“All the slippers have those dots on them,” said Sharlyn, picking up a silver sandal woven from thin strips of glass. She traded it to Opal for the red boot. “Try this one.”
Opal’s girlish fingers found the dot again with ease. “Same,” she said. “Pretty magic in the shoe, dirty magic in the blob. Ugly magic. Listening magic.”
Opal pivoted suddenly and pointed an unwavering finger at Jules.
“Her magic,” she said. “She is the spy.”
Jules laughed shortly. “Nice try,” she said. “But you’re lying. Your grandson Jasper obviously told you what to say.”
Queen Opal hissed. Red snakes slithered from her lips and vanished in bursts of red smoke. “I, lie to you?” Her girlish voice was breathless. “To gain what?”
“No idea,” said Jules. “But you can’t prove you’re telling the truth, can you?”
Queen Opal’s little masked face swiveled toward Lariat. “You pay Bejeweled to place the dirty dots on all the slippers,” she said, and Lariat could not quite control her jerk. She turned her sightless face to the Assembly. “That is how the Jacquard mortal sees into your secrets,” she said, and giggled. “That is how she knows when to twist the little knife. So you have to give her your loyalty. Your votes.” She giggled again. “Your pride.”
“It’s a lie,” snarled Jules.
“They know it i-sn’t,” sang Opal. “They know it’s tru-ue…. Long have some of them wondered how the Lady knew their secrets, and oh, how they wanted it to stop, stop, stop….”
Members of the Assembly glanced furtively at one another, then began to talk low among themselves. Opal had convinced them — or many of them, at least. Serge could see it in their eyes when they looked down at Lariat and Jules. They were livid.
Jules’s wings fluttered. She lifted off from the ground and made for a window, but a group of Blue fairies materialized in midair. Gossamer. Carvel. Thimble. They blocked her exit, and Gossamer flung a healthy cloud of fairy dust into her face. When the smoke cleared, Jules was gagged. The fairies dragged her down to the floor and held her while she struggled, and one corner of Serge’s mouth lifted in an irresistible smile. The situation was quite serious, of course. His own mentor was a traitor to the crown. The Glass Slipper was ruined. It would be a long time before Blue fairies earned back the public trust.
But Jules was finished. He only wished Jasper could see it.
“All done,” said Queen Opal. “Where is my Jasper? He promised, he promised, and I was very good….” She stumbled toward the chamber doors.
Jules desperately flung out both her hands. Her palms were patchy with a paltry layer of wet, clumped fairy dust. A faint blue shimmer erupted from them and chased after Opal. Serge squinted, trying to make out what the shimmer was supposed to be. It was small and disjointed and vaguely dragon-shaped.
Queen Opal stopped dead, and her crimson mouth curved downward in disgust. Just before Jules’s blue shimmer touched her back, Opal closed her great white wings, pinning the shimmer between them. She threw back her head and laughed, then opened her wings again, releasing a great Crimson dragon, three times her own size. The Assembly screamed with one voice.
“Fly,” cried Opal, and her creation shot straight at Jules. It barreled toward her head, its crimson maw wide. Jules scrambled backward, wide-eyed, unable to scream through her gag — and then she fainted in Gossamer’s arms.
The crimson dragon vanished. With a shriek of laughter, Opal flew from the Assembly Hall.
THE moment Queen Opal was out of the room, everyone in it came to furious life. The magic that had lashed Nexus Maven to her throne faded, and she fled the chamber without a word. Sharlyn sat beside Ella, gripping her shoulder. Assembly members clamored for Lady Jacquard’s explanation.
“Nothing has been proved,” she said, and the Assembly quieted somewhat to listen. “That creature was brought here purely to confuse you all — and you are letting her.”
In her box, Lady Cameo Shantung rose. “On the contrary, much has been proved,” she said. “Lariat Jacquard — not Serge — has been spying on all of us, with the help of the Blue fairy Jules. Ella Coach’s guilt, on the other hand, cannot be proved by anyone. I call for a vote to determine Ella Coach’s fate. House of Mortals, light your lamps if you are with me.”
