The Stepsister Scheme

and backed away. Danielle followed, pushing the sword deeper, driving the demon toward Snow’s circle. Snow stood on the other side, clapping her hands and calling the demon.
    It darted to one side, whining as the blade ripped free. Danielle swung the sword in a wide arc, slicing a clean gash along the side of the wolf’s throat and forcing it into the circle.
    The Chirka stumbled, then struggled to raise its head. It looked confused. The jaw hung open, as if it could no longer work the muscles to close it. It tried to step out of the circle, then fell back as if it had hit a stone wall. The demon’s dark blood steamed as it hit the soil.
    “Got you,” Snow said triumphantly.
    Danielle dropped the sword. Turning her back on the wolf, she hurried over to the smoldering ruin of her mother’s tree. Most of the leaves were gone, and those branches that hadn’t broken were black from the heat. Small flames still burned along the roots.
    When Danielle reached out to touch the trunk, she felt nothing but lifeless wood.

    CHAPTER 4
    Soft hands guided Danielle toward the well. Snow eased Danielle’s blistered hand into a pot of cool water, one of the few pots that hadn’t been destroyed in the fighting.
    “No,” said Danielle. She tried to grab the pot, to take it to her mother’s tree, but Snow held fast. She was stronger than she looked.
    “She’s gone,” said Snow. “I’m sorry. Leave your hand in the water while I tend to Talia. I have a salve that will help your burns, but I need to treat her wounds first.”
    “What’s to tend?” Talia said, flexing her="3„ arm. The upper part of her sleeve was a tattered, blackened mess. Her arm was red, but the burns weren’t as serious as the one on Danielle’s hand. Lines of blood marked her chest and stomach where the demon’s claws had cut her skin. “It’s a fire demon. The wounds cauterize themselves. I’ll be fine.”
    Snow folded her arms. “You’ve got mud and who knows what other filth in those cuts. Either I tend them today, or I wait until they turn septic and you’re too delirious to protest. Which would you prefer?”
    Talia grimaced and sat against the wall of the house. Snow was already rummaging through her satchel. She produced a curved silver needle and a length of glimmering white thread, which she set to one side.
    “You have no idea how much I despise needles,” Talia muttered.
    Their words barely registered. Danielle averted her face from the remains of her mother’s tree, but the acrid smell of smoke drove it home with every breath. She could still feel the embrace of the branches as the tree struggled to protect her.
    This was her fault. She had retreated to the tree, drawing the demon after her. Her eyes blurred. “I’m sorry, Mother.”
    Motion at the corner of the house snapped Danielle from her thoughts. Erik stood staring from the shadows, his face pale. He started when he saw her watching him.
    “Danielle?” he whispered. He looked back at the demon, who lay unmoving in the circle. The flames had died, and it almost appeared to be a normal wolf, albeit a thoroughly charred one. “I heard the noise. I thought Hunter was fighting with another stray. I came back here—”
    “It’s all right,” Danielle said. “I think it’s dead.”
    “How did a wolf get—” His eyes widened, and his fear seemed to disappear between one heartbeat and the next. “Wow. Is that a magic sword?”
    Danielle rolled her eyes. “Erik, who’s minding your father’s shop?”
    “Oh, bugger,” Erik said. He turned to go, then hesitated. “You know, there have been a lot of stories since you left. I wanted to say... I mean, we didn’t know how bad... . I’m glad you’re free. From your stepmom, I mean. And, hey, are you really a princess now?”
    Danielle nodded. “If you keep quiet about me being here, I’ll bring you something from the palace the next time I visit.”
    “Really?” He grinned so hard it looked like his cheeks would split. “Your secret will never pass these lips. My word on it, Princess.”
    Once he was gone, Danielle reached down to retrieve the sword that was her mother’s final gift. The blade was perfectly smooth, sloping to a razor-sharp edge on either side. Bits of charred fur and blood still coated the glass. She pulled her hand from the water and used her damp sleeve to wipe away the gore.
    The simplicity of the slender blade made the design of the hilt more impressive. The glass of the grip was