by Emily Deady
Shard of Glass
A Cinderella Romance
Emily Deady
Fairy Tale Royals Book One
Copyright © 2020 by Emily Deady
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Editor: Allison Wright
Cover Design: Covers by Combs
ISBN: 978-1-7349865-0-1
Created with Vellum
Contents
Free Novella!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
But What Happens to Aden?
About the Author
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Chapter 1
The rain came all at once. It drenched the market stalls in a matter of moments, filling buckets and pails and saturating every surface it came into contact with.
Ashlin quickly gathered her remaining vegetables off the table in front of her, dropping them into a large woven basket on the ground. Even the waxed fabric cover above her stall was starting to leak under the pressure of the deluge.
The townsfolk around her dashed towards shelter, tossing up the hoods on their cloaks and calling for their errant children.
“Mielle!” one frantic woman shrieked as she crisscrossed the marketplace. “Where are you?”
Having no cloak or hood to bother with, Ashlin leaned down to lift her basket from the ground, where a pair of small eyes met her own. Crouched under the market table, a little girl trembled as she hugged her knees.
“Are they coming?” the girl asked.
Ashlin dropped to her knees. “Are who coming?”
“The Majis.” The girl shrank further under the small table. “Mamma says that when they come, they will take me away. I don’t want them to take me away!” A tear ran down her puffy cheek.
“No, no, no.” Ashlin reached out to her new little friend with both hands. “It’s just another storm. There’s always lots of storms during silverreign.”
The little girl allowed herself to be gently pulled out of her hiding place. “Mamma says that it’s almost greenreign.”
“It is,” Ashlin continued soothing. “And then the flowers will bloom and the rains will stop. Besides, the king will protect us from the Majis. See the castle up there?” She pointed up the hill to the white-walled palace of Iseldis above the village homes.
The little girl nodded.
“That is where the king lives, and he will make sure we are safe.”
The child nodded again, nestling her head against Ashlin.
Ashlin hugged her back. “But right now, it’s time to get out of this rain.” She stood up, bringing the small child with her. “I found Mielle!” she called across the marketplace to the distraught mother.
After she reunited them, the rain stopped as abruptly as it had come. Even though she had half a basket of vegetables left, the market was empty. Water streamed off the stall cover above her. She had no reason to stay, but her feet were loath to turn home.
Lifting her basket, she dashed across the muddy square and slipped inside the dress shop of Mistress Cedrice. The sudden warmth stung her freezing fingers. She set her basket near the door and used her steamy breath to ease the ache in her hands.
A few ready-made dresses hung from wooden frames along the front window, but she moved past them to the packed shelves on the back wall. This was her favorite spot in the kingdom, a simple wall filled with spools of fabric.
As her fingers acclimated, her eyes roamed over the familiar textures and colors. She noticed that the bolt of deep purple linen was empty. No doubt every nobleman in the city had come in to request the same purple jerkin that Mistress Cedrice had made for Prince Onric a few weeks prior. Behind the now-empty spool, however, Ashlin noticed a bright flash of azure blue. That was new.
Taking a quick look at her hands, she carefully wiped off a smudge of dirt with her apron before reaching out to reverently touch the unfamiliar fabric. It was cool and smooth, and she was surprised to recognize the texture of silk. While the fabric had an almost invisible shimmer, its linen-like quality gave it a depth she had never seen in a silk. Immediately, her mind began to construct an elaborate gown. No, not elaborate—the silk was too special to be elaborate. This fabric would be stunning in a bold, weightless dress, unlike any of the gaudy fashions worn by the men and women at court. She wished she had a piece of charcoal to capture the lines of the seams she was drawing in her head.
“I see you found the old blue,” a voice cut into her thoughts. Mistress Cedrice had come into the storefront from the back room where she constructed her dresses.
“Old?” Ashlin dipped her head in a quick bow to the elderly woman. “I’ve never seen it before.”
“I bought it from a merchant many years ago because I was entranced by the color. But since Queen Cara only wears burgundy and purple, no one wanted a dress in light blue. It eventually got buried behind the bolts that sell.”
“It’s beautiful.” Ashlin tried to tear her eyes from the enchanting silk and engage in conversation with the expert seamstress, but she could not. Her eyes soaked in the color as though she had never seen anything so beautiful. Everything in her life these days seemed to be brown. Brown dresses. Brown mud. Brown squash. Brown aprons. Brown bread. Brown chickens. Even brown hair. She sighed.
“What would you make with it?” the older woman asked.
“A gown,” Ashlin replied, still fingering the fabric, “with structure. Just a few simple lines. But no embroidery. The blue would shine on its own.”
