Soot and Slipper

by Kate Stradling

  “Why should I go at all?” Eugenie asked.

  The pointed face thrust near her, the otherworldly eyes glimmering. “Because you want to. Because you’re slowly dying here and you don’t even know it. Because there’s a whole sparkling world beyond this nook where you live, and your heart yearns to explore it but you chain your body here out of a duty you don’t owe and that no one will ever repay you.”

  The words washed through her, keen and cutting. She swallowed against rising emotions, blinking rapidly.

  A dream. This was only a dream. In the morning, she would look back at it and laugh.

  The fairy grinned on a grunt. “I’m right, aren’t I? I’ve watched you long enough. I know what lies in your heart. Let me help you.”

  Eugenie abandoned any pretense of coyness. “If I let you ‘help’ me, I get punished for it later to restore the balance. I know how fairy magic works.”

  A beleaguered sigh wrenched from the creature’s throat, her expression contorted. She spun on one dainty foot and paced to the stone bench, then back again. “Fine. You’re not the one I’m helping. You’re the punishment I’m using to restore balance. Are you happy now? Keep to the boundaries I set, and you won’t fall into any fairy consequences.”

  “Who are you punishing?” Eugenie asked in concern. “I can’t help you do that. And even if I were the punishment, doesn’t your act of helping me only start the cycle over again?”

  “So many questions,” the fairy muttered, kicking the ground. “I thought you’d leap at the chance, but no.” Her gaze hardened. “Eugenie Vivienne, I can’t punish you. You’ve already been punished and you don’t even know it. And if the world stays out of balance much longer, I’m the one who gets to suffer for it.”

  It was all tosh, a fairy using every persuasion she could to get her way. Still, the chill in Eugenie’s spine redoubled. She shook her head to clear away the compulsive words.

  A wheedling plea emerged next. “It’s only a party, three or four hours at most by the time you get there.”

  That was true enough. Plus, the fairy knew her name. If she wanted to cast mischief against her, she could.

  And, after all, Eugenie did want to go to the masquerade.

  “But I don’t have a costume,” she said.

  The dimples returned in full force. “That is easily done. A costume and carriage, in return for your promise to be home before the clock strikes twelve. Do we have a deal? Not a deal,” she corrected before Eugenie could protest. She pinched the bridge of her sharp nose with delicate fingers. “Do you understand the boundaries?”

  This was a terrible idea. Or a brilliant one. Eugenie wasn’t quite sure which. “What happens if I don’t come home in time?”

  “Your costume and carriage melt into fairy dust and you have to walk all the way back.”

  That didn’t sound so bad—if the fairy was telling the truth.

  But she seemed sincere, and the longer they bartered, the less time Eugenie would have to enjoy the spectacle of a royal masquerade. Perhaps if she’d had more sleep she would have resisted more staunchly.

  “All right, then. I’ll go.”

  Surprise—joy, anticipation, giddy elation—leapt to the creature’s face. She squealed and clapped her hands. “I knew you would! You won’t regret it, I promise!”

  Eugenie squelched her instinctive misgivings and maintained a note of disinterest in her voice. “What sort of costume are you sending me in?”

  The fairy blew a hanging strand of red hair out of her face, arms crossed and gaze scrutinizing. “You can’t match the frivolous set who just left. I’ll make you their opposite instead.”

  The opposite of the sun, moon, and stars? “What could that possibly be?” Eugenie asked.

  Her fairy godmother danced a circle around her, mischief emanating from her like warmth from a fire. “You, my lovely child, are going as soot.”

  3

  Masquerade

  Never had soot felt so glamorous.

  Eugenie rubbed her fingers against one another, relishing the soft black satin of her evening gloves. Her coal-dark dress fit close in the bodice and billowed out in a smoky skirt, glittering with chips of jet and polished onyx. The slippers, cut from obsidian, cushioned her feet as though made of kid instead, and the velvet half-mask framed her eyes and covered her nose as though molded there. Her blonde hair, gathered in ringlets that dangled from one side of her head, spoiled the effect of soot and smoke, but her fairy benefactress had refused to do anything about the color.

