Disenchanted: The Trials of Cinderella

by Megan Morrison

  Suddenly, he saw Ella as his peers must have, vulgar and swearing in the middle of the ballroom. No one but his father had ever insulted him so openly — and his father was king. Who did she think she was?

  Ella wrote the words MESSENGER SERVICE: BUDGET on their desk. Underneath this she frantically listed a column of words. Saddles — Stirrups — Reins — Bridles — Feed — Shoes — Pay — Sick Leave —

  Dash took his chalk and underlined Sick Leave. “What’s this?”

  She scrubbed the words out with the side of her hand. “Nothing,” she whispered.

  “What is it?” he demanded.

  She pressed her lips together. She looked frightened. “Well, it’s pay,” she whispered. “For people who can’t work because they’re sick or hurt.”

  “You’d pay people,” said Dash, “for not working?”

  “No, I’d pay them so that they don’t starve to death while they get better.”

  “They’re not earning it.”

  “I know, but —” Now Ella looked confused. “They’re still skilled,” she finally said. “They’re still valuable — they’re just sick. Everyone gets sick, don’t they?”

  “It’s money. For nothing.”

  “Orange doesn’t think so.” She was barely audible now. She gripped her hands in her lap. “Commonwealth Green doesn’t think so. Yellow Country has a system. Even the Redlands takes care of its people.”

  Dash was stung anew. How dare she suggest that the Blue Kingdom was less than those other nations? “How do you know that?” he demanded.

  She fidgeted. “I heard it,” she said. “My mum used to tell me —”

  “You have no proof?”

  “Well, no, but —”

  “Enough.”

  Lavaliere had been right in advising him to refuse this partnership — he wished now that he’d listened to her, even if his mother would have disapproved. Ella Coach was mad.

  SHE was sick with fear. The prince would tell the king what she’d said, she was sure of it.

  When Professor Linsey-Woolsey checked on them again, Ella jumped. “What did you decide on?” the professor asked.

  “Messenger service,” Ella said, and the professor walked away, looking disappointed.

  Ella and Dash neither looked at each other nor spoke as the professor took her place before the class and gave them their homework: to speak with an adult about their work so far, and to get advice on how to proceed. Ella wiped their slate tabletop clean with the wet rag, and the chalk marks vanished easily. She wished it were so easy to wipe out the things she’d said.

  THE professor brought class to a close. Ella pushed back her chair at once, and Dash watched as she hung up her smock on one of the hooks behind them. The C-Prep uniform, neatly tailored and silver-buttoned, looked all wrong on her. His eyes traveled over it, down to her big, battered boots and her socks that were thick as blankets, slouching around her knees.

  She touched the cheap gold E that hung from her necklace.

  “You’re lucky, hey?” she said to him. “Nothing wrong with being lucky. I just wish everyone could be. That’s all I meant, I swear.”

  She grabbed up her satchel and hurried from the room.

  “That must have been dreadful.”

  He turned to find Lavaliere standing before his desk, looking down on him in concern.

  “I’ll tell my mother,” she said as he stood and hung his smock on a hook. “I’m sure she can fix it. You can’t be forced into acquaintance with that — thing.” She tucked her arm into his and gave him a protective, possessive squeeze. “I’m not going to stay partnered with Tiffany either,” she went on. “We have to stand up for ourselves, you and I.”

  Dash walked with her toward their next class, quietly simmering. The things Ella had said nagged at him; the more he thought about them, the angrier he felt. If she thought that keeping silent about his mother gave her special privileges with him, then she was wrong. She was wrong about all of it. She knew nothing about the Garment Guild. Nothing about the Blue Kingdom. She was new to Quintessential — new money, new blood — and she didn’t know the first thing about anything.

  WHEN he left his office at sunset, everything was in meticulous order. “Anything before I go?” he asked, rapping on the glass desk that rimmed the reception pool. All of Lebrine’s heads remained engaged in other conversations, so he gave her a parting wave, glad there were no emergencies for him to handle. It meant he could make his way to Ella’s house all the sooner. “Tomorrow, then,” he said.

