Cinderella Necromancer

by F. M. Boughan

  What else could I do? My guilt wouldn’t allow me to rest for even a breath.

  Gretel stood at the top of the next stair flight, lips drawn tight against her teeth.

  It stilled me in an instant.

  “Edward?” I whispered.

  She nodded. I raced into his room and thudded to my knees at his bedside, panic rising and thoughts of Victoria forgotten. Edward’s eyes were clenched shut, but he thrashed about, tossing and turning beneath his covers. Beads of sweat coated his forehead, though his lips looked pale and cold. Damp cloths lay in a heap on the floor.

  “How long has he been like this?”

  Gretel entered the room and sat at the edge of the bed. “Only moments after you left, miss. He fell asleep just afore you arrived home.”

  “How could this happen?” I whispered the question to no one, for no one could give me an answer. “He’d been getting better … ”

  Gretel’s hand rested on my shoulder. “I’ll send for the doc in the morn. He’ll know better what to do.”

  But so did I. And it terrified me, because I had watched a loved one in this state once before, only a short time past.

  “I know what you’re thinking, girl, and it ain’t—”

  “You don’t know that,” I cut in, for I couldn’t bear to hear her say anything further. “Whether it is or not, you and I both know there’s only one way out from this. It’s through or nothing.”

  For Mother, it had been nothing.

  I stood and smoothed the front of my dress. “I’ll fetch another compress.”

  “You stay,” Gretel murmured, rising. “He needs his sis.”

  And I needed my brother.

  Later that night, my guilt was assuaged. The spirit had not killed Victoria, and in effect, I suppose, neither had I. She arrived home in a black carriage with two palace guards to help carry her inside. They lay her in my room, and although I inquired after her health, Celia slammed the door in my face and refused to speak to me.

  And so I slept by Edward’s side, shifting between sleep and wakefulness as easily as a dream.

  24

  The Festival

  The morning brought little relief for either of us. Celia dragged me from Edward’s side to ensure I assisted with preparations for the second day of revelry, promising through gritted teeth that she would see the doctor attended him as quickly as possible.

  I didn’t even pretend at wishing to join them at the ball this time, and did as told.

  Hours later, Celia came to me as I scrubbed the floors of our front hall, paying no mind to the freshly washed areas and stepping directly upon them with her shod feet.

  I thought to call out a warning to take care until the floor dried, but a struggle within caused my delay and I said nothing.

  To my conscience’s relief, she didn’t slip.

  The rest of me envied her superior balance and poise.

  “Ella. When you finish here, I have a very important task for you.”

  Glorious. She began every list of chores with such a statement, as if to temper each order by making it sound imperative for the world’s continued existence. I stopped scrubbing and rested the brush against my knees.

  “What is it this time?”

  I had not meant to spew my venom aloud.

  Celia’s nostrils flared, though where I would have looked piggish, it made her appear all the more refined. “Ever the ingrate, child? And I thought you might thank me.”

  I would never have cause to thank her.

  “I am fully occupied by preparations for this evening,” she continued, “and one of my fair daughters has seen fit to inform me that she absolutely cannot abide the hat I have chosen for her.”

  Doubtless Victoria had disapproved of the lack of small animals atop her head last night—but surely, after the episode of the previous evening, attending another ball would be the furthest thing from her mind.

  “And as we are all otherwise engaged, I need you to call on the milliner for one of the pieces we commissioned.”

  I nearly dropped the scrubbing brush. Me? Leave the house, by Celia’s orders?

  A smile threatened to turn the corner of my mouth and give away my growing delight. “You wish for me to go into town? Today?”

  Celia scowled. “Do you refuse?”

  “Refuse? Oh, no.” I glanced at my clothes, stained and dirtied. “Shall I go now? I can’t wear this, certainly. That might reflect poorly on your household.”

  Flattery, I hoped, would press her to release me immediately.

