Cinderella Necromancer

by F. M. Boughan

  That, I supposed, was what happened when one lived according to one’s status and means.

  “Isn’t it marvellous?” Liesl whispered, gripping my arm as we descended. Our names resonated throughout the hall as the steward announced our arrival, and I shied at the stares and glances thrown our way.

  “I believe you may have won some attentions after all,” I said, more to hide my own quaking insides than anything.

  We reached the bottom step as Liesl turned to me with wide, startled eyes. “Me? Oh no, Aleidis. ’Tis not me they stare at.”

  At that moment I realized that, despite the innumerable bodies in the room and the strains of violins that had wafted through the air when we arrived, the room had suddenly lapsed into silence.

  Complete and utter silence.

  I heard only a cough from the back of the room.

  Gasps.

  Stares.

  At me.

  The sea of people in front of us parted, one by one. Genteel guests, ladies with dresses and jewels and beauty beyond measure, stood aside. They looked to me and then to where they’d stepped apart, for coming toward me as though he desired nothing else in the world was the one person I feared I was not yet ready to see.

  Dressed in gold and silver, just as I, strode Prince William.

  Beside me, Liesl couldn’t hide her own surprise, and I felt rather than saw her shrink away into the crowd. My heart ached for the sudden loneliness, and a swarm of butterflies took flight in my belly.

  Prince William stopped the proper distance away, according to custom. He bowed deeply, and I returned it with a curtsy as required by a person of my standing.

  I feared to release even one breath.

  “Welcome, Lady Aleidis.” His smile was full of warmth and awe, though at that moment I could think of nothing but whether he’d recognize my face without smudges of dirt and grime.

  I took the hand he offered and met his gaze. No, he did not recognize me, nor the name upon which I’d rested at our first and last meetings.

  I sighed in silent relief, though I admit, some part of me wished he could see the change from the girl he thought he knew in the graveyard. And yet, what would it matter? He hid his true self from me, and I from him.

  Had he waited for me in the kitchens that day?

  I hadn’t much time to wonder, for he drew me close—closer than comfort, for a stranger—until I smelled his breath upon my face, sweet as wine. How presumptuous he acted, I thought. And yet, my body betrayed me and I yearned to be closer.

  “May I have the pleasure of your first dance?” He whispered his request into my ear, beyond the hearing of the surrounding crowd. They leaned forward, straining to catch a word.

  I stiffened. Celia, Victoria, and Charlotte’s faces appeared above the crowd, endeavouring to see over the sea of bodies that encircled us. Poor William—he mistook my reaction for something he’d said.

  He pulled back, my hand still in his. “Have I said something wrong?”

  “No,” I said quickly, for I maintained my sense of self-preservation and the manners taught by my mother. When addressing royalty, one must be very, very careful, and now especially, no matter how much I thought I knew this man—boy?—in front of me.

  “I’ve frightened you.” His smile wavered, and he drew my hand up to meet his lips. The crowd gasped. “I don’t bite, promise. Just one dance?”

  He looked so hopeful that I couldn’t refuse. Not that I would have, for without a doubt the King and Queen looked on nearby, watching their son’s actions, and I thought they might not take kindly to a refusal. I agreed with a nod and a tight smile, for I could hear Charlotte’s uncircumspect whispers of “who is she?” and “what is she saying?” And that, for the moment, was the sweetest revenge of all.

  With a breath, William drew me into his arms and the strains of violins and strings swelled above us. The crowd, cued to the wishes of royalty, dispersed to the edges of the floor, though some chose to join us with their chaperons and—I suspected—some with other ladies’ chaperons.

  I fell into the rhythm of the music and William’s lead, grateful for having received proper training as a young girl, unlike many who appeared to fumble with their steps. Although, I considered briefly, my memory could have been a result of the second spirit’s work. Regardless, it didn’t matter.

  As we turned, separated, bowed, and joined hands in the dance, William’s eyes never left my own. Heat rose in my cheeks, and for a moment, I longed to be back in my room—the attic, even—with a book and flickering candle.

  “Who are you?” William touched the small of my back to lead into a turn. “I’ve not seen you before at the palace, or in town. Have you traveled far?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” I replied, “but not too far that I can’t follow the dances of your court.”

  He laughed at that, and even the violin’s dulcet tones couldn’t compare to the sweetness of its sound. “You’re a princess, then. Only royalty receives training in court dances outside their own kingdom. Is your father here?”

  I didn’t rush to correct him, though my throat closed at the thought of Father. “He’s not.”

  We came close then, faces near enough to touch. I thought of the coat, hidden away, to keep from fainting.

  “No chaperon? Even more intriguing. How are you enjoying yourself?”

  How could he ask such a thing? “I don’t know. You caught me before I’d managed to complete my entrance.”

  He shrugged. “You’re hard to miss, even from a distance. Your dress is very … sparkling.”

  As we twirled, I caught a glimpse of the King standing on the balcony above, gazing down at his son. “Your father certainly keeps a close eye on you.” Of course I bit my lip after that, for I spoke with a familiarity far beyond what a lady should who’d just met a prince for the first time.

