Torn: Novelette Prequel to Cinderella

by Kaylin Lee

  I released him and stepped back.

  Gregor blinked rapidly, his tan, heavily-lined face in an uncharacteristic frown. He cleared his throat. “Got another something for you too, Ella. I know you’ve been using Asylian wheat ever since the gates closed.”

  We both glanced toward the kitchen shelves where this morning’s loaves sat cooling, awaiting delivery on my way to school. The scent of warm yeast and burnt cinderslick, our cooking fuel, filled the bakery’s kitchen.

  “I’ve got a shipment of Lerenian wheat coming in any day now. I’ll cut you a special price.”

  I chewed on my lip. It was one thing for our family to use imports in our own food. It was quite another to use imported ingredients for our bakery. “I don’t know, Gregor…”

  He just smiled kindly. “Only consider it, my dear. Better price than Asylian wheat, and better flavor too. You’re too young to remember, but we old folks know the difference. You can try a couple of pounds and see what you think.” He leaned closer and winked. “One mark per pound.”

  Nerves tingled in my stomach at his words. One mark per pound? We paid five marks per pound for flour made from Asylian wheat. But what would happen if our customers found out we used imports? Prince Estevan insisted that his system of inspections was safe, but how could we be certain?

  The prince had given the order to unseal the city gates two weeks ago. We’d gone eleven, long years without trade with the West or the other walled cities of Theros. No one wanted to risk being the merchant responsible for another contaminated shipment of plague-ridden imports like the one that had brought the city to its knees when I was five.

  “I’ll think about it,” I said after a long pause.

  He rocked back on his heels and nodded. “That’s all I ask.”

  When he left, I called up the stairs, “Zel! It was just Gregor. He’s gone. You can come back.”

  She slipped into the kitchen a few moments later and sat beside her daughters, her shoulders tense and her hands gripping the table’s edge. Every time we had an unannounced visitor, Zel would hide on the roof and spend the rest of the day in a jumpy, nervous state. The trackers nearly caught her once, years ago, and they’d combed the streets around our bakery for weeks afterward, searching for her. We couldn’t risk Zel being found again.

  I set the small jar in the center of the table, and Zel’s mouth dropped open. “Is that…?”

  “What?” Alba poked at the jar. “What is it? Is it something to eat?”

  I sat at the table and cracked the lid open, grinning like a fool. “It’s honey, Alba.”

  Bri eyed the jar like it might poison her. “Honey? Never heard of it.”

  Zel leaned forward. “Bees make it, girls. They only have it in Lerenia. But now… Oh, girls, you’re going to love it. We can put it on the victus and make it taste better!”

  I dipped a spoon into the jar and grabbed Alba’s bowl, drizzling a long stream of thick, golden liquid over her victus as she practically drooled. “Smells like oranges,” she said.

  Her mother nodded. “Orange blossom honey. The best kind.”

  We devoured our bowls of victus and honey in record time, and then we passed around sections of the Herald while I waited for the fresh loaves of bread to finish cooling.

  “Mama, what does ‘crimson’ mean?” Alba peered at the front page of the Herald with her eyes narrowed.

  “Red,” Zel said without looking up, her gaze still fixed on an inside section.

  “Oh, like blood.”

  “What did you say, sweetheart?”

  Alba rustled the paper with a flourish. “Crimson streams stained the cobblestones of the Theros Street Market,” she read proudly, “and bodies lay limp and lifeless beside stalls that had been crushed in the—”

  Zel reached out and yanked the newspaper away. “What exactly are you reading?” She studied the section for a moment, sucked in a sharp gasp, and pressed a hand to her mouth.

  “Zel, what is it?” I asked.

  “There was some sort of attack, it says. Someone used suffio to destroy Theros Street Market. They…” She trailed off and glanced at Alba and Bri. “Some people were hurt.”

  She handed the paper to me, and I scanned the article. Twenty dead and at least thirty more wounded. The paper speculated that it might be tied to other, smaller, unexplained attacks in the past three years. I swallowed back nausea at the horrifying description of bodies in the article. Who would do such a thing?

  “It’s...well, I’m sure they’ll catch whoever did it.” I folded the paper and returned it to Zel, who folded it again and slid it into her dress pocket.

  Alba scowled.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “Theros Street is in the Common Quarter. Nowhere near the Royal Academy or any of our customers.”

  We were less than twenty minutes’ walk from Theros Street, but our bakery was in the Merchant Quarter and so were all our customers. My morning delivery route took me through the Merchant Quarter and then onto a trolley to reach the Procus Quarter for school.

  I’d be safe. We’d all be safe.

  My stepmother took the girls upstairs for their lessons while I cleaned up after breakfast and changed into my uniform.

  The crisp, white blouse and pleated, navy-blue skirt were a brand-new uniform, my third this school term. I’d had to sell another of my mother’s old dresses to buy this one, and I couldn’t bear to part with any more of her things. This uniform would have to last.

  With the cost of flour so high, our bakery didn’t make nearly enough money to pay for my uniforms. And we didn’t have anything left to sell to buy a replacement.

  Now, if only I could convince Felix and his friends to leave my uniform alone. I scowled in the mirror as I twisted my hair into a loose bun. Those foolish, lazy Procus boys only wanted one thing—Belle’s attention. And someone must have decided that playing pranks on me, the sole common girl in our year, would win our beautiful classmate’s regard. I’d never understand young Procus lords.