  “Yes, now. Change out of that disgusting rag and go. Don’t delay, this is no time for play. We still have need of you to ready ourselves fully for the evening ahead.”

  Wordless, I picked up brush and bucket, and set them aside. Only when I had reached refuge in the attic did I allow a squeal to escape. I would see the festival after all, hear the sounds of merrymaking for my own, and smell the sweet and salty air of candied apples and roast meats.

  In haste, I chose a beige walking gown and ran a brush through my tangled hair. And because I am a curious creature, I couldn’t help but peek into the drawer where I’d hidden the previous night’s ball gown, to admire it once more.

  But I found nothing inside, save my ivory shift.

  My heart seized with surprise. Had someone stolen it? No, for I had given this same shift to Feremin to complete his illusory task. It appeared the illusion did not last beyond its allotted purpose … and as disappointed as I felt at the disappearance of my beautiful gown, I admitted a relief that I no longer needed to concern myself with its accidental discovery.

  My heart grew light as I descended the steps to the front door, but I paused on the landing. Edward should be with me. He should enjoy the colors and glee of the festival, not spend his days abed with Celia for sorry comfort.

  I thought I might bring him all the same, but relented at the notion that others might fall ill at his exposure. Perhaps returning with a special treat for him would be enough.

  It wouldn’t be enough for me, but might lift his spirits. And if I remained calm and happy in his presence, perhaps it would give him a bit of added strength.

  With that, I left my home, the first time in almost two fortnights I’d done so with a modicum of permission. I had a chore to carry out, certainly, but that wouldn’t stop my eyes and ears from taking in the revelry in my own small way. Thankfully, I didn’t have to crawl under our front gate this time, but I did walk rather than ride in the carriage, following the road into town.

  The closer I drew, the louder grew the sounds of festive celebration, and I couldn’t help but be taken by a true and genuine happiness.

  And as I couldn’t wait a moment longer, I picked up my heels and ran the remaining distance into town, eyes on the mountain-high wooden pole in the center of the town square. Scores of colored ribbons twirled around the pole, and as I came closer to the center of town, I saw that a large handful of young men and women held onto the ribbons and turned them around the pole in time to music.

  Yes, music! The town square held many musicians, and though they played from all corners of the square, their music rose as one and joined together like some courtly symphony. In truth, I preferred their lively jigs to the dull and haunting strains of the violin played by the palace musicians.

  This music brought a spring to my step, and I danced rather than walked across the square to the milliner’s shop. Her door stood wide, with many festival-inspired hats on display: this one decorated with fresh flowers, and that one with lace and ribbon and presumably freely-given feathers. I stepped inside and took a moment to look about as the milliner tended to another customer.

  “Ella? Ellison? Is that you? Mercy, it is you!”

  My attentions tore away from a hat covered in buttons and bows to find Liesl and the milliner staring at me as though I were a ghost. I nearly asked Liesl how she enjoyed the ball last night, but caught myself in an instant.<
br />
  That had been a different Ella.

  “Good afternoon,” I replied, my voice softer and far more timid than I’d thought I felt.

  “Ellison, it’s been ages since … ” Liesl’s eyes grew sad and pitying.

  I returned the look with a smile, for I had long since moved beyond feeling sorry for myself for a lack of friends.

  “It has, and I must say, you look particularly charming, dear friend.” I hoped she would not chide me for calling her friend after weeks of inexplicable absence.

  But I needn’t have worried, for she exclaimed with delight and rushed forward to draw me into her arms.

  “Oh, it’s so good to see you! I tried to pay a visit last week but was turned away. A rather rude woman told me you didn’t live there anymore, can you imagine that? How is your father? And Edward? And I’ve heard you’ve a new mother, what is she like? Oh!” She pressed a silk-gloved hand to her lips. “Was she your stepmother?”

  It felt as though we hadn’t lost even a moment of time together, but still I didn’t want to answer her questions. I didn’t know how.

