I take a moment to look at her, to see if there is anything I haven’t already memorized about her face. If I stay another moment, I’ll change my mind, so I leave, not daring to look back.
I ride into town in the early morning hours; the lamplighters are making the rounds, snuffing out the lamps with their hooked poles. An air of melancholy hangs over the city like a gathering of storm clouds, ready to split open and wash the land in a torrent of pain and sadness.
As I make my way through town, dead set on finding Erin and telling her things are going to change even if I have to die trying, I realize I have no clue where she lives now. Probably with Édouard, and not with her parents in the little house with the wide porch on Strattman Street. I decide to go to Liv’s house first to see if her parents know where Erin is.
I tether my horse and go to Havasaw Lane on foot. I hang back along the row of houses across the street from Liv’s. Her younger sisters, Mina and Cosette, are sitting in the front window. They look very much like Liv. An ache grips me so tightly I lose my breath. Nothing, not time or distance or distraction, has numbed the pain of her loss.
I cross the street and walk toward the house. As I approach the front step, I can hear the girls reading the passages of Cinderella’s tale. They spot me and disappear from the window.
“Papa! There’s a strange man outside!”
At least my disguise seems to be working. I hear footsteps barreling up to the front door, and when it swings open, Liv’s father stands there, his face ruddy, his eyes narrow.
“Who are you?” he asks, blocking the doorway. “What do you want?”
He stares at me in confusion before his eyes widen and his jaw goes slack. He looks up and down the street and motions for me to come inside. Locking the door behind us, he turns to me as he draws the curtains closed. “Were you followed?”
“No. I was very careful,” I say. “I’m so sorry to show up like this, but—” Liv’s mother appears in the living room. She seems smaller than the last time I saw her, more delicate. I take off my cap. “Oh, Mrs. Preston, I—I’m so sorry I—”
“Sophia?” She rushes forward and puts her arms around me. “You’re alive! We didn’t know where you had gone. We thought the king had taken you away or—or worse.” Tears stream down her face, and I’m miserable that she is crying for me when her own daughter lies cold in the ground.
“I’m fine, really I am.” I wipe the tears from my own eyes. “I know about Liv. I’m so sorry.”
“To your room this instant,” Liv’s father says to her sisters.
The girls scurry up the stairs, and I follow Mrs. Preston into the kitchen, where she takes a seat at the table. She’s one of those women who wears every ounce of heartache on her sleeve. Her small frame seems like it might collapse under its weight at any moment. Mr. Preston pours her a cup of tea and sits it in front of her, gently touching her shoulder.
“We did everything exactly as we were supposed to,” Mrs. Preston says. “We recited the verses, knew them all by heart. We served the king, followed the rules, and two years in a row we’ve been denied a visit by a godmother. I wish I knew what we did wrong.”
I clench my jaw. She believes, as Liv did, that the stories are real, and while I now know there was real magic involved, it wasn’t something you earned by being faithful to the palace or reading Cinderella’s story a million times over.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I say. “Please understand that.”
Mrs. Preston shakes her head. “I wish you could have come to the funeral. It was lovely, and you were such a good friend to her.”
Tears fall again, and I turn away. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.”
“No, no. Don’t apologize,” says Mr. Preston, shaking his head. “You managed to get away. I’m sure your parents miss you, but you shouldn’t go back.”
“Marcus,” Mrs. Preston interjects.
“I don’t mean to give the impression that I’m speaking ill of your parents,” he says. “But it’s my sincerest wish that you never have to be a part of that terrible ball ever again. And now that he’s ordered a cotillion, he’ll have another opportunity to ruin our lives.” I turn to look at him. He gives me hope that there are still good people in Lille.
Mrs. Preston pats the air with her hands, urging him to quiet his voice, which he does immediately.
“I have two more who will have to—” Mr. Preston stops short. His face contorts into a mask of pain. “They’re just eleven and thirteen, but the thought never leaves my mind that very soon I’ll be forced to send them off to the palace.” He fights back tears.
Mrs. Preston stares out the kitchen window. “Everyone wants to be chosen, but they don’t think about what that really means. Have you seen what happened to Erin?”
My heart almost stops. “I saw her in the market. I saw the bruises. Her fiancé, Édouard, had—”
“Husband,” says Mrs. Preston, as if she knows what I am going to say. “He’s her husband now. It would have been better if she hadn’t been chosen at all.”
“Where is she?” I ask.
“They’ll be living in Eastern Lille, behind the gates, but Erin’s parents couldn’t come up with the dowry they’d promised, and so Édouard and Erin have been staying about a mile past the orchard until the money is paid in full,” says Mrs. Preston. “I’ve gone to see her twice and was turned away at the door each time. He didn’t even let her come to Liv’s funeral. I think he resents having to stay so close to us commoners and takes it out on her.”
“I want to put an end to it,” I say. “The ball, the laws, the traditions. All of it.”
Mrs. Preston glances toward the stairs. “People will not let go of those things so easily. I sometimes think they don’t even understand that they are doing anything wrong.”
“I don’t pity their ignorance,” I say. “They see what’s going on. We all do. We have to show them a better way.”
