“Even if that means disobeying your inspiration?”
“What?”
“Jules,” said Serge, folding his arms. “This morning you worshipped her. Was it an act?”
“Not at first,” said Jasper. “Eighty years ago, I read a story in the Criers about an orphan boy in the north. Pierce was his name, I think.”
Serge twitched. He hadn’t thought of Pierce in decades.
“He’d been enslaved by an awful Kisscrafter — but Bejeweled rescued him,” Jasper went on. “A wealthy couple from Lilac adopted him, and they were all so happy.” He sighed, and little lights like stars floated from his lips. “Did you work for the Slipper back then? Do you remember?”
Serge nodded. Pierce had been his own first client. Jules had taken credit, but back then, he hadn’t cared about that kind of thing; he’d been an apprentice himself, as full of passion as Jasper was now, and seeing Pierce adopted and free had been everything he’d ever dreamed of.
It had been a long time.
“I was young when I heard that story,” said Jasper. “Afterward, I was obsessed. I read about how Bejeweled helped the mermaid who’d lost her sister, and about the girl who was imprisoned at the top of the glass hill. And then there was that orphanage full of children who were made to spin straw into gold — until Bejeweled freed them.”
Serge listened with uncomfortable pleasure to this litany of good deeds, none of which Jules had actually performed alone. He had done the heavy lifting.
“So yes, I admire what she used to do,” said Jasper. “But she clearly isn’t doing it anymore. And I came to Quintessential to help people, so I will. What about you?”
“I am the Executive Godfather of the Glass Slipper.”
“And you want to take over when Jules retires. So you can change things.”
“Well — yes,” said Serge, somewhat rattled that Jasper had read the situation so well. “Why shouldn’t I? I’ve worked long and hard for the privilege, and I don’t intend to lose it. I can’t allow you to take Ella as a client.”
“I’ll be careful,” Jasper began, but Serge put up a hand and silenced him.
“You’ve already broken nearly every rule in the book — you’re a menace, Jasper! You could have been seen by anyone walking along the park tonight. For all you know, Jules has heard about this already.”
For the first time, Jasper looked alarmed. “Do you think?” he whispered, looking both ways along the park. “Does she have spies?”
“All over the city,” said Serge. “She knows the gossip before the scribes do — even I don’t know how she does it. If we go behind her back to help Ella, we have to be more than careful. We have to be untraceable.”
Jasper rose up on his tiptoes. “We?”
“That’s not what I meant,” said Serge, his insides roiling. He had to sneak Ella’s scroll back into Lebrine’s files before it could be missed. “We’ll come back tomorrow — but only to get the contract,” he said. “We’ll explain to Ella that we’ve made a mistake.”
“It’s no mistake, Serge. This is where we’re meant to be. I feel it.” Jasper eyed him briefly. “And so do you.”
Serge couldn’t deny it. He did feel something here — his dust had come to him so easily. But that didn’t mean he would risk the Slipper.
“Report to work tomorrow morning,” he said to Jasper. “In the meantime, don’t go anywhere near Ella Coach, or I will report you, and you will go back to Crimson.”
He snapped his fingers and left his apprentice alone.
4th Blackwhile, 1086
Fulcrum Hospice
To the fairies at the Glass Slipper:
My name is Ellie Herringbone and I’m dying from the roop. We just wasted our last few nauts so a Hipocrath could tell us there’s no hope for me. But a kind Blue fairy told me that there might still be hope for my daughter, Ella, if I put her on your List. The fairy said that every once in a while a charity case gets some attention so it’s worth at least trying and she said she’ll do her best.
Ella is a good girl. No mum could want a better. She should have had such a pretty childhood. Instead, she’s had nothing but hardship, just like me, and she’s never complained. And that’s my fear.
I’m scared she’ll think that this is all life can be, and it’s all she’s fit for. I’m scared the second I’m dead she’ll take my place in that Jacquard shop with the mold and the roaches and she’ll stay there. I’m scared she’ll meet someone she loves more than she loves her own self, and pay for it with her life.
