Bonded: Three Fairy Tales, One Bond

by Michelle Davidson Argyle

  Cinderella chewed her bottom lip. She had no say in the matter—or at least she had convinced herself so. Something inside of her withered. She was dark and evil and her silence proved it.

  “Agreed,” Rowland said. His shoulders slumped, and he leaned back in his chair. “As long as we continue to look for the real murderer. He can’t be far.”

  The execution took place immediately. It was a public affair, and although William refused to openly admit that Eolande was a sorceress, the preparations for her death made it obvious. Cinderella had heard stories as a child about witches being put to death. She remembered the violent descriptions of the moon turning red and beheadings and fires and screaming so loud it caused some people to go deaf.

  She had never believed the stories until now as she sat outside with Rowland and the king and queen. Cecily sat with them, her eyes wet as she held tightly to a white handkerchief. The execution ground was set away from the castle near a stairwell that emerged from underground.

  “I’m sorry you have to see this,” Rowland muttered as Eolande was brought up the stairs, a black hooded cloak wrapped around her frail figure. She knelt before the royal family. Two guards stood on either side of her.

  Beyond the small stage where the royal family sat, a large crowd of servants and peasants from town observed the proceedings. Many of them called out at random. Some threw rotten vegetables at Eolande’s back as she cowered before the king and queen.

  “I will not spare your life, Madame,” William said as Eolande looked up. Cinderella finally caught sight of her face, and she gasped. The woman appeared even worse than she had in the prison. Her teeth were missing. Her skin was yellow and spotted with brown patches.

  “I do not fear to lose my life, Your Majesty,” she said, cowering lower. Her voice sounded as if her throat had been slashed to shreds. “I only wish to speak with Princess Christina before I die.”

  “The Princess?” William gave Cinderella a questioning look.

  She gave nothing away in her expression as she replied in an icy voice, “I don’t know why.” A cold breeze blew a strand of her hair free, and it caught in her mouth. She yanked it away.

  “I will grant your last wish,” William said to Eolande. “Then we must proceed.” He motioned to the guards to keep near her.

  Eolande stood and walked to Cinderella, who rose to her feet and kept her chin high. She had to appear in her proper station, and with the crown on her head, this was easier. Standing in front of Eolande, however, made it more difficult than usual, especially when the frail woman leaned close and whispered, “Don’t blame yourself for this.”

  Her breath was rancid, but it didn’t disgust Cinderella. A deep sorrow expanded inside her body. It created a darkness that clouded her vision and made her ankles weak. When she looked into Eolande’s opalescent eyes, she saw light and sound and movement like a slow, lilting dance. She saw herself in those eyes, wilting slowly beneath her choices. She saw her mother and father. She heard Kale’s voice and felt Rowland’s hands and a watery horizon beckoning her to jump into nothingness. “I don’t understand.”

  “There is nothing to understand. I have only been here to serve, and my time is over. Please do not blame yourself.” She leaned closer to Cinderella’s face, but the guards yanked her back as she said, “You must control your future now. It is a choice.” The guards pulled her away and led her down the steps to a wood stump where they forced her to her knees and pulled the hood from her bald head. Only a few silver hairs remained over the mottled skin, and as the guards pushed her chin to the wood, a hooded figure stepped forward with a raised blade. A break in the dark clouds released a glimmer of sunlight upon the ghastly scene, and Rowland grabbed Cinderella’s hand and squeezed.

  The blade fell with a loud thwack! Cheers erupted from the ignorant crowd.

  Looking down at her lap, Cinderella concentrated on the brocaded design, the golden swirls snaking back and forth, interlacing like crowns. Rowland’s hand was strong over hers. She thought of duck feet and Fortune’s bloody knife, a child in rags scrubbing the floor, Rose’s weeping in the middle of the night. She had never figured out why Rose cried, but she could only guess it meant Rose felt more deeply than Cinderella was willing to see. She hated herself in that moment. A part of her wanted to die with Eolande. What kind of a person was she to bring so much suffering to others? She squeezed her eyes shut, ashamed. She should be the one on that wood stump, but she was too much of a coward to put herself there.

