“Why are you looking for a Fire-Sidhe?” another woman asked.
Two other women stepped up behind the first. All three were Earth-Sidhe and dressed simply. They were pretty, but nothing special. Still, the two behind the first woman smiled at the King and drew the branches in their hair forward to stroke coquettishly.
“We're far nicer than some Fire-Sidhe smelling of cinders,” the last woman said.
“Cinders. This is too much,” I muttered as I went forward. “Let me guess; those two are your daughters?” I asked the woman in front.
“Yes.” She frowned at me again. “I have been lucky enough to have two children in my life, and with two different men.”
I blinked. I hadn't known that having children with different fathers could be a source of pride for a woman. But it made sense. It proved that she was the fertile one. I mean, it takes two, but I'm sure that's how it was perceived by the Fey.
“The evil stepmother and two stepsisters,” I muttered.
“Did you just call me evil?” The woman gaped at me.
“No, sorry. I'm comparing you to a story I've heard. Never mind.” I waved it away. “We know Rivella is here. I tracked her myself. So, tell her to come out.”
The woman glanced back at her daughters.
“There's no one here but us and the Fir Darrigs,” one of the daughters said.
Rory narrowed his eyes. “Stand aside.”
“I will not!” the woman huffed. “You have no reason to invade my home.”
“I'm your King! I need no reason.” Rory grabbed the woman by her upper arm and yanked her outside. “Now, stand aside!”
The daughters screeched and scrambled away to stand near a table and clutch each other. Odd that they wouldn't go after their mother, but then, we stood between them and the door.
“Make sure she doesn't go anywhere,” I said to the knights as I pointed at the mother, then went in after Rory.
Rat boys hissed and scrambled out of corners to run for the door. I jerked out of their way, my skin crawling. I'm sorry. I can face the most fearsome faeries in existence without batting an eye. I can see their good hearts beneath their brutal faces, and I can even love them. But those damn Rat Boys gave me the willies. They were the Fey version of cockroaches. Even worse than Kelpies—the other race I wasn't too fond of.
“You liars!” Rory declared as he pushed past the women and snatched something off the thick wooden table behind them.
It was Rivella's other shoe. The crystal gleamed in the dim interior of the cottage, pulling in the light that clawed through the half-covered windows. That slipper didn't belong there. Neither did we, for that matter.
“That's mine, King Rory,” one of the daughters said and tried to snatch it away from him.
“Oh, it is, is it?” He sneered. “Then it won't match the one we've brought with us?”
She cringed away from him.
“Ask her to try it on,” I couldn't resist saying.
When you're in a fairy tale, you should follow the script.
“Go on, then.” The King shoved the glass slipper at the evil stepsister. “Put it on if it's yours.”
The woman grabbed it, kicked off her grubby shoe, and shoved her foot into Rivella's beautiful slipper. She pushed and pushed but couldn't get her foot in. I watched in morbid fascination, shivers of destiny running over me. And, of course, the story flowed on.
“That one's not yours, it's mine,” the other daughter said. “Don't you remember? I'm the one who lost a shoe.” The other girl took the shoe from her sister and did the same dance, pushing her foot into the shoe. But this woman's foot was too small. You could clearly see the gap through the crystal. The second evil stepsister tried to mask this by taking a step forward and the slipper slipped off.
“And now we're in Goldilocks,” I whispered. “Too big, too small. Where's the one who's just right?”
Rory snatched up the shoe and shook it in their faces. “If you don't tell me where Rivella is this very—”
A vibration shook the stone floor.