Mrs. Preston covers my hand with hers. “You’ll change the world then, Sophia?”
There is no hint of sarcasm, of doubt. She is sincerely asking me what I aim to do.
“I don’t know about the world, but we can start with Lille,” I say. That’s enough for right now. “I should be on my way.”
I tuck my hair under my cap, and Mrs. Preston hugs me tightly. “Erin doesn’t want to be married to that man—or any man.” She looks up at me. The love and gentleness she has for her own girls has always extended to me and to Erin, but I didn’t know exactly how much until this moment. “She tried so hard to pretend to be happy about the match. She wanted to make her parents proud.”
“I know.” How being married to a man like Édouard, who beats her, could make them proud is beyond me. Why was that an acceptable price to pay for being chosen? She’s worth more and deserves better.
“Perhaps it has always been you who was meant to save her,” she says.
“There’s still hope,” I say, although I’m not sure I’ve fully convinced myself of that. She holds me for a long time before going upstairs. Mr. Preston walks me to the door.
“I won’t ask you what you plan to do or where you’re going,” he says. “It’s best that I don’t know, but you know where to find me if you need anything.”
I nod, take his hand in mine, and give it a squeeze. “Thank you.”
I hug him and leave without looking into his eyes for fear that I won’t be able to see through the tears. I stand on the stone pathway in front of the house and breathe in the chilly air. It allows me to refocus. Erin.
Just down the road from the orchard, I find Erin and Édouard’s temporary residence, a large house with a tiled roof and large stained-glass windows that sits apart from the others on the street.
I leave my horse tethered to a tree close by and walk up to the house, my heart pounding. Will she even want to see me? And what can I say to her after all this time?
Just as I’m thinking of chucking a stone at one of the upper windows, the front
door opens, and Erin comes out. I stop, frozen where I stand. I wait for her to notice me, the anticipation tying me in knots. She pulls her shawl in around her neck as she looks up into the sky and exhales long and slow, the way she does when she’s exhausted. She levels her head and steps forward.
“Erin,” I say, just above a whisper.
“Sophia?” Her voice sounds thin and raspy as if she’s been crying. I wonder for how long and if any of those tears are over me.
“I had to see you,” I say.
She sweeps down the front steps, and I think she’s going to embrace me, but as I reach for her, she stops.
“What are you doing here?” She glances back at the front door.
“I came to see if you were all right. After I saw you in the market—”
Erin huffs loudly. “Leave the past in the past, Sophia. That’s where it belongs.” Her eyes and words are like ice.
“I thought you’d—I don’t know—I thought you might want to see me. I wanted to see you.”
“Really? Why would I want to see you? You left. You think you’re better than us because you got away?”
I’m struck silent. She is seething, hatred dripping from every word.
“I don’t think I’m better than anyone,” I say. “Why would you say that? I asked you to come with us. I wanted you to come.”
“Come with you where?” She looks back at the door again. “Where did you go?” She shakes her head. “Don’t answer that. I don’t care. I don’t care that you feel sorry for me and came to see how pitiful I am.”
“That’s not why I’m here. Erin, what happened to you? Why are you acting like this?”
She marches up to me and sticks her finger in my chest. “You left! You left me here to deal with this alone. Liv is dead, and you’re gone, and I have no one.”
All the time I spent trying to be there for her flashes in my head. How many times had I tried to comfort her, to help her in any way that she would allow, and now this is my fault?
“I tried to tell you how much I cared for you. I tried so hard and you—you pushed me away.” This isn’t my fault.
“You tried to make me believe that this would work when you knew damned well that it never will,” she says. “Not here in Lille or anywhere else. I’ve accepted my fate. Something you could never do because you’re too busy daydreaming. If my husband finds you here, he’ll turn you in.”
“It doesn’t have to be like this,” I say after a moment. I’m desperate to give her an out. “I’ve found another way.”
“I won’t risk being disowned by my parents all because you have some new plan that will get you executed like that poor woman in the marketplace, like your own grandmother.”
My stomach turns over. “I don’t care.”
“Of course you don’t,” she snaps. “Your parents have already disowned you. And you have no husband, nothing to lose.” Her words cut me to the bone, rip my insides out and stomp on them. “Not even you, with all your wishful thinking, can change things. You’re not special, Sophia. You’re just a silly girl like the rest of us.”
Holding my tears at bay, trembling with frustration, I shake my head. “You’re wrong. I lost myself in caring for you. I cared for you so much I forgot that I deserve to be happy too. I’m sorry you don’t believe in me.” She bristles. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”
“I don’t need to be saved,” she says as she weeps silent tears. “I need you to leave me alone. Forever.”
“You’re afraid. I know what that’s like. But you’re going to have to decide what you’re willing to risk to change things.” This is goodbye. It has to be. I know what the king’s laws do to the women of Lille, but what they’ve done to Erin is more than I can stand.
Giving me one last look, she turns and goes inside.
After staring at the closed door for a moment, I mount my horse and ride straight back to Constance, who is waiting for me on the front step. I climb down as she comes toward me, her eyes worried.
