by Shea, K. M.
They reached the chateau’s entrance, but Julien seemed oddly unwilling to go inside. “Cinderella,” he said, looking at her with unusual directness. “My family does not know I am calling on you today.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, they think I have gone for a long ride. A very long ride.”
“I see. Then you have something you wish to discuss,” Cinderella said, knitting her fingers together and standing with picturesque elegance—as she was trained to stand what felt like a lifetime ago, before the war.
“I am aware it is not entirely polite but…I felt you might appreciate a frank discussion.”
“Ah,” Cinderella knowingly said. “Marriage?”
Julien nodded and looked awkward.
Cinderella smiled, taking pity on the young man. “Then let us walk as we talk,” she suggested.
Julien’s shoulders drooped in relief before he offered her his arm.
Cinderella took it, and the two walked across the picturesque lawn, ignoring the loose goats that grazed there.
“What about marriage do you wish to discuss?” Cinderella asked.
“I wanted to see if my assumption is correct, and you will not be marrying Marcus Girard,” Julien said. “It seemed at the dinner party you made up your mind…”
Cinderella sucked in a deep breath of air. “You assumed correctly. I don’t think…Marcus is young, and I suspect if we leave him alone he will seek out Cerise’s hand.”
“So your only option, then, is me,” Julien said.
Cinderella looked up at the young nobleman and was struck by a sudden thought. “Julien, do you want to marry me?”
Julien blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“You cannot possibly love me, although I flatter myself in thinking you are fond of me. Do you want to be tied to me for the rest of your life?”
Julien hesitated. “I am fond of you, and I feel we can learn to be happy.”
“That does not answer my question,” Cinderella said as they stopped and faced each other under the shade of a giant oak tree.
“Out of all the available girls of Trieux noble lineage, you are the one I prefer and prize. Yes, perhaps we do not love each other now, but there are things about you I admire…” Julien trailed off, cowed into silence by Cinderella’s narrowed but not unkind gaze.
Cinderella recognized the careful words that she, too, had dwelled on the past few weeks. “There’s a commoner you love, isn’t there?” Cinderella said
Julien gawked.
“You’ve been very careful to say I am your favored choice out of all suitable. There is nothing wrong with that—I agree with you, actually. However, there are many, many other girls in Werra, much less in the country, who would not meet your parents’ requirements but are still perfectly lovely.”
Julien was incapable of speech and made a gurgling sound.
Cinderella patted Julien on the arm. “What is her name?”
“Margrit.”
It took all of Cinderella’s control to keep from gaping. “She is from Erlauf?” Cinderella said, recognizing the harsher syllable patterns of the tyrant country.
“Her father is a secretary for the queen. I met her at the palace,” Julien said. “She is charming and sweet. Her laugh is like the chiming of a bell,” Julien said, his voice wistful.
“And you love her.”
Julien hesitated. “Yes. But I am a man of honor. When we marry, I will see her no more,” he firmly said.
“Why would you marry me when you love another?”
“My parents know nothing of her, and my father would disinherit me if he heard of it. The only reason he still presses me to marry you—in spite of your association with Erlauf soldiers—is to keep our bloodlines pristine.”
“Julien, a marriage based on your parents’ desires will be wretched,” Cinderella said.
Julien shrugged. “Even if they did not force me to, I would still choose you,” he said, his layers of good manners fading to honesty. “You are alone, and you cannot hold on to Aveyron much longer. I cannot stand by and watch you fail. If it is in my power to aid you, I will. Unfortunately, all I can do is offer to marry you.”
Cinderella stared at Julien, struck by the nobility of his soul. He would put aside his personal desires and marry her just because she was in trouble.
Cinderella smiled at Julien, affection flowing from her, making Julien aware of what a beauty Cinderella was beneath the servant’s uniform and the dirt.
“You are a good man, Julien,” Cinderella said, resting her hands on Julien’s. “I thank you for your selfless offer.”
Julien tilted his head. “But?”
Cinderella’s smile turned gentle. “But I will be daring enough to set both of us free. I will not marry you, even if it is the easiest way of survival.”
“Are you sure?” Julien asked.
“We deserve happiness. Both of us. I may struggle longer, but do not fear. I will seize personal happiness if I must shake it from Queen Freja with my bare hands,” Cinderella said.
The comment drew a chuckle from Julien, making him less strained. “But what will we do? My father will never let me marry Margrit, and Aveyron…”
“Aveyron is my concern. If I drive myself to ruin, it will be through my own stubbornness—from which you cannot save me,” Cinderella wryly observed. “And I understand your concerns with your father…but do you really think he can spare you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You are his only son, and while I love Cerise, she would make a poor heir. Your father knows this. We are in an unfortunate time because of the financial burdens and stresses placed on us, but we are also in the perfect time, because in such uncertain days as these, we can change and defy traditional thought patterns and beliefs,” Cinderella said.
“What do you mean?” Julien asked.
“Forgive my impertinence, but when else in history could a duchess wear servant clothes and work in the market without worry of alienation from her fellow nobles?”
“Or when would a duchess condescend to even think of marrying the son of an earl?” Julien said with a smile.
