Disenchanted: The Trials of Cinderella

by Megan Morrison

  Dash looked away from him.

  “I’ll let you finish school at home, with tutors.”

  He wished he could give in.

  “I’ll stop hounding you about the Jacquards,” said his father desperately. “Have the Coach girl if you want — let the monarchy go to Geguul. Just tell me where to find Maud.”

  “The monarchy?” said Dash, nonplussed. “What do you mean?”

  “We’re close to losing it,” said King Clement, holding up his thumb and forefinger a hair apart. “This close. Do you think I push you toward Lavaliere because she’s such a lovely child? I told you, our position relies upon keeping our friends. If Lariat thinks the throne is out of Jacquard reach, she’ll make it worth nothing. The House of Mortals will call a vote to get rid of me.”

  Dash was completely thrown. “You’re king.”

  “Oh, I’d still be king,” said his father with a harsh laugh. “King Clement the Powerless.”

  “But the Assembly,” said Dash. “They’d back you.”

  “Lariat owns them,” said his father. “She’s worked all of them onto her side.”

  “How?”

  “Blackmail, probably. Who can say? What matters is that if I cross her, she’ll take control. We’re cornered, son. If you won’t play the game, you won’t be king. Not in any way that matters.”

  Dash considered what his father was saying. Lady Jacquard in power. Lady Jacquard, who threw injured fathers onto the street and called her dying workers irresponsible.

  “You know what you’re up against now,” said his father. “Behave yourself accordingly. Understand?”

  Dash nodded slowly. He did understand. But he did not like it.

  SPORTS hour at Coterie was torture. She didn’t mind archery, though she was no good at it, but she hated being near Lavaliere and her friends. She’d tried to trade for another class, but water and horseback sports were both full.

  “Lavaliere,” called Miss Halfdrop, the games mistress. “Your turn.”

  Lavaliere stepped up to the shooting line and placed one foot on either side of it. She rotated her chin over her shoulder and nocked her arrow on the bowstring.

  “Perfect stance,” said Miss Halfdrop. “Ella, look how Lavaliere rotates her hips. That’s what you need to do.”

  Lavaliere glanced back at Ella. She smirked. And then she faced her target, drew the bowstring back past the side of her face, and released her arrow. It flew, sharp and sure, and struck dead center. Miss Halfdrop whooped approval. Lavaliere pivoted and returned to stand with Dimity and Loom, cradling her cheek in her hand. Ella thought she saw tears in her eyes, but Lavaliere turned her back before she could be certain.

  “What’s wrong?” she heard Dimity whisper. “Are you hurt?”

  “It’s just the string,” Lavaliere murmured. “I pulled it too close to my face. I’m going to sit out for a while.” She left the shooting range to sit in the shade of the trees with her eyes shut, grimacing as though she had a bad headache.

  “Ella, your turn,” said Miss Halfdrop, beckoning. Ella stepped up to the shooting line.

  “Traitor,” Dimity said, so quietly that Ella almost didn’t hear it. Ella nocked her arrow and raised her bow. She had been called so many names this week that she was starting to feel immune.

  “Hips!” called Miss Halfdrop, and Ella tried to rotate hers. She raised her bow. “Fingers!” shouted Miss Halfdrop, and Ella adjusted her grip. She drew back the bowstring.

  “So Dash is actually spying on her?” she heard Loom say.

  “Because of what she said at the ball?” said Mercer.

  “The king thinks she might be a threat,” Dimity whispered.

  Ella accidentally released her arrow early, and it flew wide of the target.

  “She heard you.” Loom sounded amused. “So much for spying.”

  “Try again,” called Miss Halfdrop, but Ella did not. She turned on Dimity.

  “What’s this about, hey?” she demanded. “How am I a threat?”

  Dimity looked at her in disgust. “Do you think Dash wants to stay your partner?” she said. “Do you think he’d go anywhere near trash like you if —”

  “Shut up.” Lavaliere was back, clutching her bow and looking as if she wanted to shoot Dimity right through the heart. “I told you.”