“It would surely make the blue of your eyes shine.”
Ashlin felt herself blushing. “It would not be for me.”
“Why ever not? You are a lord’s daughter.”
“Not . . . not anymore.” Finally coming out of her trance, Ashlin dropped the corner of fabric she had been admiring as her thoughts came back to reality. Her hand dropped to her side. “I’ve no coin to spend on such things.”
“No one has coin these days.” The older woman waved her through the door to the back room. “Come.”`
Ashlin followed her through the small doorway to the familiar workspace and storage area. It was filled with wooden crates and more fabric, along with wooden frames, sewing tools, and a long work table. But Ashlin immediately noticed that one corner had been cleared of boxes, opening up a small space that was partially hidden by the wall of crates around it.
“Come apprentice with me, girl,” the older woman asked gently. “I can’t offer you any payment, but I cleared out this corner so you’d have a space of your own.”
Ashlin’s eye
s burned with unshed tears. Nothing in the world would make her happier, but she shook her head. “I can’t.”
“It’s not quite as grand as your mansion, but I’m a mighty fine cook,” Mistress Cedrice teased. “Besides, these frail fingers of mine are getting to be as cranky as I am.”
Ashlin threw her arms around the short woman. “No one has ever done anything so sweet for me, and I’d give up the mansion any day. But . . . I can’t leave my family.”
The woman’s slight frame stiffened under her hug. “Family? Family is not something you are beholden to, child.”
Ashlin stepped back, guilt washing over her. “I know, but things are so tight right now. If only Papa . . .”
“We’ve been over this, child. That was not your fault.”
“But they need me. I owe them that much. Keep the corner clear for me? For someday?”
The old woman sighed, her face softening. “Silver.”
Ashlin looked up, confused. “What?”
Mistress Cedrice had already disappeared through the doorway, back into the main room of her shop. “Silver embroidery,” she called. “The blue gown should have a delicate line of silver embroidery.”
Ashlin followed her. Delicate silver leaves filled her imagination, twisting and growing around the dress in her mind. She nodded. “That would be perfect.”
“You are skilled with a needle, my girl. ’Twould be a shame to waste that.”
Ashlin picked up her brown basket, partially filled with a mixture of brown squash and brown potatoes. “Maybe in the warmer months, when we have more vegetables to sell, I can spare some time to come back and learn from you.” She opened the front door, bracing herself against the cold air.
“Child, wait.”
Ashlin gratefully shut the door, stepping back into the warm shop.
“I need some squash. What have you got left today?” Mistress Cedrice peeked into the basket, then disappeared into the back room for a moment. When she returned, she was carrying a length of brown wool. “I haven’t any coin, but would you take this for the three squash?”
Ashlin stepped back, shocked. “Of course not. That would be the same as robbing you.”
“Then toss in the potatoes as well.” She held the fabric out. “I’m afraid the mice found this one and it’s full of holes. I haven’t the patience for saving it, but with your cleverness for construction you could finally have a proper cloak for the rest of the cold season.”
“Or you could just get a cat to deal with the mice.” Ashlin hoped her playful words would hide the shame in her face. A mere summer ago she could have purchased any length of fabric in this shop, and now she’d been reduced to accepting charity.
“I’ve always loved cats, but then where would the poor pests live?” As she spoke, Mistress Cedrice grabbed the basket from Ashlin’s hand and dumped its contents onto her table. She placed the fabric inside and handed it back to Ashlin. “The back corner will always be open for you.”
“Thank you, Mistress Cedrice,” Ashlin whispered, ducking out onto the street. The afternoon sun was quickly retreating, leaving in its place a renewed drizzle of rain. Clutching the large basket to her chest, she hunched over it and hurried out of the market square, salting the brown wool with her tears.
By the time it was nearly dark, she could see her family home at the end of the road. The stone house was beautifully situated outside of the city on a large plot of land that had once been a prosperous farm. At the moment, though, the only sign of life was the dim light shining through one of the upper windows. Ashlin’s stomach growled as she hurried past the now-empty flower beds in front of the house and wove around back to enter by the kitchen. No need to make a muddy mess in the front hall when she would only have to clean it later.
The kitchen was dim and lifeless. Even the fireplace, which she had stocked well before leaving, was empty.
On market days, Stasiya was supposed to make supper while Ashlin was out. Not for the first time, it appeared that her step-sister had neglected this routine as the kitchen held no sign of food.
Hoping that nothing disastrous had happened during her absence, Ashlin quickly removed her patched leather shoes and hastened up the stairs to the family parlor.
