Fated: Cinderella's Story (Destined Book 1)

by Kaylin Lee

  I’d never heard of such a thing. “You can do that?”

  “Apparently.” We stared at each other wordlessly, both of us covered in small shards of glass and spatters of blood.

  I didn't know what to say. He had saved my life, utterly and completely. There were no words that could ever be enough. I wrapped my arms around him, drawing as close as I physically could, and buried my face in his shoulder. I couldn’t get close enough. His warm skin felt so alive, so precious. I savored the rise and fall of his chest as I held him, my throat so tight I couldn’t speak.

  He was still for a moment, and then his hands moved to my back to return my embrace. He bent his body over me and held me like a drowning man.

  I never wanted to move. “Thank you,” I whispered. There was nothing more to say.

  His grip tightened. When I stepped away after a few moments, his hands lingered on my back, as though he wasn’t quite ready to let me go.

  I looked around the market, clearing my throat. “I should help. And you should sit down and rest.”

  He nodded and let me help him to a nearby bench.

  I picked my way closer to the street’s entrance where the remaining people had congregated. I was terrified of what I might find, but unlike after the attack on my school, I was awake and able to help. If Weslan was right, the attack was our fault. I pressed my hands to my stomach at the thought. I had to do what I could to help.

  Half of the vendors were gone, and I realized they must've run for the exits as soon as the Blight’s men had stormed in. Other people had crouched behind their stands, and only now did they seem to be coming out of their hiding places.

  Several bodies sprawled on the ground at the entrance. The first person I reached was still alive, thankfully. I yelled and waved the healers over, and they came running.

  Then I saw another body, off to the side. Long, auburn hair curled around the girl’s face, and something about her looked chillingly familiar. I stopped in my tracks. I knew her.

  The auburn-haired girl had just visited our stand. I had given her an absent smile and a lemonburst cake with sparkling yellow frosting. It lay in gold and yellow pieces beside her limp hand. In fact, I was certain she'd been to our stand almost every day since we’d opened.

  I heard a high keening noise. My chest hurt, and it took several moments to realize the noise was coming from me. And the next thing I knew, I was sitting on the ground several feet away from her, rocking back and forth. Someone’s strong arms wrapped around me.

  Weslan had dragged himself over to me. I couldn’t get enough air as I gasped, “That poor girl. All because of us. All because of me. The Crimson Blight came because of me.”

  We’d practically painted a target on this market and on anyone who bought goods from us.

  I looked up into Weslan’s bloodshot eyes. “What have we done?”

  Chapter 13

  Thankfully, someone had run straight to the Quarter Guard, and the area was crawling with guards and healers. One of them saw to Weslan’s arm, eventually, and when there was no one left who needed help, we went back to our stall. We packed our gear, cleaned our area, and returned home in exhausted, miserable silence.

  When we reached the bakery at last, it was twilight. We stopped at the back door as Zel slipped out of it. When she saw us, she froze. Then she leapt forward and grabbed me, pulling me into her arms. She rocked me back and forth, silent at first. “I was just coming to find you,” she said, her voice breaking.

  “What? That would have been a disaster.” What was she thinking?

  “I heard from Gregor. About the market. No one knew what had happened. All I knew was that a lot of people had escaped, but you didn’t come home. I was coming to find you.” She bit her lip. “I’m so glad you’re well.”

  I shivered. If Zel had come to the market, the trackers would've found her immediately.

  We unloaded the cart, and Weslan collapsed at the kitchen table.

  I mixed a large bowl of victus and set it in front of him. I couldn’t stop myself from placing a soft hand on his shoulder. For some reason, I needed to touch him and be near him again.

  He leaned subtly into my hand and looked up at me, his gaze heavy with something I couldn’t read.

  I would never forget the feeling of his warm weight covering me while the sound of boots crunched around us. “Eat this,” I said. “Then go sleep in my room. I’ll handle the bakery myself while you sleep.”