  Dimity flushed, then turned very white. She hung her head and followed Lavaliere away from the range and out of earshot, while Ella stood still, stricken.

  Prince Dash was spying on her for the king?

  She left the shooting range and hurried through the woods to the equipment room, where she hung up her bow and put her uniform back on. She’d get into trouble later for walking out of class, but just now she couldn’t care. She ran up the hill to the main campus, skipped lunch, and went instead to the empty business classroom, where she was an hour early. She tucked herself into the corner and concentrated on finishing the dress for Mrs. Wincey’s baby, but even stitching couldn’t soothe her. The knot in her stomach only hardened.

  When the classroom door finally opened, and chattering students spilled into the chamber, Ella turned her back on them and tucked her embroidery away. She felt Dash drop down next to her. Heard his melancholy “Hello.” She replied with a curt nod, unsure of what to do. If he was really spying on her, then she didn’t want to give him anything.

  Professor Linsey-Woolsey addressed the class, looking quite serious. “Chemise Shantung has withdrawn from C-Prep,” she said. “Her injuries are too grave for her to return.”

  There was a general murmur of surprise — and amusement.

  “Injuries?” said Garb with a laugh. “To her purse, maybe.”

  “One peasant down,” said Paisley, cutting a look back at Ella. “One to go.”

  Beside Ella, Dash stiffened.

  “That’s awful,” Ella said quietly. “Chemise was the nicest one here.”

  “Yes.”

  They were quiet together for a minute.

  “Did you get information from your father?” Dash finally said.

  “No.” It wasn’t true — she had information to work with, although her dad had said that Sharlyn was the one she should really talk to — but if Dash was watching her and reporting back to the king, then she didn’t want to tell him any of it. “Sorry,” she said. “Maybe we should pick a different project, hey?”

  Dash looked at her in surprise.

  “We can do a messenger service,” said Ella, looking down at her desk. “Like I mentioned the other day. We both know some about wagons and horses, so that would work.”

  “You don’t want to do a garment company that pays fair wages?” Dash paused. “I thought that was important to you.”

  Ella twisted her fingers. “Let’s just keep it simple and get a good score.”

  The prince was silent. He tapped his chalk against the desk. Then he bent close to the slate and wrote in very small letters, Did someone say something?

  “About what?”

  About me spying on you. Which I am not.

  Ella sat back, thrown.

  Was it Lavaliere? He wiped out all of his writing and looked at her. Waiting.

  “I overheard people,” Ella whispered. “Dimity and Loom —”

  “They’re lying.”

  “But … you’d say that, wouldn’t you, if you were spying.”

  Dash clapped the chalk onto the desk and ran a hand over his bald head. “I wouldn’t say anything,” he said. “I wouldn’t mention it. That’s how spying works.”

  “I’m not a traitor,” said Ella as quietly as she could.

  “I know!”

  “Good. Then let’s just do a messenger service.”

  Dash made a noise of sheer frustration. You don’t trust me? he wrote.

  I want to, she wrote back. But if I’m wrong, what happens to me?

  NOTHING. Dash wrote the word with sharp, emphatic strokes. He was pink-faced, and his scalp was sweating.

  “But I said those things at the ba
ll,” Ella whispered, uncertain. “I insulted you the other day. If the king thinks I’m plotting treason or something —”

  NO. Dash wrote. Believe me. Please. I want to do our real project. Do you?

  Ella looked into his eyes. They were very green.

  “Why do you even care?” she heard herself say.

  “Because I care about my country —”

  He took a sudden, sharp breath and stopped speaking, then grabbed the wet rag and scrubbed out every word on the slate. A moment later, Lavaliere was standing beside him. She looked paler than usual.

  “I don’t feel well,” she said. “Walk me to the infirmary?”

  Dash stood without a word, and Lavaliere leaned against him. He escorted her out of the chamber with an arm around her waist, leaving Ella to wonder what the truth was.

  THEY were finishing up with one of Gossamer’s old clients when Ella’s voice rang out in his head, as clearly as if she were standing beside him.

  Serge, Serge, Serge!