Her stepmother, Lady Meliora Cabril, sat in an elaborate wooden chair next to a blazing fireplace. She held a leather-bound book in one hand and a feathered quill in the other. Her thin face was pinched as she absently tapped the end of the feather against her pursed lips. Across from her, a young woman was setting carved miniatures on a painted board of colorful squares.
“I’m back from the market,” Ashlin announced as she stepped further into the room towards the inviting warmth.
“Good, we’ve been waiting for you.” Her stepmother’s eyes remained fixated on the page in front of her as she spoke. “Could you be a dear and make supper tonight? Stasiya has been feeling poorly today.”
“Of course,” Ashlin replied, turning towards her stepsister. “I’m so sorry you are not feeling well.”
Stasiya offered an apologetic smile and continued placing game pieces on her board.
“I sold all the vegetables today,” Ashlin said, attempting to lighten the mood, “even though the rain hit early. I know we need the coin.”
Lady Cabril looked up. Her oval face and glossy hair still held an intimidating beauty, but her once-smooth skin was lined with the weight of worry, and her dark eyes had lost their light. Those eyes, now peering at Ashlin, were an empty, colorless gray. “Yes, we surely do. What did I make this week?”
Ashlin stepped forward. Slipping a small bag from under her apron, she poured the coins into her stepmother’s waiting hand. There were so few that the woman could count them without moving a finger. She sighed.
“Mistress Cedrice traded a length of wool,” Ashlin added.
This piece of news caught the attention of Stasiya, who was wearing a floor-length, linen kirtle with a forest-green overdress that was made of wool and lined with fur for warmth.
Ashlin hurried from the room to retrieve the length of wool. Stasiya’s hopeful face fell when she saw the rough fabric generally worn by those who did not have noble blood.
“I can’t wear that!” She leaned away, as though afraid the wool might contaminate her.
Lady Cabril took the cloth from Ashlin and unfolded it, running her fingers over the various holes. “It was a good trade. Even wool this damaged is worth far more than a handful of vegetables.”
Ashlin smiled at the praise.
“You worked wonders on those scraps of fur we got from the merchant. Can you work around these holes?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Stasiya does need a new cloak. She is exceptionally delicate.”
Stasiya pursed her lips in disdain and went back to arranging the game pieces.
Ashlin shivered, her damp linen kirtle still clinging to her skin.
Tossing the wool towards Ashlin, her stepmother dropped the small handful of coins into a box on the mantle and locked it shut. “Of course, you are in desperate need of a cloak as well.” She sighed again.
Ashlin nodded as she folded the fabric, not sure how she should respond.
“Though I cannot see any way to make that happen.” Her stepmother reopened the book and added a new line of numbers to the column she’d been working on. Ashlin had seen that column often enough to have it memorized. Her father had died last silverreign, and each season their remaining savings dwindled smaller and smaller. They had sold all the animals and discharged their servants. On the outside, they lived in a nobleman’s house. But the truth was they could no longer afford to keep a fire burning in more than a single room.
“If only . . .” Her stepmother paused, glancing up towards Ashlin with eyes empty and sad.
Ashlin’s heart went out to the suffering woman. Though her father had only been married to her stepmother for a short while, they had truly seemed to hold each other dear. Lady Cabril had been in deep mourning si
nce he had disappeared in a freak storm.
Ashlin hoped that time would heal her own heart, but each day it seemed that the pain and sorrow of missing her father got only heavier to bear.
In moments like this, she tried to hold her tongue, even if she would handle their affairs differently than her stepmother. Purchasing the scraps of fur, for example, that Ashlin had used to construct the green dress for Stasiya was an expense that had thrown off the delicate balance of the ledger’s columns. But it was obvious that the only thing bringing joy to the grieving woman was overindulging her daughter from her previous marriage. Ashlin could not fault that.
After a moment, though, Lady Cabril’s misty eyes blinked back to the present. For a brief second, Ashlin caught a flare of something else in that gray gaze that caused her to shrink back. Her stepmother had every right to be angry. Ashlin knew the words she wanted to say, the words that would complete her half-spoken sentence. The words her stepmother had spewed at her when news of Lord Cabril’s death had reached them.
If only . . . if only you had not begged him to remain another week. If only you had not been so selfish. If only you had not interfered. He would never have been caught in that storm at sea. He would still be with us.
Her stepmother had never repeated those words, spoken in her shock and grief on that devastating day. But Ashlin heard them in her heart every time she noticed how different their life had become.
Lady Cabril had once again turned her gaze back to the column of numbers in the book on her lap. Her slender fingers were pressing small circles into her temples.