  He didn’t even argue, which told me how exhausted he really was. He scarfed down the victus in a few minutes and hauled himself into my little closet room. We didn’t hear from him again until late the next morning, when he stumbled out of my room to devour yet another bowl of victus. Then he went back to my room and collapsed on the bed.

  I closed the door quietly and hoped the sleep would help him. What happened to a mage who used too much magic? What if he couldn’t recover from this?

  ~

  Zel came in later that morning while I was alone in the kitchen. The worried look hadn’t faded from her eyes. She was always the picture of calm serenity, but in the past few weeks, she had begun to fray.

  Or maybe I was seeing things the way they truly were now. Nagging doubts poked at my mind. How much longer could we continue to survive like this, hiding the twins and Zel in the bakery? It was an impossible miracle that we’d survived for the last thirteen years.

  She glanced at the closed door to my room. “I went to see Inspector Cyrus,” she said quietly. “I paid our tax, plus the late fee I promised when I first went to see him. He took the money, but he wanted to know where we had gotten it. I didn’t want him to think we had anything more to hide, so I told him about your stall at the market.” She chewed on her lower lip. “That was the night before the attack at the market. What if he … somehow … told someone about you?”

  The sick feeling came back to my stomach, but then I shook my head. “Don’t worry, Zel. It’s not as if it was a secret. We’ve been doing everything we can to promote the stall and bring in more customers. He would have heard about it eventually, if not from you.”

  Her worry lines didn’t fade, but she nodded. “I suppose.”

  “Do you think he’ll leave us alone now?”

  She was silent for a long moment as she decided how to reply. “No. I don't know. Oh, Ella, I wish I could say yes. But when I told him about your stall at the market, I saw the look in his eyes. He looked … hungry. I don't think we've seen the last of him by any means.”

  The kitchen was baking hot in the midday sun, but a strange cold chilled me to the bone. If Cyrus wouldn't let this go, we would never be safe. All the money in the world wouldn't stop him from trying to blackmail us. But what could we do? We needed a way out, but try as I might, I couldn’t seem to find one.

  ~

  I couldn’t shake the trapped, claustrophobic feeling that came over me after Zel’s admission. Weslan was up and about later that afternoon, fit enough to help me with the bakery, but even the sight of his familiar face did nothing to remove the feeling that I’d been locked inside a cage.

  Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I put down the flour I was measuring with a powdery thump and wiped my hands on my apron, ignoring Weslan’s curious look. “I’ll be right back.” I slipped out of the kitchen door, not bothering to wait for his response.

  I hurried down the street, ignoring the children shouting and playing in the late afternoon summer sun. Then I darted into Gregor’s narrow entryway half a block down the street from our bakery and knocked.

  He opened the door and pulled me inside, folding me into a tight hug. “Oh, Ella girl. I heard. I’m so glad you’re safe.”

  I melted into his hug for a moment, taking comfort in the familiar smell of spiceberries that clung to his clothes. Then I pulled away. “Gregor, I just …” Now that I was here, I was embarrassed. It was hard to get the words out. “I can’t do this anymore.”

  “You mean you can’t keep going to the market
?” He frowned.

  “Not just that. Everything. It’s as though everywhere we turn, there’s someone else who’s threatening us or waiting to take everything from us. And I just … I can’t.” I pressed my lips together as a solitary tear escaped and rolled down my cheek. I dashed it away and looked around at Gregor’s neatly organized shelves of spices, flour, and sugar as a distraction. Finally, I turned back to him. He was watching me with a thoughtful look on his face.

  Just say it, Ella.

  “If we need to … get out of Asylia … without … without anyone knowing, would that be possible? Is that something you could do?”

  He raised an eyebrow, and I rushed on. “I know you have contacts in the other cities, and with traders, since most of your shop’s inventory comes from the other cities. So. I just thought, maybe, you would know someone … someone who could … help.”

  He sighed heavily. “What makes you think somewhere else would be better than here?”

