Stepsister(82)

They had no idea as they walked out into the bright afternoon that someone else had been with them in the stables. Had they once looked up, they would have seen her, a black-haired girl sitting in the rafters, her thin legs dangling.

Watching. Listening.

Eating spiders.





Ninety


Isabelle stared up at the ceiling beams of the hayloft.

Maman and Tavi were asleep, she could hear their steady breathing, but she couldn’t sleep, no matter how hard she tried. Even though she was only wearing a thin chemise, she was sweating. It was hot. The air was still. She’d tossed and turned for the last several hours, unable to get comfortable.

Sighing, she got up, crossed the room, and sat down on the floor by the hayloft’s open doors, hoping a breeze might blow in to provide some relief.

The moon was nearly full. Its rays fell over the farm, illuminating the fields and orchards. The pond and pastures. The chicken coop. The dairy house. The woodpile.

And, to Isabelle’s surprise, a fox. She was sitting on the chopping block, next to the ax, her tail wrapped neatly around her feet.

“Your Grace,” Isabelle said, nodding to her.

With a sinking feeling, she realized why Tanaquill had come.

“You’ve heard, haven’t you? You know I’m leaving.”

The fox nodded. The gesture was small, quick, yet in it Isabelle read the fairy queen’s displeasure and disappointment.

Isabelle bent her head, ashamed. “I found two of the pieces,” she said. “I found Nero. And I’ll never let anyone take him from me again. I found Felix … just in time to lose him again.” Her voice caught. The tears she held back all day came, and this time she couldn’t stop them. “He’s not coming back, Tanaquill. No matter what Tavi and Hugo say. He’s too gentle to drive a bayonet through another human being.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Ella is the third piece, isn’t she? I tried to see her, tried to tell her that I’m sorry. But I didn’t. And now I’ll never get the chance.”

She raised her head; her eyes found the fox’s again.

“I failed, I’m afraid. I didn’t get all the pieces. Is that why my heart hurts so?” She pressed her palm to her heart, anguished. “Something inside it gnaws and gnaws, and sometimes I think it will never stop, that it will torment me until I’m in my grave. What is it, this pain? Do you know?”

The fox made no reply.

“Ah, well,” Isabelle said with a broken laugh. “I guess I was never meant to be pretty, and ugly girls don’t get happily-ever-afters, do they?” She went silent for a moment, then said, “Thank you for your gifts. The sword and shield saved my life. It looks like I’m not going to find out what the seedpod does, but I’d like to keep all three if I may. To remember you. And the linden tree. And home.”

The fox nodded. And then, in the blink of an eye, she was gone.

Isabelle knew she would never see the fairy queen again, and the knowledge was heavy inside her. She would never see the Wildwood again, or Saint-Michel. The uneasiness she felt about leaving deepened into a certainty that leaving was wrong. But she knew what Hugo and Tavi wanted. Felix, too. And the decision was made now; she would have to go through with it.

“What else can I do?” she asked the darkness.

That’s when a face, small and furry, appeared in the open doorway.





Ninety-One


Isabelle scrambled backward, frightened.

Then she saw it was only Nelson, dressed in his customary pearls.

“You gave me such a scare!” she scolded in a whisper, so as not to wake anyone. “What are you doing here? And how did you get those pearls back? I gave them to the diva!”

Nelson thrust out his paw. He was clutching a small piece of paper, folded over several times.

Isabelle took it from him and unfolded it. Swirls and curlicues of gold ink decorated the border. In the centre was an invitation, written in a swooping script.

His Excellency the Marquis de la Chance requests your presence at the Chateau Rigolade for the premiere of his new theatrical extravaganza, An Illustrated History of the World’s Greatest Military Commanders.

“How strange,” she said slowly. “That’s the title of a book. One I owned a long time ago.” She looked up at the monkey, perplexed. “How can that be?”

Nelson looked away. He fingered his pearls.

“When is this happening? Tomorrow?”

Nelson grabbed the piece of paper back and shook it in Isabelle’s face. She looked at it again, more closely this time. At the very bottom was one word: Now.

Isabelle squeezed her eyes shut. “This is a dream. I’m dreaming. I must be,” she said.

She opened her eyes. Nelson was still there. He grabbed a lock of her hair and pulled it so hard that she yelped.

“Fine. I’m not dreaming,” she said, extricating her hair from his grasp. “But it’s the middle of the night. And the chateau is miles away. And it’s a chateau and the marquis is a marquis and he’ll have invited other people. And they’ll all be very important and beautifully attired. I have one dress, and it’s full of holes. I can’t go. I’d only be an embarrassment.”

Nelson regarded Isabelle; then he regarded his pearls. He heaved an anxious sigh, unhooked his necklace, and handed it to her. Isabelle was deeply touched. She had a feeling those pearls meant the world to the little creature.