Disenchanted: The Trials of Cinderella

by Megan Morrison

“We have those,” said Chemise. “I’ll call for them. And some tea.” She rang the silver bell that sat beside her on the table.

  At home that afternoon, Ella rehearsed her business proposal with Jasper, who had come to sit with her every afternoon, invisible. Serge wasn’t with him, and he didn’t explain why.

  “Thanks for drawing these,” she said, looking at the design sketches Jasper had made for her. He had been with her for a few hours already — longer than usual. Ella knew why. She was trying very hard not to think about it. “You make my ideas look so much better.”

  “Your ideas,” said Jasper, “are sensational. I’ve never liked big knits, but when I see how you interpret them? I’m converted.”

  “They’ll know I didn’t make these,” said Ella, holding one of his illustrations up to the lamplight. It sparkled. The colors were so vivid they didn’t seem real.

  “Tell them it was Dash.”

  Ella flinched.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She attempted a casual shrug. “I have to get past it, hey?” she said. “No choice, is there.”

  Her room was quiet. She could just see the depression in the cushion of her desk chair, telling her that Jasper was sitting there.

  “Tonight,” came Jasper’s voice, very softly. “In an hour. That’s when —”

  She shook her head. She put the sketches with the rest of her proposal in a sleek leather portfolio that Jasper had given her for the presentation.

  “I think you’re ready,” said Jasper. “Let’s see what you’re going to wear.”

  IN the carriage on the way to the Jacquard Estate, King Clement was quiet. Dash looked out the window at the sea. His injured ankle was propped on the cushion across from him. He wasn’t supposed to put his full weight on it until tomorrow; he had a crutch for tonight. It would spare him having to dance with Lavaliere, at least.

  That he had to marry her was still unreal to him.

  His father opened a flat black case that he held in his lap, revealing an array of lustrous jewels. “When you ask her,” he said, “present her with these. They’re tradition. I couldn’t find the ring — your mother must have taken it with her.”

  “I have it,” said Dash. “I won’t give it to Lavaliere.”

  “It passes from queen to queen.”

  “No.”

  King Clement shut the case. “You know that I don’t want this for you.”

  “Then marry Lariat.”

  “Is that what you want? Queen Lariat?”

  Dash did not want it. Lavaliere was the better choice. It was an awful future to look forward to, but it was not as bleak as living under Lariat’s direct rule.

  The Jacquard mansion shone in the falling darkness. Two footmen opened the carriage doors, and the prince and king descended together, Dash with his crutch, limping. Scribes crushed in around the royal guards, shouting questions. On the steps, King Clement turned and raised a hand, and the scribes gazed up at him, ears pricked, pens poised.

  “Stay near for an announcement,” said the king. “This is a special night.”

  The doors of the mansion opened. Framed within were Lariat and Lavaliere, pictures of beauty and splendor — in dress, at least. Lariat’s smile was unmistakably pinched, and Lavaliere looked strange, Dash thought. She was the wrong color.

  “Tans must be back in fashion,” muttered his father. “I’m not sure it suits her.”

  It wasn’t just the tanned skin. Something was out of place. Her nose. Her mouth?

  They reached the top of the steps.

  “Your Majesty,” said Lariat. “Your Royal Highness — poor thing, what’s happened to your ankle? Let us get you to a comfortable chair.”

  “I suppose you won’t be able to dance,” said Lavaliere, and as her lips moved, Dash saw that even her teeth were strange. Unnaturally white.

  “No.”

  “What a pity,” she said. “But we’ll be able to watch everyone else enjoy themselves.”

  For the rest of our lives, Dash thought, and he limped his way inside.

  JASPER’S door flew open at his knock. Both of them were invisible, so Serge could not see Jasper’s expression, but he could see that his Academy boarding room was bare.

  “I already moved out. I’m ready to hide.” Jasper’s hand found his arm. “Are you all right? What happened at the Jacquards’? At the Slipper?”

  “Not here,” Serge said.