Ella can’t waste herself here. She’s got brains and strength. She should be somewhere that matters, where she can make something of them.
I’ve told her all her life that Quintessential’s for the quints. But White skies, if I could make her one of those city children I’d do it. If she could have nauts like them, if she could have their education and their chances, I’d give anything for it. I’d die for it. As long as I’m dying anyway I wish I could die for that. Instead, I’m leaving her nothing and she’s going to end up bent under someone’s foot and I can’t stand it. Oh, I can’t stand it, I wanted to give her more than just survival but there’s no changing places in this world, there’s no going up the ladder. They keep you right where they want you, the Jacquards and the rest of them. Give you just enough to keep slogging through the muck, and never enough to get out of it.
So now I’m begging you fairies — who’ll probably never listen, hey? You’ll never see this letter. But if you do, my daughter, Ella, needs you. Save her from this life. Give her the same privileges as those children in the city, and I swear, she’ll use them right. She knows what things are worth. She’ll change the world if she gets her chance, I know it.
Since I can’t anymore, please help her find her way.
~Ellie Herringbone
THE worst thing about death, Ella thought as she wiped her tears once more on her pillow, was that there were no more answers. Anything she hadn’t asked her mum before she died, she could never ask her now. It would always be like that. She’d keep getting older, and she’d keep having new questions, but her mother would always be dead.
She closed her eyes, clutching the letter and wishing her mum could be with her for just a minute. Just to hug her. Maybe that was the worst part — not being able to hug her. But not being able to ask questions was a very close second.
Had her mum really wanted her to be a quint?
She opened her eyes and stared at the strange, silvery contract. She’d stayed locked in her room all night, crying all the tears she’d kept bottled up since the funeral, reading and rereading her mum’s letter. It made no sense. Her mum had always mocked city dwellers; she’d said that in Eel Grass the people were real and they knew what real life was about. But according to this letter, she’d wanted a plush life — or at least she’d wanted it for Ella.
Then again, her mum had been dying when she wrote that. Maybe she’d been delirious.
A brisk knock at the door made her sit up straight. Someone was rattling the handle.
“Ella, unlock this, please.”
She hid the fairies’ scroll deep in her wardrobe, down inside one of her fishing boots, and then unlocked her bedroom door but didn’t open it. She went back to bed and rolled to face the wall. The door opened.
“Chef Alma made poached eggs,” said Sharlyn. “Your father says you like them.”
Ella didn’t turn.
“Earnest and I have discussed your behavior,” Sharlyn said, “and we’ve decided that what you need is encouragement to develop your new social life, starting today.”
She already didn’t like the sound of whatever this was.
“Get dressed and come downstairs to eat. You have an appointment in an hour.”
“What appointment?” said Ella, but Sharlyn had already closed the door.
Not quite an hour later, she went downstairs. She grabbed a piece of toast in the dining room, where her dad and Sharlyn sat with the remains of
their breakfast.
“Collect your school things,” said Sharlyn. Her dark eyes raked over Ella’s knitted skirt and long, hooded pullover. “Chemise Shantung is here to pick you up for a gathering.”
“What gathering?”
“In fact,” said Sharlyn, “there’s rather wonderful news, Ella. You don’t deserve it, given your little adventure to Salting, but every noble family in the city has been invited to attend a royal ball. Tonight.”
Ella gaped. “A ball?”
“I know!” Sharlyn looked delighted. “It’s short notice, but don’t worry, I’ll make sure you have what you need. In the meantime, your classmates are getting together this morning for a little work party, to help with some of the arrangements for the ball. Lady Jacquard will be your host.”
The crumbs of toast in Ella’s mouth suddenly tasted burned. “You want me to go to the Jacquards’?”
“You’re going,” said Sharlyn. “Right now.”
Ella couldn’t quite breathe. She met her dad’s eyes. “Don’t make me,” she said. “Not the Jacquards’. I’ll go to Chemise’s if you want — or even Tiffany’s, but —”
“Jacquard Silks is our supplier, Ell,” said her dad. “They contract with Practical Elegance. You can’t just snub them.”
