He stared at me, unresponsive, for several moments. I shivered under his gaze.
An attendant cleared his throat and William roused.
“Another time, then,” he said, all playfulness gone.
I turned without another thought to begin my journey home.
“Wait,” he said, when I’d gone but three paces.
I stopped.
“Will you attend tonight’s ball?”
Oh, how I wanted to tell him the truth. To lose all pretense and hear my name from his lips, seeing me, the true Ella. But no.
I could not. For the sake of Edward’s life, I could not.
And so, with a heaviness in my heart—and in my arms, truth be told—I offered the briefest of smiles and didn’t respond.
At the very least, I would not lie.
So I said nothing, and simply went home.
25
The Dressing
I hid the pumpkin in the stables, with plans to bring Edward out to see it as soon as he’d gained enough strength. After delivering the hatbox to Celia, she directed me to help Charlotte immediately. To my good fortune, she didn’t remark on the lateness of my return, and I presumed she’d been too occupied by her own doings to notice my absence.
As I laced up Charlotte in her dressing room, I found myself feeling bolder and less cautious than usual.
“How did you enjoy the ball last night? Did you see the Prince?” In truth, I wanted to hear her speak of me.
But thinking I hadn’t heard the full story of Victoria’s collapse, Charlotte sniffed and spun her own tale.
“It was glorious, couldn’t you tell? Victoria exhausted herself so completely that she needed a royal escort home. They gave us all one, of course, because Prince William found us both so enchanting he couldn’t bear to see us leave in a common carriage. What a pity you weren’t able to attend. Though you must admit the punishment fit the crime, sister.”
Indeed it did, but not in the manner she thought. “So you danced with him, then?”
“Oh no, not last night. I plan to save my appearance at his side for tonight—let him taste the wine of cheap, desperate women first. Tonight he’ll have rich cream, and never look back.”
I pulled her strings with a little more force than perhaps necessary. “Then what of Victoria?”
“Strategic,” she grunted, “and just what we needed to take his mind off that brainless tart he—”
I pulled again, harder this time. “Sorry, almost there. How handsome you’ll look with a waist like this. You were saying?”
“Good. I mean to make him forget she ever existed. I hope she stays abed tonight.”
Once more, I couldn’t resist. “You mean Victoria? Of course she will, after such … exhaustion.”
“No, you bloody fool. Mother won’t let her stay home. I mean that foreign princess that the Prince kept mooning over after he—” She stopped and spun to face me. My heart leapt three feet in the air, I swear it. “But why should I tell you? It’s not as if you’ll be there. It’s none of your concern.”
That, I hadn’t decided. “Well, I don’t know.”
“You have another gown?”
I saw the glint in her eyes and refused to play her game. “Of course not.”
“You’ll stay and play nursemaid to that snivelling brat, I suppose.”
I stiffened. “Edward is unwell, yes.”
“Better get used to it. A nursemaid is all you’ll be good for, at this rate.” She pulled a gold necklace from a trunk on the floor and held it up to her neck.
I gasped. The necklace belonged to my mother.
There could be no mistaking. I remembered those delicate gold leaves and filigree as well as the day we’d found it in the shop of Liesl’s father, when Father and I had chosen it for Mother as a gift during my thirteenth Advent.
Charlotte looked over her shoulder and cleared her throat, as if I should clasp it around her neck.
“That does not belong to you,” I said instead.
She narrowed her eyes. “Of course it does. What would a cinder-wench know of it?”
She asked, so I answered. “I know it belonged to my mother. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”
Charlotte shrugged as if it were the least important thing in the world. “It’s not as if she’s using it.”
Rage bubbled up from deep within my chest. “Take it off.”
Charlotte laughed. At me. “You want it back?”
I blinked in surprise. Could she truly have had a change of heart that quickly? “Yes, of course.”
She held the necklace away from her body, dangling it above my outstretched palm. Hope rose to quell the rage, and in that one moment, I wondered if we might learn to live in harmony with each other after all.
Until she dropped it to the floor, lifted a shod foot, and stomped on it with all her strength.
The thin gold leaves crunched underfoot. Charlotte’s smug grin didn’t leave her face as she lifted her boot to reveal my mother’s necklace, bent and in pieces, on the dressing room floor.
“There it is, if you want it so badly.” She took a wide step to bring us face to face, and I held my breath that I might not spit forth the fires that boiled in my belly. “Only remember, sister, that small bones are just as easily broken.”
My breath rushed out, unbidden. Unlike her sister, Charlotte had no need of subtleties. She would not hurt Edward. Would she? The coldness with which she’d crushed the necklace suggested she might.
“You’d do well to remember that.” Charlotte swept out of the room, leaving me with a broken necklace and a savaged heart. The rage returned, slow at first, but I stoked the flames and let them burn, hot and thick.
And so, I did not care when Celia piled chores on me for the evening’s duties. I did not care that Charlotte continued to spare no opportunity to humiliate my family’s memory. What I did care about what this: Charlotte’s insistence on proffering vague threats to our well-being, and the inexplicable realization that Victoria fully intended to attend tonight’s ball. Indeed, she would do so despite what—by all accounts—had appeared to be a near-fatal incident the evening prior.
