Stepsister(7)

But to Isabelle’s surprise—and everyone else’s—the grand duke didn’t budge. His lips were set in a hard line. Contempt darkened his flinty eyes.

“Your Grace, this girl is a servant,” he said. “She wasn’t at the ball. The guards would never let anyone dressed in rags into the palace. Why, the very idea—”

The prince cut him off. “The slipper. Now.”

The grand duke bowed stiffly. He walked towards the prince and Ella holding the velvet cushion out in front of him. When he was only a few yards away from them, the toe of his shiny black boot caught on something—a rock, he would later say—and he stumbled.

The glass slipper slid off the velvet cushion. It hit the ground.

And smashed into a thousand glittering pieces.





Eight


The prince cried out in anguish.

The grand duke apologized, hand to his heart.

The soldiers shifted nervously, their swords clanking at their hips.

Maman laughed. Isabelle gasped. Only Ella was calm. It soon became clear why.

“It’s all right. I have the other one right here,” she said, smiling.

As everyone watched, she pulled a second glass slipper from her skirt pocket. She placed it on the ground and lifted her ragged hem. As she slid her small foot inside it, the blue light flared, and the slipper sparkled as if it were made of diamonds.

It fitted perfectly.

The prince laughed joyously. He swept Ella into his arms and kissed her, not caring who saw. The soldiers cheered once more. The grand duke wiped sweat from his brow. Maman turned away, hands clenched, and walked into the house.

Isabelle took it all in, wishing as she had a million times before that she was beautiful. That she was valued. That she mattered.

“Ella won,” said a voice from behind her.

It was Tavi. She’d limped out of the mansion and was leaning on the back of the bench, holding her injured foot off the ground. She walked around to the front and sat down.

“Pretty always wins,” said Isabelle bitterly.

As the two sisters were talking, a third person joined them—Ella.

Tavi gave her an acid smile. “How perfect,” she said. “Here we are again. All three of us. Under the linden tree.”

Ella barely heard her. She was staring at Isabelle’s and Tavi’s feet with a look of such deep sadness, it almost seemed like grief. “What have you done?” she asked, tears welling in her eyes.

“Don’t you dare cry for us, Ella,” Tavi said vehemently. “Don’t you dare. You don’t get to. You got what you deserved and so did we.”

Ella raised her eyes to Tavi’s. “Did we? Did I deserve your cruelty? Did you deserve these injuries? Is that what we deserved?”

Tavi looked away. Then, with difficulty, she stood. “Go, Ella. Leave this place. Don’t come back.”

Ella, her tears spilling over, watched as Tavi limped towards the mansion. Then she turned to her other stepsister. “Do you hate me so much, Isabelle? Still?”

Isabelle couldn’t answer her; it felt as if her mouth was filled with salt. The memory she’d pushed down earlier surfaced now. She was nine years old again. Ella and Tavi were ten. Maman had been married to Ella’s father for a year.

They were all together, under the linden tree.

Sisters.

Stepsisters.

Friends.





Nine


It was a summer afternoon.

The sky was blue; the sun was bright.

Roses tumbled over the stone walls surrounding the mansion. Birds sang in the spreading branches of the linden tree, and under them the three girls played. Ella fashioned daisy chains and made up stories about Tanaquill, the fairy queen, who lived in the hollow of the tree. Tavi did equations on a slate with a piece of chalk. And Isabelle fenced with an old mop handle, pretending to defend her sisters from Blackbeard.

“Time to die, pirate scum! En garde!” she shouted, advancing on Bertrand the rooster, who’d wandered close to the tree. She much preferred Felix, the groom’s son, as a dueling partner, but he was busy with a new foal.

The rooster pulled himself up to his full height. He flapped his wings, crowed loudly, and attacked. He chased Isabelle around the tree, then she chased him, and on and on they went, until an exasperated Tavi shouted, “For goodness’ sake, Izzy! Can’t you ever be quiet?”

Unable to shake the rooster, Isabelle climbed up into the linden tree, hoping he would lose interest. Just as she’d seated herself on a branch, a carriage pulled into the drive. The rooster took one look at it and ran off. Two men got out of it. One was gray-haired and stooped. He carried a walking stick and a pink silk box with flowers painted on it. The younger had a leather satchel. Isabelle didn’t recognize them, but that was not unusual. Men often traveled from Paris to see her stepfather. Most were merchants, like he was, and came to discuss business.

The men didn’t see Isabelle, or Ella, who was well in under the canopy of branches, only Tavi, who was sitting on the bench.

“What are you doing there, little girl? Practicing your letters?” asked the older gentleman.

“Trying to prove Euclid’s fifth postulate,” Octavia replied, her brow furrowed. She did not look up from her slate.

The old man chuckled. He elbowed his companion. “My word, it appears we have a scholar here!” he said. Then he addressed Tavi again. “Now, listen to me, my little duck, you mustn’t trouble yourself with algebra.”