“Besides,” said Sharlyn, “this is a wonderful opportunity for you to see your classmates outside of school. Once you make friends, you’ll find your place here.”
Ella’s pleas went unanswered. Several minutes later, she was in the Shantungs’ carriage, hugging her satchel. It was the cruelest punishment her stepmother could have devised, making her go to Lavaliere Jacquard’s house.
“Isn’t it exciting?” Chemise was saying. “A royal ball, tonight! There’s never been one on such short notice — the messenger came round only this morning!” She twisted a dark, glossy lock of hair around one finger. “What am I going to wear? I haven’t had a new gown in — well, you know, the fashions change so fast….” She collapsed against the carriage cushions, biting her red bottom lip.
Ella took out her embroidery hoop, which she’d hidden in her school bag since Sharlyn said she couldn’t bring her workbasket to a social gathering. She stretched a piece of dark blue linen over the inner ring, then flexed open the outer ring to fit it over the fabric before tightening the screw. The bumping of the carriage made it tricky, but Ella was well practiced, and soon she had made her way twice around the loop, tugging the linen and tightening the screw until the fabric was taut as a drum. If she concentrated on work, she could almost forget where the carriage was going.
“What are you making?” asked Chemise, watching Ella thread her embroidery needle.
“A first Shattering Day dress,” Ella replied. “My friend’s mum is expecting a baby.”
“How lovely,” said Chemise. “I’ve never learned to embroider, but I’ve crocheted things. I once made a potholder for our cook.”
She sounded proud — as though potholders weren’t the easiest things in the world, Ella thought. But still. That a Shantung heiress had ever crocheted anything was shocking.
“I’ve forgotten how since. I don’t suppose you’d teach me again sometime?”
She asked so kindly that Ella was unable to refuse. “Yeah, if you want.”
Chemise smiled, and Ella found herself smiling back just a bit.
“Did you make your skirt too?” Chemise’s eyes flickered over Ella’s outfit, which Sharlyn hadn’t been able to get her to change. “It’s intricate, isn’t it? How long did it take?”
“Weeks,” said Ella, gratified by Chemise’s look of admiration. She’d always liked this skirt. It was full, and the cable patterns were interesting, and the hem was purposely uneven, coming up shorter in front to show her boots.
“What will you wear to the ball?”
“I’m not going,” said Ella.
Chemise looked extremely embarrassed. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have assumed. I thought all the Coterie families were going — but perhaps it’s just old friends of the Charmings.”
“I’m invited,” said Ella. “I’m just not going.”
Chemise frowned in confusion and fell silent as the carriage brought them farther west. Here, upon the seaside cliffs that flanked Charming Palace, stood some of the most spectacular homes in Quintessential, belonging to old and influential families like the Garters and the Panniers, the Farthingales and the Gussets.
And the Jacquards.
When the carriage reached the top of the cliff where the Jacquards’ vast estate sat, Ella’s mouth sagged open.
“Isn’t it perfect?” said Chemise wistfully as the carriage brought them through endless manicured gardens and up to the manor’s principal entrance.
Ella followed Chemise out of the carriage, staring up at the intimidating height and breadth of the Jacquard manor. It was a palace, many centuries old, and it evoked a sense of grand history. But everything about it was newly refinished and fashionably precise. Against the backdrop of the Tranquil Sea, the buildings gave the impression of being light and airy: blue as a robin’s egg, all trimmed in shining white, with endless windows and balconies.
Ella shivered looking at it. She stood rooted at the bottom of the imposing steps, clutching her satchel to her. Every stone of this place, every line of mortar, had been paid for in blood. Including her mum’s.
The front doors opened, and Ella and Chemise went up the steps. A gloved butler ushered them in, and she had the suffocating sense that she was being swallowed. The ceiling vaulted overhead, and slim double staircases curved upward before her, leading to a balcony that overlooked the marble entrance hall. In the center of this hall stood an aquarium some fifteen feet high, designed to look like an ocean wave of glass rising up from the floor. Inside it, glistids glittered and azurefish flashed their bright blue fins.
