gift. Was Octavia not jealous? What about Ella?”

“Tavi was given a leather-bound set of Isaac Newton’s Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy the month before for her birthday. She wouldn’t have noticed if our stepfather had given me a herd of elephants. And Ella was never jealous. She was afraid of Nero, though. Afraid I would kill myself on him.” Isabelle smiled wistfully, remembering. “She worried every time I galloped off on him. Usually with Felix. Your carpenter. He was one of our grooms …”

“Oh, was he?” Chance interjected lightly.

“Ella threw her arms around us every time we returned and kissed us, as if she was afraid that one night we wouldn’t come back …” Her voice trailed away. “She was always so sweet, so kind.”

Chance saw his opportunity. “You miss her,” he said.

Isabelle looked down at the reins in her hands. “Every day. It’s a hard thing to admit.”

“Why?”

Isabelle laughed sadly. “Because she certainly doesn’t miss me. She hates me.”

“You know this?”

“How could she not?”

“Because you are bold and dashing. Who would not love such a girl?”

Isabelle shook her head. “You are kind, Your Grace, but you don’t know me. I was … I was not good to her.”

“I know cavalry officers who wouldn’t jump that hedge. I know a brave soul when I see one.”

Isabelle gave him a questioning look. “Are you saying I should—”

“Try to see your stepsister? Try to make amends? Why, child, you read my mind!”

“Do you think she would see me?” asked Isabelle, hesitantly. And hopefully.

Chance leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I think we all make mistakes. What matters is that we don’t let our mistakes make us.”

The church bell began to toll the hour—eight o’clock. Chance grimaced. The card game had likely started. “We must part ways, I’m afraid. I have business in the village. Paris is not far, young Isabelle!”

He jumped down and opened the carriage’s door. Once inside it, he lowered the window, leaned out, and slapped the door. The driver turned the horses, heading them back towards the road.

Chance and Isabelle waved goodbye to each other, and then Chance fell back against his seat.

Things were going well. Isabelle was forging some paths of her own. The horse was hers. The boy, too. Or rather, he would be if they could stop sparring with each other. And now Isabelle was going to try to see her stepsister.

Chance should have been elated at this thought; but he was troubled. He had Isabelle’s map. He looked at it daily, and no matter how much progress she made, the horrible wax skull at the bottom continued to darken. He guessed Isabelle had only a handful of days left before the skull turned black.

Finding Ella and gaining the fairy queen’s help … these things were her only hope. And his.

Chance leaned out of the window again, searching for Isabelle. He spotted her galloping back over the fields, growing smaller and smaller.

“Go, you splendid girl,” he whispered. “Ride hard. Ride fast. Make the road your own. Hurry.”





Seventy-Four


Madame LeBenêt slammed the bread dough on the table as if she meant to kill it.

“Twice, Tantine!” she said resentfully. “Not once, but twice those girls have taken advantage of my kind nature. First the cheese, now the horses!”

“Isabelle has a soft heart, Avara. Just like you,” Tantine said.

Her voice was soothing, her expression placid, but inside she was livid. Things had been coming together so well, and now they were falling apart. That damned stallion was supposed to be dead, not happily grazing in the LeBenêts’ pasture. Fate had bought him from a poor widow, then sold him to the slaughter yard, telling them he was too wild to ride, a killer, and must be put down.