by Kaylin Lee
“Fine, what's your idea?” The thought of a large crowd pressing around us made me uncomfortable. But the chance to get Inspector Cyrus off our backs was worth a bit of discomfort, right? It wasn’t as though I was used to living in comfort.
He shook his head. “I can't tell you.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“I can't tell you, because if you knew, you'd never let me do it.”
I gritted my teeth. “You have to tell me. We're in this together.”
“I know, but there are some things that we need to do that you’re not going to like. Plus, it'll work a lot better if you don't know ahead of time. Just trust me.”
“Fine.” I glowered at him. “Just tell me one thing. Is it illegal?”
“I don't think so, although we don't have a great track record where that's concerned.”
I had to laugh. “Is it going to hurt?”
“No! ‘Course not. What do you take me for? Listen, Ella”—he put his hands on my shoulders and looked into my eyes—“Do you trust me?”
I nearly stopped breathing. I would've agreed to anything at that point, but the honest answer was yes. Somehow, after everything, I had indeed come to trust him. I nodded. “Whatever you want to do, I'm in.”
After making plans to wake earlier than usual the next morning to bake our small cakes for the market, we called it a night. I spent the nighttime hours chasing after the nightmare man and seeing scraps of red every time I opened my eyes. By the time morning came, I was only too happy to give up on sleep and get out of bed.
Weslan grinned as I entered the kitchen. “Today's the day.” He looked fresh and energetic, clothed in floury slacks and a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up.
I dragged my tired gaze away from the corded muscles in his arms. “It sure is.” I couldn’t hold back a smile. The Theros Street Market opened today, and we were finally launching our bakery stall.
We baked and frosted the cakes, and Weslan hummed cheerfully the whole time. When we stood back to look at the finished cakes, I nearly wept.
The small golden cakes sat in neat rows, covering the entire surface of the kitchen table. Each cake dripped with billowy, light gold winterdrop frosting that sparkled with golden light that Weslan had added with a flourish as the finishing touch.
I wanted to eat one for breakfast, but they were almost too pretty to eat. Besides, eating the cakes would be like eating money. The very thought gave me a stomachache.
We loaded them carefully onto covered plates and carried them into the alley where we stacked them on the hand cart we’d borrowed from Gregor.
Weslan stepped back and dusted his hands. “I need you to do one thing. And remember that you trust me.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Go upstairs,” he said, “and ask Zel if you can borrow a long black dress and some black slippers.
“What?” I gaped at him.
“A long black dress and slippers.” Humor glinted in his eyes.
“I heard you the first time.” I batted him on the arm. “I mean, what's wrong with this?” I gestured to my worn work dress and immediately regretted the question as I looked down at the threadbare skirt.
“Just trust me.”
“Her clothes won’t fit me. I'm going to look ridiculous and—”
“Just trust me? You promised.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. He was taking this so seriously. Then again, he hadn’t had much to be excited about lately. Perhaps I should go along with it, just to encourage him.
Zel smiled knowingly when I made my request, and then she handed over a long dress and a pair of slippers. They didn't fit me in the slightest. Sure enough, I looked ridiculous in them. I wasn't even sure how I would make it to the market without tripping over myself.
When I came downstairs, Weslan nodded resolutely. “Perfect. Let's go.”
Theros Street Market was in the Common Quarter, crammed in to an alley between a secondary academy and a tall apartment building. We made our way to the back entrance, looking around with wide eyes as we walked to our rented stand.
The market buzzed with noise even this early in the morning as vendors chatted with their neighbors and called greetings to friends from across the market. Dawn’s light colored the sky a gentle, pale blue. Fresh white canopies covered each stall. We’d no doubt be grateful for them when the summer sun reached its peak later that day.
When we reached our stall, we transferred our trays to the rough wooden counter that came with our market stand. But I looked around dubiously. We were way back toward the end of the alley, where rents had been cheapest. Our nearest neighbor was a watch repairman, and beside him, an elderly lady set out dusty, frayed wigs. “All the other food merchants are at the front,” I said.
A bell rang, interrupting my spiraling thoughts. The market was open for business.
A trickle of students, clerks, and other early-rising shoppers entered the market. As I had suspected, none of them even glanced toward our end of the market. What had we been thinking? This was the cheapest stall for a reason. After all our work and Gregor’s investment, my idea would come to nothing. How would I ever pay Gregor back?
Weslan grabbed me by the hand. “Come this way.” He pulled me around the booth and pushed me to stand right in front of it. “Stay there. And whatever you do, don't move, don't argue, and don't scowl like that.”
“Like what?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
I rolled my eyes but tried to achieve a kinder expression. Weslan stood beside me, facing the crowds that now clustered near the market entrance.
He ignored my questioning look. Suddenly, he shouted, “Let me tell you a tragic story! The story of the beautiful maiden called Cinderella.”
My skin tingled all over, and my face grew hot. I couldn’t believe my ears. What was he thinking? This city hated me! The last thing we should do was call attention to me!
I reached out to grab his arm and somehow stop him from speaking, but he pushed my hand down and gave me a sidelong look. “Remember your promise?” He whispered. “Trust me.”