“My point is your father doesn’t have anyone else who will see to your estate. He will likely yell at you and be enraged with you for a few months, but I think he will come around.”
Julien nodded. “Mother will cheer for me, I think.”
Cinderella nodded. “Perhaps.”
Julien smiled widely, without restraint. It startled Cinderella to realize she had never seen Julien look so happy before. “But what of you, Cinderella?” Julien said after a few moments, his smile dimming.
Cinderella shrugged. “I have survived these two, soon to be three years. Every time I think I am at the end of my rope, I find I have just a little more strength. I am stubborn and wild. Queen Freja cannot hope to beat me,” Cinderella said.
“Will you marry your Erlauf officer, then?”
Cinderella pressed her lips together. “I don’t know,” she said.
“Why not? You must care for him seeing as you stood against our peers for the sake of your association with him.”
“I’m not entirely certain what he feels for me. He mostly seems to be serious, but there are things he says…” Cinderella shook her head. “I don’t know, but even if I do not marry him, I will be quite happy at Aveyron.”
Julien nodded.
“Aren’t we a pair,” Cinderella laughed. “Once lauded as the sparkling future of the remaining Trieux line of nobility, we are both infatuated with the enemy.”
“They aren’t really the enemy. Not anymore,” Julien earnestly said.
“Mmhmm. I do not think the whole country, or even a sizeable portion of it, would agree with you,” Cinderella said.
“Perhaps not, but when they see that we can intermingle—if, no, when I marry Margrit—changes will come ‘round. They already have. Thanks to your friendship with Colonel Friedrich, you are a beautiful example of noble decorum.”
“You solely look at your outward appearance,” Julien argued. “I can assure you, in the people’s eyes, you wear a crown and jewels.”
“I think you are overestimating me, but I thank you for the compliment all the same,” Cinderella said. “Now, tell me of this Erlauf miss of yours.”
“He waxed poetry over her gentle manners and soft voice. With all the sweet and kind descriptions he used, I half wonder if this girl is a kitten. Truly, Marie, I think he would have been miserable with me. I am too wild and passionate for him,” Cinderella said.
Marie scowled at Cinderella. “You’re just trying to convince me you’ve done the right thing.”
“Perhaps.”
Marie sighed. “I doubt poor Julien would have learned to say no to you. But if you ruled out Marcus, turned Julien away, and discounted Colonel Friedrich—,”
“My life will be complete even if I do not marry in the next year, Marie,” Cinderella said.
“I know, but it is such a shame. I mean, Colonel Friedrich is deliciously handsome.”
“Marie! You are married!”
“Yes, but that does not mean I am not shallow for your sake,” Marie said with a wicked smile.
Cinderella rolled her eyes in exasperation.
“What will you do?”
“I will celebrate Aveyron’s momentary freedom before Queen Freja can smack me with another fine,” Cinderella said.
“Wonderful,” Marie pronounced.
Cinderella stood, gathering her basket from its position next to the settee. “Even so, I haven’t the time to slack. I should return to the market.”
“Have you told the Colonel?”
“About Julien?”
“No, about Aveyron being paid off.”
“Not yet. I was hoping to do so soon.”
“Good. I would also mention your settlement with Julien, if I were you,” Marie said.
“Why?”
“Colonel Friedrich strikes me as the…jealous type.”
“He once said something similar. I failed to understand what he meant then, just as I fail to understand your allusion right now,” Cinderella said, tilting her head.
Marie sighed. “You can bet somehow he will hear about the hour you and Julien spent walking, arm in arm, laughing and having an earnest conversation. It will soothe him to hear of the conversation from your lips.”
“If you say so,” Cinderella doubtfully said. “I’m not certain I’ll be able to see him today, though. It is the day of the Victory Ball. Much of the Army has either been invited to the party, or will be guarding it.”
“He will have enough time to talk to you. I promise it,” Marie said.
“I suppose I could stop in the First Regiment’s camp before I return to the market,” Cinderella said.
“Do so,” Marie said, escorting her to the door. “I am happy for you, Cinderella. You are doing well.”
“Thank you.”
“Best wishes in your encounter with the Colonel.”
“I will need it. Farewell,” Cinderella said, embracing her friend before traipsing down the stairs. She set off at a quick walk, humming under her breath as she trekked across Werra.
She walked down small streets, winding through one of the few residential parts of the city. Houses were smashed against each other like fish packed in a crate, but the occupants seemed happy. Housewives met to gossip while doing the day’s wash; children played together in the streets, and a few grandmothers crowded on someone’s porch, mending and darning clothes.
It was mostly Trieux folk who lived in this part of the city, but Cinderella knew three streets up was an Erlauf neighborhood. “I wonder if it looks at all different,” Cinderella said, turning around to look back down the street.
That was how she caught sight of her tail—a bland, harmless looking man. He hadn’t the blonde hair of a Trieux, nor did he have the dark hair of a man from Erlauf. He looked watery, with weedy hair and abnormally dark eyes. The oddest thing about him was his long, black cape and cowl. Fall would soon begin, but the weather was still hot, and the sun shone with enough intensity to make Cinderella sweat.