  So, I asked after her instead. “Things are different now, to be sure, but look at you! How lovely you look for the festival! Surely the line-up of suitors hasn’t slowed one inkling.”

  She blushed, and I felt relief that she’d accepted the shift in conversation.

  “Not quite, dear friend. Not quite. My parents have taken the bait and are currently being rather particular about finding a match that isn’t after the family business, but I can’t say I mind.” She pulled a plump fig from a silk purse around her wrist, and held it to her lips. “I rather enjoy spinsterhood.”

  She took a bite of the fig and held it to me, but I declined. “You’re far from being a spinster, Liesl. But tell me, did you attend last night’s ball at the palace? I heard it was … eventful.”

  Her eyes grew wide and she chewed furiously that she might swallow and answer. “Oh, it was splendid! Would that you were there, but won’t you come tonight? There’s the most gorgeous princess I met who has gained the Prince’s attentions, and another woman had an attack of the vapors right in His Highness’s arms! Can you believe it? And the food, Ellison, oh, the food—”

  Behind us, the milliner had placed a box on the counter and gestured to it. When Liesl had finished her exposition on the palace’s comestibles, the milliner cleared her throat and we gave her our attentions.

  “Order for Victoria?” She lifted the lid off the box and I peered inside. To describe the hat as a monstrosity would do monsters an injustice, for upon the hat sat a severed rabbit’s head, with its paws resting amidst the surrounding decoration of pale blue bows and feathers.

  “It’s hideous,” I said, unable to hide my disgust.

  “I know,” said the milliner. “And what’s worse, she asked for fresh rabbit, but I couldn’t do it. This one’s a stuffed piece from a local shop.” She winked at me and replaced the lid. “I can trust you not to say a word, I assume.”

  What a refreshing change of pace to resume our friendly rapport from earlier days, when I’d come with Mother to place our own orders.

  “Certainly,” I said, “though truth be told, I can’t promise you can trust me to deliver it in one piece.”

  I shuddered dramatically, and Liesl clapped her hands in delight, fig long finished.

  “I know,” she said, “you’ll come to dinner tonight. Before the ball. Bring your father and we can catch up—wherever have you been? I was worried about you, but none could say they’d seen you about in ages.”

  How I wished I could. But not tonight. Celia would never allow it, and I could not leave Edward so long.

  “I’m so sorry, but I can’t.”

  Liesl’s face fell, and I swear she looked sorrier than a fawn that’s lost its footing. “Oh. All right, then.”

  “Oh, Liesl. It’s not like that.” I pulled her into another embrace to prove my sincerity. “Edward is unwell, and my stepmother is hesitant to care for a child not her own.”

  A partial truth, at least. “Once he’s well, I’ll visit. I promise.”

  And I meant it.

  Her smile returned and she kissed my cheeks, radiating happiness. “All right. But I will hold you to it. Give my love to Edward.”

  She stepped from the shop, but turned back once. “I’m glad to know you’re all right, Ellison. Mere weeks are not enough to mar a friendship beyond repair, so you needn’t worry. I’ll be glad to see you when you’re able.”

  I hoped so.

  The strains of music wafted into the shop, calling me outside. I thanked the milliner, took the hatbox, and returned to the town square. Although I didn’t doubt Celia expected my quick return, this small nudge of freedom sent a surge of willful disobedience through my soul, and I circuited the town square instead.

  Stalls selling candies and cakes were crowded by young and old alike, and tall men stood in corners feasting on enormous legs of turkey and barrel-sized mugs of ale.

  As I had a few coins to my name still, I found a toy-seller’s stall and chose a carved wooden bird for Edward. It looked so true to life that I might not have been surprised had it begun singing.

  On a whim, I also purchased a small pumpkin, for I recalled Edward’s love of roast pumpkin during festive occasions.

  Satisfied with these things and eager to present them, I made my way back through the crush of the crowd, toward the road home. Without warning, a horse appeared from nowhere and reared up in front of me, hooves only a hair’s breadth from my face.

