Cinders: The Untold Story of Cinderella

by Finley Aaron

  “Right this way. I’ll fetch it—we put it in back.”

  By the time the woman returned with her ensemble, Ella had slipped into her skirt and looked, if rather disheveled, at least female.

  Ella thanked the woman and paid her the final deposit plus the rent for the dress (she’d get her deposit back upon the safe return of everything later), and inquired about the bathhouse next door.

  “Yes, they’ll be open all evening. Expecting a rush again later after the ball. They’re not busy now, though. You can dress over there once you’ve bathed.”

  So Ella did. It was an expensive bathhouse, more like a spa, really, but Ella didn’t have time to be frugal. She bathed quickly and braided her hair up, twisting it around her head like a crown. It was smooth from her bath and the scented oils in the water, and by the time she dried off and dressed and put on her jewelry, no one would have cared much what her hair looked like.

  She was a vision.

  I’d gone outside (bathhouses are a bit steamy for fairies—the humidity is heavy on our wings) and found the quickest route to the palace, where the ball was already in full swing. But it would be quite a hike up the hill, and Ella was in borrowed silver shoes.

  I zipped back to camp and pulled loose the rope that held Mirage.

  The horse knew me, of course, and followed quickly (I may have told her something about Ella being in trouble and needing her help). We arrived just as Ella was securing her mask in place over her eyes.

  She stepped outside and saw Mirage waiting for her, then looked at me.

  “It’s quite a jaunt to the palace, and the ball is already underway. Now get going!”

  Ella climbed on the mare’s back and arranged her dress so it wouldn’t rumple much. “I was wondering what I was going to do with my clothes.” She held up the bundle of them she’d tied together. “I can leave them with Mirage in the stables, I guess.”

  She reached the fronts steps of the palace, and there were still guests arriving in carriages. Ella wasn’t sure what to do with Mirage, but a valet came forward and offered to take her around to the stables, so Ella tied her bundle of clothes to the mare’s reins, handed her over, and climbed the steps, alone, to the ballroom.

  There were over a hundred steps. They were shallow steps, but there were still over a hundred of them, and I could see Ella’s uncertainty as she climbed.

  She’d never been to a ball before. She wasn’t even used to being a girl. What if she spoke in a deep voice by accident? What if someone recognized her?

  Honestly, there was little chance of that. Her chain mail usually covered her chin, which was the only part of her face now showing, besides her eyes and mouth and nostrils. She looked like a vision—perhaps a tad rumpled from the ride, and her hair less elaborate than that of many other girls, but still, there was no one more lovely.

  She reached the top of the steps and there were people everywhere—dancing couples spinning in the middle of the ballroom, more couples dancing on the veranda, and all around the sides of the ballroom, tables with food and drinks free for enjoying.

  Ella saw these and realized she was famished. She made her way to a table overflowing with fresh fruit, and she selected several apple slices. She’d only eaten three when she felt eyes upon her, and turned to see Henry.

  Chapter Seventeen

  He was looking at her, and smiled when their eyes met.

  She recognized him immediately, of course, never mind that he wore a mask, and had shaved off every trace of the tawny scruff that usually covered his chin. He stood like Henry and was built like Henry, and had Henry’s sandy brown hair, and Henry’s mouth and teeth and eyes. No little mask covering his forehead and cheekbones could change who he was.

  When she smiled at him, he grinned back, and then began walking toward her.

  Ella’s heart did a panicked little dance inside her. What was she supposed to say? She’d have to keep her voice high—higher than she usually kept it, at least.

  Henry picked up an apple slice and bit into it, still looking at her. He didn’t seem to know what to say, either, but finally went with, “Did you just arrive?”

  “Moments ago, yes,” Ella said lightly—her voice not so high that it would sound unnatural, but not at all low, either. “And you?”

  “I’ve been here an hour. Are you hungry?”

  “Famished.”

  “There’s roast turkey this way, and croissants.” Henry led her away to a table and helped her find food and drink.