  She looked up. Eolande’s head and body had already been thrown onto a prepared wood pile a few meters in the distance. A fire was started, and although it seemed impossible, screams lifted from the licking flames. They were louder than any human voice. They shook the sky as everyone covered their ears. Black smoke joined the clouds above.

  That evening, she looked blankly into her mirror as Amie unlaced her dress. Cinderella lifted her arm and sniffed the gown’s material, which reeked of smoke. The air felt different, fragile, since Eolande’s death. Outside, the moon was red.

  “Thank you,” Cinderella said once Amie had helped her into a clean chemise and unpinned her hair.

  Silent and emotionless, Amie curtseyed and left the room. Cinderella slowly sank to the floor, her body drained. The fur rug was slick and cool on her skin as she curled her knees to her chest and closed her eyes. The fire came back. The screams. She looked up at the box containing the vial of blood. She had caused so much death. She felt frail and lifeless, and she knew nothing could fix what she had done.

  A small tapping at the window made her sit up. A shadow moved against the pinkish moonlight. A sprite.

  Cinderella stood and rushed to the window. She opened it wide, shivering in the cold air as the familiar sprite stepped inside. Her white hair fell around her shoulders. Her wings fell open as she sat on the inside sill and motioned for Cinderella to close the window.

  “It’s about time you heard me!” said the tiny woman, and then hung her head. “I’m sorry for Eolande’s death, but I must hurry. I came to warn you.”

  “About Amie?” Cinderella straightened her shoulders. “I wanted to ask you about that. Who else have you shared my secrets with? I don’t recall giving you permission—”

  “They are not your secrets!” the sprite said as she stood and leaned forward. Her wings flashed open and closed. “When you accept a spell as mighty as yours, everyone with magic must know. Each use of magic disrupts the balance, and order must be restored. This is why Eolande’s death was inevitable. These walls knew she must die. It was only a matter of time, and nothing you could have said or done would have changed that.”

  “These walls?” Cinderella looked around. “You mean the castle?”

  The sprite nodded. “We have discovered ancient magic here even we do not understand, and we must abide by it. You must not perform the blood spell here if you decide to follow through. You must travel far away.”

  Cinderella used every ounce of her strength to stay standing. “Is that why Geoffrey died? The castle?”

  “I don’t know, but it is likely.”

  “You said everyone with magic must know what happens. Does that mean Amie has magical powers? Does she know about the castle?”

  The sprite paced the windowsill and clasped her hands behind her back. “I didn’t come here to discuss Amie. She’s apart from us. She’s not allowed to use her magic.”

  Feeling as if she might burst with questions, Cinderella tried to wrap each one tightly closed. She didn’t wish to irritate the sprite or push her away from her intended conversation. Still, she couldn’t help but ask, “Has Eolande’s death broken the spell?”

  “It has only sealed it further, I assure you.” The sprite lifted her finger and shook it at Cinderella. “You’re lucky the spell took hold in the first place!” She glanced around the room. “Inside this structure, such things are rarely secured. Eolande made great sacrifices for you.”

  Cinderella took a step back. “You mean
with her death? Why isn’t Amie allowed to do magic? Why have you warned me of her? Why is the castle—”

  “Enough!” The sprite raised her hand and clicked her tongue. “I am here to tell you only two things. You must not blame yourself for Eolande’s death—she would have died, anyway—and you must not perform magic within these walls. That is all.” She looked up, blinking wildly as the door to Rowland’s bedroom opened.

  “How did you get a bird in here?” he laughed, and Cinderella spun back to the window where the sprite had turned herself into the black sparrow now fluttering against the glass.

  Cinderella twisted the handle and let the creature out into the night, her tiny black body moving swiftly against the red moon.

  “I don’t know,” she mumbled as Rowland came to her. He closed the window and pulled her into his arms.

  “I’m sorry about today. I had hoped you wouldn’t have to endure such things so soon after our marriage.” He looked into her eyes, his expression a sad sort of pleading. “We must show the people we stand behind our decisions—all of us.”

