by Finley Aaron
Cinders
The Untold Story of Cinderella
By Finley Aaron
Copyright 2016 by Finley Aaron and Henry Knox Press.
Book cover design by: Sanja Gombar, www.bookcoverforyou.com
“Cinders is perfect for every fan who ever wished Cinderella could be a bit more like Mulan, and for everyone who loved The Princess Bride, but wished Buttercup would pick up her sword and fight for herself once in awhile.”—Jess Evander, author of the TimeShifters series
To Eleanor, my daughter,
who does not give up,
who will find a way,
always.
You inspire me.
Prologue
Once upon a time, there was a girl named Cinderella.
Oh, you’ve heard this story before, have you?
What if I told you, everything you’ve heard before is wrong?
Well, not everything, I suppose. Yes, I turned a pumpkin into a coach and mice into horses. The stroke of midnight, the glass slippers, searching for a girl whose foot fit the shoe…those were all part of the story.
And yet, the prince didn’t just fall in love with Cinderella because she looked good at the ball. Pigeon feathers and pollywogs! Could you respect him if he did?
I most certainly could not.
No, no, there was vastly more that happened before the night of the ball, and a great deal of international intrigue after. Most importantly, there was more to Cinderella than humility, housework, and a pretty face.
If I’d have realized two centuries ago that people would still be telling Cinderella’s story, I’d have corrected the Grimm version before it was even published—or better yet, told Charles Perrault to stop mooning over how Cinderella looked in her dress, and get his facts straight.
But I’m just a fairy godmother. I may be immortal, and I can sometimes work magic (not as often as I’d like), but I can’t predict the future.
If I could, I’d have told the true story centuries ago, the entire story, complete with swords and Saracens, silk and spices, cinders and ashes.
All the parts all the other storytellers left out.
Yes, Cinderella won the hand of a prince, but she also saved the kingdom. In fact, if you think about it, she saved all of Europe!
Ah, but you can’t appreciate all she did until you know the story.
So here it is.
Her story.
Cinderella’s.
Chapter One
We’ve got to start in the beginning. No, not all the way back to when I became Fairy Godmother to the very first Eleanor, because that was even more centuries ago, Child. We’ll start with Cinderella’s mother, who very nearly wasn’t a mother to anyone, and probably wouldn’t have been Cinderella’s mother if I hadn’t intervened.
I’d been Fairy Godmother to them all, mother to daughter, on and on, for generations. They were all named Eleanor, but hardly any of them went by that name exactly. Cinderella’s mother was known as Nora. She was the only daughter of her mother (called Nellie) and her father, a landowner.
Nora was an only child, and so, though tradition would have a son inherit her father’s land, since she had no brothers, the entire estate would fall to her…once she married (that was the law back then. Balderdash and Gobbledygook! I don’t approve—I know Nora could have run the estate perfectly fine on her own—but fairies aren’t given much say in matters of inheritance law).
Nora had no interest in marrying, and her parents had long before given up trying to make her into the kind of lady who’d have suitors lining up for the honor of her hand.
She was lovely enough. Maybe not pretty in the conventional sense, but handsome and healthy. She was strong—quite strong. And bright. Oh, she had an intellect that could intimidate a man! Perhaps that was part of the problem.
Mostly, though, Nora loved horses. She loved to ride, to jump, to leap. She felt if she got going fast enough, it was almost as though she could fly.
It was through her love of horses that she finally found a husband. She’d gotten on to the age of twenty-nine years, which was far, far older than most girls were when they married in those days. Her parents were nearly desperate, because they knew they were getting on in age and, life-expectancy being what it was then, they could die at any time.
They needed Nora to marry in order for the land to pass legally to her husband as heir. On top of that, they felt it would be nice to have grandchildren—another generation to inherit the estate someday. But of course, none of that would ever happen if Nora didn’t find a husband.
And Nora understood. She had every intention of marrying, but she wasn’t going to bind herself to someone she couldn’t stand.
I understood, too.
And being a fairy, I was able to give fate a little nudge.
There was a merchant by the name of Robert. He traded in silks and spices, mostly—imports from the east, of course. But there was a drought in Arabia that had lasted for three years by that time, and as Robert passed near that region on his way back from India with a caravan of imports, he heard stories of the fine Arabian horses who were near to starving for a lack of grass (the drought having dried up the pastures, you understand).
Robert went far out of his way to inquire further, and learned that some of the sheiks, who under normal circumstances would never sell their horses to an outsider (they considered the horses part of their family), were willing to sell horses to those on their way to richer pastures, if it meant the animals might survive.
Selling horses meant those animals who remained would have a greater share of the meager remaining grass, too. It wasn’t an easy decision for the sheiks, and some would rather see their horses dead than sold to an outsider, but there were those willing to make a trade for the sake of the lives of the animals.
