“It would only get him killed,” said Talia.
“Yes.” The king embraced Danielle again. “I’m sorry, Danielle. Today should have been a joyful day. Will you—” He jumped as the pigeon hopped across the floor, bandaged wing dragging beside it. He started to speak, then stared again.
“He fought Charlotte. He helped to save my life.” Danielle picked up the bird and stroked its neck. “It will take time for his wing to heal. He’ll need food and a place to rest. Could you . . . ?” Her voice trailed off as she remembered who she was talking to. She started to stammer an apology.
“Of course.” The king reached out to take the pigeon, who began to struggle.
“It’s all right,” said Danielle. “He’s going to take care of you.” The pigeon settled warily into the king’s arm.
“Will you be joining us for dinner?” he asked, still staring at his new companion.
“Perhaps it would be better if the princess dined here,” Talia said, her words a careful balance between statement and request. “She has been feeling unwell.”
“I haven’t,” Danielle protested. She had been a little queasy after leaving Brahkop, and she could do without traversing that ladder again, but she certainly wasn’t ill.
They ignored her. “I understand,” said the king. “In such cases, it’s often best to rest. I’ll let the staff know you may be indisposed for several days.”
“Thank you,” said Talia.
“I trust you to take good care of her in her . . . illness.”
“Naturally.”
He nodded, then used his free hand to take Danielle’s, planting a quick kiss on her knuckles. “Be well, Princess.”
Talia followed the king out of the room. In the hallway, she turned back to say, “Try not to get yourself killed before I get back, please.”
The door slammed shut. Snow was already dumping her bags and moving to the fireplace. She blew on the embers to revive the flame. “I can’t believe you asked the king to watch over your pigeon,” she said. “The expression on his face was worth half the gold in the treasury. I wish Bea had seen it.”
“Talia resents me,” Danielle said.
“Talia resents everyone.” Snow poked a stick into the fire. “Don’t take it personally. She . . . she’s not very good with people.”
Danielle moved to the window, listening to the cries of the birds outside. “I should have known Charlotte would do something like this.”
“Probably,” said Snow.
Danielle blinked. “What?”
“You should have known. You lived with Charlotte and Stacia for years. But you wanted to think that everything would be fine. That your stepsisters would go off and have their own happy little lives, and you’d spend the rest of your days basking in the warmth of your love, while little birds sang songs of peace and joy.” She tossed another stick into the fireplace. “I made the same mistake. The next thing I knew, an old woman was slipping me a poisoned apple.”
Talia returned a short time later, carrying a platter of baked eel and asparagus, along with a dusty bottle of wine.
They ate in silence. Though the chefs had done a magnificent job as usual, Danielle’s stomach rebelled at the smell of the eel. She made do with asparagus and bread, barely tasting either. She kept thinking about Armand, and what Snow had said.
Ever since her father remarried, Danielle had believed a day would come when she would be free, when her life would again be her own and she could be happy. She clung to that belief like a shield after her father died, protecting her from her stepmother’s wrath and her stepsisters’ cruel games. Just as she now clung to the belief that she would see Armand again, that her son would know his own father.
As she ate, she kept seeing her mother’s tree, burned and dead. The smoke from the fireplace made her think of the Chirka wolf ripping its way from the broken hazel branches.
Talia didn’t bother with a goblet, taking a long drink directly from the wine bottle before passing it to Snow. To Danielle, she said, “Are you sure you want to come with us, Princess? Lone demons or trolls are nothing compared to the dangers of Fairytown. We don’t even know if we’ll be able to find Armand once we get there.”
“He found me,” Danielle said.
“He 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 had never emerged through the hidden door in her privy. How many other secrets were hidden throughout the palace?
“King Theodore,” she said softly. “What does he know about the two of you?” Danielle gestured to Talia and Snow. “Who you really are, and what you do for the queen?”
“Theo has his own spies scattered throughout Lorindar,” said Snow. “He doesn’t tell Bea about them. Why should she tell him about us?”
“
King
Theodore knows I’m one of the queen’s personal servants,” Talia said, scowling at Snow. “And he knows Queen Beatrice sometimes tends to matters best kept quiet. They have an understanding. She’s saved his life at least twice that he knows of.”
A young man in the green and silver of the Whiteshore family bowed as they neared the mews. He held a string of dead rabbits in one hand.
Danielle forced a smile. She had hoped they would go unnoticed, but even this early in the morning there were people about.
“Good morning, Peter.” Peter was a third-year apprentice to the master falconer. Thick leather gauntlets protected his hands and forearms.
Peter straightened. “Are you leaving us, Your Highness?”
Danielle glanced at the bulging travel pack Talia wore over her shoulder and the rolled-up blanket Snow carried in the same way. Danielle had offered to help, but it would have been too suspicious for the princess to haul her own belongings around like a common servant.
“I was looking for . . . I thought I would go for a picnic,” Danielle said. “Along the eastern beach.” She flushed. “We just wanted to stop and see the birds before we went, that’s all.”
Peter waited, clearly unwilling to question the princess’ word. “I was getting ready to feed them,” he said slowly. “If you’d like to take one out for a hunt, I can—”
“No, you don’t have to do that,” said Danielle. She glanced around for help, but Talia appeared to be fighting a smirk.
Snow had plucked a handful of clover from the ground, and was brushing the leaves over her lips and chin. “You’re not very good at this, are you?”
“Is everything all right, Highness?” Peter set the rabbits down. “I heard about the attack yesterday. Are you sure it’s wise to leave the palace? If you’d like, I could fetch one of the guards to escort you.”
Before he could move, Snow stepped closer and shoved her clover in Peter’s face. “Do these smell funny to you?”
Peter sniffed. His eyes fluttered, and his body sagged. Talia caught his arm, spinning him around so that his head didn’t strike the mews as he fell.
“You’re the princess of Lorindar,” Talia said. “He wouldn’t dare question you like that if you didn’t treat everyone as your friend. All you needed was to order him to leave, and he would have done it.”
“Did you hurt him?” Danielle asked.
“Hardly.” Snow grinned and picked up the clover. “He’ll take a quick nap, though. If he remembers us at all, he’ll think we were a part of his dream.”
Talia was looking around to see if anyone else had noticed. “People sometimes talk about their dreams, you know.”
“I can promise you he won’t talk about this one.” She tugged Danielle’s hand, pulling her around Peter to the corner where the mews pressed up against the palace wall. Ivy coated the stone here, and the mews shaded the wall from the sun. Snow glanced around to make sure nobody was watching, then pressed her face to a gap in the stones where the mortar had crumbled away. “Want me to save a few clovers for you?”
A faint voice answered, too low for Danielle to make out the individual words. Snow giggled. “It’s not Danielle’s fault. She’s too honest for her own good. Don’t worry, Talia and I will teach her. She’ll be lying like a politician in no time.”
“Who are you talking to?” Danielle asked, trying not to take affront.
Snow stepped back. Moments later, a tiny man stepped out from a crack between the stones.
Danielle stared. “Ambassador Trittibar?”
“At your service, Princess.” No taller than Danielle’s finger, Trittibar held an ivy leaf for balance as he gave a quick bow. He looked the same as Danielle remembered, only smaller. His hair was pulled into a long white braid, as was his beard. He wore a billowy shirt of bright green, which clashed horribly with his rust-colored trousers. A silver sash and belt completed the disastrous ensemble.
“So the queen tells me you need to enter Fairytown?” He fumbled with a pouch at his belt. “Why don’t you ladies step inside?