I can’t say I was sorry.
I never got to see the results of my pranks. Usually I sent my little friends to hide in my sister’s beds or drawers. I heard them scream, but I made sure not to be around at the time, so it was harder to prove that it was my fault.
This moment was a thing of absolute beauty.
Gwyn spilled a spoonful of soup down her entire front. After wanting her corset tied so tight, Cerra was red-faced and gasping. My stepmother was trying to garble out something about how they had never had a mouse problem before, never ever! As a bonus, Lisitha was sobbing out, “Mama, it touched me, something touched me!” She sounded like a two-year-old.
Mr. Hassari had recovered quickly. He was still standing. His eyes followed something on the ground and he moved to crush it.
“No!” I breathed.
He quickly looked up again, meeting my eyes. He kept his foot still and we had a silent understanding.
But my stepmother looked at me with triumph. “It was you,” she said. “You did this. You little goblin trickster, you can speak to vermin, can’t you? You’re the reason the traps are always empty. You tell them what to do and they invade our house, our beds and our kitchens by your will.”
“I just don’t like to kill things,” I said.
“Every goblin likes to play tricks,” another one of the guests put in, a stead gentleman who was one of our neighbors. “That is well known. They have little spells they use to filch things and make a fool of other races.”
“Go back upstairs, Ella,” my stepmother said, in a voice that was forged from steel. She had been waiting to catch me at something like this for years. She was definitely going to beat me bloody. Maybe she was even going to turn me out on the street.
So what did I have to lose, at this point?
“Very well,” I said. “I did it. I told every rodent and bug in this house to come mess up this dinner party, because you bloody well deserve it. My father loved me. I was his own flesh and blood. And then you marry him, you and your stupid, mean, ugly daughters, and a year later, he’s dead, and I wouldn’t be surprised at all if you killed him. Since I was twelve years old, you’ve made me sleep in an attic, shivering all winter, sweating all summer. You make me clean your rooms and fix your daughter’s hair so they can go out to parties while I am trapped at home, dressed in cast-offs, fed the scraps of the elegant meals you buy with my father’s money. You treat me like a rat, so why should you be surprised if the rats are my friends and I like them better than you? But you are the rat.”
By this time, our gentleman neighbor had gotten up to try and remove me from the room, and Mr. Hassari got up too. He helped the man usher me out. I could hear my stepmother huffing and making excuses and everyone agreeing with her that she had done the best she could with an unruly orphan.
“Unruly?” I screamed, still trying to claw back toward the room. “Unruly and sickly at the same time? How talented I must be!” Now that I’d let it all out, I had thrown sense out the window entirely.
It had been bubbling up inside me for a very long time.
“I’ll see to this,” Mr. Hassari told the neighbor. The man nodded, pulling the dining room’s pocket doors shut behind him.
“You had better go before it gets worse,” Mr. Hassari said. He put a small box in my hand and mouthed, I will return.
I rushed to my room and pulled off Gwyn’s dress. Then I stomped on it several times. Then I started to cry. I flopped onto the floor, shaking and sniffling, and opened the box.
Some exotic scent wafted out. There was a little white piece of paper folded up into a pouch with a seal. I opened it and found tiny red-yellow strands. I remembered this fragrance from childhood.
Saffron. The most expensive spice in the world.
Vague memories stirred. I remembered my father talking about saffron when I was a little girl. He was excited about it. He had bought part of a saffron farm, hadn’t he? What happened to it? Had it ever made money? I didn’t remember any discussion of saffron when he died. And yet, what child really pays attention to an adult babbling over some distant investment?
Still, a speculation was beginning to form. Mr. Hassari had been one of his business partners. Maybe the saffron had made money after all. And maybe that money was meant for me.
Mr. Hassari probably didn’t expect to find me in such a state. But why didn’t he say anything? Was he worried my stepmother might find a way to seize the money?
It was not an unreasonable assumption.
I don’t dare hope. I don’t dare hope. I have hoped too many times…
“You little wench.”
My morning was not the sort of atmosphere where hopes are cultivated.
My stepmother hauled me out of bed early—so early that I knew she had not slept for thinking of punishing me.
“What is this?” She was holding the box of saffron. “This is what Mr. Hassari gave you?” She opened the paper and the saffron scattered all over the floor.
“Do you know what that is?” I cried. “You don’t, do you? You married a spice merchant and you don’t even like spices. Saffron was one of my father’s favorites, but I bet you never knew that either. We used to have a cook who made the most wonderful, fragrant dishes and now all you eat is boiled this and boiled that.”
It enraged her when I talked about Father. “What do you have to say for yourself?” she asked sharply.
“It was worth every moment,” I said.
She gripped my arm. The leather strap in her hand came down hard against the back of my knees. I bit back a scream, my fangs digging into my lip until they drew blood, and she didn’t even pause. She rained a whipping down on me until I could only cower on my straw mattress, shuddering, waiting it out, while pain striped my legs and back.
When she had tired herself out, she stood over me, breathing hard, and ground out, “That’s it, girl. I have fed you and clothed you all these years; I have done my duty as best I could with such a wicked child. You are a woman now. Too old for the beatings I can give you. The work house will be happy to have you.”