Assembly members reached for the orbs of golden fairy light ensconced on the railings of their boxes. One by one, as members of the House of Mortals touched them, these lamps changed from gold to blue.
Ella’s mouth dried up as she counted ten blue lights, then twenty. Nobles looked around to see who else was voting, and hesitant hands became decisive. Now there were thirty, forty, fifty … She couldn’t look directly behind her to see the others, but she thought there were enough for a majority.
They were going to vote.
King Clement unrolled his gilt scroll. “Elegant Herringbone Coach is accused of trespassing, sabotage, and murder,” he read out.
Ella’s head emptied. Sharlyn clutched one of her hands, and Serge alighted beside her and clutched the other one. She gripped their hands with all her strength.
“Those among you who believe her guilty,” said the king, “light your lamps.”
Ella craned to look behind her, but she couldn’t see well enough to determine anything. She heard Serge and Sharlyn both counting under their breaths, and then Sharlyn gave a shout of triumph.
“Then I declare,” said King Clement, without enthusiasm, “that Ella Coach is hereby found, by the House of Mortals, to be innocent of the charges laid against her.”
Ella heard her dad’s strangled cry. The noise of many voices swelled in the chamber, and she barely had time to understand the verdict before she was crushed between her dad and Sharlyn.
“Ell,” sobbed her dad, kissing her cheek. “It’s all right, it’s all right —” He untied the knots that bound her to the chair. The moment she was free, Ella leapt to her feet and flung herself at her stepmum, who held her tight and rocked her. Clover reached over the top of her mother to ruffle Ella’s hair, and Linden clapped her shoulder.
“Ella.”
At the sound of Dash’s voice, she pulled free of them all and turned to him. He was still flushed and slick with sweat. “I’m glad —” he said, and stopped. His voice was hard to hear under the din that filled the chamber. “I’m relieved,” he said, louder. He stopped again. “You’re free,” he said hoarsely.
“You too.”
Dash grinned, practically blinding her. She reached for his hands. He took one of hers in both of his and turned it over, palm up. To Ella’s great surprise, he lifted her upturned hand, bowed his head over it, and kissed her callused fingertips with reverent gentleness.
Tears pricked her eyes at the gesture.
“When you’re recovered from all this,” Dash said, keeping her hand clasped in his, “I hope we can — that is, I hope you still want to —”
“I do,” said Ella, so eagerly that she felt herself blush, but she couldn’t help it. It was all she could do to keep from flinging herself at him.
“Soon, then,” said Dash, who was red-faced himself. “As soon as I can, once things are —” He stopped and glanced toward the dais where King Clement and Lady Jacquard still sat.
“Yes,” Ella agreed, squeezing his fingers. “Soon.”
Dash kissed her hand again, bowed to her family, and gave her one last devastating smile before retreating.
IN spite of his aching wing, he soared into the waiting area outside the Assembly chamber, wanting to find Jasper. Jasper had to see the outcome; he deserved to be part of it — if he hadn’t convinced his grandmother to come all the way from Crimson to testify, things might very well have gone a different way.
But Jasper was nowhere to be found.
“I move to call another vote,” said Cameo Shantung from within the hall. “To determine whether Lariat Jacquard is fit to continue as the First Chair of the House of Mortals. All in favor?”
Serge
fluttered to the other end of the antechamber and opened one of the doors, but Jasper was not in the entry hall either. It was dim and quiet.
“Lady Lariat Jacquard and the Blue fairy, Bejeweled, have criminally trespassed on our privacy,” called Cameo’s clear voice. “We will draw up formal charges at a later date. Light your lamps if you agree to the removal of Lariat Jacquard from her post, effective immediately.”
Serge went to one of the stained-glass windows and peered out into the Assembly gardens. Beyond them, commoners were still chanting at the gates, but there was no Jasper — or Opal either.
A moment later, Lariat Jacquard exited the Assembly chamber, flanked by two royal guards. She passed Serge without looking at him. The guards locked the doors behind her.