  They flew to the harbor. In the darkness between the barnacled legs of one of the shipping piers, Serge made them visible, and by the time he had finished telling Jasper everything that had happened at the Jacquard Estate and in Jules’s penthouse office, Jasper’s wings glowed so fiercely that Serge cautioned him to dim it down a touch.

  “But I’m so proud of you,” Jasper whispered. “And so happy for you.”

  Serge’s wings warmed and gave a gratified flutter.

  “I have a hiding spot for us,” said Jasper. “Let’s go —”

  “Wait.” said Serge. “Help me. What Lariat said about the gnomish devices — there’s something wrong with her story.”

  “You think she lied?”

  “No, I think she was too truthful. She said she went to the gnomes and asked them to make her the same deal they’d made with Cameo. They refused. A month or two later, the Assembly passed a law blocking all gnomish machines from being used by the Garment Guild.”

  “So Lariat sabotaged Shantung.”

  “The point is, how did she know to sabotage her? How did she know to visit the gnomes? Lariat shouldn’t have had that information. That deal was secret. I only knew about it because I was Challis Shantung’s godfather. I worked in the Shantung mansion. I reported every Shantung secret straight to the Slipper.”

  Jasper gaped. “Why?”

  “Because I’m thorough!” cried Serge. “I’ve always been meticulous in my reports. Anything I learned on any client visit was filed with Lebrine.”

  “So Jules knew about Cameo’s plan.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you think she told Lariat.”

  “I think it’s far bigger than that. Tonight, before I left Jules, she asked me what I think I know. And the more I dwell on that, the more I — hold on.” Serge flicked his fingers and created two long scrolls in midair, from memory. The first list, he titled Members of the House of Mortals. The other, Glass Slipper Clients, Past 20 Years.

  They matched. In all but a few names, the lists matched.

  “We’ve been spies,” Serge whispered. “Collecting government secrets for Lariat Jacquard. We’ve been in every Assembly household, reporting things back to Jules. That’s how Lariat knows exactly when and how to ruin her competitors —”

  “It’s how she controls the votes in the Assembly,” said Jasper, taking hold of the lists, which glowed sharply silver in the darkness. “It’s why she can overthrow the king.”

  “I did this,” said Serge in disbelief. “When I think of the secrets I’ve recorded — the things she knows —” He pressed both hands to his stomach, sickened. “Everyone in the House of Mortals has something to hide, and Lariat knows every whisper. Anyone who goes against her risks public humiliation and financial destruction.”

  Jasper ran a fingernail along the list of Assembly names. “This is simply diabolical,” he said. “Worthy of my grandmother.”

  “I thought Jules got greedy for the attention after she made Maud queen — I thought that was why the List was full of nobles. I never realized there was more to it. But of course — of course — it all started after Clement married Maud,” Serge said. “Lariat has been plotting to undo him ever since.”

  “We have to expose this.” Jasper handed back the lists. “We’ll go straight to the Assembly members. Tell them they’ve been used.”

  “They’re all at that betrothal party.”

  “Cameo Shantung isn’t.”

  “You’re right.” Serge rolled up the lists. “Let’s go.”

  They flew to the Shantung
Estate. The great house was dim within, and mostly empty. Packed crates filled the parlor. The only furniture not draped with a sheet was a tall glass display case, holding the exquisite glass slippers that Serge had made for Challis ten years ago. Florals had been in fashion then: blues, purples, and greens married vividly in blooming iris flowers of glass. The small glass dots that Jules had insisted on affixing to the slim heels were their only imperfection.

  The butler brought Serge and Jasper deeper into the house to a small office where Lady Cameo Shantung waited, standing amid her shrouded furniture. She could have been her daughters’ older sister, with her heart-shaped face and smooth black hair. Only her exhausted eyes gave her age away.

  “Serge.” She nodded to Jasper. She did not look pleased.

  “I apologize,” said Serge. He closed the door behind them. “We wouldn’t trouble you so late at night if it weren’t serious.”

  Cameo’s face grew fearful. “Challis?”

  “No, not your daughters. I’m sure they’re both well.”