“But what about Mr. Hassari?” I asked.
“What about him? You didn’t speak to him, did you?”
“He wanted to see me. He gave me a gift. And he was one of father’s business partners. I believe he has some of Father’s long-lost assets—a saffron farm. That’s why he’s here.”
“A farm?” she said, condescendingly.
“Madam, don’t you know? Saffron is worth its weight in gold. Maybe more. But obviously he remembers me fondly. If he comes back and I’m not here, why shouldn’t he just slip back onto his ship and keep the saffron for himself? Clearly you were none the wiser about it all this time.”
Wheels turned behind her eyes. She was slightly stuck. She wanted money, but she didn’t want to see a single gold coin go to me. It chafed her that she needed to be nice to me in order to court the wealthy merchant. “Behave yourself,” she said.
A day passed, and then another. I waited eagerly for Mr. Hassari’s promised return. My stepmother went out a lot during these days, and I had a worry that she was cooking up some scheme. But I was hopeful, despite myself. Mr. Hassari told me he would come back, and he would.
At midweek, Ferthin the egg-seller boy came to the back door as he always did. He handed me a box of eggs packed in straw, glancing behind him. Then he grinned at me, a little shyly. “Open it before anyone sees you,” he whispered.
“What?”
“A man asked me to give you a note.”
“Oh.”
I started to take the eggs in, and Ferthin doffed his cap to me. “If you leave town, it’s been nice doing business with you.”
“If I—leave?”
“Read the note,” he said.
I opened the box and plucked out the note, reading quickly. The cook was out doing the bulk of the shopping, but I didn’t want to dawdle just in case.
Dear Miss Ellara,
Your father intended for you to be genero
usly provided for, so you could marry well and have a good life. He hoped your stepmother would care for you until you came of age, at which time you would inherit his spice holdings overseas. I do not think it worked out as he intended. I have been investigating the situation and it seems that your stepmother has already seized and spent most of his money. But there is one holding left, the one he and I partnered on. It was not profitable at the time, but it has become so in subsequent years. Half of my saffron farms should be yours.
I know your stepmother will try to block you from your remaining inheritance. I suspect she altered his will, and you have no birth records in the town court. I would guess that was also her doing. If I give you the money that is owed to you and you stay in Wyndyr, I believe she will take legal action against you and attempt to prove your illegitimacy. It would be for the best if you sailed home with me. You can start a new life in Cabria as a wealthy woman, well out of her reach. I will send my man for you on Saturday night while your sisters are at the prince’s ball to escort you to the docks.
Your friend and your father’s associate,
Ebo Hassari
I clutched the letter. I could hardly wait for Saturday. To leave this place forever? I could think of nothing better, except that I wouldn’t see my stepfamily’s faces when they realized I was gone, and they would never see me gloat over my piles of gold. Quite unfortunate. But I wouldn’t rest easy about it until I was on that ship.
Saturday night could not come soon enough.
Chapter Four
Prince Ithrin
A bold knock rattled my door. That was my brother. No one else still dared to bang on my door in such a way.
I shoved the spell book in a drawer. “Go away,” I said. “I still have two hours.”
“The ladies are already gathering outside,” he said. “Come on. I want to know which ones you’re genuinely interested in. I’ll leave those alone.”
I opened the door. “I’m not interested in any of them.”
“Two hours?” he said. “You don’t have two hours. You have to get ready.”
I blinked patiently.
“Or—is that what you’re wearing?” He poked my black wool sleeve. “Are you in mourning?”
“In mourning for my unwed solitude, yes. I already indulged Father once, going to Princess Bethany’s travesty of an engagement ball. And I must have spoken to twenty different princesses while I was there. I am fully aware that I’m the eldest son and that I need to implant a baby in some womb or other, but as far as I’m concerned, you might as well dance with all of them and choose one for me. I can’t fall in love in one night within the confines of some ridiculous ball.”
He looked at me, slightly aghast, and then walked into my room without waiting for an invitation and sank into a chair. “Ithrin. Of course you’re not going to find a woman if you’ve already decided this is some sort of…torture buffet.”
“Whoever I choose, I’m going to be spending the rest of my days with her, sharing my bed with her. I just don’t know how to—I mean, I don’t have anything in common with princesses.”
“Are you…I mean—are you sure you’re not more into men?”
I didn’t even glorify that with a response. He had never seen me make a pass at a man anymore than a woman. He knew, like the rest of the court knew, that I was a man lost down a dangerous path. I couldn’t resist my calling any more than Wrindel could resist flirting with every girl who batted her lashes at him.
No one spoke it aloud.
Dark magic.
I claimed to have a passing interest in mage-craft. But everyone knew that long ago, it had gone beyond that.
“It’s not that big of a deal, is it?” my brother pressed. “Just to have fun for a night? Father is letting you choose between every girl in the realm. Who knows what might show up? These won’t just be princesses. You might fall in love with a member of a theater troupe.”
