Fated: Cinderella's Story (Destined Book 1)

by Kaylin Lee

  Two days later, Weslan and Zel came to the kitchen to see me off before dawn.

  “It’s best for you to show up as you really are,” Weslan said, walking around me with a critical eye. “No magic. Might make you less sympathetic.”

  The soft pink morning dress was threadbare but clean, an old-fashioned relic from my mother’s old wardrobe that Zel had hemmed to fit my smaller frame. It was the best I had, but after a week of wearing glittering ball gowns fit for the Procus set, I felt vulnerable and underdressed even in one of my mother’s best dresses. At least I didn’t smell like cinderslick anymore.

  I tucked the sheath of notes into the skirt’s pocket so my sweaty hand wouldn’t cause the ink to run any more than it already had. “I guess I should be going, then.”

  “Remember, don’t leave out the important parts of the story.” Weslan stopped his inspection to stand before me with his arms crossed over his broad chest.

  “I know, I know …” He wanted me to tell Prince Estevan how I’d been orphaned in the plague and how I had survived a Crimson Blight attack on my school. Play on the sympathy of the prince and his court the way Weslan did at the market. “I’ll try. That’s all I can promise.”

  Nerves danced and jumped in my stomach. I couldn’t bear to eat any breakfast, so I said a quiet good-bye to Weslan and Zel before dawn and headed via trolley to the Royal Precinct at the center of the city. I walked down the clean footpath, appraising the government buildings around me with new eyes. Now that I knew I’d never enter one, they looked unyielding and proud.

  Why must there be a divide between the descendants of the city’s founding families and those of the commoners that had found refuge in Asylia alongside them? Seven hundred years later, couldn’t we set aside our history and just … live?

  I shook my head. Treasonous thoughts.

  The palace grounds were massive. It took me ten minutes of walking to get from the corner of the palace to the front entrance where Master Marus had assured me I could enter for petition day. I had only to follow the ragged stream of commoners ahead of me to know that he was right.

  Stark stone grounds shone on the other side of the high iron fence as I walked. There were no lush gardens here, no gilded detailing on the fence posts. And the palace itself, set back half a block’s distance from the fence, was several stories high and made of cold, gray stones.

  The Procus family compounds in the adjacent Procus Quarter were opulent and luxurious, estates meant for pleasure and excess. But I knew from my history lessons that the palace itself had been built for defense. It was one of the first large buildings ever constructed by the mages who’d been forced into serving the founding families. But why hadn’t the later kings ever called mages in to renovate the palace? The lower levels didn’t even have windows. What kind of prince willingly lived in a fortress like this?

  I followed the commoners through the front gates and joined the end of a line that extended to a set of wide, tall doors at the front of the palace. The crowd’s loud chatter echoed off the stone grounds and walls, and I looked over my shoulder and frowned. I’d only arrived, and already the line was extending out past the gate and around the corner. What were all these people doing here? Did they truly all intend to petition the prince?

  The sun rose over the city, and the dark blue sky brightened to a bright, pale blue as I waited. I tapped the bony, rag-covered shoulder of the woman in front of me. “Why isn’t the line moving?”

  She looked back at me and rolled her eyes. “You think the crown prince of Asylia wakes up before dawn to meet with a bunch of commoners?”

  I pressed my lips together. What had I been thinking? We’d probably be here all day. Too bad I’d skipped breakfast.

  Hours later, the sun high in the sky, the line moved forward at a snail’s pace. By noon, I had only made it a few feet forward, just inside the shade of the palace doorway, and I was so hungry I felt lightheaded. Should I leave and find a bite to eat? But if I gave up my place in line now, I would never make it back in line, and I would have to wait another month for the next petition day when there would be the same problems all over again. This was it. This was my chance. I kept repeating the words, trying to keep my mind off my growling stomach.