  I tumbled backward, dropping my purchases and hatbox in the dust. The pumpkin cracked as it hit the ground, and I cried out in dismay for its loss, more than for the pain of falling.

  The horse missed descending on my leg by a bare finger width, and the rider leapt from its back, rushing to my side.

  “Are you all right?” He took my hand and touched my shoulder to help me sit up. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what … ”

  His voice trailed off as I looked up and into his eyes.

  “William?”

  “You!” His concern turned to a mischievous grin. “Hello again, Ella.” He stressed my name as though to gloat at obtaining my revelation.

  I pulled my hand from his and pursed my lips. “I’m fine, but my stepsister’s hatbox isn’t.” I pointed at it on the ground several paces away, dented from where it had struck. He retrieved it and returned it to me, mercifully refraining from peering inside. He also found the toy bird, which had rolled away across the square.

  “Sorry about the pumpkin,” he said, handing the bird to me. “Please, let me buy you another one.”

  That was the least he could do.

  I noticed the growing crowd around us, as it wasn’t every day the citizens saw their Prince in the midst of town, let alone helping some poor girl to her feet.

  “Your Highness,” said one of his attendants, also horsed, “we should move to the center of town.” Peter, or Lorenz, I thought—I recognized his face from our previous encounter.

  William only grinned. “Do you believe me now?”

  Whatever was he on about?

  “I’m the Prince,” he continued, “I told you the truth.”

  He helped me to my feet and I sniffed, for my nose had filled with dust. I’m certain that was an especially becoming image.

  “If you say so,” I teased. “Unless, of course, you’re only a page from the palace pretending at being the Prince. Or maybe you met him on the road and stole his coat.”

  William gaped at me. “And my attendants?”

  I peered around him as if considering. “Horse thieves. Now I understand why you were skulking about in the dark the other night!”

  “Horse thieves!” He threw his hands in the air and laughed, and I laughed with him, to the bewilderment of the gathered crowd. “You’re quite ridiculous.”

  “I know,” I said with a wink. Oh, how bold he made me! />
  “Wait right here,” he said, and disappeared into the square. His attendants shouted after him but remained in place, perhaps uncertain whether the order had been for them or me.

  Moments later, William returned hauling a child’s wagon that contained the largest pumpkin I have ever seen in my lifetime. “Will this do?”

  He winked back, and it was my turn to gape. For once, I was at a loss for words.

  “I’ll send someone to retrieve the wagon,” he said, tapping its handle. “And I’ll tell them to use the front door this time.”

  But as we had played one for one thus far, I thought to end it on a note in my favour. For though my heart was glad for his company and delighted at his attentions, I held no illusions as to the meaning of this festival.

  He should not concern himself with me. That had been made quite clear last night.

  I placed the toy bird in my pocket—bent my knees—reached into the cart, and hoisted the pumpkin into my arms. I’d thought only to lift it for show, but once I held it, I was shocked at its comfortable weight and the strength in my limbs.

  It seemed I had gained something of use from Celia’s tasking after all, however unintentional.

  William exclaimed in surprise, and bent to catch its fall from my arms.

  But of course, it did not budge.

  “If you could be so kind as to place the hatbox atop this pumpkin,” I said, feigning a demure composure, “I’ll be on my way.”

  “But you can’t possibly—”

  “Are you saying I’m weak?”

  “I—” He stopped, and his grin returned. “Let’s not start that again.”

  He placed the hatbox gently on the pumpkin, and his eyes twinkled with mirth. “Are you sure you won’t stay? Or allow me to help? Now that you’re, ah, properly attired? It seems I could use your assistance in some of the festival’s feats of strength.”

  I felt immensely grateful for his tact amid the gathered crowd, though I rolled my eyes for his final comment. “Thank you, but I can’t.” I bent my knees as I could not curtsy with a pumpkin in my arms. “Another time, perhaps?”