Stepsister(89)

Fate shook her head, muttering about fools and dreamers, but the two ancient adversaries sat down by the fire and enjoyed a brief truce in their eternal war. They drank a toast to foolish humans, who stumbled and fell, made more wrong choices than right ones, who broke their own hearts again and again but somehow managed to do one or two things right, fine port and good Parmesan among them.

And out in the darkness, the fox ran, carrying the map in her mouth. Across the fields and over the stone walls she loped, through the tall grass and the brambles, until she came to a burned-out ruin and the linden tree that stood by it.

She dropped the map down into the hollow at the tree’s base, then turned and sat, watching and waiting. Her thoughts were silent, known only to herself. But she sent them Isabelle’s way.

Stop burdening the gods. Stop cursing the devil. They will make no path for you. They gave you their dark gifts: reason and will. Now you must make your own way.

What’s done is done. Whether to you, or by you, and you cannot change it.

But what’s not done is not done.

And there, both hope and hazard lie.

Believe that you can make your way. Or don’t. Either way, you are right.

Every war is different, yet each battle is the same. The enemy is only a distraction. The thing you are fighting against, always, is yourself.





One Hundred


“I’ll be right back, Nero. Stay here and don’t budge,” Isabelle whispered.

She wanted to know who was in the Hollow. It was close to Saint-Michel and her family, and outlaws and deserters were dangerous. One had stolen from her and almost killed her.

Isabelle knotted her skirts up and waded into the water. Luckily it wasn’t too high, only up to her knees. Her boots were getting soaked, and the slipper Felix had made for her, but she didn't remove them and leave them on the bank. Without them, she moved slowly, and she might need to run. When she reached the other side, she scrambled up the bank, which was steep and loamy. She grabbed gnarled tree roots to pull herself up it. She was careful to be quiet as she climbed, not wanting to alert anyone to her presence.As she reached the top of the bank and peered over it, she sucked in a sharp breath. Before her were tents, hundreds of them. Not in neat rows but dotted over the ground. They were made of dark cloth and blended in perfectly with the trees.

Then she saw men. They were wearing uniforms. Talking in low voices. Cleaning rifles. Sharpening bayonets.

There must be a thousand of them. Are they the king’s army? What are they doing here? she wondered.

Snatches of conversation drifted over to her, but they were so broken, they made no sense.

After a few minutes, though, she was able to piece the fragments together, and they did. And then terror squeezed the breath out of her.

The men were an army, yes; but not the king’s army.

They were Volkmar’s.





One Hundred and One


Isabelle dashed for cover behind a large tree, her heart thumping.

After a few seconds, she peered out from it and bit back a cry. One of the soldiers was heading right for her, a glowing cigar clamped in his teeth. Had he seen her? She ducked behind the rock again, trying to make herself as small as possible.

The man stopped just short of her hiding place. Then he planted his feet in the dirt and relieved himself. Isabelle didn’t move; she didn’t breathe.

While he was still hosing down the other side of the tree, several of his fellow soldiers called to him. Isabelle heard the name Volkmar over and over. The men’s voices were low but excited.

Finally, the soldier buttoned his trousers and rejoined his friends. Isabelle’s entire body sagged with relief. She risked another peek at the enemy’s camp. Every soldier was hurrying from his tent to the centre of the camp.

Why? she wondered. What’s happening?

Isabelle knew she should run. She should get away while she had the chance. What could she possibly do? She was alone. Defenseless. Just a girl.

Like Elizabeth, a voice inside her said. Like Yennenga. Abhaya Rhani. They were just girls once, too.

She stepped out from behind the tree and, crouching low, made her way between the tents into the heart of the enemy encampment.

Inside her, the wolf stopped gnawing. He became still. Tensed.

Ready.





One Hundred and Two


They were gathered in a large circle, several rows deep.

A man was standing in the centre, speaking. Isabelle couldn’t see him—the soldiers blocked her view—but she could hear him.

If someone sees me … If I’m caught … , fear yammered at her.

She silenced it and tried to figure out how to get closer.

There was a boulder up ahead of her. She would be able to see over the men if she climbed it, but if one of them turned around, he would see her, too. Then she spotted a pine tree. Its lower branches were bare, but the upper ones were thickly needled. If she got up high enough, she could see without being seen. A tent, wood-framed, larger than the others, stood near the tree. It would block her from view as she made her way up the trunk.

It had been years since Isabelle scaled a tree, but it came right back to her. She made her way up through the branches easily and silently, just as she had when she and Felix were pretending to climb the mast of Blackbeard’s ship. Higher and higher she climbed. When she was certain no one could see her, she slowly pressed down on a branch, lowering it slightly to give herself an unobstructed view.