The Stepsister Scheme

simple sling. She set the pigeon inside.
    “And you thought me strange for talking to birds,” Danielle muttered.
    The smell of blood gave way to fouler things as she followed Talia into the privy. She blanched at the stench. The gutters channeled rainwater through the privies on the outer walls, washing away their contents, but it had been almost a week since the last rainfall. The incense she had burned yesterday evening did little to hide the stench. She had been back for close to a month, but her body had yet to fully adjust to the richness of palace food.
    “Close the door,” said Talia.
    Danielle obeyed. The only light came from two narrow, slitted windows at the top of the small chamber. She could just make out Talia’s slender form, sitting on the bench beside the leather-padded hole.
    Talia patted the bench. “Reach inside.”
    “Why?” She had cleaned worse things for her stepmother and stepsisters, but this was absurd.
    “There’s nothing to fear,” said Talia. “Anything you might have... deposited has fallen two stories, where it can’t hurt you.”
    “Who are you?” Danielle demanded.
    “I’m the one who saved your life.”
    That much was true. Holding the pigeon close to her chest, Danielle bent and stretched one hand into the hole. A ring of worn, padded leather cushioned the edge. She clenched her teeth, half expecting this to be some kind of trick, but nothing happened.
    “Search the underside of the bench, the back left corner.”
    The shaft beneath was square, which left four irregular triangles of stone beneath the bench. Gingerly, Danielle probed the corner Talia had indicated. Near the back edge, her fingers touched cold metal. A lever the size of her thumb protruded from the stone.
    “Pull it,” said Talia.
    The lever moved without a sound, and the wall behind them cracked open.
    Danielle gasped, which was a mistake, given the foul air. She reached out to touch the wooden panel. The entire wall moved easily at her touch, swinging on oiled hinges concealed in the woodwork.
    Talia chuckled and pulled the wall fully open, revealing a triangular pit. On the far side, Danielle could make out bronze rungs mounted to stone bricks.
    “Does Armand know about this?” Danielle whispered, peering into the darkness.
    “Only the queen and two others.” Talia put a hand on Danielle’s shoulder. “And if this were a trap, I would have tossed you down that pit, and nobody would ever know what had happened to Princess Danielle Whiteshore.”
    Danielle’s shoulders tensed. She put one hand on the edge of the doorway and tried to spin around, but Talia caught her elbow. Talia’s other hand bent Danielle’s wrist, holding her immobile. She couldn’t turn without snapping her own arm.
    “You’re helping Charlotte?” Danielle guessed.
    “No. I’m helping you.” Talia let go. “You’re too trusting, Princess. You welcomed Charlotte into your bedroom. You barely survived one assassination attempt, and now you’re following a strange servant into the darkness.”
    “You saved me,” Danielle said.
    “Just because someone saves you doesn’t make them an ally.” Talia squeezed past Danielle, grabbed one of the rungs, and stepped onto the ladder. “Fortunately, I really am trying to keep you alive. I’d appreciate it if you did the same.”
    With that, Talia began to sink into the darkness. “Pull the door closed behind you. You’ll hear a click when the latch catches.”
    Danielle reached for the topmost rung. The metal was warmer than she had expected. She started to obey, then caught herself, remembering Talia’s warning. “How do we get back out?”
    “That’s better,” said Talia. “There’s another lever inside the door.”
    Danielle felt around until she located it. Only then did she pull herself onto the ladder and tug the door shut, sealing them in blackness. She closed her eyes, opened them again. It made no difference whatsoever. A quick tug of the lever opened the door again. “Where does this lead?”
    “Only one way to find out, Princess.” Talia’s feet rang softly on the rungs as she descended.
    Gritting her teeth, Danielle closed the door and followed.

    The ladder seemed to descend forever. Danielle lost count at the forty-second or forty-third rung. The pigeon stirred twice, both times making her heart pound from the fear that it would fall. Her gown kept snagging on the rough-cut stone, and her knuckles were bruised and raw. At one point, she