  He put a hand to his heart. It had been many years since he had joined with a godchild by the old magic, and he’d forgotten how personal it was to be called in this way. The pang of Ella’s emotions came through clearly — anxious, confused, fearful — but her condition was not dire. She was in trouble, not peril.

  That old magic pulled him straight to 76 Cardinal Park East, with Jasper right behind him. When they reached Ella’s room, they found her cross-legged on her bed with schoolwork spread out all around her, chewing on a fingernail that was already gnawed to the quick.

  “What’s wrong?” said Jasper, leaning over the foot of her bed to read what she was doing. Serge took a seat at her desk.

  “There’s this rumor going around that the prince is spying on me,” said Ella, and Serge listened to the rest of her tale with narrowed eyes. So this was how Lariat Jacquard planned to undermine her. Gossip. Lies. “I don’t know if I can trust him,” Ella finished. “I want to. I could’ve sworn he meant it when he talked about fair wages and sick leave. He seemed like he was listening to me — really listening.”

  “I’m sure he was,” said Jasper.

  “The prince isn’t spying on you,” Serge said. “His interest in your cause is genuine, I have no doubt.”

  “Then why are people saying it?”

  Jasper gave him a desperate look, but Serge shook his head. Lariat’s threat to the monarchy was dangerous knowledge, and Ella should not have it. She couldn’t control her temper. She might damage herself. “It’s a rumor,” he said instead. “A deliberate rumor, meant to keep you and the prince from getting too friendly.”

  Her face registered understanding.

  “Lavaliere,” she said. “She wants to make me look bad. Is that it?”

  “This rumor is serious,” Serge said, sidestepping the question. “It doesn’t matter that it’s false. Find another partner in class, and let it all blow over.”

  “But what about our project?” Ella laid a hand on her school notes. “What if he remembers it when he’s king? Isn’t it worth trying to show him how things could be run better than they are?” She looked around at the scattered parchment. “Except I don’t know exactly how Practical Elegance is run. Sharlyn’s the one who really knows, and I can’t ask her.”

  “Why not?” said Serge and Jasper at the same time.

  Ella looked uncomfortable. “She’s barely spoken to me since the ball,” she said. “She’ll never get over it. She said I humiliated this family beyond repair.”

  “Soften her up,” said Jasper. “Give her something she wants.”

  “A present?”

  “Not exactly. What does your stepmother want from you?”

  Ella’s expression hardened. “She wants me to dress like the other girls.”

  “Ah,” said Jasper. “That makes sense. This is business, and business is just theatre with numbers. If you want to be convincing, then you have to look the part. What do you have to wear?” He opened her wardrobe and gazed in dismay upon its barrenness. The only garments in it were C-Prep uniforms, a pile of knitted stockings, and a few old tunics and skirts.

  “I won’t buy clothes from the shops on the Avenue,” Ella declared, folding her arms. “Most of those merchants get their supplies from Jacquard and Garter and —”

  “I’ll make your clothes,” said Serge. “Problem solved.”

  Ella hesitated. “I’d still be a hypocrite,” she said. “Dressing up like a quint — it’s the same as giving in.”

  “How?” Serge sat forward. “You’re not abandoning your values. You’re simply showing your stepmother that you can see her point.”

  “It shouldn’t matter what I wear. It won’t change anything about me.”

  “Exactly,” said Serge. “It won’t change anything about you, except that you’ll appear professional, and your stepmother will take you more seriously. What’s wrong with that?”

  Ella pursed her lips but could apparently find no other argument to give.

  Jasper took Ella’s hand and pulled her to stand. “At least let us show you what we mean,” he said, walking around her to inspect her hair from all angles. With a few deft motions, he parted it and swept it back. A crimson shimmer made a nimbus around her face as magic took hold of her voluminous curls and settled them into a professional twist. Jasper tucked one last curl into place, and the crimson shimmer faded. He turned Ella toward the mirror.

  Her eyebrows shot up at the sight of her reflection. Jasper had drawn attention to all the right features. Her forehead was high, her eyes bright. Her cheekbones stood out a league.