  “I’m not ruining that shade of gold, not even for a few hours. You’re only playing cinder-soot, not taking it as your new identity.”

  The carriage was a misty contraption formed from shadows and crawling vines. The horses, conjured from pond frogs, kept a quick, steady pace through the darkened countryside from her father’s estate to the palace on the outskirts of Jacondria’s capital city. The ride passed like a dream, as though wings carried her.

  Perhaps they did. She arrived faster than any mortal horses could run. When the coach stopped in the courtyard and the door opened, she stepped to paved stones and looked up in wonder.

  Light suffused the regal building. Music floated on the night breeze, and her heart soared with it. Had she been exhausted an hour ago? It seemed like another lifetime.

  Perhaps she was dreaming after all.

  She picked up her skirts and climbed marble stairs to the entrance, where guards and servants mingled. They parted to let her pass, inclining their heads in respect.

  She fought her rising self-consciousness. A true lady should always arrive with a chaperone, and she had none. But the royal masquerades were open to any who wished to attend, peasant or noble, as long as they wore a costume and a mask.

  Past the first line of servants, the great hall opened before her. Stairs descended to a white marble floor where vibrant guests danced and flirted. Eugenie spotted familiar dabs of gold and silver in the structured assembly. Florelle—Solella for tonight—danced with a man in full lion regalia, complete with a massive mane to complement his suede mask. Aurielle—Lunella—gamboled with a brown-feathered eagle whose half-mask extended into a hard yellow beak. With a pang of guilt, Eugenie diverted her path, tracing the balustrade upward to the overlooking balcony instead of joining the sparkling throng.

  How she yearned to be in their midst. She’d already betrayed Marielle’s trust by coming, though. Watching the spectacle from above would have to suffice.

  Women wore garb of every shade and hue, portraying exotic animals, birds, and flowers. The men, most of them, wore the simple domino costume, a black, hooded robe and hat with a white mask. Those who had donned more elaborate guises belonged to the upper elites, their persons dripping with jewels and opulent furs or feathers.

  Careful to keep back from the edge of the railing, Eugenie strained for a glimpse of her stepmother. She spied the astral figure near the head of the room, lingering by a pair of doors. The royal thrones stood vacant upon a dais close by.

  Had Queen Patrice and her consort Prince Renaud not yet arrived, or did they dance among their guests? Eugenie moved along the balcony, her eyes searching the crowds for any glimpse of their royal persons, or of their son, Prince Fernand.

  They weren’t there yet. Her heart quickened with anticipation, that she had come in time to witness the royal entrance, and from such a perfect vantage point. Many of the guests pooled toward those double doors. The musicians finished their minuet, and the dancers bowed to one another and clapped their appreciation. Eugenie followed the circle of the balcony, her eyes glued upon the scene below, upon the building anticipation in the crowd.

  A row of trumpets sounded a fanfare and the double doors swung open.

  She collided with a body walking the opposite direction.

  “Oh! I’m so sorry!” she said, mortified as she stepped back.

  The victim of her heedlessness, a domino with a full face mask, had caught hold of the balcony to steady him
self. “I beg your pardon,” he said in equal apology. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

  “Neither was I,” said Eugenie. She cast a wistful glance below. The queen and prince consort, dressed as a wolf and a lamb, had emerged to a swell of fawning guests, Marielle among them. With a disappointed sigh Eugenie refocused on the domino. “I was looking at the crowds and never thought there might be someone else up here. It’s my fault.”

  His eyes, the only part of his face she could see, crinkled pleasantly behind his mask. “You can’t take all the blame. We both blend in with the shadows around us. Although I must say, I never expected to encounter the Queen of the Night up in the rafters.”

  A laugh burst from her lips. “Queen of the Night? I’m no such thing!”

  He took two backward steps, the better to appreciate her smoky, shimmering costume. “Am I mistaken? What else could you be?”

  Her lips trembled and her voice shook with repressed mirth. “I’m soot.” She couldn’t stop her smile from manifesting, especially when his eyes widened.