Ella gazed at the opulent sight, numb. The Jacquards lived in impossible splendor. She’d always known it, but to see it was sickening.
“Why, Chemise Shantung! How lovely to see you.”
A woman with a sleek dark bob cut in a sharp diagonal line across her forehead stood at the balcony above them, her smile as white as Sharlyn’s — only hers was on a pale face. Her cheeks had a natural glow that Ella was certain came from a jar, her dark eyebrows were expertly plucked and penciled, and her clothing was loose and layered in shades of shell and flax, intentionally rumpled in style, meant to appear as though she had only just climbed out of bed and accidentally happened to look perfect. One of her sleeves had been spun so gossamer-fine that it was rendered transparent, and the jewels that twined up her arm showed through it.
“Lady Jacquard,” said Chemise, curtsying. “Thank you so much for hosting.”
Lady Jacquard descended the curving stairs. Her hand, resting lightly on the balustrade, glittered with white and blue fire. Ella tried and failed to fathom the cost of the diamonds and sapphires she wore. “How is your mother?” Lady Jacquard asked Chemise as she came to stand beside the crystal wave. “And Challis?”
“We’re all very well, thank you.”
“Perfect,” said Lady Jacquard. “I hear business has been rocky — my sympathies, of course. Do tell your mother I’m thinking of her and that I send my very best wishes.”
She turned her gray eyes upon Ella. They traveled the length of her, from her boots and knitted skirt to the fabric band on her head. Ella dug her fingertips into her satchel, which she still held in front of her like a shield.
“Elegant Herringbone Coach,” said Lady Jacquard, apparently enjoying the taste of Ella’s name. “Lavaliere didn’t exaggerate your fondness for knitting. But family traditions are so important. And there’s always room for talent at Jacquard….”
Lady Jacquard laughed, and Ella broke out in gooseflesh.
“I’m joking, of course,” she said. “Well, girls, I’d just adore a chat, but I’ve got such a lot to do — His Majesty asked me to arrange the details of the ball for him, you understand.
Enjoy yourselves.”
A servant led Ella and Chemise up the curving stairs and into a wide, mirrored hall lined with portraits of Jacquards that went back centuries. This hall led to Lavaliere’s chamber — because it was certainly a chamber and not a room — which was already full of people when Chemise and Ella entered. Dimity lounged on a settee, brushing her hair; Loom relaxed, half asleep, in a brocade chair, his booted feet resting on a cushioned stool; Paisley and Garb stood out on the balcony, laughing. A maid worked unobtrusively in one corner, half hidden behind a screen, mixing powders and creams at a vanity table, and another maid sat before a tall, slim jewelry armoire, comparing fabric swatches against precious stones. Two more young women in serving uniforms stood on either side of a thronelike chair.
In this throne, elevated above the others, sat Lavaliere Jacquard. Her sleek dark hair was tied off with a flounce of Prism silk that fluttered without needing any breeze, dancing as only Prism silk did, picking up the sunlight and subtly shifting from gold to pink to faint, silvery blue.
Nauseating weight settled in Ella’s chest at the sight of it. One hair-tie length of Prism silk cost fifteen hundred nauts. Before going to C-Prep, she’d only ever seen the stuff on looms in the Jacquard workshop. As a little girl, she’d longed to touch it, but she’d never been allowed. No one who spun Prism silk could afford a scrap of it.
Lavaliere’s elbows rested on the cushioned arms of her chair. The maids on either side of her were hard at work on her fingernails, no doubt for the royal ball.
“Hi,” she said to Chemise. She did not acknowledge Ella. “Didn’t you bring your maid?” With her chin, Lavaliere gestured toward a corner of the chamber. Ella looked over to see a small group of servants all making silk flowers.
Chemise blushed. “I didn’t know we were supposed to,” she said. “I’ll send for Flaxine.”
“No need,” said Lavaliere, flashing her beautiful smile. “You can take her place at the maids’ table and make the flowers yourself.”
Chemise’s face flushed redder still. For a second, Ella almost thought she might cry.
Disenchanted: The Trials of Cinderella Page 8
