Bonded: Three Fairy Tales, One Bond

by Michelle Davidson Argyle

  Rose appeared from the crowd next. Her cheeks mimicked her name. Her fluttering movements made her emerald green dress slide along the floor, and the sound traveled up the material all the way to her throat as she curtseyed and said in an airy, billowing voice, “Your Royal Majesties, I am honored you have allowed us to speak today.” She stood in front of Lucy and Edith now, her tall frame a dark, spindly tree between their bright dresses.

  William leaned forward and put his fingertips beneath his chin. “I hear your land is in trouble?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” Rose’s cheeks drained of color. “The new enclosure laws require me to surrender my land for sheep since I cannot afford to keep my farmers working.”

  “I know what the laws require of you,” William said coldly. “You’ve squandered your fortune on who knows what, probably mismanagement, and now you’re forced to surrender even more so you can survive. I see no issue here except that you’re asking for aid.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty, that is why I am here.”

  Cinderella stared intently at Rose, willing her to look in her direction, but she did not. She stood so rigidly Cinderella thought she might snap in half. Lucy and Edith wrung their hands, and she measured the weight of their situation. When her father died, he had left Rose all of his land until a male heir took over. Technically, that male heir was Rowland, who, with Cinderella’s blessing, had allowed Rose to keep the land as her own until either Edith or Lucy married. It was a kind gesture that had made Cinderella feel generously influential. But without profit from their land, Rose and Lucy and Edith would eventually have to surrender the house and the livestock and most of their possessions, leaving them with nowhere to go.

  Now, sliding her focus down Rose’s figure, Cinderella wondered how much physical labor the woman had to do herself. Did she feel guilty for starving her stepdaughter three nights a week or regret whipping her aching legs? Did she still cry into her pillow at night? Cinderella had never known why she cried, but it had always made her sad no matter how much Rose hurt her.

  William lowered his fingers from his chin. “As you can see, Lady Plimmswood, Princess Christina is here to settle your case. I have decided she will choose the fate of your land and fortune.” He cleared his throat. “Considering past circumstances.”

  Rose finally moved her attention to Cinderella, who read many things in her stepmother’s expression. Like a wind whipping leaves to and fro, she appeared frightened and hopeful and angry all at the same time.

  Cinderella thought of William taking advantage of Isabel while her father wasted away in the prison down below. She thought of Eolande calling Christina, Christina. She thought of her mother sitting in a meadow surrounded by white flowers, singing, “Lavender’s blue, dilly, dilly....” She looked at Rowland, who gave her an encouraging smile. You are royalty, his expression said. You have power.

  She felt the weight of the crown on her head, the weight of the decisions that had brought her here, the weight of a strap cutting into her flesh, the weight of Rose’s eyes staring her down. It seemed hers were the only eyes in the room.

  Cinderella stood.

  She squared her shoulders. She was glad Amie had put her in such a fine gown. It made Rose’s entire presence pale in comparison.

  “You may keep your home and one fifth of your land,” she said loudly with the same air of importance she had mustered in the kitchen and outside the prison. She was surprised at how little she was leaving the woman and her daughters. A part of her wanted to take everything away and keep her father’s home as her own. “But the rest will be given to....” She looked at the king, confused as to how she should proceed. She couldn’t believe he had thrust this on her.

  “To the crown for the good of the kingdom.” he finished for her, and turned to Rose. “I will offer some compensation, Madame, to help keep the rest of your land in production, if Christina wishes. I trust you will be more frugal in the future. We will move on.”

  Cinderella sat once more. She looked at the deep red carpet, a ribbon of blood.

  His voice was pure, like bubbling water down a spring brook. It ran from his mouth and warmed her head to toe as she sat on a rock to watch him sing. The colors in his eyes shifted with the moving clouds above. The damp soil seeped moisture through her worn shoes, but she didn’t feel it until after he was gone.

  He sang the same words her mother used to sing. He helped her remember the first time she opened her eyes, the first time she touched her mother’s cheek and smiled.

