by Shea, K. M.
“Here lie the remains of the Sanct Pavilion, which saw the signing of the Griford Agreement. The Griford Agreement, as you may recall, was the third piece of the Glitter Accords, the articles that gave jurisdiction over magical matters to the Veneno Conclave,” Cinderella said, indicating to a pile of rock and rubble. “Trieux, Erlauf, Kozlovka, and Loire were the first countries to agree to the Glitter Accords.”
“Hey,” the Colonel said.
Cinderella ignored him and pointed the white flap of cloth she fixed on the end of a thin, whip-like willow branch to a beautiful but abandoned stone building. “Next door is the historic Lutenau. Most recently, it was used as the capital offices for Trieux nobles when conducting governmental business. It was built over two hundred years ago, however, as a summer home for an Erlauf lord who was madly in love with a Trieux princess.”
“Cinderella,” the Colonel said.
“The Lord, Lord Worgl, built it as close to the Trieux Royal Palace as he could,” Cinderella said, spearing her makeshift flag in the direction of the palace. The prism-like points of the palace towers could be seen from just about anywhere in Werra, but they were especially close now. “He desired to be close to his lady love, although the princess scorned him. One day when he approached her in the public gardens, the princess’s dog bit him. The bite grew infected, and Lord Worgl was rushed home to his manor in Erlauf. He nearly died from the bite, and he lost a finger in the process. It was not all in vain, for he fell in love with and married the woman who nursed him back to health, earning him the nick-name One-Less-Worgl—the man who is credited with inventing the Erlauf tricorner hat, which can be adjusted without a thumb.”
“Do you plan on doing this the whole time?” the Colonel said, his head lolling to the side.
“I beg your pardon?”
The Colonel indicated to Cinderella’s flag. “The history lesson. You cannot possibly mean to take me on a guided tour all afternoon.”
Cinderella batted her eyes. “I only want you to get your money’s worth, sir.”
“So this is your part-time job? Historic tours?”
“Historic Tours of locations from Erlauf Lore, yes,” Cinderella said.
“So if I pay you another silver coin, can we stop the tour, discard the chaperon, and go eat?” Friedrich said, turning to stare at the Aveyron housemaid that trailed approximately five feet behind him.
Oh yes. I really hate him for being rich, Cinderella thought as the housemaid sniffed and fanned herself with a paper fan.
Cinderella kept her expression pleasant as she spoke. “Forgive me, sir, but it would be improper for us to be without a chaperone, and I could not stand to see you overpay me so.”
It was amazing how intensely the Colonel could stare with one eye. “I see,” he said, the two words dripped with sarcasm. (He must have known she overcharged him a great deal for the “tour,” and that her maid was no proper chaperone, but was there to ensure he did nothing…untoward. Even if it was a little late, Cinderella would try to mind the wisdom of her fellow market stall sellers.) “Is there any way I can convince you this history lesson is unnecessary?”
“None whatsoever,” Cinderella said, her voice sunny and bright. “If you look to your left, you will see the Reflective Pool of Serenity. It is empty now, but previously it held a family of gold-scaled fish. Those fish, or their ancestors more correctly, were gifts from the Erlauf King Cristoph II.”
The Colonel didn’t try to mask his impatient sigh, but he trailed behind Cinderella with remarkable perseverance. After the first hour, Cinderella thought she would have shaken him off, but the persistent Erlauf officer stayed with Cinderella until her voice died just before sunset.
“And that was why pointed shoes went out of fashion,” Cinderella said, her voice rough like sandpaper. She gave the Aveyron maid a grateful smile when the woman offered her a water skin.
The Colonel squinted at the red horizon. “Are you done now?” he asked as Cinderella drank her fill.
“Yes, I think so,” Cinderella said, handing the water skin back to the maid.
“You sound like a camel.”
“I would not know what a camel sounds like, sir,” Cinderella said, resting a hand on her throat. Never before had she given such an ungodly long tour. She almost bored herself to tears. How did the Colonel endure it?