  He didn’t seem to notice. “Yes, he does. I suspect he thinks this sort of thing is critical for my training.”

  “Training?”

  “Oh,” he coughed, “I mean, etiquette, socialization, that sort of thing.”

  I almost laughed. “Socialization? Are you man, woman, or horse?”

  “Sometimes a bit of all three, I wonder.” He frowned. “I’m joking, you realize?”

  And at that moment, it struck me—he felt just as nervous and uncomfortable as I. “Of course. But what has a celebratory ball to do with etiquette for a prince? I thought only ladies had to worry about that sort of thing, and besides, a large, public festival doesn’t seem to be the best sort of training ground for someone like you … ”

  He glanced up toward his father and back at me. “There are certain, ah, customs my family has that are unique to us. Responsibilities, traditions, that sort of thing.”

  The formality of his speech, regarding this in particular, felt jarring. I pulled my hands away from his.

  “You mean finding a wife?” I slapped a freed palm against my mouth. “What I mean to say is … I … ”

  I am continually grateful for small mercies, because he found my blunder amusing. “That’s one part of it, but not all. My other duties are considerably less … attractive.”

  The comment would have been thrilling, had I not been under a spell that hid me from recognition.

  “If I may be so bold, Your Highness, why the urgency? Your father didn’t marry until he’d reached his second decade, and even that was young compared to his father. Or any other king or prince I know of.”

  He remained silent and thoughtful, for a time. “The King wills it so. Who am I to question the King?”

  William could not have been less believable had he told me a small blue fairy had whispered these orders in his ear. “He’s your father. Surely that gives even a prince—his own son!—a say in the future?”

  With a glance to his father and back again, William shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple, Lady Aleidis. There’s more at stake here t
han you realize.”

  If he thought me a stranger to family difficulties, he was sorely mistaken. “Is that so? Well, I’m listening.”

  His eyes grew wide. “I shouldn’t have said that, I … please don’t repeat it. Forget it, it’s nothing.”

  Ah, yes. The William I knew had finally arrived. A thrill wriggled up my spine, and I left behind the stiff formality in favor of a genuine conversation with a friend. It was, I realize, a poor decision—but in the moment, with William’s fingers gentle on my back and wrist, how could I have been expected to consider the prudence of following impulse?

  My thoughts grew cloudy and my tongue took its liberties. “Perhaps we can bargain? I’ll forget if you, let’s see … request that the musicians play ‘The Golden Sun’ for their next number.”

  Confusion, followed by uncertainty, followed by amusement, flitted across his face. “I do hope you aren’t serious, Lady Aleidis. A folk hymn? What would the other guests think?”

  I snorted, quite by accident. “I don’t particularly care, if we’re being truthful. I think it might actually liven things up a bit—help you see who among these women remembers how to laugh when the moment calls for it. And even better, when it does not.”

  “You’re positively incorrigible, Lady Aleidis.”

  “And you’re only pretending to stand on formality because it’s expected of you.”

  He stopped our dance then. I should have stilled my words, but of course, that sort of wisdom continues to elude my better sense.

  “Pretending? I’m the Prince. I don’t pretend. Look around you—you’re at a royal ball. What did you expect?”

  “I expected,” I went on, “that you might act like yourself, rather than some stiff-necked marionette without a thought in his own head.”

  I shouldn’t have said it. The ball was his father’s doing, not his—he’d said as much. How could I hold him to blame?

  I did not, truly. My heart, however, had other opinions entirely. The bloody thing had a will of its own, and it wanted William to cease this fallacious exercise so that we might find some quiet place to be alone and share in each other’s worlds once more.

  But this was neither the time nor the place, nor did it hold to the purpose for which I’d come.

  That purpose, in fact, approached from the far side of the ballroom floor, mother in tow. Escorting them was a rotund gentleman with a thin moustache and a tall, white wig upon his head. He looked our way, and I gasped.

  His eyes were empty pools, vapid and unseeing—and his jaw, slack. Lifeless.

  He led Celia toward us, she upon his arm.

  “Without a thought in my head?”

  Oh, William! His cheeks had reddened and his brow, deeply creased. Would that I had held my tongue.

  He went on. “Who are you to say I can’t think for myself?”

  Oh, but I had to reply to that. “You’re scouting for a wife at a ball that you don’t care to attend, to find a woman you don’t particularly care to marry, all for the sake of some obtuse ‘greater purpose’ that it appears you aren’t even entirely aware of. So, Prince William, it looks to me as if you care nothing for your own happiness, nor are you the man I’d been led to believe would—”

  “Wait.” His face was fully flushed now, but it appeared that his anger had given way to an amused disbelief that a young lady—whom he’d only just met—would stand in the middle of the dance floor at a royal ball and berate his execution of free will. “I hear what you’re saying, but I promise, it isn’t like that.”

  He touched his gold medallion and rubbed thumb and forefinger against it as I stole a glance toward Celia and Victoria. They were close—close enough to reach us at any moment.

  “Mmm,” I said, distracted.

  “Though I can’t say I understand what gives you the right to—”

  He stopped abruptly, and my gaze snapped back to meet his. He stared with an intensity that spoke far louder than any words.