  A sudden surge of heat in his pocket stopped him on his way to the Slingshot. He took out his silver watch and flicked it open.

  MY OFFICE. NOW.

  When he arrived in the penthouse, Jules crossed her legs and kicked her pointy-shoed foot in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

  “So, babe,” she said, leaning back in her chair and fixing him with frosty eyes. “Why the interest in Elegant Coach?”

  Serge was caught so much by surprise that he barely managed “I’m sorry?” in a tone that, he was pretty certain, could only be described as guilty.

  “You had her contract,” said Jules. “I requested it an hour ago, and it turns out that you just filed it last night.” She paused. “Care to explain?”

  Serge’s mind grasped for a good lie. He used to be quite nimble at thinking up excuses for all manner of things — back when he had been a godfather with actual challenges to face.

  “I wanted to see her,” he said. Best to stick close to the truth.

  “Why?”

  “Because the scribes have been sniffing around for dirt on Maud. I was looking for a way to distract them.”

  “So you visited Elegant Coach.” Jules picked up her drink. Swirled it. “Make sense, babe.”

  “I thought we could use a good, old-fashioned rescue story,” said Serge. “You know. Impoverished beauty turned to fashion darling. That sort of thing.”

  Jules tilted her head. “Not a terrible idea,” she said. “Except that Elegant Coach isn’t impoverished.”

  “I know that now,” said Serge. “I didn’t at the time.”

  “Regardless, you had no business taking that contract,” said Jules. “I was perfectly clear with your apprentice.” She leaned forward, studying Serge. “I hope he hasn’t fooled you with those eyes of his — you’re not hypnotized, are you?”

  Serge laughed. “Jasper’s harmless. He’ll make an excellent godfather — he’s just idealistic.”

  Jules scanned his face. “Elegant Coach’s mother’s letter was gone,” she said. “Why?”

  Serge shrugged. “Jasper’s the sentimental type. Don’t worry — I won’t let him become another Gossamer.”

  Jules laughed, and the suspicion vanished from her expression. “At least someone around here lives in reality,” she said in her husky voice.

  Serge smiled thinly, glad she hadn’t seen through him. “Why did you go looking for the Coach contract, anyway?” he asked, sitting down across from her. “Sudden change of heart?”

  “Research,” said Jules. “Apparently, the girl’s a troublemaker. She threw a fit at the royal ball — insulted the nobility, ruined the party — but before she did that, when it was time for Prince’s Preference, Prince Dash made quite a show of choosing the Coach girl for his partner. Apparently, they had themselves a very intense conversation on the dance floor — nobody knows what they spoke about, but according to Lariat Jacquard, it was the most the prince spoke all night, to anyone. And now the girl is partnered with Dash for a project at school. Lariat is not happy.”

  “Why? What does she care if they’re partners at school?”

  Jules leaned forward. “Think back, Serge,” she said. “Lariat Jacquard almost had Clement twenty years ago, and then in swept Maud Poplin from Salting — a nobody who showed up at a royal ball one night and stole the crown right out from under her.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  “And you,” said Jules. “And now here’s Ella Coach, anot
her southern nobody — and of all the girls at the ball, Dash asks her to dance?” Jules shook her head. “Lariat Jacquard will not see her daughter supplanted by another Maud Poplin. If she has to, she’ll strike.”

  “How?” he asked, taking care to keep the fear out of his voice.

  “She’ll crush the Charmings,” said Jules. “Remove them from power.”

  Serge sat up, startled. “Does she have that kind of sway?”

  “Oh yes.” Jules chuckled. “Clement’s been in a precarious situation for years, but he hasn’t paid attention. While he’s been gallivanting, Lariat has been demonstrating to the Essential Assembly that they don’t need a king in order to make decisions. They just need her.”

  “But they can’t just oust the king.”

  “They can call a vote,” said Jules, “to eliminate the royal seat from the Assembly. If the House of Mortals votes to annul Clement’s leadership, and the House of Magic allows it, then what can Clement do?”

