The Stepsister Scheme

Jim C Hines

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15
Copyright Page Dedication

    CHAPTER 1
    Danielle Whiteshore, formerly Danielle de Glas, would never be a proper princess. Not if the title required her to actually remember so many trifling details. She hadn’t even learned the proper forms of address for human politicians, and now her tutor expected her to memorize The Mortal’s Guide to Faerie Courtesy: Navigating the Eightfold Path of Fey Politics by the end of the week?
    True, it was mostly her own fault. After her wedding, the king’s steward had presented her with a trunk full of scrolls and books, “To study during your tour of Lorindar.”
    For three months that trunk had gathered dust while she and Prince Armand traveled the kingdom. She had tried to study, but there was so much to see. The old Coastal Highway to Colwich, with the ocean to one side and snow-painted oaks on the other. The bridge to Emrildale, built centuries ago by dwarves without mortar of any sort. Only the weight of the intercut stones held the great arches aloft. Every day brought new wonders.
    With Armand’s help, Danielle had learned enough to avoid embarrassing herself as she was introduced to various lords and ladies. She still couldn’t remember the difference between a viscount and a baron, but so long as her mistakes were minor, nobody dared to complain.
    As for the nights... her cheeks grew warm. Suffice it to say, she had spent very little time studying books . The extra three days they spent snowed in at South Haven had been particularly educational.
    Still smiling at the memory, Danielle picked up another book from the bedside table. She opened to a random page and read:
Indulge not overmuch
in wine or beer.
Pick not thy nose,
scratch not thy rear,
and all shall say
“A lady sits here.”
    Danielle slammed the book shut and tossed it after the first. Much more of this, and she would be ready to go back to cleaning floors and cooking meals for her stepsisters.
    She stood and rubbed her eyes. The polished black-and-white tiles were cool beneath her feet. The breeze from the open window carried the damp, salty taste of the ocean.
    Her nose wrinkled. The breeze also brought the faint smell of manure from the gardens below.
    Danielle walked to the window and knelt on a padded bench which had been embroidered with some royal crest or another. This one had a blue unicorn and a green bird that looked like a bloated chicken.
    She pushed open the window, running her fingers over the rippled panes of glass. Tiny specks marred the glass: iron filings scattered into the mix when the panes were first formed. Pixie glass was supposed to protect a room from fairy magic, but in truth, iron only affected the weakest of curses. Still, enough people wanted such protection to keep Danielle’s father in business for a good many years.
    She smiled, remembering one of her father’s last pieces, a window he had done for Duke Rokan of Little Hill. Mere filings sprinkled like pepper in the glass weren’t enough for Rokan. For two weeks Danielle’s father had worked to align dozens of tiny iron crosses, each one spaced evenly over the glass. A second layer of glass was then baked over the first.
    Danielle had been only eight years old, but she remembered the finished window so clearly she could almost reach out and touch it. Not a single bubble or ripple had marred the glass. At a casual glance, the crosses appeared to float in midair within the frame.
    A loud cooing sound made her smile. She leaned out, twisting her head to see several pigeons and one old dove perched on the green copper gutters which ran the length of Whiteshore Castle. The dove fluttered down to land on the sill beside her arm.
    Danielle laughed. “I’m sorry, I’ve nothing to give you. You’ve already feasted on leftover muffins, cookies, and that bit of jam sandwich I smuggled up yesterday. If I feed you any more, you’ll be too fat to fly.”
    The dove opened his mouth and cooed again, clearly unconcerned by such eventualities.
    “Your Highness?”
    Danielle jumped, and the dove fluttered his wings in annoyance.
    A servingwoman stood in the doorway, a wooden tray in one hand. A trencher of bread sat in the middle, filled with glazed cherries and strawberries. A bronze cup stood beside it.
    “Good morning, Talia.”
    The morning sun shone on her