  “Lavender’s blue, dilly, dilly, lavender’s green,

  When you are queen, dilly, dilly, I shall be king.

  Who told you so, dilly, dilly, who told you so?

  ’Twas my own heart, dilly, dilly, which told me so.”

  She touched his hand when he finished and smiled at the white flowers he had put in his short, messy hair. His skin appeared magical, how it caught the light like a gemstone, how it covered a shimmering being beneath it.

  “You are special, Cinderella,” he said, touching her hair. It seemed to move under his touch, wrapping itself around his fingers, and this didn’t surprise her. “You are meant for great things.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly that.”

  “How do you know to call me Cinderella?”

  He let go of her hair and it fell limply back to her shoulders. “It is what you wish to be called. She called you that. It makes you think of beautiful things, like gardens and vines and petals.” He pulled a white flower from his hair and pressed it to her lips. He whispered, “Remember me.”

  She sat up in bed, Rowland sound asleep beside her.

  Worried she might miss Isabel, she hurried through the castle, almost running. Isabel had said she would wait for her on the second stairwell down to the prison.

  The air was cold, just as before, and she was shivering by the time she reached Isabel.

  “Oh, Your Highness, I’m happy you made it. I’ve been waiting a long time.”

  Following her down the stairs, Cinderella wrapped her arms around her middle in an attempt to hold in some warmth. It didn’t work. Her feet were ice. Her teeth began to chatter, and when she finally reached the bottom, she almost wished she was back in bed. The thought of seeing Eolande kept her moving.

  When they reached the guard station, she stopped in her tracks. The burly guard she had feared would be waiting for them was collapsed on the floor, a cup held loosely in his hands. From the rim, wine snaked through the soft dirt to the wooden door.

  Cinderella stuttered, “What happened to him?”

  “Only a little something I slipped into his drink.” Isabel stopped and turned to face her, her eyes widening. “Your Highness, I trust you’ll not breathe a word of this to anyone. If William finds out, he’ll have my head.”

  “Of course not!”

  Isabel leaned down to whisk the keys from the guard’s belt, and then quickly unlocked the door. The prison was colder than the stairwell. Cinderella held her candle up high, and in the dim light she saw the wispy puffs of her breath dissolving into the darkness.

  Silence filled the air except for an occasional murmur or cough, a water drip, a clanking chain. The ground was rough and wet. Enclosing her and Isabel on both sides, barred cells reached up to a high ceiling. With her free hand, Cinderella covered her nose as Isabel urged her to walk faster. They rounded a corner, and tiny square openings near the ceiling let in bars of moonlight and fresh air. Cinderella breathed in as much of it as she could.

  “Here she is, Your Highness—the old woman, Eolande, as you call her.” Isabel stopped at the last cell.

  “Who is it?” a scratchy voice asked from the back of the cell. “Is that Christina? Can it be?”

  One beam of moonlight shone inside, lighting up half of a woman’s body moving closer to the bars. Cinderella dropped to her knees and pushed her candle between the bars, trying to see inside the cell. The woman was not as she remembered.

  “Christi
na?” she said again, reaching her hand out. “Christina?”

  “Yes, it’s me.” She pulled her candle back and set it on the ground. She pushed her arm through the bars and took hold of Eolande’s hand. It felt fragile. She didn’t dare squeeze.

  Eolande’s entire face came into the candlelight, and Cinderella gasped. She looked over her shoulder to see Isabel’s reaction, but she had disappeared, probably to go see her father. Eolande shook her head. “It’s all right, my dear. I know what you must be thinking.”

  “What have they done to you?” Cinderella saw two images in her mind; the Eolande she had first met in the shadowy darkness of her room—a tall, beautiful woman who seemed to be made more of light than anything else, and then, when actual sunlight broke across the horizon, an old woman with cherry-tinged cheeks and a twinkle in her eye. Neither of these images represented what she saw now, a skeleton of a woman so thin and aged she looked as if she belonged to the worn stone walls. Her skin was gray, her eyes dull and lifeless. Her hair had fallen out in clumps, leaving only strings to cover her baldness, and this revealed something Cinderella had never noticed before—Eolande’s pointed ears. Stunned for a moment, Cinderella blinked and then focused on Eolande’s smile. It was the only recognizable thing about her, still as bright as ever. The sight of that smile pleased Cinderella, but seeing it on such an altered face also wrenched her heart. Tears stung her eyes.