  Ella ate delicately, taking tiny bites, using the very best manners just as Madame De Bouchard had always insisted, in great contrast to the informal masculine way she ate when she was dressed as Allard.

  She ate until she thought it would be imprudent to eat any more. There was a fast dance going then, one of those stately group numbers with couples constantly changing partners, always dipping in and out of lines like shuttles on a weaving loom.

  Ella watched the dancers and smiled. She’d practiced the very same dance many times at Madame De Bouchard’s.

  Henry noticed her smile and followed her gaze. “Do you dance?”

  “I do. Do you?”

  “Sometimes.” He chuckled. “I don’t always enjoy it, but tonight, I might. Would you like to join me?”

  “I’d love to.”

  The current song was just ending, and some couples left the floor in search of refreshments, and others took places on the dance floor. Ella stood opposite Henry.

  The music began, first the delicate quiver of strings, followed by the reverberating notes of the horned instruments, which sent a shiver of anticipation racing through Ella.

  She was dancing at a real masquerade! And opposite Henry!

  Just as the first downward beat hit, signaling the start of the dance, another man took a spot in a gap in the line.

  Raedwald.

  Ella stepped forward in time with the music, touching Henry’s hand, dipping, prancing, turning, touching hands with the next dancer, and the next.

  Raedwald made eyes at her as she reached him, hand poised in mid-air.

  It took all her focus not to recoil as his fingers brushed hers. This was the man who’d punched her in the stomach earlier, who’d threatened to beat her bloody in the morning. In his mask, he looked as charming as anyone, and more handsome than most. He was tall—taller even than Henry, which made sense, since he was older than his cousin, who was only just eighteen, and therefore not likely done growing.

  Raedwald had a square jaw that was shown off to great effect by the black mask he wore, and many of the other ladies smiled and batted their eyelashes when he touched their hands. His hair was pale blond, far paler than Ella’s, and of such a distinctive color, it only stood to reason that many of those in attendance recognized him for who he was.

  Perhaps it was because Ella didn’t bat her eyes or simper as the other ladies did. Maybe it was her poise, her dancing skill, or the fact that she looked lovely in her dress. Quite possibly he’d noticed his cousin talking with her, and wanted to make the prince jealous. I wouldn’t have thought he could have recognized her for who she was, not yet, not then, but for whatever reason, Raedwald took an interest in Ella.

  And when the music stopped, the lines of dancers had shifted unevenly, and Ella stood opposite Raedwald instead of Henry.

  “My lady.” Raedwald reached for her hand.

  Ella pulled away, hoping that if she slipped off quickly, he might think she hadn’t heard him or noticed him.

  But Raedwald was much too quick for her. He grabbed her by the wrist. Her rented bracelet bit into the skin rubbed raw by her time in the stocks (the bracelet hid the injuries from sight, but hurt terribly when pressed into her skin by Raedwald’s surprisingly aggressive grip).

  The music picked up again, this time a slower tune for couples dancing.

  “Dance with me,” Raedwald told her, a slight smile frozen to his lips, his eyes hard.

  Ella glanced to Henry, but he was penned
in by a flock of females.

  Raedwald clapped his free hand to Ella’s waist, and spun her in a half-circle in time to the music. As he did so, he slid his hand from her wrist to her palm.

  The bracelet raked her injured skin, but Ella refused to flinch. What if he saw her injured wrists? Would he guess what had scraped them, and make the connection to who she really was?

  She couldn’t take that risk.

  So she danced.

  To her credit, she kept her poise and held her head high. Not even Madame De Bouchard would have been able to find fault with her performance. And for all his lack of civility elsewhere, Raedwald danced exquisitely. He tended to be heavy-footed and forceful—at least, that was how Ella experienced him—but to anyone watching, they danced like a perfect pair.