  Because it had to be. “I just think some of the other cities might not have so many trackers and guards interfering with our lives. And I would like that.” I didn’t know what else I could say without giving Zel away. “To be able to live on our own, without interference for once.”

  He nodded slowly, and I hoped desperately that he would accept my vague reasoning.

  “I understand that, I think,” he said. “And I might know a few people who could help. But the other cities are no better off than we are. Draicia’s the worst, but the others aren’t much better. I do think that there's a demand for good bakeries like yours, especially what you and Weslan were doing at the market. You could make a living somewhere else, perhaps.” He crossed his arms. “But if you want my advice, you’ll do what you can to make it here first. This is your home. If the good people give up and leave, the Blight wins.”

  ~

  I left Gregor doing an inventory of his latest imports and went back to Weslan, who was almost done mixing the dough for the evening. We finished the work in silence. I thought he would question my absence, but he must have guessed I needed some space tonight.

  I had not the slightest inkling of what to do. Gregor thought he could get us out of Asylia and settled into a different city. That made me feel better. But his admonishment about not abandoning the city weighed heavily on me.

  If people at the market had died because Weslan and I had attracted the ire of the Crimson Blight, then would we be helping or hurting Asylia by leaving? Would giving up our bakery stand protect more people, or would it mean lives had been lost for no reason? And why had the Blight come after us in the first place? How could we be held responsible for the decisions of madmen?

  There was a knock at the locked front door to the bakery, and I jumped. Weslan glanced at me and then went to the door, wiping his hands on his apron as he went. “Who’s there?” he said softly.

  “Marus, from Theros Street Market,” came the muffled reply.

  “Open it,” I said. “Let’s see what he wants.” My voice shook despite the confident words. Had he realized the attack was essentially our fault? Would he be here looking for retribution?

  Master Marus slipped in the door, and Weslan shut and locked it behind him. In the week that we’d been at the market, Master Marus had been jovial and friendly, always making the rounds and personally introducing himself as the market owner to all the new vendors. His rotund belly, laugh lines, and black hair peppered with gray had become a familiar sight to us all. And now he looked … broken.

  “What can we do for you, Master Marus?” I asked, stepping around the counter as he came inside.

  “I had to talk to you, Ella.” He glanced at Weslan. “You, too, Weslan.”

  I swallowed down against the sick feeling in my stomach. “Come in and have a seat, then.”

  We entered the kitchen, and I poured Master Marus a cup of black coffee while he sat heavily at the kitchen table. Weslan sat across from him, and I sat gingerly beside Weslan, anxiety warring with guilt and twisting my stomach into knots.

  “The trackers who came today believe there is little doubt that the Crimson Blight attacked our market again yesterday,” Master Marus said gruffly. “Though they did not use suffio, as they usually do. This time, they used knives to attack people at random, whoever happened to be closest to the market entrance.” He spread his hands. “We knew they might come back. Of course, we knew it. And we had private guards and a tracker on loan from the Quarter Guards. We took many other measures in case of an attack. But it wasn’t enough to—” He choked and tears welled in his reddened eyes.

  I could barely hold back my own. “I’m so—” I began.

  “Wait, Ella. I-I’ve something to say.” Master Marus took a deep breath. “I know they came for you. I’ve heard multiple witnesses say their apparent leader made a beeline for your stand once they were in the market. And they couldn’t find you anywhere.”

  Beside me, Weslan tensed.

  “I don’t know why they came after you,” Master Marus continued, staring down at the table between us. “But I … well, I’ve got an idea.”

  I stared at him. Could Master Marus possibly know why we had been targeted? We were somehow to blame for the attack, but why?