And so Robert, being a savvy merchant with an eye for profit, and also a horseman of some skill himself, who appreciated the quality of the animals offered for sale, made trade for six horses, all of them so close to the brink of death, they had to ride in wagons until they reached grazing land further north (he’d have traded for more horses if he could have come up with more wagons—I don’t doubt that).
It was slow going, especially at first. But with great care and attention, the animals regained a bit of their strength, enough for Robert to lead them slowly along the journey, stopping often to rest, and for food and water.
So it was that he came along the road that led by the Caprese estate, moving at a very modest pace to avoid taxing the animals who were still regaining their strength.
Nora had been out for her morning ride in the cool of the day. She rode the many paths that laced through the woods of their estate, and was headed back to the stables at the time. She would never have gone near the road if I hadn’t prompted her.
Now, you’ve got to understand a few things about fairies. We don’t just stay one size all the time. I personally prefer to shrink down to the size of a dust mote unless there’s some reason for me to be bigger. With Nora, I could often be found fluttering near her ears, where she could hear me no matter how tiny I was, and where I’d be out of sight to most people—if they saw me at all, I’d appear as little more than a twinkle in Nora’s eyes.
But since she was out riding at the time, and since she loved to ride fast, and to leap over fences and walls and fallen logs as though the woods were her own private steeplechase course, I tended to stay out of her way.
Safety, you understand. Fairies can only live forever if they don’t get killed, and what use would I be to anyone flattened like a bug?
Most often I’d flutter high, as high as the treetops or a little above them
, where I could keep an eye on Nora (that being my godmotherly duty) and where I’d be out of the range of getting slapped by tree branches or smacked by her sudden leaping.
So it was that I was hovering just above the woods when I spotted Robert on his slow procession along the road that led past Caprese.
Another thing you’ve got to understand about Fairy Godmothers: we’re more intuitive than humans. That is to say, we have a few more senses at our disposal, and centuries more life experience to draw from, and we’re able to understand a great deal about situations from just a glance.
Ironically, this very trait is to blame for our reputation of being rattle-brained dingbat ninnies. All that intuiting sometimes distracts us from what you humans see, by which I mean, we don’t always notice the obvious (at least what is obvious from your perspective).
But in the case of that morning, when I spotted Robert and his Arabian horses making their way gently down the road past Caprese, I intuited several very accurate things. I immediately gathered that the horses had come from Arabia, which I knew to be locked in drought, and I understood that Robert had saved them.
This told me a great deal about his character. Most importantly, I knew he valued horses. But more than that, I understood that he was a caring man, who’d risked whatever profits he might otherwise have made, by taking the time to try to save these horses.
And when I looked at his ring finger, I ascertained that he was single, too.
So in a twinkling (and in far less time than it takes to explain it to you), I knew everything I needed to know about Robert, and I surmised one thing more besides: that he would be the perfect solution to Nora’s problem, and a far better husband for her than even I had hoped she could find.
I flew at top speed back to Nora, grew to the size of an apple, and fluttered in front of her face, shouting that I needed her to ride urgently after me.
Since I very rarely ever flew into such a fit, Nora understood it was important, and came after me as quickly as her horse would carry her. She jumped the wall that divided the estate from the road, landing just a stone’s throw ahead of Robert’s traveling party.
From that moment on, I didn’t have to do or say anything. Nora spotted the horses and immediately fell in love (with the horses—it took a bit longer between her and Robert).
At the same time, Robert saw this lovely young woman gracefully leap the wall. Nora always had the most elegant riding posture. She was just flexible enough to move with her mount, but she never slouched and always kept her head high, her eyes ahead.
She was, in a word, stunning.
Robert looked at her, and all the tiredness he’d felt in his long journey fell away. He stood taller—encouraged. Invigorated. Interested in Nora and in making the best possible first impression.
Nora approached on her horse, coming to within spitting distance of the first animal before she stopped, giving the horses plenty of room so none of them would spook.
By way of greeting, she said one word. “Arabians.” Her voice held awe but also grave concern. She dismounted quickly, walking towards the mare nearest to her. “These animals have been underfed.” Her tone held accusation, even anger. If she’d heard of the drought in Arabia, she’d momentarily forgotten about it in her overwhelming concern for the horses.
I could hear the undercurrent of fury in her voice, but Robert, being unfamiliar with Nora, and still awed by her sudden leap over the wall, was oblivious to the protective instinct that was rising within her at the sight of the once-starved animals.
“You should have seen them six weeks ago,” Robert noted with a chuckle. “They were half dead. They’ve come a long way since then.”
“Come a long way?” Nora asked, not the slightest bit appeased.
“Yes, I’ve brought them all the way from Arabia.”
“You’ve brought them from Arabia? And run them half-dead?”
By this time, Robert had begun to realize that Nora wasn’t nearly as enamored with him as he was with her. I was perched on her shoulder, trying frantically to explain the real truth, but she was wholly consumed by concern for the horses.
“When did they last water?” Nora asked.