  Henry didn’t take his eyes off them. Oh, he danced with one of the girls from the flock that had encircled him, but he wouldn’t have been able to tell anyone later what color her eyes were, because he never looked at them. He looked at Ella, dancing with Raedwald.

  Of course he recognized his cousin, and he knew that the masquerade was not an appropriate place for a confrontation. But at the same time, he wanted to pull Ella away from Raedwald and run off with her to a place where Raedwald would never find them.

  That wasn’t an option, though, so he danced over to the band, excused himself from his dance partner, and requested a change of song.

  Moments later, the group dance began again.

  Raedwald let go of Ella, who ducked away on the excuse that she needed a drink. Raedwald might well have followed her, but Henry had collected his flock of females again, and stood directly in his cousin’s path, forming the dance line to include Raedwald.

  And then, once the dance was going and Raedwald was caught up in the steps, Henry slipped away to meet Ella.

  “I’m headed to the garden for fresh air. Care to join me?” he asked her.

  Ella took his arm, and they slipped through the crowd toward the wide paned doors that led to the fountained gardens. Climbing roses curved over archways and covered trellises high above their heads. Between the blooms, the light from the moon poured down. Columns at even intervals were capped with torches, illuminating the gardens with yellow light.

  “I wanted to dance with you,” Henry confessed. “But I couldn’t reach you in time.”

  “I would have preferred to dance with you,” Ella admitted. “That man was…so forceful.”

  “You didn’t care for him?”

  “Not at all.”

  Henry watched her carefully as she spoke, and finally shook his head. “It’s a masquerade, I know. We’re not supposed to recognize anyone, but I feel as though I know you. I just can’t place where or how. Please, could you tell me your name?”

  It had occurred to Ella ahead of time that someone might ask her name. She’d also thought through the fact that her real name—Ella—sounded far too much like Allard. In truth, that was why she’d originally chosen it for her alias—because it sounded so like her name, she’d turn at the sound of it and answer to it without hesitation.

  But for that same reason, she couldn’t give her name as Ella now. It was too much like Allard, and that similarity alone might be enough to spark recognition.

  She’d recognized both Henry and Raedwald easily. The only reason they didn’t recognize her was because they knew Allard as a man. But the sound of her own name, coming from her own lips, would be too close to the truth for her to remain unknown.

  So she knew she’d need a name that sounded different. At the same time, though, it needed to be a name she’d recognize as her own, one she would turn at the sound of, and answer to. So she gave the only other name she had, the pet name her father had given her.

  “Cinderella.”

  “Cinderella,” Henry repeated slowly, mulling the sound of it, searching his memory for any clues to their shared history. Clearly he didn’t recognize it, though, because he asked, “Where do you hail from, Cinderella?”

  “Charmont.”

  “Charmont!” Henry grinned, excited but even more perplexed. “That is my home city as well. Surely I know you. Who are your parents?”

  Ella shook her head. She couldn’t tell him anything more, not without giving away her true identity, and there was far too much on the line for her to risk doing that. “This is a masquerade. We are not supposed to know anything about one another. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair for me to tell you everything about myself. You have not even given me your name.”

  “It’s Hugo.”

  “Hugo of Charmont?” Ella asked, looking innocent, though she knew his alter ego was supposed to be Hugo of Adalaard.

  Henry looked slightly sheepish. “I suppose we should dance.”

  “I would like that.”

  So Henry led her back to the ballroom. Raedwald had by that time sulked off to another room, where he and his friends would drink and complain about Henry and Allard and the state of politics and tournament rules and everything else that didn’t suit them.

  But while they were grumbling, Henry and Ella danced.

  Unlike Raedwald, Ella found Henry to be confident but not overbearing. He didn’t as much lead her across the floor as he glided with her. They moved in time with the music with such perfect grace, they looked almost like trees bending in the breeze, or birds, soaring and swooping in the sky.

  They danced three songs in a row, until the band changed the music back to a group number, and Henry led Ella back to the refreshment table.