He stared at her, not bothering to hide his fixed gaze. He moved his arms, pushing back his cloak. Black jewels and rat pelts hung from a chain that swooped across his chest. As he watched Cinderella, he unhooked a black jewel and held it in a fist. He spoke to it, and black vapor rose from his hand.
A chill crawled up Cinderella’s spine, and the necklace Friedrich gave her turned as cold as ice.
Chapter 13
Her instincts kicked in, and Cinderella started running. She shot up the street like a rabbit, shooting between a swarm of playing children and dodging around carts, horses, chickens, and geese.
As she turned a corner, she glanced over her shoulder.
The man in the black cape wasn’t moving, but he was less than a block behind her. It was as if instead of running, he was moved to whatever location he desired.
Cinderella ran into another habited neighborhood, casting a terrified gaze around the streets. Where were her guards? Did they not follow her in the city? Cinderella generally didn’t bother to look for them when off Aveyron lands.
The First Regiment camp was too far away for Cinderella to reach before the black magic user caught her. She didn’t want to leave public sight—but she didn’t want to drag any helpless innocents into the fight either.
“Patrol point,” Cinderella huffed, skidding as she planted her feet and started running in a different direction. If Cinderella could reach a central patrol point—where all patrols for the area started and ended—there would be over a dozen soldiers stationed there.
Bless the Army for increased patrols, and bless me for memorizing their routes for library trips, Cinderella thought, risking another glance over her shoulder.
The tail was behind her, but on the corner she just skirted. He looked in several directions, searching for her.
Cinderella vaulted into an empty wagon tied in front of a house, and wriggled beneath a bundle of burlap sacks.
She held her breath and prayed her pounding heart wouldn’t reveal her as the black mage walked up the street, moving bonelessly.
His eyes skipped over the wagon, and Cinderella gasped in air when the mage was one street up.
Whatever his magic skills are, they don’t include tracking, Cinderella thought as she slithered out of wagon. All the same, I should head to the patrol point and send word to Friedrich.
Somewhere in all the running, Cinderella wound up in the Erlauf neighborhood. Her red hair stuck out among the fair, straw-haired Trieux peasants, but it was more of a flaming beacon among the small scattering of dark-haired Erlauf commoners who walked the streets.
Cinderella crouched low to the ground to minimize the possibility of being sighted and crept along the houses, ignoring the odd looks from the few commoners on the street.
She crouched behind a cluster of barrels and winced. Something cold pressed against the skin of her chest. Cinderella realized it was the dragon necklace Friedrich gave her when he first presented her to her soldiers. She tried to dig it out from under her dress, for it felt like a chunk of ice freezing to her skin, when she heard crying.
Down the street came the black magic user, dragging an Erlauf woman behind him by her glossy brown hair-braid.
The woman sobbed, her face twisted in pain. “Please, let me go,” she whimpered.
The necklace forgotten, Cinderella peered at those in the streets. They would help the poor woman, wouldn’t they?
The street walkers were statue still, as if carved out of colorful chunks of stone. They didn’t blink, and they didn’t move, even when the black mage clenched a dirty hand around the young woman’s throat.
The woman struggled, clawing at the mage’s hand. She gurgled and coughed as life was chok
ed from her.
If I jump him, he will kill me, Cinderella thought. But if I don’t, he will kill her. An Erlauf woman.
The black mage turned, looking up and down the street. He was waiting for her. When Cinderella didn’t appear, the mage’s fist encased with black vapor, and the woman’s frantic thrashings became more like the twitches of a dying animal.
The smell of burnt flesh filled the street.
Cinderella grimaced, and when the black mage turned his back to her, she pushed her way up a narrow stairway that led to the second floor of the shanty she was pressed against.
The black mage lifted the woman off her feet and held her high above his head, showing off his prize.
The commoners on the street didn’t react, and everything was still—except for the dying woman.
The black magic user lowered the woman—although he kept his hands fastened around her neck.
She choked, her eyes rolling back as she convulsed, almost dead.
The black mage looked down at the nearly dead woman in undisguised pleasure, so he did not see Cinderella when she flung herself off the roof of the house directly next to him.
Cinderella landed on the mage with enough force to knock him to the ground. Sitting on top of him, Cinderella grabbed him by the throat of his cloak. She slammed his head into the ground two times before he blasted her with his dark magic, sending her careening into the front door of a house.
Cinderella was up in an instant, even though her ears rang and her sight was fuzzy. If she stayed down she would die. “HELP!” she shouted, her voice loud but shaky.
The nearly strangled woman was frozen like the others. As Cinderella grabbed a pitchfork leaning against the house, she glanced at the woman long enough to be assured she was breathing.
Cinderella charged the mage with the pitchfork. The mage—who seemed to take an abnormally long time to move—barely slithered aside in time to avoid being stabbed. He grabbed hold of the pitchfork—which Cinderella easily released—and tossed it away.
Cinderella had already armed herself with a wooden bucket when the mage turned back to her. She swung the bucket at the mage and clocked him in the skull.