  “He has an army.”

  “True, he could start a civil war.” Jules snorted. “But he won’t. He has no iron in his spine.”

  “You honestly believe that the House would vote against the monarchy?”

  “I know they would. And if they do,” said Jules, “Lariat Jacquard will take direct control of the Blue Kingdom.”

  Serge digested this awful idea. Clement was not a great king — indeed, the Charmings had not been great kings since Envearia had interfered with them. But Lariat Jacquard was monstrous. The woman had no compassion, even for her own daughter.

  “Will she call the vote soon, then?” he asked.

  “Not necessarily. She doesn’t want the monarchy dissolved. She believes Lavaliere will be queen, so she’d prefer to keep the throne a seat of power, for now. No — if the Coach girl proves to be a true threat, then Lariat will find a way to get rid of her.”

  Terror shot through Serge, but he masked it. “What’s her plan?”

  Jules shrugged. “How should I know?” she said as the music of a rather shrill fairy chime filled the glass office. “There’s Thimble,” she said with a sigh. “She’s got a sense for interrupting me, I swear. I’ll call you when I need you, babe, all right? Ta.”

  Serge left the Slipper. He made his way north along the seashore, flying quickly past Batik Castle, Charming Palace, and the Jacquard Estate, then cut east across the city to Cardinal Park.

  When he arrived at Ella’s home, the sky was dark.

  “Finally!” Jasper cried, leaping from the park into the lane. “Where have you been?”

  Serge flicked fairy dust at him. They both vanished from view, and Serge seized Jasper by his invisible shoulders. “Ella’s in trouble,” he said, and he divulged all that he had just learned.

  But Jasper did not grow still or sober. Instead, Serge could feel him bouncing up and down. “Prince Dash is partnered with Ella?” he squealed. “Really?”

  “Is that all you heard me say?”

  “No, there were other parts too; I’m sure they were important —”

  “This isn’t a game. Lariat Jacquard has the power to ruin Ella’s life.” He rang the chime. “Let’s go see her.”

  Three minutes later, they were in Ella’s room, where they found her curled up on her bed, embroidering a small circle of dark blue linen with bright white thread. The stitching wasn’t quite finished, but already it was beautiful — a keyhole, embellished all around with delicate vines that blossomed into tiny symbols of the different fairy tribes and their nations. Serge had seen many Shattering Day garments, but Ella’s was a particularly eloquent design. He admired it for a moment before remembering his purpose.

  “Ella, what happened at school today?”

  “Did the prince sit with you?” added Jasper. “Tell us all about it.”

  Ella gave a dull laugh. “It’s not like he sat with me on purpose,” she said. “The teacher made him. By tomorrow, I’m sure he’ll figure out how to get a new partner.”

  “Why would he?” cried Jasper.

  Ella recounted every step in her disagreement with Prince Dash over the labor class, the Garment Guild, and sick leave. “I insulted him and the whole kingdom,” she said. “Again. Could one of you put a spell on me so I won’t keep saying stupid things?”

  “My grandmother once took someone’s mouth away,” Jasper said. “It was one of the scariest things I ever saw.” He shook himself and perched lightly on the foot of Ella’s bed. “It was brave of you to say the things you did.”

  Ella shrugged. “Doesn’t matter,” she said. “He didn’t get it.”

  “Then show him.”

  “How? Drag him to a workshop?” Ella snorted. “Hey, Your Royal Gorgeousness, how about a trip to Ragg Row? You’ll love the stink of mold and mouse droppings — it’s really fresh.”

  “Don’t suggest any such thing to him,” said Serge. “You’re in a vulnerable position already. It would be best if you avoided Prince Dash from now on.”

  Jasper looked up in dismay. “Why is that best?”

  “How am I vulnerable?” asked Ella at the same time.

  “Some people,” said Serge, “don’t want you near the prince.”

  “Because of what I said at the ball?” said Ella. “Are people watching me?” She went to her window as though she might find a horde of Assembly members there. “How can I avoid being near him? I’m assigned to work with him.”