  “It’s almost as if we’d … ”

  A pit opened in my stomach. No. Look away. Please.

  “Do I … ?” He blinked twice, and stared again. “Have we … ?”

  “Excuse me, Your Highness.” A hand grazed my shoulder and I jumped in surprise, so focused I’d been on what I thought—what I feared—William would say.

  The pit opened further and swallowed me whole, for Celia and Victoria had reached us, with smiles plastered on their painted faces. My heart began to pound for another reason entirely, but the spell had not failed thus far. It would hold under Celia’s scrutiny. I had to believe it would hold.

  I hoped William, in his moment of suspicion toward me, would regain clarity to see the lack of sincerity behind these women’s eyes.

  Of course, he did not.

  Their gentleman escort offered his hand to William, who took it in a firm handshake.

  “Baron von Veltheim,” William said, “thank you for coming. I’m sure my father is very pleased to see you here. How long has it been? I trust the Baroness is well.”

  “Yes, yes, dear boy,” the Baron droned, eyes unfocused. “Very well, very well.” His head tilted forward too far, somewhat unnaturally, but William appeared unaffected. I supposed he saw his fair share of oddities both inside and outside the palace, on his travels.

  “May I introduce these lovely ladies to your company?” Baron von Veltheim’s voice scratched and cracked. What had Celia done to him?

  William bowed very slightly at the waist, and I saw Celia’s elbow strike Victoria in the ribs—an unsubtle suggestion that she might return the gesture.

  “Lady Celia and Lady Victoria,” the Baron said, as they curtsied. “New arrivals from the south.”

  If William felt any surprise at being introduced to women unrelated to the Baron—and not his own wife and daughter—he failed to show it. Stoic, he.

  Gracious beyond all reason, William turned to thank me for our time together. “Save me one more, Lady Aleidis.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “As you like.” Though, I doubted a repeat dance would be looked on kindly by all the other eligible ladies in the room.

  Victoria took William’s outstretched hand and feigned a blush. It took much willpower not to roll my eyes. Just as I turned to move away from the couple, my gaze fell accidentally across Celia’s, who matched mine with alarming ferocity.

  “Good health to you, Lady Aleidis,” she said, without a hint of sincerity. And though my own voice trembled for fear of discovery, I replied in kind.

  She moved closer to me as the strains of music began once more. “Tell me, where is it you’re from?”

  Seized by a moment of panic, heaven gave me another small mercy as I didn’t have a chance to respond—for at the same time, I caught a glimpse of William and Victoria, who were not dancing.

  Instead William, attempting to maintain composure, stood helpless as a pink-cheeked Victoria dabbed a once-white handkerchief at her nose. The handkerchief was stained with blood.

  Why she didn’t excuse herself, I couldn’t fathom. The handkerchief grew brighter and brighter, and several other ladies around them finally noticed the presence of blood. And promptly fainted.

  I backed into the crowd to escape notice, difficult as that was, but all eyes were on Victoria and the Prince. I hated myself for not running to her aide, but something stopped me. Whether otherworldly or my own cowardice, I can’t say, but instead I stood silent, listening.

  “Let me call some help,” William was saying as he looked around to signal someone, anyone, who might be able to assist.

  “I’m fine,” Victoria said. The redness poured from her nose still, saturating the handkerchief, traveling across her lips. And then I saw it—a thin trickle of crimson that ran from the inside of her pale, white ear, down the side of her cheek.

  And to match, an even smaller drop at the outer corner of her left eye.

  “Let’s dance,” she said, and vomited all o
ver the front of her crisp, newly-made peony gown.

  Her eyes rolled back into her skull. She collapsed on the floor in a heap at William’s feet.

  I was not the only one who screamed.

  23

  The Illness

  I raced out of the palace, heart pounding and guilt pouring from every crevice. I had asked for a mild affliction. Mild.

  Surely she wouldn’t survive such a plight.

  Surely she lay dead at William’s feet.

  Perhaps I can be blamed for running without offering to help, but the moment she collapsed, at least ten armed guards stormed onto the ballroom floor to usher the Prince away, while more still were sent to search the palace grounds for—for what? Treachery? I heard the word “poison” more than once as I fled, but of course, I knew the truth.

  And as I was not the only one fleeing the grounds—I fell into step alongside many chaperons either assisting or carrying their charges—none noticed when I stepped through a large hedge, removed the bridle from my skirts, sprinkled it with a pinch of ash, and shook it.

  Within moments, my black horse appeared. I placed the bridle around his neck and we flew home, straight as an arrow, invisible to the eyes of those we passed by.

  Was I afraid? Of course. I am not stupid. But more so, I feared that I had done something so terrible, so unforgivable, that no amount of penance or pleading on my behalf would quench the eternal fires that surely burned for me.

  I shook with a violence born of terror and loathing as I sent my steed back to the spirit realm, after which I righted the parlour as best I could. Once finished, I raced to the attic, exchanged my spirit-woven gown for ash-stained garments, and thundered down the attic steps with every intention of clearing the broken shards of vase that remained in the front entrance.