  “Chemise isn’t,” said Cameo sharply. “Her feet haven’t healed, and no Hipocrath can tell us why. Whatever magic was in that Ubiquitous acorn may have damaged her permanently.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Serge. “So very sorry.”

  “You’re the first to say so,” said Cameo. “Not one of the rest of them has been here since the ball. Not one — except for Ella Coach, who has known Chemise barely half a year but has more compassion than the people who have known her all her life. Lariat Jacquard sent us an invitation to come and dance at her home tonight, however.” Cameo’s nostrils flared. “How generous.”

  “It’s Lariat Jacquard I’m here about.”

  “Skies, isn’t she done with me yet? I’m barely in business, I’m leaving the city, my daughter can’t walk — what does she want? My face?” She laughed. “She’s been jealous of my face since we were ten years old.”

  “Please, Lady Shantung. Listen.”

  Cameo sat erect on a sheet-covered chair. Quickly, in simple terms that embellished nothing, Serge explained the situation.

  Cameo’s face barely moved. “Why tell me this now?” she asked.

  “Because it’s not only your house that Blue fairies have served in. It’s an extraordinary breach of confidentiality for me to show you this list of our clients, but since this information has already been compromised …”

  Cameo took Serge’s lists and compared them. Within a minute, she looked up.

  “So this is how she does it,” she whispered. “I always wondered. People despise her, yet they do whatever she says — I knew it must be blackmail, but this …” She paused and looked from him to Jasper. “Why did you participate in this?” she asked. “Why would you do it?”

  “I had no idea that this was happening until tonight,” Serge said. “You have no reason to trust me, but it’s the truth.”

  Cameo pursed her lips. Momentarily, she shook her head.

  “It can’t be right.”

  “What?”

  “You couldn’t have known about the other deals Lariat blocked. The gnomish devices were only the beginning. I contacted the Prism Keepers Association of Lilac to explore my options there, but Lariat shut that avenue down as well, long after you finished your year with Challis.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. There were other deals, but there was no other fairy in the house after you. She must have gotten the information another way.”

  Jasper spoke. “She could have left magic in the house,” he said. “Something Serge placed here without knowing it?”

  Serge’s blood slowed. He had placed something in the house.

  “The glass slippers,” he whispered.

  Jasper and Cameo both drew breath.

  “All our past clients have a pair in their homes, and you’re not the only one who displays them in a common area.” Serge shook his head. How could he have missed it? How could he have been so fooled? “Jules always puts a finishing touch on them — a glass dot. She calls it her signature, but it could be listening magic. Do you ever conduct business in your parlor?”

  Lady Shantung flushed suddenly. “The private things she must have heard,” she muttered. “The completely private — that’s an abuse of magic power.” She glanced at the closed door. “And she’s already heard this conversation,” she murmured. “She knows that we know.”

  “I seriously doubt it,” said Serge. “Jules is not the fairy she used to be, and those shoes are at the other end of the house.”

  “Lady Shantung,” said Jasper, crouching beside her, “are you aware that Lariat Jacquard has enough votes in the House of Mortals to push King Clement out of the Assembly if she wants to?”

  “What can I do about it?” Cameo demanded. “The Assembly barely listens to me anymore — and now I know why.”

  “Take the lists, Lady Shantung,” said Jasper. “Spread this news to everyone you can. You know better than anyone which Assembly members might be swayed away from Lariat’s side, and she’ll never suspect a strike from you. She doesn’t think you’ll fight her.”

  Cameo Shantung raised her chin. “Doesn’t she?”

  “You’ve packed up your estate,” said Jasper. “She thinks you’re beaten.”

  “Actually, in her words,” said Serge, “she thinks you’ve finally realized that your place in society isn’t at its height.”

  Pride blazed in Cameo’s face, and she put out her hand. “Give me those lists.”

  IT was Sharlyn, still in her dressing gown, who brought the morning Crier to Ella’s door. Ella could see the enormous headline from where she lay.

  BETROTHED! PRINCE CHARMING TO WED LAVALIERE JACQUARD.

