The Stepsister Scheme

from yours,” Danielle snapped.
    Charlotte’s eyes widened.
    Danielle swung the tray with both hands, scattering the remnants of her meal across the room. As a weapon, the wooden platter was slow and awkward. Charlotte twisted, catching the blow on her left shoulder. She grabbed the other side of the tray, then sliced her knife at Danielle’s arm.
    Danielle released the tray. The knife missed, and Charlotte stumbled back. She threw the tray to the floor and advanced again.
    “Help me, friends,” Danielle whispered. She picked up The Tome of Noble Manners and held it in front of her body. It was no shield, but given the wordiness of the author, the book should be able to stop a knife.
    Charlotte lunged. Danielle moved the book, catching the knife near the corner. The steel barely penetrated the heavy cover, but the force behind the blow was enough to knock Danielle into the desk. Other books clattered to the floor. The inkwell fell and shattered.
    Perhaps it was madness, but as the book was torn from Danielle’s hand, her only thought was how difficult it would be to clean the ink from the tile grout.
    The bedroom door rattled in its frame, but there was no way to unlock the bolt from the outside.
    Charlotte reached for Danielle’s throat, and the window exploded inward. Shards of glass tinkled to the floor as the old dove led a pair of pigeons into the room. Charlotte screamed and spun, slashing wildly.
    Danielle ripped one of the pillows from the bed and flung it over Charlotte’s arm, tangling the knife. When Charlotte turned, Danielle punched her in the nose. Charlotte stumbled back. Danielle grabbed the stool and raised it overhead.
    Before Danielle could strike, Charlotte touched her necklace and shouted, “No!”
    The stool shattered. Charred wood and splinters rained down around Danielle. Charlotte blinked, looking almost as shocked as Danielle felt.
    A pigeon caught Charlotte’s hair in his feet and tugged. Another pecked her ear. She waved the knife about so frantically she almost cut her own face, but it was enough to drive the birds back.
    Danielle raced toward the bed, but her foot slipped on the books, and she fell hard. She rolled away from Charlotte, broken glass and wood pricking at her back. One of the pigeons dove for Charlotte’s face, but a lucky swing of the knife sent him tumbling against the bed, blood dripping from his wing.
    “Drop the knife.” Talia’s voice was cool and firm, more commanding than any servant. She stood in the doorway, holding one of the oversized crossbows normally carried by the palace guards. Made of polished black wood with gleaming brass trim, it should have been more than enough to compel obedience. Danielle had no idea how Talia had gotten through the door, but her timing was divine.
    “Wait,” Charlotte cried.
    “No.” Talia pulled the trigger. A steel-tipped bolt buzzed through the air.
    At the same time, the dove lurched toward Charlotte, as if an invisible hand had struck him from the side. The bolt tore into the dove’s chest. He slammed into Charlotte, leaving a bloody smear on her shirt, then dropped to the ground. Tiny legs twitched slowly.
    Talia didn’t hesitate. She threw the crossbow at Charlotte’s face, bloodying her nose and knocking her into the wall. Talia slipped a toe under the tray Danielle had thrown. A flick of her foot brought the edge of the tray into her hand. Talia spun, moving like a dancer as she hurled the tray into Charlotte’s forearm. Charlotte’s knife clattered away.
    Talia strode across the room. “Stay down, Princess.”
    Charlotte backed toward the broken window. She closed her eyes, and her lips moved as if in prayer. An instant later, the window frame cracked and fell away, taking the remains of the glass.
    Talia leaped, but Charlotte was faster, pulling herself through the opening even as Talia’s fingers brushed her ankle.
    “Damn.” Talia drew back from the window. “She didn’t even sprain an ankle.”
    Danielle turned to check on the dove, who lay in a pool of blood. One look was enough to tell her the bird was dead. The tip of the crossbow bolt protruded from the dove’s back, propping him to one side. She brushed a finger over the soft white feathers of his head, blinking back tears.
    One of the pigeons had also been injured. He dragged his wing along the floor as he approached. Danielle scooped him gently into her hands. “He’s still bleeding.”
    Halfway to the door, Talia stopped to