  “I didn’t know my hair could change my face so much,” she said softly.

  Jasper beamed. “Serge will get you dressed,” he said.

  Serge closed his eyes. He pictured Ella in dark gray riding breeches and a long, fitted coat in deep red over a simple, severe undertunic. He saw her clearly, chin up and fists clenched, her whole heart in her expression. His own heart thrummed in reply. His dust came easily, warming his palms and filling them like soft chalk, and he squeezed his fists to feel it there. His chest was tight.

  He opened his eyes and flung the dust at Ella. It exploded in a cloud of glittering blue, and as it faded, Ella looked down at herself and drew a breath of awe. She touched the lapels of her dark red coat, then put out one foot and gazed at the simple, perfect gray boot.

  “Wow,” she whispered. She looked in the mirror, and the usual hard edges went out of her face. She touched her hair. “Sharlyn’s going to die of shock,” she said, and then she looked away from herself with a little shake of her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Forgive me, all right?”

  “For what?” said Serge, startled.

  “For calling you here and complaining like I have real problems, when I know —” She paused and seemed to struggle with herself. “I know I’m lucky. I’m grateful my mum wrote you. I’m grateful you’re here, I mean it.”

  It had been so long since any godchild had thanked him that Serge stood without replying, unsure whether he could speak. Ella meanwhile retrieved a tiny garment from her scorched schoolbag and pushed it into his hands.

  “For Mrs. Wincey,” she said. “If you visit Kit any time soon.”

  He held up the little gown, struck again by the complexity and evenness of Ella’s embroidery. “Lovely work.” He ran a fingertip along one of the small, swirling vines. “Jasper was right, you’re quite skilled.”

  “Grats,” she said with a proud grin. “I like doing it.”

  “It shows,” said Serge. He glanced at Ella’s paltry clothing collection. “I like dressing people too,” he said. “Especially people who appreciate it. So if you don’t mind, I’m going to make you a few more pieces. Just in case you decide to upgrade your wardrobe permanently.”

  Ella looked at her reflection once more. “D’you think if I dressed better at school, Dash would take me more seriously? My ideas, I mean?”

  “I think he’s taking you seriously already,” said
Jasper. “But we’ll leave you a few new things anyway. You can decide what’s best to do.”

  Ella nodded, and the fairies went to work. It was not long before her wardrobe was full of shoes and accessories for Coterie, as well as clothing for social visits. Ella stared at it all, mouth open. “I’ve never had this many clothes at once,” she said. “How do I know what to pick?”

  “Call us for help if you want to,” said Jasper fondly, taking Serge by the elbow. “Good night, Ella.”

  “Good luck,” said Serge. With a flick of his dusty fingertips, he and Jasper were invisible, and with a snap, they vanished from her room. He brought them to the front garden of number 76, just outside the large sitting room windows. Within the well-lit parlor, Lady Sharlyn Gourd-Coach sat at a large mahogany desk, wearing her pince-nez and writing steadily.

  A moment later, Ella entered the room, tasteful and tailored, hair and boots gleaming. Her lips moved, saying something the fairies couldn’t hear.

  Sharlyn paused in her writing and laid down her pen. She looked up, and her eyebrows arched. “Why, Ella!” Her rich voice could be heard through the windows. She rose from her chair, looking mystified and delighted together. “What’s this?”

  Ella’s lips moved again, and her stepmother went to her. They spoke too quietly to be heard without fairy dust, but Serge didn’t need to listen. They were talking — that was what mattered.

  He had done something good here.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  “No, let’s listen! Do that thing with my ear —”

  “Let’s go,” said Serge, catching Jasper by his invisible hand.

  He flew off, almost giddy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like this. To have so much dust all of a sudden, after feeling dry for so long — he had to do something with it. To hold it back would be a crime. A waste.

  Jasper allowed himself to be pulled across to the park, where they alighted, still invisible. “Where are we going?”

  “I thought I might cut through the fairywoods down to Salting,” said Serge. “I’d like to see what I can learn about the Winceys. Find out what they need. Will you come with me?”