  The hours passed with agonizing slowness as the late afternoon sun heated the palace, and I was soon drenched in sweat. I fanned myself with my notes, giving up on keeping the ink from smearing. The palace entryway where I’d been waiting for hours was neat and sparse with nothing but simple tapestries on the walls. They probably didn’t want any of us to enjoy the luxury of sitting down. We were commoners. Luxury was for the Procus families.

  Finally, I made it to the door of the throne room and craned my neck to peer inside. The line snaked around this room in folds until it ended in front of a man I’d only ever seen in etchings in the Herald. Crown Prince Estevan. He sat on a modest, carved throne with a writing desk, of all things, in front of him. He bent his head over the desk and scribbled rapid notes, never once raising his head.

  His hair was dark, his skin darker than mine, but he had the tall, broad build that hinted at Kireth blood too. It was rare for anyone to be true Fenra anymore, but still, it struck me that even the royal family had obvious Kireth blood running in their veins. So why did everyone have to make a big deal about it?

  I’d never understand this city. The prince wore a crisp, dark suit. He had a deep purple cloth band around his heavily muscled upper arm instead of wearing a crown on his head. What kind of prince didn’t wear a crown?

  His late father, who’d died ten years ago, had always worn a crown in public appearances, hadn’t he? But I’d never set eyes on the king, so what did I really know? An assortment of men in dark suits surrounded the prince, some taking their own notes, some lounging and talking as though they hadn’t a care in the world.

  The gaunt woman in front of me shoved me back into my place with an annoyed grunt, so that was all I could see. I busied myself smoothing my skirt and running over my petition in my mind, moving my lips to the words in silence.

  Another hour passed, and I made it inside the door to the throne room. I eyed Prince Estevan as he bent his head over the desk and wrote. He was much larger than I had originally estimated. I had a feeling that if the prince were standing, he would be far taller and broader than Weslan, and Weslan was the tallest person I knew. Definitely, Kireth blood. But the cold, blank look on the prince’s face was a stark contrast to Weslan’s characteristic warmth and humor.

  As I watched, I realized he hadn’t once looked up at the commoners giving their petitions before him. He only wrote and wrote, an intent look on his well-sculpted face. Some man, perhaps a steward, dismissed each commoner with a few words the moment their petition was done. The steward didn’t even glance at Prince Estevan for his comment or approval.

  What was happening here? Was the prince taking notes on their requests, or was he ignoring them altogether?

  I kept my eyes on the next commoner to speak. I was too far away to hear his voice, but he turned away, downcast, after the steward spoke to him, and the next person stepped before the prince. Had this been happening all day?

  The scene repeated itself as the afternoon dragged on into evening, and then, when I was only three places from the front of the line, a bell rang.

  Prince Estevan stood abruptly and strode from the room without a word. The steward gave the crowd a hasty gesture. Everyone around me bowed to the prince’s departing back.

  I sank low to the ground in a curtsy, keeping my eyes lowered, and tried to smother the growing fury within me. I’d waited all day, and they were turning me away now? Was this some kind of cruel joke?

  Chapter 16

  I looked around the throne room, but no one even muttered or groaned. The rest of the commoners turned in silence and shuffled toward the door.

  So that was why nearly everyone had come prepared with victus for lunch, blankets to sit on, and even the occasional small stool. This
must be how every petition day went. These people came back every month, trying to get their chance to petition a prince who would ignore them.

  What was the point of this ridiculous scene? What good would it do anyone? In the time I’d spent waiting in line in the throne room, I hadn’t seen a single petitioner receive a favorable response from the steward, and I certainly hadn’t seen the prince take notice of anyone.

  I crumpled my sweat-stained notes back into my pocket and followed the rest of the crowd out of the palace, my feet aching and my legs weak from hunger. I didn’t understand. They’d persevered, knowing their efforts would achieve nothing. Why? Why would they be willing to—

  For the first time, it hit me. The people weren’t here because they believed in Prince Estevan. They were here because they were desperate. And that meant I was one of them. I, too, knew that painful, burning hunger that drove me to attempt the impossible again and again because I had no other choice. Because no matter how bad things got, hope could never fully die.