  He shifted in his seat. “No one knows who the Crimson Blight is. But I’ve noticed the kinds of places they target. Commoners. Trolleys. Markets. Factories. Slums. The Royal Academy is one of the only places they ever attacked where Procus families were hurt, and no one was killed in that attack. I think they’ve got some kind of grudge against us commoners.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but he held up one finger. “I know, I know, the Guard says they’ve got no hint of motive or identity of these guys. Maybe these are the ramblings of an old man whose lost more than one man should in his lifetime. But I think they caught wind of what you two were doing at our market, and they didn’t like it. They didn’t want the common people to have a little bit of fun, a bit of magic in their lives beyond the basic rations the government says we can have. So they decided to stomp all over us because they could.” He clenched his fists, and met my eyes for the first time.

  It took all my courage to meet his intense gaze.

  “That’s why you’ve got to come back, Ella. Weslan. You can’t let them win.”

  Surely, he couldn’t mean—

  “I’m reopening the market as soon as it’s cleaned up, with double the number of guards and daily sweeps by the Royal Trackers. I have word that Prince Estevan himself is determined to keep our market open. And I’d be honored—humbled—if you came back to the market the day it opens.”

  I glanced at Weslan. The pain on his face mirrored my own. “Master Marus,” I said slowly, “we are honored to have you visit us and to hear your request. But how can you want us back when you know they were there because of us? People—” My voice broke. “People died.”

  Master Marus reached across the table and covered my trembling hand with his large, callused one. “And that’s why you must return, Ella. The Crimson Blight hit us because they thought we’d give up. But we’ll show them we won’t ever give up, not ever. They’ve been running around this city for years—killing, wounding, and destroying—thinking they can rule us by fear. But they can’t.” He squeezed my hand and looked fiercely into my eyes. “And together, we’ll show them how wrong they are.”

  We saw him out a few minutes later with a promise to consider his request but no guarantee. I could barely think straight after the stress and terror of the last two days, and Weslan was in no better shape after his near coma. I could truthfully admit to Master Marus that we were in no state to decide this today.

  I bade Weslan goodnight, and Weslan settled back on his pallet. I let myself into my room, shut the door behind me, and leaned against it, eyeing the rumpled bedcovers. It would be strange to spend the night in a bed Weslan had just vacated. No doubt I should change the sheets first, but I was too tired to do it tonight.

  I changed into my nightcloth
es, brushed my hair out, and settled onto my bed with a novel in my hands. It was an old favorite, and one that both Bri and Alba constantly snuck in to borrow. I flipped it open to the place I’d read last, and a small scrap of paper slipped out and fell into my lap.

  I stared down at it, breathless. Had I marked my place with a scrap of paper last time? I didn’t, normally, but perhaps Alba had borrowed it and marked it for me.

  I picked up the paper in trembling hands and flipped it over, and then I pressed one hand against my mouth to silence the scream threatening to erupt. There, on the small scrap of paper, someone had scrawled STAY HOME, CINDERELLA in red, bold block letters.

  Chapter 14

  “They won’t let it happen again. Master Marus was certain of it. Think about it—he’s invested everything he has in this market. Prince Estevan himself wants the market to stay open. It will be as safe as they can possibly make it.” Weslan sounded a lot more certain than I felt as he told Zel about our meeting with Master Marus.

  We sat around the breakfast table on the roof after the twins had gone to listen to their fabulator crystal.

  As much as I complained about Asylia’s problems, I had to admire the people who continued about their business in the face of danger. I wanted to be one of them, but …

  “But how can you be sure it’s safe?” Zel spoke my thoughts aloud.

  Weslan frowned as he considered her question. “We could always see if we can find another market space somewhere else.”

  I shook my head. “We won’t find another space as cheap as this one, and now, we need all the profit we can get.” I thought for a moment, eyes fixed on the rusty old table before me. I felt their eyes on me as I bit my lip. Was it worth the risk? And what if we were putting everyone else on Theros Street at risk by being there?

  Based on the note I’d received last night, the Crimson Blight didn’t want us going back. But the thought of staying home simply because the Crimson Blight wanted me to made my skin crawl. Who were they to think they could intimidate me in my own home?