  Sharlyn sat on the edge of the bed. “You knew this was coming?”

  Ella rolled toward the wall to hide the wetness in her eyes.

  “I don’t know how close the two of you were,” said Sharlyn. “Or how serious it was between you —”

  Ella pulled a pillow over her face. Sharlyn waited through Ella’s shuddering and spoke again only when she was still.

  “I’m not here to intrude on your feelings,” she said. “I know there’s nothing I can say.” She reached out a hand as if she might brush back Ella’s hair, but she stopped and retracted it. “I doubt I can help, but I have to ask. Is there anything I can do?”

  Ella pushed herself up to sit against the headboard, and she wiped her sticky, tearstained cheeks. “Actually, yeah,” she said. “I wanted to ask you something. Remember how I told you I wanted to show you a business proposal for Practical Elegance? It’s done.”

  Sharlyn glanced curiously toward Ella’s desk, where the proposal lay. “Is that it?” she asked. “Would you like me to read it?”

  “No, I want to present it to you and my dad.”

  “So you’d like a meeting with us?”

  “Yeah,” said Ella. “I would. As soon as you’re both free.”

  “Your father’s rearranging the displays over in the shop today,” said Sharlyn. “But tomorrow we’re both available. If you feel up to it by then, why don’t you meet us at one o’clock, down in the office?”

  “Yeah, grat —” Ella stopped. She would do this right. “Yes, thank you,” she said, more carefully. “I’m up to it. I look forward to our meeting.”

  JASPER led him to a neighborhood near the wharf, in a part of Quintessential that Serge had not seen for many years. They landed on the roof of a crumbling old government structure, long abandoned, with a disused bell tower erupting from its leaking stone buildings.

  “Fly?” said Jasper. He pointed to the top of the tower. “Or walk?”

  “Walk,” said Serge, whose smaller wings were already fatigued, and he followed Jasper up the dilapidated spiral stair. “What is this place?” he asked.

  “It’s Gossamer’s,” said Jasper. “And the others’.”

  “Others?”

  “You had your secret clients and your meetings with Jules,” said Ja
sper. “I had projects of my own.”

  They reached the top of the steps. He knocked once, then twice, then thrice on a wooden door, and the edges of the door glowed with golden light. It opened, and they flew into the bell tower.

  Serge looked around in awe. Gossamer’s place was in the most unfashionable area she could possibly have chosen — which was very like her — but inside the bell tower, she’d created a world of beauty. The tower looked like the fairy glade where Blue fairies hatched and returned to fade. The same soft hanging moss, full of shimmering lights; the same warm, enveloping blue mist. The only things missing were the big speckled eggs.

  Gossamer greeted them, dry-eyed for once.

  “You’re certain about him?” she asked Jasper, eyeing Serge with distrust.

  “Beyond certain,” said Jasper. “He quit the Slipper spectacularly. Wait till he tells you.”

  Gossamer did not appear convinced.

  “Gossamer, forgive me,” said Serge. “I sided with Jules, and she made a fool of me — of all of us. The Slipper is more poisonous than any of us knew.”

  This was too intriguing to be denied, and so Gossamer drew them further into the mist-shrouded bell tower, toward a meeting space arranged with cushions and pillows. On these, to Serge’s surprise, sat a dozen or so godparents and employees of the Glass Slipper — including Thimble, who beckoned for Serge to sit with her. He alighted on the empty cushion at her side.

  “We were just discussing the future of godparenting,” said Gossamer, settling on a pillow beside Carvel and Georgette, both of whom gave Serge sheepish looks. “You have news for us?”

  Everyone looked at him, suspicious and expectant.

  “You think you’ve been working for Jules,” Serge said, “but for years now, all of us have really been working for Lariat Jacquard.” They were quiet, but their faces filled with horror as he explained what he had discovered, and how.

  “Skies,” said Gossamer. “Humans will never trust us after this.”

  “They’ll be angry,” Serge agreed. “By now, Lady Shantung will have spoken with a few of the families. Eventually, the news will leak. Humans can’t keep secrets.”