  ~

  “I wasn’t sure you’d come back at all.” Weslan sat at the table in front of me as I practically inhaled the last bite of my cold victus and orange blossom honey. “I thought—” He clenched his fists as they rested on the table. “I worried … I don’t know what I was thinking, letting you go there alone. No one in the royal family can be trusted, Ella. It’s the first lesson mages learn.”

  “I’m fine,” I said around my gritty bite of victus. “I don’t understand why Master Marus told me to go. The prince didn’t answer a single petition. He wasn’t even listening.”

  Weslan was quiet for a moment. “Maybe Master Marus wanted you to see it.”

  Goosebumps rose on my arms despite the kitchen’s heat. Could Master Marus have known how much it would affect me? I couldn't deny that something had shifted in me since I’d left the palace. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but I felt … different.

  Those desperate faces haunted me. All those people were willing to spend the day trying for a request that would never be granted. And they returned each month rather than give up. Hadn't they been through worse than me? At least I had my education, even if I didn't get the graduation certificate. And I had Weslan. Between the two of us, we’d discovered the potential to build a truly profitable shop that didn’t depend on any government rations. How many of those people, even if their petitions were granted, would be able to do that without a mage by their side?

  “I have a confession,” I said softly. Weslan glanced up from the table. “I've been talking to Gregor about getting out of here. Getting a place in one of the other walled cities. Maybe even in the Badlands, if it’s safer. All of us.” He frowned at me, and a strange tightness threatened to close my throat. “We can't keep living like this. Zel and the girls are trapped in the bakery, and the Inspector will keep asking for money. We all know he’s not going to let it be.”

  Weslan nodded his head curtly. “You're right about that,” he said, glowering down at the table. “Rats like that never leave things alone. It's not in their nature. Once they’ve discovered a weakness, they can’t help but exploit it.”

  “But seeing everyone at the palace today, I don't know. It doesn't feel right to leave. Even though it would be better for our family to leave ... well, I wonder if there's something that we could do. Not just for our family, but for everyone. For the city.”

  I fell silent, struck by the audacity of my words. Why was I thinking like this? I needed to take care of Zel and the girls, not stir things up even more. But I knew I couldn’t be satisfied with escape. That was no kind of life.

  “You know what would really change things?” Weslan focused on the table, tracing the knots in the wood with his fingers. “The mages. Right now, we can only use our powers for government service, or if we’re lucky, we can secure Procus family patronage. Create a few dresses, a few works of art. But what if the mages were free to work for any merchant or to start a shop and work with whomever they chose? You and I, we fell into this because neither of us had any other choice.” He glanced up at me. “And don't get me wrong—I’m glad that we did. For so many reasons.”

  My heart sped up. There was something in his eyes that made it impossible to look away.

  He held my fascinated gaze. “But if mages were free, free to choose who we wanted to work for, free to use our powers as we chose, there could be other shops like ours.”

  I shook my head. “Why would any mage choose to work with a commoner? I heard what that tracker said the other day. Besides, your life is miserable now, Weslan. Don’t deny it. You went from living like a prince to working long hours, eating cold bowls of victus, and serving commoners in one of the smallest markets in the city. Would any other mage be willing to do that?”

  He looked down at the table, playing with the splintered wood for a moment, a wistful expression on his face. “I think so. My life was easy before, but it was empty. I had no hope. At worst, I could be a tool for the government. At best, I could be a pet for the Procus families. I had no real hope for control over my life or my powers. It was … stifling. You’ve got to believe me, Ella. I’ve never done mage-crafts so well as in the past few weeks. Out of all the gowns I’ve created in the past, none of them come anywhere close to the ones I’ve been making for you.”

  Warmth lit my chest, and I couldn't help but smile. “I'm a fortunate girl.”