  He cobbled his wits together. “That is a very imaginative costume. Far more so than a mere domino. Oh, here comes the prince!”

  They both swiveled, rapt. Below, behind the queen and her consort, a colorful figure danced into view. Feathers adorned his voluminous sleeves and his cap. His glittering mask had a golden beak attached. The crowd cheered his entrance, and he flapped his hands to their applause.

  “He’s a popinjay,” said Eugenie in wonder. Delight bubbled up her throat.

  “That’s an imaginative costume too,” said the domino, reserve in his voice. The porcelain features of his mask, expressionless, contrasted with the intensity of his gaze on the scene below.

  Was he self-conscious about his choice of attire? “But the domino is tradition, isn’t it?” she asked.

  He favored her with a good-humored glance. “Or laziness.”

  She tipped her head. “It’s efficient.”

  “And by that, you mean boring.”

  She could not allow such self-reproach to stand. “No. It allows you to blend in anywhere you like, and to go wherever you want without anyone giving you a second glance.” If she could have worn a domino costume—particularly one with a full face mask—she might have gone straight to the dance floor without fear of the Elles recognizing her. But then, she would have had to dance with women all night, because no one expected a domino to dance with one of its own kind.

  He turned, propped on one elbow as he faced her. “Do you always put a pleasant spin on everything?”

  She blushed. “I’m sorry. It’s a habit. I know it’s annoying—”

  “It’s not. Don’t apologize, please.”

  Her embarrassment doubled. Who was this kindly stranger? Florelle had pinched her ear a dozen times for being too positive, and Aurielle always made a horrendous groan of long-suffering. Marielle tolerated it, but with a tightness to her smile that warned Eugenie to keep her thoughts to herself. And she did, most of the time, but the novelty of a masquerade had distracted her.

  The domino, aware of her discomfiture, continued the conversation as though nothing were amiss. “I wanted a bird’s-eye view for when the royals came in. Look at how everyone flocks to them.”

  Below, the fawning crowds pressed tight around the ruling family, bowing and chattering compliments and thanks. Marielle grasped the queen’s hand and kissed it with obsequies that made Eugenie all the more ashamed for the spectacle.

  “Everyone loves them,” she said faintly.

  The domino crossed his arms and leaned again upon the balustrade, the better to peer over the edge to the riotous scene. “It’s odd, don’t you think, that the queen is a wolf and her husband is the lamb? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

  He glanced toward her. She joined him, propping her forearms against the railing. “Perhaps he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

  The domino chuckled. “I like that, Milady Night.”

  “I told you I’m soot.”

  “Shall I call you Milady Soot, then? But it seems so unfitting for such an impressive costume.”

  She ruminated on this conundrum. The best costumes always had names attached. Her gaze lit upon Florelle in her gold froth and Aurielle in silver, both of them pushing through the crowds to join their mother, to bow before the lamb and wolf and simper at the popinjay prince.

  A smile tugged at Eugenie’s lips. “You can call me Cinderella.”

  The domino’s eyes crinkled. “I like that. It’s excessively clever.”

  She surveyed him speculatively. “And shall I call you Pip in return?”

  He tipped his head, but the connection between his name and his costume struck an instant later. “There’s nothing shared between the costume and the game except the name, you know.”

  “You’re both black and white,” she replied.

  “True. I must concede, Milady Cinderella. I shall answer to ‘Pip,’ a woefully plain name to compliment my woefully plain costume.”

  How could he be so expressive with only his eyes? Every word he spoke seemed in jest.

  “Sir Pip, then,” she said with a light-hearted chuckle.

  He bowed. “You are all benevolence.”

  The musicians strummed a chord below, signaling another dance to start. The popinjay prince, the master of the dance for tonight, called for couples to take their places in a quadrille. He swooped through the crowds seeking a partner as his parents assumed their positions of authority upon the dais.

  “Don’t you participate in the festivities, Cinderella?” asked the domino at her side.

