The Stepsister Scheme

onto the bed, one on either side of Danielle. The crippled darkling set Charlotte’s meal on the blanket. He peered into Danielle’s face, so close that his breath dried her skin.
    “Wait,” Stacia said. The darklings sat still. Their breathing was slow and congested, like that of an old man with a cough. One played with the cooked fish, dragging his fingers through the meat again and again until it was barely recognizable.
    Stacia drew her knife and stepped over the altar. “I hate this part,” she muttered. A quick cut to her arm opened an old wound, and blood dripped down to splash on the stone.
    Stacia clenched her other hand over the cut. She set the knife on the altar and turned to Danielle.
    She untied Danielle’s apron and tossed it to the floor. Danielle held her breath as she approached, but the only thing Stacia did was press two bloody hand-prints onto Danielle’s shirt, just beneath her ribs.
    “Queen Rose is worried about your baby,” Stacia said. “She feels he won’t be far enough along to serve as a proper host when the time comes. Fortunately, I was able to suggest a remedy. Would you like to know what it is?”
    “What are you going to do to me?” Danielle whispered.
    “Not me. Them.” She gestured to the two darklings.
    Danielle glanced at her arm, where the darkling had grabbed her back in Arlorran’s home. The skin and muscle had mostly recovered, but she still remembered the cold of the darkling’s grip, the weakness of her arm as his touch aged her flesh.
    “Oh, stop worrying. Do you think we would endanger Rose’s future body?” asked Stacia. “Rose thinks we can protect you from the darklings’ power. If all goes as planned, your child will age by days or even weeks, leaving you unaffected. You should be thankful, dear stepsister. Most women would pay dearly to bypass some of the pain and discomfort of pregnancy.”
    Stacia used a feather to brush more of her blood onto Danielle’s shirt. “If you would be so kind as to hold still? For your own safety, as well as your son’s.” She turned to the darklings. “Touch only those places I’ve marked.”
    Mother, help me, Danielle prayed. She fought to get away from the bed, to evade those twisted shadows who even now reached for her stomach. Sweat turned her skin clammy. Her muscles tensed and her limbs trembled, but she couldn’t even lift her fingers from the bedcovers.
    The darklings pressed their hands to the bloody prints Stacia had left. Heat flared at their touch. Pain tore her skin. Her insides churned until she thought she would be sick. Stacia grunted and took a step back.
    “Enough,” Stacia said. Her face was drawn, and she held one hand to her forehead. “Enough!”
    The darklings backed away so quickly that one landed in the pool with the fish. He scurried out and stood dripping in the corner.
    “Rose’s spell isn’t as painless as she thought,” Stacia muttered. “Still, you’re starting to bulge a little more. That’s something, at least.” She wiped her hand on her skirt, leaving bloody streaks.
    Danielle’s whole body shook. Everything had happened so quickly. She looked down at herself, seeing the curve of her stomach. Her ribs felt like she had been pummeled from within, and her skin threatened to tear open. And then she felt a small blow against her rib cage. She gasped.
    “What is it?” Stacia snapped.
    “The baby,” Danielle whispered. “He moved.” The baby kicked again, and Danielle realized she was smiling.
    “Good. That means he’s still alive.” Stacia massaged her forehead and stepped away. “Get back to work. This place still stinks.”
    She disappeared without another word.
    Danielle did her best to carry out Stacia’s orders. Her body was exhausted, whether from fear and tension or the darklings’ touch, she didn’t know. Sweat stung her eyes as she retrieved her apron and fumbled with the ties.
    Don’t worry, she whispered to the squirming baby in her womb. How much had the darklings aged him? Enough for him to twist about and stomp on her bladder, at any rate. All this time, she had hoped Talia or Beatrice would find her, but she couldn’t afford to wait any longer. I promise I won’t let them take you.
    She pulled out a jar of honey-scented oil and poured it on a rag. The too-sweet smell made her queasy, but she clamped her jaw and began rubbing the oil into the floor where she had vomited earlier.
    Can you hear me, friends? She looked toward the wall