This, I knew, simply did not make sense. It should not have been possible. She should have been abed for days before rising—weeks, perhaps, though I am not a doctor—let alone before attending a royal ball.
Nothing about what had occurred made sense, but answers alone would not bring protection. For that, I had another plan in mind.
Thus, I waited and waited and waited.
Finally, the time came.
And so I retrieved The Book of Conjuring once more.
26
The Second Ball
They left. I did not hesitate.
I set up the parlour as if by rote, though the ease with which I fell into the routine stirred a concern. I buried it.
The spirits did their work, and I would do mine.
I had no doubt of my power, though if anyone had asked, I couldn’t have explained why I continued to tempt my eternal fate. I was as though driven by some force—something unseen—to use the ability, now that I had it.
I don’t excuse what I did. I only wish to explain why I continued to seek retribution despite my misgivings.
What is more, I longed for something deeper. Harsher. More severe, for a part of me believed that no matter what, I still held control over the spirits and what they did. And that same part of me wanted to see Charlotte suffer.
And so it was with this in mind that I turned further pages in The Book, knowing full well what I sought.
“To inflict harm,” I read, “make an image of wax on the day and in the hour of intent, in the name of the one to be harmed. Thus, you should use wax of candles burned at a funeral, and on the likeness, fashion hands in the place of feet, and feet in the place of hands.”
And so I did. With candles from my room that I had saved from Mother’s funeral,
I molded a crude figure of my stepsister. With my fingernail, I inscribed Charlotte’s name on the wax doll’s forehead, and on its chest and shoulder, carved the book’s images of circles, planets, and five-sided stars.
Then I called my spirits. With the bridle still, I had no need of the first spirit. To the second, I had only to repeat my request. And to the third, I gave the wax doll, which he consecrated with spit smeared over the doll’s eyes.
“What would you have me do?” Oliroomim spoke with an unsettling eagerness.
From my hair, I drew a pin. With a hollowness in the pit of my belly, I pierced the spine of the doll.
The spirit frowned as if disappointed. “That will not kill her. You must place it through the head and down to the spine, touching the heart. Do it again.”
And as much as I knew the evil of my actions, I couldn’t go so far as to take a life. I simply wanted to exchange hurt for hurt.
“I don’t want her dead. Harmed, yes. But not dead. I won’t be responsible for her demise. I’m not a monster.”
The spirit giggled. “Afraid of the flames, mistress? They already lap at your heels.”
“Enough.” I couldn’t bear to hear it. “Will you do this?”
He nodded. “As you wish. Is this your only request?”
No—I had need to know one more thing. “Tell me, spirit, did you once live?”
Oliroomim’s eager smile wavered, then vanished. “It’s too late to save me, mistress. Thinking on it will accomplish nothing.”
“So you did live, once.” I shuddered to think of it. “How is it you ended up here, called by a few simple words—”
“Simple?” The spirit’s childish voice deepened to a roar, his razor sharp teeth descending to flash in the moonlight. I stumbled backward as he lunged for me, jaws snapping, tethered only by the cord of the circle which prevented me from harm. “You play with powers you don’t understand, mistress. It is you who does not allow my relief. It is you who calls the dead forth from their resting place.”
His voice lowered to a hiss like a thousand snakes. “It is you who keeps us shut out of the gates of heaven.”
And with that, he vanished.
I fell to my knees and wept.
I met Liesl on the palace steps once again, though she didn’t appear as eager to see me as the evening prior—and in truth, I felt a strangeness at seeing her twice in one day, as two different people. Tonight, she wore a gown similar to her first, only in a flattering shade of pea green.
She gasped at the sight of my own, pure silver gown—silk, lace, and crepe—with sparking emerald gemstones adorning the bodice and cascading down the skirt in thin, swirling patterns that created the illusion of climbing vines.
They shimmered with every step I took, and yet I didn’t feel quite so uncomfortable as the night before. Though perhaps that may have been due to my attentions being focused elsewhere, particularly on what the evening’s events might bring.
Liesl elected to enter the hall with her brother this night, though she wished me luck with a great embrace and a tender kiss on both cheeks. I asked that she be announced before me, so that she might be given the chance to reach the bottom step and complete her entrance before they announced my name.
And then came my turn.
As soon as my false name resounded in the ballroom, the room quieted—and though I tried not to become overwhelmed by it all, the hall appeared even more grand than the previous night. More food, more wine, and to my bewilderment—despite last night’s surprise ending—more guests.
I descended. Before I reached the bottom step, he was there. Waiting.
Wearing silver and emerald.
I both cursed and thanked the spirits, for doubtless I would be accused of conspiring for the Prince’s favour.
In a way, I suppose I had. But I did not care.
“Lady Aleidis.” William’s words flew out in a breath, and I shivered at the strangeness of my mother’s name on his tongue. For a moment, I thought to reveal myself, but I resisted. In due time, I would.