“I only wanted to tell her that there was another way, but she still can’t understand that.”
Constance slips her hand into mine. “I’m sorry, Sophia.”
“No,” I say. “I’m sorry. I never should have risked going back there, and I don’t want you to feel like I was trying to make a choice between you and Erin. I made that choice before I left. I choose you.”
Constance presses her lips against mine as she winds her arms around my neck.
“Ahem.” Amina clears her throat, standing on the front step with her arms crossed. “Went out for a little stroll this morning? I hope you enjoyed yourself. Are the palace guards on your tail?” She splits a pointed look between me and the driveway.
“I wasn’t followed.”
“You went into town,” Constance says to Amina. “Don’t be a hypocrite.”
“I can blend in seamlessly, thank you very much, while Sophia just looks like a very beautiful man,” Amina snaps.
“And what’s wrong with that?” Constance asks playfully.
“Did you accomplish whatever it was you were trying to do?” Amina asks.
I nod. The answer isn’t simple. Nothing is simple anymore.
32
On the morning of King Manford’s winter cotillion, snow blankets the land. The air is frigid, and the cold has stripped the trees of their leaves. Lille looks like a page right out of Cinderella’s fairy tale.
I can’t sit still, choosing instead to pace back and forth in front of the hearth. Amina sits in a chair near the fireplace, hovering over a piece of golden parchment.
“It’s disturbing how easily I was able to nick this from the mail carrier,” she says. “They really should be more vigilant about keeping an eye on their parcels.”
Constance took the horse and cart before the sun came up; as soon as I hear the faint sound of wheels on the road, I run out to meet her. She climbs down, takes one look at me, and pulls me into an urgent embrace. She’s as nervous as I am but shows it in subtle ways—a fervent kiss, a look of sadness in her eyes when she holds me.
“The town is abuzz, but I didn’t see a single smile. People are nervous. Kind of like you.” She winks at me. “Are you ready?”
“No. But if I wait until I’m ready, I may never go.”
Amina nods a greeting to Constance as we go inside. They’ve come to an unspoken understanding that there will be no bickering, not on this day, at least.
In the early afternoon, clouds move over the hills, turning the day gray and gloomy. I’m sitting quietly with Constance, holding her hand and studying every angle of her face, when Amina stands up. “You’ll need time to travel to the palace, so it’s probably best if we get started now.”
My heart races. The moment has come.
Constance and I follow Amina outside into the small clearing behind the house where the giant tree sits. Constance drapes a cloak around us, and we huddle together in the chilly winter air. Amina looks to the sky and holds her hands up in front of her. As she mutters something unintelligible under her breath, a shudder runs through the ground.
Suddenly, a light, like liquid starlight, flows from Amina’s fingertips to the trunk of the massive tree, snaking out onto its branches. I crane my neck to look up at the canopy and watch the tree burst to life, wide green leaves sprouting from every branch. In the dead of winter it shouldn’t be possible. Amina steps back as the light from her hands fades away, but the tree remains luminescent.
“Ask of it what you will,” Amina says. “It will provide anything you should need, but you must understand that the magic is only temporary. All that the tree provides, it will take back at the stroke of midnight.”
Constance stares in amazement. “Is this what you gave to Cinderella?”
Amina looks away. “It is. On this very spot, on a night very much like this one.”
I slip out of Constance’s embrace and approach the tree, looking into the shimmering canopy. “A dress.” Do I need to ask it for a
certain kind of dress? A specific color? I glance back at Amina, but a rustling sound draws my attention up as a pocket of warm air wraps itself around me like a blanket. The same strange luminescence that clings to the tree now clings to me. I hold my breath as a dress of shimmering silver materializes around me. Constance looks on, her eyes wide, hands clasped tightly together.
Amina whispers something into the branches. There’s a gentle tug at the back of my head, and a tingling surrounds my feet. I can barely see anything through the silvery haze. As it dims, Amina smiles. Constance looks back and forth between the glowing tree and me.
“It worked?” I ask.
“Like a charm,” says Amina.
The light is fading from the tree branches, so I quickly whisper one final thing to it. “Please help me find a way to defeat the king.”
Amina’s smile fades. “It can’t help you in that way, I’m afraid. This spell is very good at creating fancy frocks and unique baubles, but what truly matters is you, Sophia. You must use your head and your heart.”
“You can’t blame me for trying.”
Amina reaches into her cloak and pulls out something wrapped in a piece of cloth. She hands it to me. I unwrap it and find she’s given me a dagger.
“Just a little something,” Amina says.
The blade is long and slender and glints in the light of the enchanted tree. The handle is intricately carved, and set directly in the center is a shimmering pink stone.
“It’s quartz,” Amina says, tapping the stone. “I charged it during the last full moon. It should offer you some protection.”
“Thank you,” I say. “It’s beautiful.”
“I gave it to Cinderella the night of the very first ball. She didn’t get a chance to use it because of my cowardice, my willingness to believe that there was another way to stop the king.”
I look down at the weapon again, grasping its handle, feeling the weight of it in my hand and on my heart. Amina tries to give me a reassuring smile.
Cinderella Is Dead Page 21
