How long had it been? Her stomach was significantly larger than when she was captured. Trapped here in the tunnels of the Duchess’ cavern, with the sun and the sky nothing but memories, she didn’t know if weeks or even months had passed. If Talia had survived, she certainly would have reached Beatrice long ago. The fact that nothing had happened meant . . .
Danielle tried to wrench her mind to more pleasant things, but even her thoughts refused to obey her. Surely Beatrice wouldn’t have given up. Snow had talked to her. She knew about the Duchess.
She knew, but they had no proof. No witnesses. Nothing that could force the fairy court to help. Ambassador Trittibar would do what he could, but . . .
Humming through her tears, she grabbed another rag and began sopping up the worst of the vomit. Once she finished the floors, she still needed to dust the common room and take care of the laundry. She tried to lose herself in the physical labor, to let her mind find peace the way it used to back in her father’s home.
Her eyes ached. Not for the first time, she wished for enough freedom to at least light the oil lamps. A copper pipe ran along the front wall, about a foot from the ceiling. Bands of rusted metal secured the pipe to the wooden planks of the wall. The slow-burning oil came from a second pipe which disappeared into the wall above the door. Chains by the door opened and shut a tin hood, and the flint and steel built into the mechanism lit the wicks.
Crude windows were painted on every wall, as well as the ceiling. The angles of the walls were distorted, as if giant hands had squeezed the rectangular room from opposite corners. The walls themselves were clearly an afterthought, clumsily erected to hide the fact that they were living in caves. Gaps along the edges had been filled in with plaster. Every time someone bumped a wall, Danielle had to sweep up more plaster dust.
She grimaced and plucked a silver hair from her rag. On top of everything else, Brahkop the troll had a shedding problem. Every evening Danielle swept and scrubbed the floors of Stacia’s room, and every morning, enough troll hair littered the floor and bed to weave a small rug.
Her lower back ached as she scrubbed harder, cleaning every last trace of vomit, then buffed the floor dry.
Good-bye
. She didn’t know if the fish could hear her. But after so long without a voice of her own, she would have been happy to talk to her own mop.
She crossed the hall and entered the large common room. As always, her eyes were drawn to the far end, where Snow’s coffin sat upon a polished table that appeared to be made of stone. Stacia hadn’t bothered to create a lid. Either she hadn’t been strong enough, or she simply hadn’t cared.
The table was deep brown, lined like wood, but hard as rock. Embers still glowed in the fireplace at the end of the hall. When lit, the flames reflected from the mirrored coffin, sparkling over the walls.
Danielle fought to stop herself, to lock her muscles. Of all her duties, this was the most cruel. She would have happily mopped a thousand floors and swept an entire cave full of troll hair if she could have avoided this room.
Her struggles were useless. Grabbing a clean rag, she walked to Snow’s coffin and began to dust her friend.
Snow looked exactly as she had in the cave. She never breathed, though her skin remained warm to the touch. The cuts on her hand were still fresh enough that Danielle’s rag came away dabbed with blood.
A yellow spider had begun to spin a web between Snow’s left ear and the edge of the coffin. A sudden fury overcame Danielle as she ripped the web. She tried to squash the spider, but it burrowed into Snow’s hair and disappeared.
Danielle stared at the knife strapped to Snow’s belt, even as she wiped the dust from the hilt. If only she could break free long enough to seize that knife and—
And what? She couldn’t fight her way out of the Duchess’ land, nor could she defeat Stacia. If she had the slightest control of her own destiny, she wouldn’t be here, wiping dust from Snow’s face.
Danielle’s helplessness taunted her. Just as it did in Charlotte’s room, where Danielle’s sword was mounted over the bed. Every day, Danielle wiped the enchanted blade, wanting nothing more than to rip it down and fight. Every day, she failed.
She wiped her forehead on her sleeve, only then noticing the blood on her arm. The jagged edges of the coffin had cut the skin so cleanly she hadn’t even felt it. She pressed her sleeve against the cut until the blood slowed, making sure none dripped onto her friend.
Once she had finished with the coffin, Danielle turned to the rest of the room. Several other tables sat in the middle, each one carved from the same stone as Snow’s.
She had wiped two of the three tables when Charlotte came hurrying into the room. Charlotte had mostly recovered from the battle in the cave, though her nose still had a small lump near the bridge. “Stacia insists you return to her room once you’ve finished here. She says it smells like puke.” She grinned, clearly enjoying her sister’s misfortune.
“Of course, mistress,” Danielle said. Even as she despised the words, the mere act of speaking brought a huge sense of relief. So rarely did she hear her own voice, she sometimes began to wonder if she truly existed at all. At least with her stepmother, her body had been her own.
Charlotte plopped herself down on one of the huge cushioned chairs in front of the fireplace. She clapped her hands, and a darkling emerged from the shadows. Had he been there the whole time? Even the curse couldn’t stop Danielle’s shiver of revulsion.
“You, fetch me wine to drink,” Charlotte said. “Chilled. Something that doesn’t taste like fish piss.”
The darkling hopped onto the table and scurried toward Danielle. This was the same creature she had fought before. He moved like an animal, using his one remaining arm to help him run. He hissed, and for a moment, Danielle thought he was going to attack her. This wasn’t the first time he had taunted her. He could wrap those black fingers around her throat, and Danielle would simply stand there as he choked her to death. How many times had she awoken to find him staring down at her, as though he wanted nothing more than to wither her flesh away to nothing? But somehow, either the Duchess or her stepsisters kept the darklings under control.
“Go now!” Charlotte snapped.
The darkling tilted his head. Even up close, Danielle could make out only the faintest hint of a mouth or nose. And then he was scampering away.
“Do you know where my sister is now?” Charlotte asked.