“Is that supposed to comfort me?” I asked. “I don’t want a scandalous bride. I don’t want any bride. I don’t want to fall in love. It never ends well. I don’t want to choose. Father is trying to make me happy and it isn’t going to work.” I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t think I am unaware of what this is really about. He wants to quell the rumors.”
“He needs to quell the rumors,” Wrindel said gravely. “The rumors are true.”
“It’s too late for me to stop.”
“They’re dead.” Wrindel practically begged me now. “Mother, Seldana, Jiriel…they’re all dead and they wouldn’t want to see you like this.”
I paced to the window, retreating into silence. The dark magic had gone beyond my childhood dreams of bringing them back, or finding their spirits in the realms beyond. It was a fascination and an addiction. The realms of the dead whispered to me now. I should never have been a prince. I should have been a sorcerer, who could hole myself up in some remote corner of the realm and experiment, left to my own devices.
Wrindel practically stomped toward me and grabbed my shoulders. “I’m your little brother. Your only brother, now. The throne is yours and neither of us can help that. I could stab you in the back and some of the kingdom might be relieved if I took your place. You could reject the throne and plunge yourself into scandalous exile. But I don’t want that. Neither of us really want that—I know you care about this country. I am, however, tired of putting up with your shit. It’s only one ball, one night, one girl. Indulge your people and try to act like you’re having fun for once in your life. Come on and take a look. Wave to the crowd. Those girls don’t know yet that you’re the dourest man who ever lived. They’re out of their mind with excitement to meet you. Don’t ruin it. It won’t kill you to give them a night of happiness, and it wouldn’t kill you to have a night of happiness yourself.”
I sighed, allowing him to lead me toward the balcony. “Just so you are aware, I’m only doing this so you will leave me alone.”
We stepped out together onto the ornate balcony. Water cascaded past the window from the upper pool of the castle, falling into the moat below, which doubled as a sort of water garden, with blooming flowers, lily pads, and silver-blue fish. The second we appeared, a chorus of screaming came from across the water. The drawbridge was pulled up so the ladies couldn’t swarm the castle before the ball officially opened, but there they were. A hundred of them at least.
Wrindel threw up a hand and waved.
I pulled his hand down. “Don’t encourage—“
I broke off at the sound of a splash. I don’t know if the girls were pressing in on each other so much that someone fell, or if she jumped, but there was one elegant coiffure ruined, one ball gown turned into a heavy, sodden mass of petticoats. She spat out water and staggered toward the bank, looking close to tears.
“I call the first dance for you, darling!” Wrindel called, pointing at her. “I like your spirit.”
The crowd of girls cheered. The soaked girl lifted her hands in triumph.
Well, Wrindel was right about one thing. Clearly, these were not princesses.
“I’m going back inside,” I said. “This already feels like a long night and the sun is still in the sky.”
Chapter Five
Ellara
Of course, my sisters were particularly high maintenance before the ball. They were very put out because they had ordered a professional hair dresser and she canceled at the last moment—no doubt offered more money by some other rich girl. I braided and pinned and perfumed and dusted gold powder on their heads, sewed last-minute ribbons on their dresses and squeezed them into their gowns in what seemed a defiance of the very laws of nature.
But for once, I was glad to be busy, because it kept my mind off of my own business.
The only potential hitch in my escape was that my stepmother was not going to the ball, of course. I had a plan for her, but it was not the sort of thing I usually attempted.
I had picked up every last strand of saffron from the floor and put it back in the paper, gi
ven it to Ferthin and begged him to trade it for a sleeping potion. He came through—or at least, I hoped he did. I wouldn’t really know until I tested it. I would give it to my stepmother when she had her evening wine.
If that didn’t work, I would have to sic the mice on her, which I hated to do because I feared she might kill them.
“Ouch!” Gwyn pretended I had stuck her with a pin. “You clumsy oaf.”
I decided that when I was a rich woman in Cabria, and lived in some airy estate, I would commission a portrait of myself standing in front of my mansion just to send home. It would be the only gift I ever gave them.
Finally, it was time for them to leave. Out my attic window, I watched them climb into a hired carriage with gilded doors. My stepmother had spent a pretty bit of coin on that, and I wondered if the prince would even notice their arrival. And then I gazed for a moment at other carriages going by, and glimpsed other ladies peering out of curtains, young women with faces full of excitement and hope. Others were walking by, perhaps able to afford a gown but not a carriage. I would bet some of them rented their gowns. No one would pass up an opportunity to dance with Prince Ithrin. The whole city was infused with the air of a holiday.
For a moment, I had a pang of jealousy.
I don’t care, I told myself.
Princes! What a lot of talk over nothing. I imagined princes were just ordinary men with crowns. And I never thought about men, confined as I was.
Well… I bit my lip. I did get such fuzzy feelings when Ferthin was nice to me, and sometimes—thought I hated to admit it—I found myself watching the postman, who was twice my age and not even very handsome, but very tall with a crooked, reluctant smile that made receiving it feel like quite a prize. And then there was the book I had found shoved under Gwyn’s bed, with the pictures of slender elves tangled together in some very creative positions that made me blush all the way down my body… I could not help but wonder, sometimes, what it would be like to dance—to be held close—
The Goblin Cinderella Page 3