A few people looked our way, but they did not approach. This was so awkward.
Weslan raised his voice even louder. “Let me tell you the story of Cinderella, the poor orphan girl who lost her father in the plague at a young age and was treated as a kitchen servant by her stepmother for years.”
A few people gave me sympathetic smiles, and I fought the urge to glower at them.
Weslan made things worse. “Poor Cinderella. All she ever dreamed of was escaping to a better life. Through sheer hard work and determination, she got a coveted scholarship to the Royal Academy. Early every morning she woke up to cook and clean for her stepmother, and late into the night she studied her books. She excelled in her schoolwork and surpassed the privileged Procus students at her school.”
I cringed. Did he not know about all the people who hated me for winning that scholarship instead of staying in my assigned place in the Merchant Quarter? For openly purchasing imported ingredients after the plague instead of pretending to use Asylian goods like everyone else?
A few people in the crowd drew closer, curious expressions on their faces.
My chest tightened. What would happen when the crowd turned on us?
Weslan continued his tale. “As I said, all poor Cinderella ever wanted was to escape to a better life. But what did she get for her dreams? The cruel monster known as the Crimson Blight attacked her at her own school, leaving her scarred and nearly dead.” He gestured to my face, and a few people gasped. Others nodded their heads knowingly.
I clenched my fist to stop from covering my scars. I supposed a lot of people knew about the attack on my school.
“First, the Crimson Blight attacked her school, destroying her chance to graduate and scarring her face. Then, the government healers refused to heal her scars because she couldn't pay.”
A few people booed at hi
s words, and the crowd drew closer. Weslan straightened his shoulders, and I watched, fascinated despite my misgivings, as he stepped even further into the role of charismatic storyteller. “We won’t speak of the heartless education ministry bureaucrats who denied her graduation certificate, or the admissions officers who refused her entry into a new school even though she had been a model student and was with within days of graduation.”
The crowd stirred angrily.
“Poor, ill-treated Cinderella was trapped. Trapped in the kitchen, forced to sleep in front of the oven to stay warm at night, forced to spend her days smelling of cinderslick and her nights sleeping on the hard kitchen floor. Forced to wear her stepmother’s discarded hand-me-down rags, long dresses that didn’t even fit.”
The audience took in my ugly black dress with evident pity.
I didn't look that bad, did I? More people joined the crowd.
“And yet, beneath Cinderella's humble, tragic exterior …”
I cringed. Tragic exterior? I didn’t like the way this was going at all.
“Beneath her tragic exterior, there is a hidden beauty and intelligence that no one could guess.”
No one could guess?
He had been right not to tell me he was going to do this. But I’d be vindicated when the crowd soured on us as they always did. This city hated me.
“Then one day, Cinderella made the acquaintance of a mage with the power to change everything.” He gestured comically at himself and took a dramatic bow, drawing giggles from the girls in the crowd. Their attention shifted from me to Weslan—the handsome, broad-shouldered, confident Kireth mage who clearly didn't belong next to me.
I braced myself against the burning desire to pick up this obnoxious black skirt and run from the market.
“Cinderella decided that she was done hiding, done being trapped. She would no longer hide her beauty or her intelligence behind her scars and scruffy rags. She would reveal them to the world. Beginning right here. At this market. Right now.”
The crowd shifted as one, moving even closer to us.
I kept my eyes straight ahead, and tried not to make eye contact with anyone. I was going to kill Weslan. Then a warm cloud of shimmering, golden sparkles swirled around me.
Chapter 11
The sparkles vanished, and the crowd gasped.
The plain black cloth of my dress had been transformed into an extravagant pale blue ballgown. Voluminous skirts stretched out around me like a sparkling silk waterfall, and I fingered the fabric with one white-gloved hand, stunned by the way the dress shone and shimmered. Tiny crystals were embedded throughout the fabric, so small you could barely see the individual crystals, making the dress appear to glow in the early morning light. Long, white gloves covered my hands and arms to well above my elbows. I reached up to feel my hair. I’d have given anything for a mirror. My hair had been twisted into a high bun with some sort of headpiece on top of my head.
I forgot the crowd for a moment as I stared at Weslan. I had no idea he was so powerful, so talented. What had the Mage Division been thinking when they kicked him out?
He stared back at me with a matching look of awe upon his face. His gaze darted up and down my body, and when he met my eyes again, his face was lit with unmistakable longing.
I opened my mouth to speak, but he only cleared his throat, bowed to the crowd, and gestured toward the table with our covered cake trays.
The crowd gave a shout of delight and surged forward.
I twisted around carefully, afraid to move too quickly in the extravagant gown, just in time to see another cloud of shimmering gold dissipate over the table. The covers on the trays became as transparent as glass, revealing our gold-frosted winterdrop cakes beneath. The crowd let out another shout, and I froze, unsure of what to do as the people pressed in around me.
Weslan removed the cover from the first plate and handed it to me.
I took it numbly, and turned back to the crowd. “One quarter mark each,” I croaked.