  “As your godfather, I urge you to choose another partner if you can.”

  “And as your other godfather,” said Jasper, “I say don’t. You want to make change? Influence the prince.”

  “Do you want her in danger?” Serge demanded.

  “Do you want her to give up her cause?” Jasper shot back.

  Serge did not. But he didn’t want to see her crushed by Lariat Jacquard either. He opened his mouth to make another point, but Ella sighed quietly, stopping him.

  “I can’t influence him,” she mumbled, stabbing her embroidery needle into her work. “My mum used to say a fish knows nothing but water. He’s the fish.”

  “We’re all fish,” said Jasper. “You included. Have you considered his perspective?”

  Ella made a noise of disgust. “No,” she said. “ ’Cause he’s wrong.”

  “Try to understand him anyway.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because if you don’t, you’ll lose this chance,” said Jasper. “Imagine yourself in his position. Imagine what’s going through his head. Then approach him with facts, not emotions — though I can hardly believe I’m saying so.”

  Ella pulled herself up against the headboard of her bed and chewed on a thumbnail for several minutes while Serge and Jasper waited.

  “I know some facts,” she said finally. “What if I told it to him like this?”

  THAT evening, Dash kept to his chamber, stewing in thoughts unlike any he’d ever entertained.

  She couldn’t really believe that the Redlands and Yellow Country had better systems than Blue. This kingdom was the greatest country in Tyme. The most powerful, the most affluent, the most forward-thinking.

  Wasn’t it?

  He longed for a talk with his mother. He had questions that she would be able to answer better than anyone else. She was from the south, after all. She’d worked in a tavern for years. She’d been a poor laborer, she knew the world outside Quintessential just as well as Ella Coach did, and she had never mentioned any great injustice. Surely if there were a genuine problem in the kingdom, the queen would have brought it up.

  He lay in bed, unable to sleep. With his mother gone, whom could he turn to? He couldn’t trust his father’s opinion, and none of his friends had the faintest idea of what the world of labor was like. He could ask Aunt Tallith — she would know plenty — but if he wrote to her, his father would read the letter, and if he tried to visit her in Salting, his father’s guards would tail him.

  He could think of only one person who might help him. It was already after eleven, but t
he matter felt urgent. He sat up in bed and rang the bell, and when the page came, he asked for Tanner.

  The red-haired messenger was there in minutes, bowing and stifling a yawn both at once.

  “Did I wake you?” Dash asked him.

  “No, sir, of course not, sir. How may I be of service?”

  “I have questions.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “How long have you served here in the palace?”

  “Two years, sir.”

  “Have you ever fallen ill in that time?”

  “Yes, sir, once.”

  “Tell me what happened. How long were you ill? Were you able to work?”

  Tanner looked a bit surprised. “About two weeks, sir,” he said. “And I was wretched, flat on the floor. No, I couldn’t work a stitch.”

  “And you didn’t lose your position here during that time?”

  Tanner’s neck reddened. “I was lucky to keep my job, sir, and I know it. I’m grateful beyond reckoning. I hope I haven’t forgotten to say so. If I have, sir, then I beg your forgiveness.”

  “No, no — you’re in no trouble,” said Dash hastily. He was quiet for a moment, uncertain of how to proceed. “I’m just trying to work something out,” he said. “Never mind. You may go.”

  Tanner seemed to want to say something, but he closed his mouth and bowed as though to leave.

  “Yes?” Dash prompted. “What is it?”

  Tanner straightened up. “If it’s not too bold to say so, sir, I’ve worked other positions before this one, and I’ve seen other servants thrown out in the dead of winter when they’re sick like I was. Is that what you’re after finding out?”

  Dash sat forward. “It is,” he said. “Tell me, where do servants go when they’re thrown out in that way?”

  “Well, sir.” Tanner looked uncomfortable. “If a body’s lucky enough to have family that can take them in, then they go to that family. Lots of times, though, a body’s supporting a family themselves. So it’s not just them out in the street, it’s their children too.”