“Your Highness, a pleasure to see you again.” I took his hand as he offered it.
“Would you honor me with another dance?” He drew my hand once again to his lips, and a flurry of delight rose to cover all the evening’s other emotions. “Since we were, after all, cut short last night. I suspect you have more to say concerning my public comportment?”
“Why, Prince William, you’re far too kind,” I said, matching the amusement in his gaze. Mild annoyance at his disarming sense of composure and something else—something deeper and not altogether unpleasant—took hold, and I followed his lead to the dance floor.
As the music rose, I felt comfortable enough to speak without being overheard. “Surely you must have other ladies who want for your time. Why spend another moment with me?”
Puzzlement, mirth, and sadness flitted across his face. “You truly don’t know?”
I shook my head. “Unless like draws to like, I don’t see why.”
He did laugh then, hearty and true. “I might accuse you of having spies in the palace.”
“And I might say the same of your folk amidst mine.”
“Touché, Lady Aleidis, as the French say.”
“Please,” I said, drawing a deep breath, “just Aleidis is fine.”
His grip tightened and my head spun. “Of course. Aleidis.”
We continued the dance in silence, until I could bear it no longer. “The woman who became ill last night—is she all right?”
Concern drew his features into a frown. “I believe so, though no one can explain what happened. I have heard of that particular affliction only once before, but … ”
My throat tightened and the fear must have shown on my face, for his voice trailed to silence and he reassured me with a smile and gentle touch on the small of my back.
“It’s not important. My father knows something of it and its cause, is all. Don’t trouble yourself with it.”
How could I not? “Your father is a physician, too?”
“No, of course not, he—” William caught himself and started again. “Aleidis, why do you insist on making this so difficult?”
“This? You mean conversation?”
He shrugged and grew quiet. “That too.”
A less prudent part of me wanted to bait him further. “Have you had opportunity to enjoy the rest of the festivities, Your Highness?”
“I went into town today,” he said, without hesitation. “The main square was crowded like you would not believe.”
“I might.” I glanced around us as a shiver crept up my spine—but this time, it was not for seeing Celia, or Charlotte, or Victoria. “Did you meet anyone interesting? Though I don’t suppose you had much time to interact with the common folk, being who you are.”
He sighed and dropped my hands, only to grab them again upon realizing that it would be quite irregular to cease dancing in the midst of the song; we would likely be trampled under whirling pairs of feet.
“Why are you doing this? Do you really think I’m such a terrible prince that I have no thoughts or feelings of my own? I’m no pawn, Lady Aleidis, and I’ll thank you not to view me as such.”
A lump of guilt formed in my throat, and the air grew warm. Why did he make me behave so? “I apologize, Prince William. I’m sure you’re a very kind person who looks out for those in need.”
“Now you’re being patronizing.”
“No, I speak honestly!” Several heads turned our way, and I lowered the volume of my speech. “It’s only that … perhaps you’ll understand better if I explain.”
“Please do.” A smile played at the corner of his lips, and I drew confidence in the fact that he still held me close.
“I have a … friend, at home. This girl is somewhat impulsive, and she cannot check her tongue, no matter how hard she tries. Even in the worst of moments.”
“I understand how you might get alo
ng.” The sparkle in William’s eyes returned, brighter than the chandeliers above us. “A friend, you say? Do go on.”
I did. “She recently, if somewhat unexpectedly, made acquaintance with a young man, whom she initially dismissed in much the same way, ah—”
“As you’ve dismissed me? I think I understand. Please continue.”
My cheeks burned. “If that is the way you choose to interpret our interactions, so be it. But she—my friend—may have developed a certain fondness for this young man, as they have found themselves in similar circumstances on a number of unexpected occasions.”
William frowned, and I am certain he suspected the truth of my tale, but I wanted—no, needed—to hear from his lips that which would never be.
It was a futile endeavour of a foolish, heart-stricken, young woman. “And, she suspected he held a fondness too, despite their difference in station.”
He chose his words carefully, regarding me with a curiosity that kept my cheeks aflame. “That’s a blessing for both parties, isn’t it? Few matches are built out of romantic attachment these days, and more out of prudence.”
“I haven’t finished, Your Highness. Unexpectedly, and without warning, this young man chose to take a wife—at his family’s urging, or so my friend understood. And what is worse, he did not choose her. In fact, she didn’t even come under consideration, and while she thought at first it mattered not at all—that perhaps her hope had risen on false foundations … ”
William tilted my chin upward, so that our gazes locked as firmly as a horse hitched to a wagon. “I am not the sort of man to give a lady false hope, only to crush it underfoot. I swear it.”
I shook my head. “But isn’t that exactly what you’re doing here? Look around, Your Highness. All of these ladies attend a ball at your home, for one reason alone: that they might be chosen to be your wife.” With few exceptions—I thought of Liesl, content to see the wonders of the palace and snack on rich pastries. “I simply do my part to guard myself against disappointment and heartbreak.”
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