Danielle waited to see if the curse would compel her to answer. This was the first time in a month anyone had asked her a genuine question.
“Well?”
“I’m not sure,” Danielle said. She spoke slowly, stretching out the words and savoring the brief control of her own mouth.
“After sending me to find you, she . . .
they
went traipsing off to meet with the Duchess.”
Danielle tried to respond—but couldn’t. Apparently, Charlotte had to ask a direct question.
“They’re in the tower, working on a way hasten the growth of your child.” Charlotte stood, stamping her foot and marching toward Danielle. “But did
I
rate an invitation to join them?”
That was a question. Danielle tried to set her fears aside as she searched for the right words to respond.
“I’m sorry, Charlotte. You don’t deserve to be treated this way,” Danielle said. What Charlotte
did
deserve, Danielle kept to herself.
Charlotte wandered over to Snow’s coffin. “We were supposed to summon
our
mother, not hers.” She poked Snow’s cheek, then shivered and drew back her hand. “I understand why your friend murdered the old hag in the first place.”
For once, Danielle was glad the spell stopped her from speaking her mind. Snow’s mother had been a selfish, controlling, cruel woman. It was easy to see how her stepsisters’ spell had mistaken Rose Curtana for their real mother.
Danielle began to wipe the final table. The curse was tugging her back to work, but she slowed herself as much as she could, drawing out her time with Charlotte. After all, Charlotte wanted to talk, which meant she had a
duty
to listen.
“Stacia spends all of her time with her lumbering troll husband and that dead witch,” Charlotte complained. “They leave me with a crippled darkling and his friends for company. Do you have any idea how degrading that is?”
Once again, the curse saved her. If not for Stacia’s magic, she would have laughed in Charlotte’s face. For years, her friends had been rats and pigeons. She kept her words as sympathetic as she could. “They don’t appreciate you.”
“They don’t need me. They have you. You and that brat in your womb.”
The darkling returned, carrying a dusty green bottle. Charlotte grabbed it from his hand, bit the cork free, and spat it into the fireplace. “Now fetch me something to eat. Something
cooked!
”
As the darkling left, Charlotte shook her head. “The first time I commanded that little snake to bring me food, he left a pile of fish guts on my bed.”
Danielle tried to speak, but her jaw refused to move.
“Brahkop said the Duchess would take care of us. He promised us a home worthy of royalty. I should have known it would be little more than a hole in the earth. He’s a
troll
.” Charlotte took a deep swig of wine. “What does Stacia see in that hideous beast?”
The question gave Danielle the chance she needed to speak again. She clenched her jaw, fighting for control of her voice. “He loves her.” Then, quickly, she added, “How long until Rose takes my son?”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “At the conjoined moons, a few weeks from now. When the two crescent moons come together on midsummer’s night. Magic that powerful is bound to draw the attention of the king and queen, but they’ll be . . . occupied.” She drank more of the wine and turned away. “Stacia says it’s the only time they set aside their differences and enjoy one another’s company.” She flushed. “You wouldn’t believe the mischief the other fairies cause during the conjoined moons, when their rulers are too distracted to notice.”
Charlotte laughed. “At least then I won’t have to listen to Rose prattling on about her kingdom and her lost powers and her precious mirror. Stacia’s bad enough, but both of them in one body is more than I can take.”
She returned to her chair and took another drink. The bottle was half empty already. “Was the prince gentle?”
“I don’t understand,” Danielle said, still thinking about midsummer’s night.
“In bed. When he . . .” She pointed to Danielle’s stomach. “He was supposed to be mine, you know. Mother promised. I want to know what I missed. Was he kind?”
“He—” Danielle ground her teeth together. Charlotte had no right to those memories. “Tell me where he is.”
“He has his own cell, somewhere in the tower. He thinks he’s back home, and that Stacia is his wife. They’re holding him in case something happens to your baby. He truly loves her, you know.” There was no triumph in her words, only bitterness. “I thought if I could show them that I could control the magic, that I could kill you—”
Charlotte slammed the wine onto the floor so hard Danielle thought the bottle might break. “And then Brahkop learned you were pregnant! That’s twice you’ve stolen him from me. I’m prettier than you or Stacia. Why am I the one who’s alone?”
“Do you love him?”
Charlotte stopped moving. “What?”
“Armand. If you loved him, you wouldn’t let Stacia and Rose keep him locked away like this. You have me. Let him go.”
“So he can return home, find someone to break the curse, and lead the entire kingdom here to rescue you?” Her laughter had a hysterical note. “Really, Cinderwench. Do you think I’m stupid?”
Foolish, not stupid. Foolish and trapped and lonelier than you’ve been in your entire spoiled life.
“I think you’ve been horribly mistreated.” Danielle was amazed she could get the words out without vomiting again. “But if you really care about Armand—”
“Even if I was his true love, I
can’t
free him. I’m not allowed to see him, let alone kiss him. Not that he’d let me.” She wiped her nose on her sleeve. “Stacia has a husband as well as a prince, and they both love her. How is that fair?”
Danielle’s breath caught. So many curses were broken by something as minor as a kiss. “Is that the weakness in Stacia’s spells?” Danielle asked. “If he kissed me—”
“He could kiss you all night long, and you’d still be cursed.” She sneered. “He doesn’t love you anymore, remember?”
“But I love him. If I kissed him, would it break Stacia’s love spell?”
Charlotte shrugged. “Probably. Most of Rose’s curses have that loophole. Something about leverage and possibility. An unbreakable spell takes too much power. True love is rare enough most spells are never broken. I don’t really understand it all. Magic makes my head hurt.”
Slowly, Danielle’s hope gave way to despair. What good was knowing how to break the spell when she had no way of doing so? This was simply one more torment. To kiss Armand, she would have to be free. Armand could be standing right here, arms wide, and the curse would stop her.