  “I think I prefer the bird’s-eye view,” she said, though her heart longed to join the gathering company. To come this far only to watch—! But she shouldn’t have come at all, not only because of her stepfamily, but because her fairy benefactor had openly intended mischief. If she stayed out of the way, though, what trouble could she cause? Florelle and Aurielle both had partners lining up with them. Marielle had staked out a place near enough the queen that she could speak with her during the set. Keeping to the shadows seemed Eugenie’s lot in life.

  “Surely you don’t mean to stay up here all night,” said Pip.

  She spared him a wistful glance and returned her attention to the scene below.

  “Curiouser and curiouser,” he murmured. “Are you a fairy come to crash the royal festivities?”

  Her head jerked. “Of course not,” she said, a hitch in her voice.

  Her companion laughed, hanging onto the railing in his mirth.

  “Do fairies crash these events?” she asked, stricken. Perhaps this was the mischief her “godmother” had meant to stir.

  “How should I know? We’re all wearing masks.”

  “Perhaps you’re a fairy,” she said.

  “Perhaps I am. Not an imaginative one, if so.”

  She snorted, unable to contain her amusement. “You have plenty of charm to make up for it, at least. Why are you not down among the crowds?”

  He lolled against the balustrade, peering at her with contentment. “Things are more interesting up here.”

  Warmth pulsed from her heart. A smile curved along her lips as she shifted her attention to the dance below. Her head swayed gently with the rhythm of the music. The dancers joined and parted in a beautiful pattern, their steps light. Gorgeous dresses swished and capes whirled as couples pranced with and around each other. The set came to an end and the popinjay called for a jig, much to the company’s approval.

  Pip broke the companionable silence. “Don’t you want to meet Prince Fernand?” His eyes twinkled behind his mask.

  A tinkling laugh escaped Eugenie’s lips. “No. I’ve met him before.”

  His interest sparked; he leaned closer. “Is that so? When?”

  She waved a fluttering hand. “When I was a child. He was a troublemaker, but I never would have branded him a popinjay.” She laughed again, her spirits airy as she gazed over the balcony at the colo
rful prince. He frolicked in his vivid costume, hopping to the lively music while his partner, in an ungainly peacock ensemble, struggled to keep up.

  “I wonder if she knows that peahens are all drab and that she’s dressed as a man,” Eugenie said in contemplation. She slid a sly smile toward Sir Pip but found him examining her instead of the floundering peafowl. Her brows drew together. Had she offended him?

  “Where did you meet him?” he asked, more serious than the occasion merited. Apprehension slithered through her, but even as she pulled away from their intimate huddle, his good humor returned on a chuckle. “I mean, do I have the honor of speaking to a high-ranking lady of the court? Shall I be thrashed when it comes time for everyone to remove their masks?”

  Her lightheartedness returned. So he was a lesser noble or a peasant, worried of offending one of his betters. But he had no cause for concern. “Oh. No, I’m nothing so extravagant. And I won’t be here at the unmasking anyway.”

  He stood straight. “Why not?” He sounded concerned. Would he look concerned too, if she could see beneath that porcelain façade?

  “Because I promised my benefactor I’d be back by midnight,” she said, contented resignation curving along her lips. Her heart warmed at the disappointment that emanated from him, that so short an acquaintance could make him lament the loss of her company.

  He tried to persuade her. “The party has barely started by midnight. Most of the guests will be here until dawn.”

  “But I won’t be among them.” When her words elicited an unhappy tilt of his head, she met his disapproval with reproach. “What sort of ingrate would I be if I didn’t keep my promise? If not for my benefactor, I couldn’t have come here at all.”

  His eyes softened behind his mask. “Then allow me to send my compliments to your benefactor.” He grasped her gloved hand in his and raised her fingers to his porcelain lips, but they bumped against his chin instead.

  Eugenie burst out laughing at the clumsy, endearing gesture. “That’s what you get for wearing a full mask.”

  “Truly I am undone,” he replied, though his shoulders shook with mirth. “Madam Cinderella, as your time here is short, what say we make the most of it?”