Page 61 of A Treachery of Swans

My brain scrambles to concoct a worthy lie, coming up with an impressive, resoundingnothing.Instead, I try for a distraction. “There was a spell on that door, wasn’t there?” I only now realize that the shimmering I had seen were spell-threads: so faint, I hadn’t noticed them in my excitement. “You cast it. You’re a sorcier.”

“Aren’t you clever,” the Step-Queen purrs. Step by step she comes closer, a prowling wildcat. Her eyes gleam in the low light.

“But you—you don’t smell like one,” I stammer.Keep her talking, until I can think of a way out.

“My potions do their work well,” she says. “I am hidden in plain sight, as my husband wanted me to be.”

“Your husband?” I echo. “The King knew what you were?”

She smirks. “He married mebecauseof it, you fool.”

My fingers tighten on the book. “And now you’re trying to kill his son.”

“I’m— Ha! Is that what you think?” She shakes her head. “You poor,stupidlittle creature. You know, I never understood what my boy saw in you. Never understood why he took your word over the word of his own stepmother. But you made him happy, so I allowed your dalliance, decided to bide my time to see if you had changed. But I see now—I should have gotten rid of you the moment you stepped foot in this court.” With asnick, she draws something from behind her back. A black dagger, a single sapphire glinting in its pommel. “I suppose it is time to rectify that error.”

My blood goes cold.

“Before I kill you,” the Step-Queen hisses, “know this. Once I am done here, I will ensure that the impostor downstairs is captured and questioned. I will know the truth behind your actions.”

Fear, true fear, shoots through me. “I won’t let you touch her,” I growl, squaring my shoulders, my muscles tensing in preparation. “And you’re wrong. The girl downstairs is not the impostor.”

The Step-Queen hesitates. “What?”

“I am,” I sneer. Then I hurlMedicinal Applications of Sorcerous Elixirsat her head.

The Step-Queen rears back in surprise, and I claim the moment to make my escape. I don’t get far before she closes the distance again, moving almost unnaturally fast, her skirts a flurry of shadow around her. I try to slip past her, but my foot catches on the leg of anarmchair, and I slow just as the Step-Queen closes in on me. I reach for Buttons, but before I can even turn him over, the Step-Queen’s dagger slashes down toward me. I try to twist aside, but I’m too slow. Pain explodes through my side. I gasp and stumble away, clutching the side where the dagger passed over my ribs. Buttons slips out of my hand, clatters to the floor, and rolls away into the darkness.

A strange tingling sensation spreads from the wound, traveling across my body like a flame devouring firewood. The feeling is so intense, I crumple to my knees, gritting my teeth as my muscles twitch involuntarily.

The Step-Queen stands back, a victorious smile slicing across her angular features, distorting them into a ghoulish rictus.

I lean back, grimacing, against the wall. “What—what did you do to me?”

Before she can answer, the door clicks open. We both turn to see Aimé in the doorway, breathing heavily.

“Maman, I’m here. What did you—” He trails off as he notices me, lying on the floor. I press my palm harder against my side, but I know it’s too late—I can feel the golden blood leaking between my fingers.

“Marie? But—” His eyes widen.

That’s when it happens. The tingling reaches a crescendo—I don’t know how to describe the sensation other thanmelting, as though a layer of me is peeling away and pouring off my skin in a cold wave. The hair that has fallen in front of my face shortens from Marie’s shining coils to my own black hair. When I move my legs, I realize I’m wearing breeches again, from the black-and-gold costume I’d worn at the Théâtre.

My disguise is gone. Aimé is seeing a golden-eyed stranger.

“Aimé,” the Step-Queen says, her voice low, “go get the guards.”

“Aimé, don’t listen to her,” I plead. But when Aimé’s eyes meetmine, they’re filled with bleak, frightened betrayal. He shakes his head mutely and turns on his heel, bolting out the door.

“Aimé!” I shout after him, despair shooting through me. The Step-Queen sneers, crouching down in front of me and skimming the point of her dagger along my throat.

“Surrender,” she says sweetly. “Your ruse is ov—”

Then we hear it: Aimé’s scream. The sound cuts off abruptly, interrupted by another bone-chilling noise: a growl like a thunderclap, so powerful that the walls seem to shake with it.

A look of potent, understanding terror passes over the Step-Queen’s face.“No.”She leaps to her feet. I make to follow, but the pain in my side is too great, and my hands slip on my own blood.

“Wait!” I call after her. “Don’t—”

But the Step-Queen ignores me. She runs for the door, dagger raised. “Aimé!” she shouts, and all I see are the hem of her sapphire skirts and the heels of her boots as she runs toward whatever horror is approaching down the corridor. There’s another growl. The sound of her feet against the ground is joined by the hiss of tearing claws as the beast gallops toward her.

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