The Stepsister Scheme

didn’t have to face a Chirka,” said Snow.
    “No, he had to face my stepmother. I’m going.”
    Talia walked to the bags Snow had carried up from below. She dug through one until she found a black lacquered pipe and a pouch of tobacco. She packed a bit of the brown leaf into the pipe, then used a branch from the fire to light it. “It’s late. You should sleep, Princess. I don’t know when you’ll be able to rest again, and I’ll wager you won’t have such nice, clean sheets when you do.”
    “My husband is missing. My mother is gone. How am I supposed to rest?”
    “You’d be amazed what people can sleep through,” Talia said, her voice tinged with bitterness. She blew a stream of smoke toward the fireplace. “You, too, Snow.”
    “What about you?” Danielle asked.
    The firelight danced red in Talia’s eyes. “I’ve had enough sleep for four lifetimes.”
    Something in her expression stopped Danielle’s protests cold. She grabbed a nightgown for herself and another for Snow, and changed in silence.
    She didn’t want to admit her exhaustion to Talia, but fatigue weighed her down with every step. She had fought a demon, then crossed half the city to fight a troll. Not to mention the long climb from the hidden rooms below the palace. Only stubbornness had kept her from collapsing on one of the benches down below.
    “Don’t worry,” said Snow as she climbed into bed from the other side, taking the spot where Armand would normally sleep. “I don’t snore.”
    Danielle swallowed a lump in her throat and forced a smile.

    Snow was right: she didn’t snore. But she was a blanket thief, and she tossed and kicked so much she nearly knocked Danielle out of bed.
    Danielle yawned and looked around. No sunlight pierced the makeshift curtains over the window. She glanced over at Snow and shook her head. Snow wore her choker even to sleep. Orange light flickered in the oval mirrors.
    Beyond the bed’s silken canopy, the fire silhouetted Talia’s form as she danced. She wore tight, knee-high trousers and a black vest. Her feet were bare. A long, sinuously curved blade flashed in her hand, too large for a knife, but not quite long enough to be a proper sword.
    Talia spun and slashed the blade in a tight, flat arc. At the same time, her back leg shot upward, the heel snapping out at groin height. Danielle winced in sympathy for Talia’s imaginary foe.
    Already Talia had leaped away from the fireplace, somersaulting soundlessly across the floor and rising with her weapon held high, parrying a blow from above. She twisted, drawing the blade across her enemy’s stomach and then pivoting again to strike with her bare hand.
    Danielle listened to the hiss of the blade through the air as Talia made her way around the room. Every movement was graceful and efficient in its deadliness.
    “What happened to you?” Danielle whispered.
    Only the faintest hesitation gave any sign Talia had heard. And then she was turning away, catching a foe’s arm with her free hand and flicking the tip of her sword across his throat.

    Danielle studied Talia closely as they crossed the courtyard. She found no trace of weariness or fatigue. Snow still yawned and squinted against the rising sun, and the muscles in Danielle’s shoulders and legs protested with every step she took, but Talia might as well have spent the previous day relaxing in the sun.
    Danielle paused to tug her cloak back over her sword, glancing about to make sure nobody had seen. It wouldn’t do to have people asking why the princess was walking about armed. “Ambassador Trittibar lives here in the palace?”
    She had seen the fairy ambassador twice in her time here. He was a tall, overly slender man with long white hair and a boyish face. His eyes had a purple hue, and they shone like fresh-blown glass.
    “He has an apartment by the mews.” Snow pointed to the tall stone enclosure which housed the royal family’s hunting falcons.
    “That’s not common knowledge,” Talia added, her voice firm. “The queen would prefer it remained such.”
    Danielle nodded without understanding. The mews were a narrow structure built against the wall, like a miniature home on stilts. From the size, she guessed at least a dozen birds could live comfortably inside.
    Feathers and white fluff littered the grass. She could only assume there was another secret passage, like the one in her own chambers. She knew there had to be at least one other passageway, since the queen