  “My dear, sweet girl,” Eolande said quietly. “Just look at you. The crown on your head, your soft hands, your hair. How beautiful you’ve grown in such a short time.”

  “I owe it all to you, Eolande.” She squeezed her hand as much as she dared. “It’s everything you said it would be. I’m very happy, except that you’re down here and...” She couldn’t bring herself to say anything unpleasant about her situation. She desperately wanted to tell Eolande about the stranger, how her dreams kept bringing him up, how her heart ached to see him again even though she had no idea who or what he was. She was happy with Rowland, but something inside of her stirred and strained, and it felt connected to the stranger. She had to know why.

  “You’re not completely happy,” Eolande said, and sadness filled her eyes. “I’ve given you what you thought you wanted, but it’s not enough.”

  “No, no, I’m grateful to you. I don’t know how I can ever repay you, and now here you are in this terrible prison, and I feel helpless to get you out. How did you get here? How—with all your magic and protections....”

  “Ah, you don’t understand, child. The spells I wove for you were so heavy and complex, I was drained for days. The spell still keeps you protected. It surrounds the king and queen, keeps you in their favor. Especially Rowland. You must know this, child. And you must have realized by now that these things come with a cost.”

  She dropped Eolande’s hand. She felt sick inside as she remembered what Eolande’s magic had done. She remembered entering the ballroom for the first time. Her dress, as light as air, glowed against her skin. As she walked through the doorway, past the footmen who were supposed to announce each guest as they came in, silence fell upon every pair of lips. Nobody recognized her except Rose and Lucy and Edith. Groups parted to let her through. Rose tried to bar her path, but like everyone else, she seemed unable to speak, and an unseen force made her step back to let Cinderella walk by unharmed. Rowland was the only object of the evening, the only aim.

  Eolande’s voice broke through her thoughts. “It was a few days after your wedding. I was trying to recover in the woods near your stepmother’s home when some men found me.”

  “No,” Cinderella said, half in a daze. “What did they do?”

  “The sun was down, you understand. I was—”

  “Beautiful.” Cinderella squeezed her eyes shut. She guessed what had happened, but the old woman continued anyway.

  “They thought I was for the taking, and they were greedy and rough. They couldn’t understand why I didn’t scream for help. They couldn’t understand why the magic I managed to weave went so wrong that the trees caught fire.” Her eyes widened. In the blue moonlight, they looked like pools of ice. “I was so angry. I wanted to kill them all.”

  Cinderella swallowed. “Were they hurt?”

  “One of them caught fire, and he screamed so loudly he made me cry. By that time, the forest was burning out of control and the man was nothing but charcoal. Didn’t you see the smoke? Oh, you must have been away. It was only two days after your wedding.”

  “We didn’t go anywhere. Except for attending Rowland’s balls, I stayed in my room for two weeks before I dared go into other parts of the castle.”

  “You poor girl. All of this is so new to you, so frightening. But it is what you wanted, and there is only more to come. You understand this, I hope.”

  “I didn’t understand what this would do to you, Eolande. I’m so sorry.” Tears choked her words. “Did they bring you here for the man’s death?”

  “Yes, and for dark magic. Sorcery, they call it, although most will not admit that such a thing exists. They must protect themselves, anyway.” She hung her head. Her greasy strings of hair fell over her face. “I’ve never felt such darkness in me before. Perhaps they were right to imprison me. In here, I have no power, and I am not sure why.”