Serge turned to fly back into the Assembly chamber but stopped when a gleam of crimson light caught his eye. He looked down and saw a word glittering faintly — almost imperceptibly — deep in the velvet of his sleeve.
Good-bye.
Six Months Later
THE Poplin School for Children was a marvel of magical architecture. Its buildings of stone, glass, and wood were plain and simple but possessed a curious beauty; they seemed to spring from the landscape around them — tall grasses, wide beaches, high dunes. With the help of the Blue fairies, they had been erected in just four months. The school graced the shore just north of Salting, half an hour’s ride from the Corkscrew.
Today marked the Poplin School’s official opening, but the orphans of the Jacquard fire had lived there for weeks already. Despite their grief, they were still children; dozens of them shouted and laughed at the windows of the boys’ dormitory, flinging fairy dust into the courtyard garden below. The glittering dust settled in branches and upon leaves and petals, filling the trees and flowers with tiny fairy lights. The sun was setting now. Soon the garden would look spectacular.
And most of Quintessential would be in it.
“Is this right, sir?” asked Singer, tugging at his doublet to make it straight.
“Perfect.” Dash crouched. “Ready for your speech?”
Singer shrugged, his face pensive. “ ’Fraid I’ll cry.”
“Want me to stand with you?”
The boy nodded gratefully.
Dash left the dormitory and made his way to a driftwood bridge. It arched over a saltwater pond and ended at the headmistress’s cottage, where he knocked.
His mother threw open the door. “Oh, good,” she said, shutting the door behind him. “You need to get dressed.” Dash followed her as she wound her way carefully through more than a dozen children to get to the back of the cottage. She sidestepped two boys playing jacks in the hall and went into the room where Dash slept now when he visited.
“There,” she said, pointing to a set of new clothing that was laid out on his bed. “Serge stopped by with some royal regalia that he thinks is more your style. I rather like it.” She paused before leaving to reach up and smooth his hair, which he hadn’t shaved off since the fire. Most of it had grown back in, but it was patchy in a few places where the burns on his scalp had gone deep.
His mother stepped out, and Dash dressed slowly. It was harder work without a valet. When he was done, he turned to the mirror, and his heart gave an uncomfortable thud. Dressed in a golden doublet and royal-blue sash, and with waves of hair upon his forehead, he looked just like the portrait of Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Grandfather Phillip.
His mother knocked and entered, now gowned and jeweled, with his crown in her hand. She stopped cold when she saw him. “You look so grown,” she managed. “So much like —”
She didn’t say his father, but he knew.
“He’s not coming,” said Dash. “Right?”
“No, he stayed in Quintessential. He’s giving me space, just as I asked him to,” said his mother, smiling a bit sadly. “He thinks if he does what I want, I might go back to him.”
After Lady Jacquard was ousted, Dash had expected the Assembly to give his father the same treatment. But having turned their backs on Lariat Jacquard, the nobles of Quintessential were in no hurry to reform anything else. King Clement remained in the seat of power, whether he deserved it or not. Dash was grateful that he himself could still hold the royal seat one day. He’d have his chance to preside. To guide change. Lady Cameo Shantung now sat in the First Chair of the House of Mortals. The Assembly had elected her by a huge majority.
“Corsages are a country custom,” said his mother, bringing his attention to a little circlet of flowers that sat on his pillow. “When you see Ella, put it on her wrist. Here, practice on me.”
His mother extended her arm, and Dash did practice, though suddenly his hands were prone to trembling. For him and Ella, this night was not only a charity event. It was their first official public appearance as a couple, and the scribes would be on top of them.
“You’ll be fine,” said his mother as his hand slipped and he crushed one of the little flowers into pulp. “Everyone’s behind you.”
“Are they?”
“They love your honesty. They want you to do well.”
Dash toyed with the circle of flowers. “Will the House of Mortals ever accept her?”
“Not all of them,” said his mother. “But they didn’t condemn her.”
“Some of them tried.” He would never forget which ones.
“Don’t be vengeful, Dash. It doesn’t suit you.”
“But will they ever stop — baiting her?”