Like a whirlwind, people yanked the little cakes off the plate and shoved their marks into the money purse that Weslan held up beside me.
I held the plate as curious faces appeared before me and snatched up the cakes, giving me brilliant, crumb-filled smiles after they popped them into their mouths.
~
We sold out in less than an hour. No one here seemed to care who I was. Perhaps the people in the Common Quarter were kinder than those in the Merchant Quarter. Or perhaps the presence of a handsome mage and dozens of magically frosted cakes put everyone on their best behavior.
Whenever someone stared at my glorious pale blue gown or looked me up and down with a smile, I felt like a princess. But inevitably, I would see the pity and mockery in another person’s eyes, and I would transform from a princess to an imposter. A joke. Even if they had no idea who Cinderella was—even if they’d never heard of me or our bakery—they must think I was the city’s biggest fool, standing here in a Procus lady’s dress like a child playing dress-up.
When the last treat sold, the stream of customers left our little back corner of the market, and we were alone.
“Oh, Weslan,” I said hesitantly, “Don't you need to do something about this?” I gestured at my dress.
“Oh. Right.” He glanced at me with bloodshot eyes and waved a tired hand in my direction. The blue dress disappeared, leaving the worn black dress in its place. It was like being doused with a bucket of cold water.
I glanced at Weslan as I put the last tray in the cart, expecting him to be jubilant with his success, but his face was haggard and downcast. Huge bags had appeared under his eyes, and his shoulders drooped. He didn’t seem to have enough energy to pack up the trays.
“Do you want me to help?”
“No,” he said gruffly. “I've got this.”
I rubbed my upper arms. What was his problem?
We walked back to the bakery in silence, and what should've been a walk of joy and victory was tense with frustration and awkwardness. Weslan was strangely exhausted, but he wouldn’t let me help.
I was hurt and humiliated, sweating, and uncomfortable in that horrible black dress. As soon as the cart was unloaded, I mumbled an excuse about returning Zel’s dress and raced upstairs to her room, leaving Weslan in the kitchen. The normally comforting smells of winterdrop soap and old books welcomed me like a warm embrace, but instead of calming me, the familiar scents heightened my frustration. This home wasn’t an oasis anymore. It was a prison—one I’d never escape, thanks to the Blight.
I found the work dress I’d left on Zel’s bed that morning and changed into it. Zel came down from the roof, then, and I tried to keep my face neutral.
The moment she saw me, she crossed the room, her eyebrows furrowed. “What happened? Did something happen at the market?”
“It was great,” I said, trying to smile. “Sold out of everything a little while ago. They loved everything that we made, and we … we drew a huge crowd.”
“Oh, no.” Zel’s voice was hard. “Did they harm you?”
I nearly laughed when I saw her fists clench. Was she going to go out and threaten everyone who mocked me now? “No. The crowd was fine. It was …”
She leaned back. “It was the dress, wasn’t it? The mages in Draicia worked the same way. As long as they had some plain black fabric to work with, they could create the most beautiful dresses. I figured Weslan was going to do something at your stand to draw in customers.”
I twisted the tattered hem of my work dress, now more tattered than ever. “He did. But … I … I don't really know what to say. It was so humiliating. It felt like he made a spectacle of me, of my life. He made it all more painful. And the dress! He gave me a taste of what I'll never have and showed the whole world just how pathetic I am.” I scowled at the floor. “No matter how much money we make, I'll never be more than the kitchen girl.” My voice broke on the last word.
I’d always hoped for so much more, but everything had been taken
for me. For the first time, it occurred to me that not even money could bring me the status that I would've had if I had graduated from the Royal Academy and found a government job.
Was that what I had wanted all along?
I’d told myself the Royal Academy scholarship was simply part of my plan to support Zel and the twins, but what if it was more about me?
Zel patted my hand. “I understand what you're saying, but I think you need to take a step back.”
I frowned at her. Why did she always have to take his side?
She didn’t give an inch. “What Weslan did was more than just put a pretty dress on you.”
I pulled away and sat at her dressing table, which was neat and bare except for an old comb and three crooked hairpins. I avoided my own image in the mirror and kept my eyes on the worn table instead. She came and stood beside me. “How did the crowd respond? Did they like it?”
“It was a spectacle. Of course, they liked it. These are the same people who gather around fomecoach accidents for entertainment.”
“I have a feeling it was more than that. The common people in Asylia have almost no experience with magic. You didn't … other than using mage-crafted rations to provide for us or taking the occasional harrowing ride on the trolley.”
I smiled despite myself and met her eyes in the mirror. “That thing is a death trap.”
Zel smiled back. “It is. You gave common people a chance to experience a beautiful taste of magic themselves—at their very own market. That’s so much more than a simple treat. You gave them a chance to touch magic, to enjoy it for themselves, not for survival but for luxury. When Weslan used his magic on you, maybe it was just part of the experience. It wasn't about you. He did it to let them experience magic in a new way.”
I remembered our customers’ wide smiles and the way they’d admired my shimmering skirt. I hated to agree with Zel’s statement. “But it hurt,” I said hoarsely. “I'm not saying it's about me—”