  “Of course.” She looked down.

  “I’m sorry if it hurt you. You’re upset about the whole thing, and I can’t blame you.”

  “No, I understand.” The words felt stiff on her tongue. She stumbled away from Rowland and all of her questions and emotions unraveled inside her so quickly that she nearly collapsed to the floor again, but instead regained her composure and gripped the edge of her vanity. She saw Eolande’s head on the wood stump, the axe’s glinting blade poised above, and before Rowland could gather her into his arms, she buried her face in her hands and finally wept.

  She waited for Rowland to fall asleep before she got out of bed and stood staring at him in the light of the dying fire. His nose cast a long, straight shadow on his cheek, and she almost reached out to touch him, but stopped herself. She wondered what he would look like in thirty years, if he would resemble his father, sound like him, rule like him. She wondered if he would take a mistress too.

  Shivering, she made her way to the wardrobe and put on her overdress. The guard at her door jumped when she opened it. He barred her path and said, “Your Highness, I must accompany you by order of the king.” He cleared his throat when she threw him a sharp glare. “For your protection... with the recent murder....”

  If only he knew he was looking at the murderer. Cinderella handed him her candle and motioned for him to follow her. She kept seeing Rowland’s face in her mind—the long shadow of his nose.

  By the time she reached Isabel’s door, her stomach was in knots. Isabel answered on the third knock and did a small curtsey before her gaze landed on the guard, who had turned his back to them. “Your Highness, is everything all right?”

  She stepped inside and closed the door, keeping her voice lowered since the two other servants were fast asleep. A candle burned near Isabel’s bed, and it cast shadows across the walls. Leaning close to Isabel’s ear, Cinderella explained as quietly as she could what she needed, and Isabel pulled away. The candlelight played in her eyes and made her skin glow a faint orange.

  “I know that’s asking a lot,” Cinderella said as Isabel looked down and fussed with the hem of her sleeve. “But I’ll make it up to you. I’ll get your father out of prison.”

  She looked up. “You can do that?”

  “I’ll try.” Cinderella guessed what might be going through Isabel’s mind and grabbed her delicate hand. “I’m not going to order you to do anything—this is entirely your choice. You know William’s schedule and habits and if it’s possible to get—” she glanced at the sleeping girls and mouthed—the jewel. “You’re the only person I know who is close enough to him to do this for me. I don’t know how else—”

  “If I don’t? If I can’t?”

  “I’ll still try to get your father free, but if you get me what I need it will give me the power to do more.” She hoped that was the case. She imagined her own strength lying dormant within her—strength she suspected Kale would teach her how to use and control. It felt different than her power as a royal family member and future queen. It felt free. She hoped it would shake off the ugliness she felt inside herself of late.

  Isabel’s hand tensed. “Does this involve magic?” The candle flames flickering across her face heightened her fearful expression.

  “No magic,” she lied, and swallowed. “I know the old woman’s execution today has everyone thinking strange things, but I promise this is nothing wicked.”

  “All right.” Isabel turned her back and walked to the small writing desk near her bed. She touched a tightly rolled scroll and hung her head. “I will do anything to get my father out of prison. He’s given better treatment than most, but that is only because of what I do for William. He’s rough with me, and I try to please him, but I’m afraid if he grows tired of me my father may suffer because of it.” She paused and her body trembled. “How much must I give, Your Highness? If I’m caught, William will punish my father as well. I don’t know if I can take that risk.”

  Cinderella’s knees turned weak. She sat on the edge of Isabel’s bed. “I didn’t think of that,” she said, and grew angry with herself for not taking Isabel’s feelings more into consideration. At the same time, a different spark of fury swelled inside her. She looked at the surrounding walls and wondered what kind of magic filled them. It had to be something dark. That would explain the weight she felt on her shoulders, the thick shadows creeping into her mind day after day, the reason Eolande disintegrated so quickly. She tried to shake the tension from her shoulders, but it remained. She wanted to tell Isabel she wouldn’t let any harm come to her or her father, but she knew such a promise was impossible. Instead, she let her curiosity get the better of her and asked, “Can you tell me why your father is imprisoned?”