His mother was quiet a moment. “She’s easy to bait,” she said. “I say that with respect. I like her very much.”
He knew it. His mother’s approval of Ella was so complete that it made him nervous.
“Certain people will always want to see if they can pick a fight with her, and there’s little she won’t fight for. It makes her vulnerable.” He nodded. “But you’re only thinking of your own circle, Dash, and while they’re powerful, they’re a very small group. Think of the larger kingdom. Your subjects adore her — she’s princess in their hearts already.”
That made him nervous too.
“Poor Lavaliere,” said his mother with a sigh as she arranged his hair and settled his crown. “I went to visit again. It’s certain now that she won’t recover her vision.”
Dash felt almost no pity. Lavaliere had done her best to put Ella in prison for life. “She did it to herself,” he said.
“But she’s so young.” His mother’s eyes were wet. “She had no guidance. It tears me apart to think of her mother, living free in Lilac after what she did to that child.”
Lariat Jacquard had fled to her family’s winter chateau, where she was enjoying every luxury she was used to. She’d been barred from the House of Mortals, her Guild license had been revoked, the Assembly had repossessed Jacquard Silks, and Lariat had been made to pay reparations against the fire — but she walked free. It infuriated Dash. He tried to tell himself that, for Lariat Jacquard, being exiled from high society in Quintessential was the worst possible punishment, but he couldn’t be contented. When he was king, murderers like her would rot in prison.
“But then, perhaps she isn’t free. Perhaps the Lilac fairies will take notice of her. One never knows with them.” His mother smoothed his sash against his shoulder. “I’m going to check on Tallith and the buffet,” she said, repinning the Charming crest to the sash so that everything hung straight. “People will arrive at any moment. Where is Ella?”
“We’re — meeting.” He looked down at the little circlet of flowers in his hands.
“Well, don’t be too long meeting,” teased his mother. “Remember to show up for the party.”
SHE watched from a window of the upper floor of the girls’ dormitory as the first few Quintessentialites stepped into the courtyard. They looked suspiciously around as though they could not believe in the beauty of the place. On the stage at the side of the courtyard, beneath blue blossoms that hung from the outstretched branches of an Amitelle, the Current began to play.
But she was. It was one thing to make a business proposal to her dad and Sharlyn — it was entirely another to share her ideas with these people.
“When are you going to get dressed?” said Kit.
“When are you?” Ella retorted.
“This is it.” Kit wore the Shattering Day dress she’d had since she was ten. It was tight across the bodice, the waist sat at her rib cage, and the skirt hung barely longer than her knees. Her skinny legs were lost in a pair of old boots. “I’ve got these, though,” she said, and withdrew two Ubiquitous acorns. “Bought them with my wages — one’s a gown and the other one’s shoes —”
“No!” Ella snatched both acorns from her. “You’ll get burned to a crisp.”
“Maybe these ones won’t crash.”
“That’s what my friend Chemise thought, and now she can’t walk.”
“Fine, then.” Kit looked down at her old dress. “This is it.”
Ella carefully deposited the Ubiquitous acorns in the trash bin without cracking them. Then she opened the trunk she’d brought from Quintessential and lifted out a garment she’d knitted for Kit. The silk yarn she’d chosen from Shantung was extremely thin and delicate; the resulting fabric was light as cobwebs, and Ella congratulated herself that it was really beautiful. It ought to have been. It had taken her the better part of a month and left her hands good and sore.
“Wear this if you like it,” she said.
Kit’s eyes shone as she took the gown by its straps and held it up before her. “You made this?” she said softly. “For me to keep? Really?”
“ ’Course it’s to keep.”
“But it must’ve taken ages — I can’t, it’s too much —”
“Please,” Ella urged, and she all but shoved the gown over her friend’s head. It cascaded just to the floor, iron gray, accented with slender, pale brown braids of silk that made up the thin straps and crossed over the bodice. The armholes turned out to be a little too big, but Ella pinched some of the fabric together at the back of Kit’s shoulders, and then it was perfect.
Disenchanted: The Trials of Cinderella Page 36