“Excellent. Shall we stop at an inn or pub to get you a drink?” the Colonel said.
“I must respectfully decline, sir, for I am expected at home,” Cinderella said, her voice giving out several times.
The Aveyron maid nodded in approval.
“Of course,” the Colonel said, as sweet as sour dough.
“I hope you enjoyed the tour. Have a good night, sir,” Cinderella said, curtseying. She—and the maid—turned away from the Colonel when the officer called out after her.
“Tomorrow, then?”
Cinderella stopped and turned to face him. She struggled several times to speak before she could make her tired voice say, “I beg your pardon?”
“I will pay you another silver coin for your afternoon, if you are willing,” the Colonel said.
Cinderella frowned. “You want to do this again?”
“I was hoping you would be willing to forgo the history lesson.”
Cinderella opened her mouth to reply, but the Colonel beat her to the punch. “No, I shall spare your camel-voice and answer for you: you will insist on another sightseeing tour with the chaperone?”
“If you wish to spend the afternoon together,” Cinderella said.
The soldier sighed. “Fine. Tomorrow, then. I will find you at the market,” the Colonel said, bending the brim of his hat to Cinderella before he made his exit and walked towards a group of Erlauf soldiers who were congregating beneath an arch a short distance away.
“Erlauf. Nothing but trouble,” the Aveyron maid said before she made her way to the market where Vitore and a cart were waiting.
Cinderella watched the Colonel go and felt for the silver coin in her pocket. Tonight she would have Pierre test its authenticity. There was little she could do to dissuade the Erlauf Colonel. Her best chance was to continue stringing him along on tours and hope he grew bored with it, and with her.
“Cinderella!”
Cinderella grimaced as a pig wiped its snout on her dress. After the Erlauf Colonel bought her afternoons for a full week, Cinderella suspected Marie would pay her a visit. Cinderella had hoped it would be at a time when she was not filthy and muddy.
So much for hoping.
“Cinderella, you cannot hide from me! Jeanne said you were out here,” Marie said, sounding just as imperial as she used to back when she wasn’t a merchant’s wife but a duke’s daughter.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” Cinderella shouted, skidding in the muck and mud the pigs created by dumping their water trough. She almost fell flat, but steadied herself by grabbing a great, black pig.
The animal ignored her and nosed through food scraps.
Cinderella edged her way out of the mud hole. She popped over the wooden fence just as Marie—in a clean, crisp dress—rounded the corner of the dairy barn.
“Oh, Cinderella,” Marie sighed.
“The pig boy is helping out in the high pastures today. Someone had to feed the pigs,” Cinderella said, trying not to shudder as she looked at her dress. The thighs up had remained clean, but lower, the pigs had nosed and brushed against Cinderella’s legs, making the hemline of her dress filthy and her legs coated in mud.
“Yes, but did you have to crawl into the pen to feed them?” Marie said.
“I will know better next time,” Cinderella grimly said.
“You shouldn’t have to know at all!”
“Marie,” Cinderella said.
“I know, I know. I would hug you, but I will decline to touch you. You smell like refuse.”
“I understand. What brings you to Aveyron?”
“I heard about the officer,” Marie said.
“Ah,” Cinderella said, starting for the dairy barn. “Who told you?”
“The whole capital talks of it. One of the maids mentioned when the Erlauf officer started stopping by your stand every morning. That was forgivable. Irritating, but not dangerous. But, Cinderella, is it really wise to spend your afternoons with him?”
“I don’t have a choice. Didn’t your maid tell you? He’s a Colonel.”
“He is? Oh dear,” Marie gasped. “I thought it was unusual you would even look twice at an Erlauf rat. What do the two of you do?”
“First of all, it is three of us. Even I am not so bold that I would accompany a stranger without a chaperone, so a housemaid attends to us. And it is not a true social interaction. I give him tours—although I am beginning to run out of places tied to Erlauf history to visit. I have tried to make it as business-like as possible. He even pays me for the tour.”
“You’re trying to get rid of him, then?”