“At the stream by the covered bridge.”
Nora, of course, knew the spot, and felt it was too far for the horses to have come without watering again, especially given their condition. “They need water. There’s not another stream for three furlongs. They can drink at my fountain. Follow me.”
With that, Nora led her horse and Robert’s party around to the front gate, and from there to the fountain, which spilled water into a large quatrefoil-shaped trough.
Robert had by this time realized that Nora blamed him for the poor condition of the horses, and was frantically trying to think of a way to explain the situation in a way that wouldn’t make matters worse.
“Thank you, my lady, for allowing us to drink here. I’ve been looking for a place to water, but this road is one unfamiliar to me—”
“Why would you travel an unfamiliar path and put your animals at risk? This seems highly irresponsible, even foolhardy—”
“I hadn’t expected to travel with weak horses at all, when I set out. Arabia’s in a drought. These horses you see here would have been dead more than a month ago if I hadn’t brought them out of Arabia. Now I’ve lost six weeks and gone off my usual route, because the main highway, as you might know it, sees too many travelers, and there is too much competition for grazing land along that route. I took a side route hoping to find better grazing, and I’d thought, understanding landowners along the way.” Robert said all this in a rush, because he’d noticed Nora’s tendency to cut in when she got the chance, and he wanted to have everything said before she had an opportunity to turn his words back upon him.
For her part, Nora realized the mistake she’d made, and felt chastised. She’d been petting the horses, checking them over for signs of health or abuse, and could see that, other than being of low weight, they appeared otherwise to have been carefully cared for. “You saved them from starvation?” Her voice was deeper, softer, and had lost the shrill note of defense.
Robert relaxed at her tone. “I’d have taken more, if I’d thought I could have transported them. They’re in a bad way in Arabia. Horses are dying of starvation there.”
“What are your plans for them? You’re a merchant?”
“Yes, I’m a merchant of the bourgeois class, a resident of the city of Charmont. Usually I trade in silk and spices, but I traded most of what I’d brought from India to the sheik who sold me the horses. I don’t honestly know what I’m going to do with them. They’re not draft horses—they’re not built for pulling wagons of goods from India. I just knew they were beautiful animals, and I couldn’t stand to watch them die.”
“You don’t know what you’re going to do with them?” Nora asked as she stroked the mane of the dappled gray nearest her. She felt frustrated, not just that the horses had been through such hardship, but that this merchant had bought them without a plan for their care. This seemed irresponsible, even reckless, to her mind.
And though she wouldn’t admit it, she felt irked that she might have misjudged the man—but she wasn’t about to apologize. If anything, she felt she ought to point out the faults in his lack of planning, as though doing so might justify her earlier anger.
She purposely tried to ignore the fact that the man was a resident of the king’s city, and a member of the bourgeois class, as well (which meant that he, though a city dweller and not a landowner himself, was nonetheless of an appropriate life station that, were he to marry a landowner’s daughter such as herself, he could inherit the land, which would then pass on to his children without any legal problems whatsoever, seeing that he had no estate for hers to entangle with).
Nora was, as I said, upset, and if you want the full truth, the fact that the man in front of her could theoretically solve her problems and inherit her estate, annoyed her almost as much as the condition o
f his horses.
“Well,” she continued, “you won’t help matters by continuing on this death march across Europe. These animals need rest, and I daresay you need to get on with your business.”
Robert’s mouth gaped open at her words, and I was buzzing frantically at her ear, not that she would listen to me once she got going like that. I’d found one man in all the world who might make her a fitting husband, and she preferred to run him off. Being a fairy, I couldn’t very well show myself, since it’s a part of the fairy honor code never to appear to anyone save your own godchild and their closest, most immediate friends and family (which Robert would never become at the rate we were going).
So Nora was on her own, and she seemed intent on chasing Robert away without ever giving him a chance.
Chapter Two
“You say I should get on with my business,” Robert repeated in a challenging tone. “And yet, you insist these horses need to rest. Well, which is it?”
“You, go.” Nora waved her hand at him as though dismissing a servant who hadn’t had the sense to realize the time for exit had come and passed. “Leave the horses here to rest.”
“Leave the horses—you mean, you want to buy them from me?”
“I was thinking perhaps we could work out an agreement on pasture rent. Are they broken to ride?”
“I don’t believe so. They haven’t been strong enough to carry a man, due to the drought and famine, and these four are only two years old. These two mares are four and five,” he pointed to the dappled gray and a blood bay each in turn, “but they haven’t been ridden much since before the famine, if then. My concern was more with their health than their skill under saddle.”
Nora frowned. “I could work them for you, break them to ride while they’re here. That would be an additional charge.”
“Additional!” Robert repeated in dismay. In honesty, he was glad at the thought of letting the horses stay with the obviously-accomplished horsewoman, but he’d already invested more time and money into the animals than he ever stood to get back, and he balked at the thought of further payments.