  He laughed. “I'm being serious. This has been good for me. I never want to go back to the way things were before. I love using my powers to do something different, and I enjoy profiting from them on my own terms. I want this life. And if I want it, maybe there are other mages who would want it too. But we’ll never know, will we?”

  He was smiling as he spoke, but his tone held a tinge of pain.

  It was true. I’d lived my whole life in my own sort of bondage—to poverty, to secrecy. I’d worked tirelessly to gain some stability for our family, and I’d failed. But Weslan had never known that possibility. He’d never known freedom. He’d never gotten the chance to try, even if it meant failure. At least, he hadn’t until he was cast out and lost everything.

  What would Asylia be like if commoners and mages had the freedom to work together? If mages could use their power for something other than government services for commoners and extravagant luxuries for Procus patrons?

  Maybe some mages would become rich and build shops more profitable than the richest merchants. More mages would grow strong through heavy work like Weslan had. That was the problem. No one wanted mages to get stronger or more powerful than they already were. After a moment of quiet, I voiced my concern.

  Weslan agreed, his voice subdued. “So it will never happen,” he said, staring down at the table. “I know. Just a thought.”

  We said goodnight, and I lay in bed, fidgeting and restless despite the long day. Something about this didn't feel right. Our business had broken laws, but it had also made people happy. We’d had the chance to build a real life, to thrive instead of merely survive. Why was that so wrong?

  We couldn't live our whole lives in slavery to fear. We already lived in fear of the Crimson Blight every day. I thought of all the vendors and customers who’d come back to Theros Street Market the day it reopened. If they could be brave in the face of danger, couldn’t we?

  ~

  I shoved the two crystals together, and Valencia’s clear, melodious voice rang out in the kitchen, singing something about Lucien and his amazing hair.

  “What are you doing?” Weslan frowned at me.

  “Look at this.” I pulled the crystals apart, and Valencia’s voice went silent.

  “I know what those are,” said Weslan. “I’m the one who brought them, remember?”

  “I mean look at the crystals! Alba said that one holds the magic and the other holds the instructions, right? Well, what if you did the same thing for the oven? Find a … well, a rock, or something, and add the magic to it. Then you’d need to add the instructions to the oven. Whe
n you put the rock on top of the oven …” I waved my hand in a goofy imitation of his magic act at the market.

  Weslan laughed. “My mother is one of the strongest creator mages in the city. And she spends weeks on each batch of fabulator crystals. There’s no way I could do something like that.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you decorate the entire market in a matter of seconds the other day? Besides, how will you know unless you try?”

  He ran a hand through his hair, stared at the oven, and then crossed his arms. “I don’t know. Where’d you get this idea, anyway?”

  “I was just thinking last night after we talked. Even if mages were free, not many merchants could afford to pay a mage an income big enough to tempt them away from their Procus patrons or government stipends. But what if the merchants didn’t need a mage? What if they only needed mage-craft tools like the oven? Like these crystals?”

  I told Zel and Weslan the rest of my plan after dinner that evening, after having sent the twins downstairs. There was no use worrying the girls unless we had to.

  As I’d expected, Zel was skeptical. But instead of pressing me, she leaned back in her chair. “Fine.” She sighed. “I don’t know what else to say, El. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

  I leaned forward and gripped her hands. “I will! Of course, I will. And … well, if this works and they change the regulations on mages, maybe you and the girls could be free too.”

  Zel’s face showed none of Weslan’s excitement. If anything, she looked oddly resigned. “Perhaps.”

  My enthusiasm waned slightly, but then Weslan spoke up. “Whatever happens, at least we can say that we tried, right? I don’t … I won’t …” Weslan stopped speaking as Zel sent him an ice-cold gaze.

  There was an uncomfortable pause, as though the two of them were having a silent conversation, and then Zel shoved her chair back and stood. She balled her fists on her hips. “It’s on you, then, Ella.” But she was looking at Weslan. “I won’t stop you. But know this is on you.”