“As best I can. It is not going well,” Cinderella said, stopping at a well. She dropped a bucket into well and waited for it to sink before drawing it back up.
“Do Julien and Marcus know?” Marie asked, naming the two eligible, Trieux noble boys.
“Julien must. His family is too close to Werra not to have heard of it,” Cinderella said, grunting as she pulled the bucket of water over the lip of the well.
“And yet the Rosseuxes have made no move?”
“I haven’t heard from them since I last saw them at Lord and Lady Delattre’s.”
“How unusual. One would think they would sweep in and snatch you up before the Erlauf rat ruins you,” Marie said, backing away from the well when Cinderella started scrubbing.
“I am not surprised. Lord Rosseux is bitter, but cautious. If the Colonel is petty, he might get nasty if someone tried to step in,” Cinderella said.
“But it is so dishonorable to leave you alone to defend yourself. What of the Girards?”
Cinderella considered the family for a moment. They—from Lord and Lady Girard to fourteen-year-old Marcus—were a younger sort of family. “They might step in and make an official marriage offer if they lived any closer. As it stands, it will take a good week or two for the news to reach them.”
“You could write to them,” Marie suggested.
Cinderella, pink skinned from the cold water and the spring air, shook her head. “If they make an offer, I will have to accept,” she said, studying the chateau, which austerely stared down at her from a hill. “I’m not ready to give Aveyron up, yet.”
“Foolish girl. If you wait much longer, the worst might happen—and no one will want you,” Marie said wrapping a shawl around her shoulders.
Cinderella didn’t reply.
Marie crossed the short distance between them. She placed her hands on Cinderella’s shoulders and shook her. “Stop dreaming and wake up. Someday soon, you will have to take care of yourself and put your needs above the needs of your servants. You are running out of time! By staying here, you are only delaying the inevitable, or, worse—bringing personal ruin upon yourself!”
“Marie—,” Cinderella started.
“Don’t! Can’t you just…Couldn’t you….,” Marie’s face crumpled as she tried to keep from crying. She let go of Cinderella, only to hug her tight.
“Your dress, it’ll get ruined,” Cinderella said.
“I don’t care,” Marie muttered.
The two friends hugged until the tension left Marie, and she slumped into Cinderella’s shoulder. “Can’t you be selfish? You’re all I have left—I don’t want to lose you too,” Marie said, her voice fragile.
Cinderella patted Marie’s back. The takeover was difficult on Marie in a different way.
Marie was a Trieux Duke’s daughter, or she had been. Several years ago, she met and fell in love with Armel Raffin, her husband. He was wealthy, but he lacked a Trieux title and noble blood. Marie’s father forbad her from marrying him, but she did anyway.
So Marie’s father disowned her. He cut all ties with her, and her family acted as if she had died rather than married beneath her station.
When Trieux was invaded, all of Marie’s family was executed. No one was left, except for Marie—who had been spared because of the separation.
Marie had been furious with her father for refusing to acknowledge her marriage, but she was perhaps even more enraged with him for dying before they could make any sort of amends.
“I hate them,” Marie said, as if reading Cinderella’s mind. “I hate those Erlauf soldiers.”
“Unfortunately they are here, for better or for worse. And we are no longer citizens of Trieux, but citizens of Erlauf,” Cinderella said when Marie pulled away.
Marie sighed. “It is as you say. Could you stay home from the market for a few days?”
“I don’t know,” Cinderella said. “He knows I do not enter Werra on the days the market is closed,” Cinderella said.
“Try it,” Marie suggested. “He may forget about you in your absence and go plague another pretty girl.”
“Perhaps,” Cinderella said, grimacing as she studied Marie’s dress. It was ruined, pressed with the same filth on Cinderella’s work dress.
Marie paid the damage no mind. “It will work. You can see to the activities of Aveyron for a few days, and he will forget you. It is a winning solution.”
“Perhaps, but what if he sends inquires after me?”
“Inquiries can be ignored. Social interaction is the real danger. And surely this Colonel wouldn’t come to Aveyron to bother you.”
“You don’t think so?”