  Isabel shrugged. “He was part of a group planning to overthrow the royal family. My father believes William’s rule has grown evil.” She turned around. “I hope, Your Highness, that I don’t offend you by saying that. I don’t believe everything my father believes, but William’s rule is turning cruel and oppressive.”

  Cinderella was surprised at the conflicting emotions inside herself. She had begun to understand William and Marion’s points of view, but she also understood Isabel’s father’s ideologies. Perhaps her understanding of both worlds caused Marion’s smile at the fire she had sparked the other day. Perhaps that was why the marriage had been allowed. Perhaps it wasn’t magic at all.

  “So, you won’t help me, then?” Cinderella stood and waited for Isabel’s answer, half hoping for her to refuse, half hoping for her to accept. The thought of losing Kale forever made her throat tighten, but the thought of leaving Rowland did the same. She watched Isabel’s lips open. She wanted to drag the words from her tongue.

  Finally, she said, “I’ll help you, Your Highness. I must meet with William tomorrow evening. I’ll get the jewel for you then.”

  Cinderella lifted a handful of peppercorns to her nose and breathed in the spicy aroma.

  “Better throw them in the soup, Miss Chef,” Fortune said. “Unless you’d like me to tie them up in a little bag for you.”

  “No.” Cinderella tossed the peppercorns into a stockpot boiling on one of the stoves.

  “I do have a small bag for you,” Fortune said, and lowered her voice as she pulled a tiny satchel from her apron pocket. “It’s not peppercorns, but I think something far more valuable. Isabel told me it’s important.”

  Cinderella looked at the tiny bag. She imagined a diamond or ruby or pearl inside, and snatched it from Fortune’s fingers. She fought the urge to open it, and felt an instant rush of fear now that she had all three ingredients for the blood spell. “Why did Isabel give it to you?” she asked as she tried to hide the bag inside her fist.

  Fortune shrugged and stirred the soup with a wooden spoon. “She looked a little worse for wear, and I believe she’s staying in her room. She knew you’d come down here today. Even though,” she said w
ith a long look at Cinderella, “Her Majesty knows of your visits here.”

  “I know. Did she tell you to shoo me out?”

  “No. I think she understands your reasons. She’s a patient woman.”

  Cinderella touched a small earthen bowl and ran her fingers around the rim. If she decided to leave, she would miss Fortune’s laughs and the smell of bread and beef broth with pepper.

  “You’re looking nostalgic again,” Fortune said, and patted Cinderella’s cheek. “I think you should scoot out of here, m’dear. We’re expecting a shipment of flour and vegetables. I hear the carts coming across the bridge.”

  The clink of chains and horse’s hooves drifted through the open doorway. Cinderella thanked Fortune and left the kitchen. Her body felt like a sack of feathers ready to scatter as she clutched the bag in her hand and felt around for the jewel. It was smooth and round, probably a pearl. William had a lot of pearls on his crown, and she hoped Isabel was smart enough to pick one that wouldn’t be missed immediately. She wondered what Fortune had meant by “worse for wear.”

  When she reached her room, she locked the door and went straight to the trunk by her bed. Carefully taking out her mother’s gowns, she stacked them on the rug and ran her hand over their hems and lace and embroidery. She didn’t wish to leave her mother’s things, but she couldn’t see a way to take them with her when she performed the spell. She pulled out a thin box of her mother’s handkerchiefs. A perfume vial lay tucked between them, and she uncorked the top and sniffed the flowery scent— lilacs.

  Everything about her mother seemed magical now. She imagined her surrounded by sprites and stars, her graceful voice like a chorus of tiny bells as she sang.

  Her shoulders drooped, and she recapped the vial and set it back in the box. There were some paintings and a pair of gold satin shoes. Rose had probably sold the jewelry long ago since none of it remained. Tears stung Cinderella’s eyes as she pulled one of the gowns from the pile and pressed it against her chest. The material was soft on her skin. She could feel every stitch and seam.