  Cinderella grabbed her hand once more and pulled it through the bars to touch her cheek. It was warmer than she expected. “You don’t deserve to be here. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life, the way you transformed me, and Rowland loves me in such a way that it feels real. How can that be bad? How can it be bad that you saved me from Rose and my stepsisters? You gave me my every wish.”

  “I can build only on what is already there,” she said. “Of course nothing about you is bad, my dear, and nothing I did for you was bad. That’s not what I meant.”

  “You aren’t what they say. A girl in the kitchen told me they tried to put you to death, but you survived.”

  Eolande raised her eyes to the beam of moonlight. Cinderella looked behind her shoulder at the small opening where stars flickered in the dark sky. Blocking part of the light, sitting on the ledge, was a small sparrow, black as pitch.

  “They have not tried an execution so far,” Eolande muttered. “There’s only one way for mortals to kill me, and it’s not pleasant for me or the killer.”

  Cinderella wanted to ask what that was, but decided against it. Eolande was as much a mystery to her as the stranger. With him, she had asked no questions concerning what he was, and like him, she was certain Eolande was not human, especially now that she had seen Eolande’s pointed ears. Yet there were so many human traits about her that she was a sort of mother or grandmother, the way she had stroked Cinderella’s hair the first time she appeared at her bedside, the way she always clicked her tongue, as if to say, If only you had the wisdom of my years.

  “Even if there is only one way for you to die,” Cinderella said with a lump in her throat, “I want to get you out of here. This place is—”

  “Your Highness, we must go soon. He’s stirring.”

  She jumped at the sound of Isabel’s voice, and turned to see her standing a few meters away, her face broken into streaks from the moonlight through the bars.

  “One moment.”

  “Your Highness, we don’t have a moment. If he wakes—”

  “One moment, Isabel.” Eolande’s voice came out strong and loud, like rolling thunder. She grabbed Cinderella’s hand. “If you want to be with him again, you must do three things.”

  “Who are you talking about?” She knew it shouldn’t surprise her that Eolande knew about the stranger, but it did, and a joy brighter than she had felt in months surged through her. Her skin warmed. Her very soul stirred and rose as if from a deep sleep, opening itself at the thought of seeing him again.

  “You know who I mean. You have not fallen deeply in love with the prince as quickly as I expected. Something inside of you longs to discover the other man, be with him, and I am bound to aid your wishe
s.” She leaned forward, her nose poking between the bars, her breath the smell of wet wood. “You must gather together three things. First, your fur shoes. I assume you still have them?”

  “Of course.” They were wrapped in suede at the bottom of a trunk close to her bed. She had not taken them out since the servants had packed them away.

  “Second, you must procure a vial of blood.”

  “Blood?” She imagined pricking herself with a knife, squeezing her finger.

  “Yes, blood, and it must be fresh when you collect it. It must be human, from an unwed man and woman in love. They must not know you have taken it.”

  Cinderella breathed, “Oh,” and tried to pull her hand away, but Eolande held fast.

  “And the third thing, the one with which you must be the most careful....”

  “Yes?” She wasn’t sure what to expect. She was still stuck on the previous task, wondering how she was going to get blood from anyone.

  Wincing, she focused on Eolande’s chipped teeth and cracked lips as she said, “You must steal a jewel from the king’s crown.”

  3

  Things

  It snowed the morning of Rowland’s birthday. When Cinderella pushed open the window, powdery ice crystals had gathered on the ledge. They were so fine they looked like white dust, a spotless blanket except for two sets of tiny footprints with miniscule toes and perfectly round heels. She would have to tell Amie a sprite had visited that morning. She wondered what one looked like, if its wings were waxy or transparent, if its body would be delicate or hardy to block out the winter winds.

  “What are you doing, my love?” Rowland sat up in bed and squinted in the sunlight. A quick gust blew away the snow and footprints on the ledge, and Cinderella closed the window.

  “Looking at the snow. I hope it doesn’t affect the banquet and ball tonight.”

  He laughed. “Yes, of course it would snow on my birthday, but don’t worry. Geoffrey should be close enough that snow won’t affect his travels. He should arrive this morning.”