“Good heavens, no. Even an Erlauf rat couldn’t be that shameless.”
Chapter 4
Marie was wrong. He was that shameless.
Cinderella was considering rugs with Jeanne when Gilbert delivered the news.
“Gilbert, wonderful timing. We could use your help. Which rug do you think we could get a better price for? The bear fur from Verglas or this velvet rug? The imported bear skin is rarer, but this velvet is awfully close to Erlauf burgundy,” Cinderella said, prodding the rug with her foot.
“You have a visitor, Mademoiselle,” Gilbert said.
“A visitor? One of the Trieux nobles?”
“No, Mademoiselle.”
“Marie or one of her husband’s minions, then?”
“No, Mademoiselle.”
Cinderella clasped her hands to her heart. “Not a tax collector?” she said in horror.
“No, Mademoiselle,” Gilbert hesitated. “It is an officer of the Erlauf Army.”
Cinderella felt as if a large rock had fallen into her stomach. She hadn’t been visited by an army officer before. It was either the Colonel or someone he dispatched on his behalf. “Mercy on my soul, he is a pushy thing,” Cinderella said. “Where is he?”
“I left him standing in the front hall with a footman,” Gilbert stiffly said. Apparently his good manners and delight in decorum did not extend to Erlauf houseguests, or he would have seen the Colonel to the least shabby sitting room.
“Thank you, Gilbert. Jeanne, may we resume this conversation later?”
“Of course, Mademoiselle,” Jeanne curtsied.
Cinderella left the shadowy library and made her way to the front hall.
The Colonel stood near the front entrance, admiring a vase of wildflowers.
“Colonel Friedrich, what brings you to Aveyron?” Cinderella said, briefly curtseying to the officer as he removed his attention from the flowers and turned to face her.
“Good afternoon, Cinderella. I am here for you, of course.”
“I beg your pardon, but I do not understand.”
“This is the fourth day you have been gone from Werra. I thought your absence was an indicator of poor health. Although you seem to be quite well,” the Colonel said, his eyes traveling the length of Cinderella’s body.
“I am fine, but I thank you for the inquiry,” Cinderella said.
The Colonel clasped his arms beh
ind his back. “What kept you from the market?”
“I was needed here in Aveyron,” Cinderella said, lying through her teeth. Besides deciding what items to sell, there was very little Cinderella could do at Aveyron except get in the way of the servants.
“You will soon return to spending your days in Werra?”
“Yes,” Cinderella reluctantly said. The extra coin she received from the Colonel kept her fortified for the past few days, but she had to return to Werra for reasons besides money.
“I am heartened to hear that. May I place an early reservation on your afternoon—and your maid’s afternoon, I suppose?”
Cinderella studied the Colonel. “Haven’t you tired of history, or my voice?” Cinderella asked, her tone closer to sincerity than the stiff politeness she usually used.
“Not yet,” the Colonel smirked.
Cinderella briefly closed her eyes. “Very well. I shall see you tomorrow afternoon?”
“I eagerly await the moment. Until then, be in good health,” the Colonel said, tipping his hat to Cinderella before he made for the door.
The footman leaped to open the door for the Colonel, and slammed it on the officer’s heels. Although the footman said nothing, the look of distaste on his face was clear.
“I agree,” Cinderella said. She shivered in the chill of the chateau and wrapped her arms around herself before she made her way back to the library where the rugs awaited. She was almost out of the entrance when her step-mother, Lady Klara, called.
“Cinderella,” she said. Her voice was crystallized ice: sharp, jagged, and as cold as winter.
“Yes, Step-Mother?” Cinderella said, brandishing the title like a weapon.
Lady Klara was just as cold as her voice with icy eyes and hair the color of a stormy sky. She always stood straight, as if she had an icicle pressed to her back, and her expression was cool. Today, probably due to Cinderella’s heavy-handed words, her top lip curled in a sneer. “There was an Erlauf guest?” she asked as she elegantly descended the staircase that led to the second floor of the chateau.
“Yes, Step-Mother.”
“They did not wish to see me?”