The Stepsister Scheme

her head down and her gaze fixed on her shadow, a shrunken doppelganger of darkness trudging along the worn cobblestones of the street. The sun warmed her back and side, drawing beads of sweat from her brow. She stepped closer to Talia. “My stepsisters’ home is—”
    “The Merchant’s Quarter, on High Street,” Talia said. She gave Danielle a small smile. “You don’t think Prince Armand came looking for you with only a single carriage and a few guards to defend him, do you?”
    Snow hummed as she led them down the street, keeping to one side to avoid a mule-drawn wagon and other traffic. Young children scurried about, running errands or carrying messages for their masters. Servants hurried past with groceries for the day’s meals. Danielle barely stopped herself from waving at a hunched woman selling fruit. Old Mira had been a friend of her father, long ago, and she always used to slip sweets into Danielle’s basket when she was out running errands for her stepmother.
    Snow’s appearance drew more than a few appreciative stares. She wasn’t helping matters, the way she smiled at everyone and deliberately wove about to splash through the puddles left from last night’s rain.
    “Dignity, m’lady,” whispered Talia.
    “Oh, save your stuffiness for the palace,” said Snow. Raising her voice, she began to sing an old drinking song about a sailor and a four-armed mermaid.
    “We’re hunting a possible murderess,” Talia said.
    “And if anyone looks too closely, I can always distract them one way or another,” Snow said, touching her choker.
    “Finish singing the verse about the seaweed, and you’ll be distracting half the town,” Danielle said.
    “I love that part.” Snow drew a deep breath, glanced at Talia, and bit her lip.
    As they turned east, a gust of wind carried the smell of bloody meat through the street. Most of the butchers and tanners and furriers all crowded together along the same stretch of road. Blood ’n Guts Lane, the people called it.
    Danielle had grown up within sight of the palace, but on a bad day the smell could carry all the way up to the Merchant’s Quarter. She smiled, remembering the first time Charlotte had left her window open after an especially hot summer day.
    Up ahead, a black-furred mutt lapped at a puddle. He glanced up as they approached, his teeth bared. Danielle smiled and reached out to scratch his neck.
    “Careful, Princess,” said Talia.
    “Hunter wouldn’t hurt me.” Danielle rubbed the dog’s neck so hard his ears began to flap. Hunter gave one last snarl at Talia and Snow for good measure, then rolled onto his back in a puddle so Danielle could scratch his belly.
    Snow rubbed the dog’s chin, giggling when he licked her wrist.
    Talia cleared her throat. “Highborn ladies do not frolic. Especially with mangy dogs in the street.”
    “You could use a good frolic,” Snow shot back. “So he’s filthy and smells of squirrel. He’s still better company than some of the nobles I’ve known.”
    Another few blocks brought them to High Street, and Danielle’s heart began to pound faster. She was home . There was the house of Samuel the wine merchant, the windows still boarded to keep his eldest son from sneaking out at night to visit Matilda down the street. Beyond was the house where Mary Bloomfield lived with her granddaughters, telling fortunes and selling magical wards made with bits of glass and scrap iron.
    Danielle smiled as she spotted her father’s house, a tall, weatherworn building with faded shingles and blue shutters. The house was roughly the same as those to either side: three stories, with the lowest level serving as the workshop and storefront. The large shutters to either side of the door could be propped up to provide shade for the men and women inside, while at the same time giving her father a place to sell his wares.
    This morning, the shutters were all closed. The house appeared to be sleeping. Sleeping or dead. The gleaming sign which had proclaimed this the home of Charles de Glas, Master of Glassworks, was long gone. The empty bar where it once hung was rusted brown.
    The highest window, just beneath the peak of the roof, was nailed shut. That had been Danielle’s room.
    Now that they were here, Snow sobered. Chin held high, she led them to the house next door, where An-drew the silversmith worked with his sons. Danielle and Talia waited a few steps behind as Snow examined a bracelet.
    “My sister, the Lady