  “I can’t recall when I’ve taken such pleasure in dancing,” Henry told her, grinning as he said it.

  “Nor I,” Ella informed him.

  “You must tell me more about yourself,” Henry insisted. “I should like to be able to find you again after tonight.”

  Ella had considered that he might ask for more information, especially after his previous questions, and had used their time dancing to think of an answer she might give him that would not reveal too much.

  It had also occurred to her that it might be useful to give him some clue to who she really was, even if she didn’t want to make it so obvious that he could figure out her identity that very night. Her future was uncertain, but she knew she would cherish Henry’s friendship forever.

  So she answered somewhat cryptically. “My father is a merchant from Charmont.” This much was true, technically, so she didn’t feel bad about saying it. “We’re in Paris for the tournament, and of course, the dance.”

  “What brings a merchant to a tournament?” Henry pressed.

  Here, Ella altered the truth. “I’ve a relative who competes—he’s done quite well today especially, although I fear he’s a controversial figure. I had no idea he was so skilled.”

  “Who is your relative?”

  “He’s a cousin of mine.” Ella said, fighting to keep her composure. Her heart throbbed inside her with such intensity, she feared it might give her away.

  “What’s his name? Perhaps I know him.”

  Ella let her voice float high, far higher than usual, and prayed the words would not sound as they did all the other times she’d ever introduced herself. “Allard of Caprese.”

  Henry’s mouth fell open, and he staggered half a step backward. “Allard!” He repeated, thankfully not too loudly. “I do know him. And, I daresay, I can see the resemblance. Yes, I see it quite clearly now. No wonder you seem familiar to me—you share somewhat of his eyes. And teeth.” Henry looked at her, blinking.

  Ella realized if he looked much closer, he might declare them to be surely more than cousins. “There, now you know far more about me than I ought to have told. I hear the band starting a new song. Shall we dance?”

  They did. They danced until the ball was nearly through. Ella had begun to puzzle how she might get away, since Mirage was in the stables as doubtless Bastian was as well, and she didn’t suppose she could claim that her cousin had lent her his horse for the evening. That wouldn’t make sense at all.

/>   But there was a room set up with chamber pots behind screens for the ladies, and Ella made the excuse of needing to visit that room, then slipped away through another door to the stables, having told Henry she’d meet him near the food shortly.

  She rode swiftly into town, and between us, we were able to find the dress shop again without too much trouble (it helped that it was one of very few shops still lit up at that hour, and I flew high above the buildings to spot it). There she changed from her gown into her plain dress, and got refunded her deposit.

  She stopped again in an empty alley to put her hair up under her cap, and switch from a skirt to pants.

  Only once she looked like Allard again did she ride into camp and find her tent.

  Sigismund had returned earlier and was fast asleep.

  Ella closed her curtain and lay back on her pallet, her heart still racing from the excitement of the evening. It occurred to her that Henry might question her about Cinderella, the cousin she’d never before mentioned, so she tried to think of what she might tell him.

  She was still puzzling the question when her exhaustion overtook even her excitement, and she fell hard asleep.

  “Allard!” Henry shook her arm, and she sat up with a jolt.

  It was quite dark in the tent. “What? What is it?”

  He’d never awakened her before—never stepped past the curtain when she had it closed.

  “Are you alive, Allard? Are you hurt badly? Do I need to take you to the medical tent?” Henry spoke quickly. He was panting, and sounded shaken.

  “I’m alive. Not hurt badly.” She was completely disoriented, having been jerked out of a sound sleep, and couldn’t think what Henry was talking about. “What’s this about?”

  “Was he lying, then? Richard said he put you in the stocks.”

  Ella noticed that Henry didn’t bother with his cousin’s pseudonym. Well, they were quite alone, and he was upset, so she supposed it didn’t matter. “He did put me in the stocks. He wasn’t lying about that.”

  “And he said he punched you silly while a group of other men held you, and he was coming back to beat you to a bloody pulp in the morning.”