  I pushed thoughts of my Procus classmates away and fixed my imagination on Milos instead. Would I see him again today? Perhaps if I left early for my deliveries, I could linger on the street until I ran into him.

  But what could I even say to begin a real conversation with him? I pinched my cheeks and bit my lips to add a bit of color before slipping out the front door into the cold, rainy street.

  Perfect timing. Milos was passing by the bakery in his crisp navy Quarter Guard uniform. Beads of rainwater dripped over his brow, and the cords of his tanned, muscled arms showed where he’d rolled up the sleeves of his uniform.

  “Ella,” he called. He shook his head and a few drenched strands of dark hair moved away from his eyes. “Morning!”

  Butterflies stormed without mercy in my stomach. “Hello.” My voice was too soft. Why couldn’t I be bolder, more confident?

  He bent over to pick something up off the ground.

  I walked over with hesitant steps, trying and failing to think of something charming and flirtatious to say.

  He stood as I approached him and I realized he was holding a large chunk of a broken cobblestone from the street. He winked. “Watch this.” Then he flung it with expert precision, sending it crashing through Gregor’s shop window.

  Weslan

  I loosened the gold armband as I hurried back down the stairs. No one other than Calla had seen me. That was something, right? All the other mages in our villa knew she hated our kind. They’d back me up if she told anyone.

  But if someone else had seen my lapse? Someone besides a mage?

  We’d be kicked out and put on probation. My mother would be lucky to get another placement, and I’d certainly never win a patronage.

  Wearing the mage armband was only an external show. The Asylian rulers had other, more powerful ways of controlling mages. But it was that outward expression of submission that showed we wouldn’t fight back, that we wouldn’t repeat th
e evil of our ancestors. To refuse to wear it meant we couldn’t be trusted, and the city barely trusted mages to begin with.

  Rushing down the stairs and out of the villa’s wide, arched entrance, I scowled as the humid, fall air hit my face. It just had to be raining today, on top of everything. At least I could dry most of it with my magic once I made it to school. One of the few benefits of being a low-level appearance mage.

  I made my way through the Falconus compound, cutting through their fomecoach fleet and exiting through the servants’ side entrance rather than passing through the opulent garden that led to the front compound gate. Best not to take any more chances today.

  On the footpath, I stayed as far from the passing fomecoaches as I could to avoid splashes. Then I caught sight of two familiar blue blazers ahead of me on the footpath.

  “Strike me,” I muttered under my breath, but I quickened my pace to catch up. That greasy-haired, fifth-year mage, Silas, was always hovering around my friend Argus these days. Now, he’d convinced Argus to head off to the Mage Academy without me instead of walking together like we’d done for years. What was next? Would he try to steal girls from me too? As if he could.

  The pounding rain must have drowned out my footsteps, because they didn’t notice my arrival behind them.

  “—too good, though. C’mon, Argus. You honestly want to spend the rest of your life building tenements in the River Quarter slums?” Silas’ voice was gravelly and low. According to Argus, his vocal cords had been damaged from a close bout with the plague as a child.

  Well, I still didn’t like him or pity him, for that matter. The rough sound of his voice always grated on my nerves. And just what were they talking about, anyway?

  Argus was a powerful mover mage. There was no question they’d place him in government service, building tenements and other buildings as soon as he graduated. They couldn’t afford to waste talent like his on a frivolous Procus patronage. The dirt-poor commoners who crowded into the River Quarter had to live somewhere, didn’t they?

  “I know, Si. ’Course I don’t. But…” Argus trailed off.

  Silas threw an arm around Argus’s shoulders and gave him a shake. “I’m telling you, he’s a visionary. Just come once. Listen to what he has to say and decide for yourself. What have you got to lose, anyway?”

  Argus guffawed and shoved a smirking Silas in the shoulder.

  Nothing to lose? What was so funny about that? If he was up to something stupid, he probably had a lot to lose, like all mages did. I shook my head. Whatever. If Argus wanted to hang around greasy Silas and his weird friends, that was his choice. Not mine.

  “Hey, losers,” I announced, striding between them and throwing each of them into a headlock. Moments like this were a nice benefit of being taller and stronger than most guys.

  Silas shrugged out of my headlock with a little too much force, and I held back a grin. So predictable. Argus pretended to choke, tapping my arm helplessly, and I let him go.

  “Hey, Wes,” Argus said, offering me a half smile.

  Was it my imagination, or did he look sad? What had I interrupted?

  “So, Wes,” Silas said, emphasizing my nickname like it was an insult. “You ready for some excitement today? Or are you too busy being your mama’s good boy to have fun with the men?”

  Anger simmered in my chest at his words. Bring up my mother, would he? That rat-faced piece of—

  “Come with us, Wes,” Argus said, his voice a little too eager.

  I forced my temper under control as I took in his desperate, nervous face. What was going on here?

  “We’re skipping today.” Argus shifted on his feet. “We’re going to go see that market that got hit in the Common Quarter last night. It’ll be cleaned up before long, and we’ll miss our chance to see it.”

  Why would he ever want to see that? The last thing I wanted was to experience such a gruesome scene in person.

  On the other hand, it wasn’t like I wanted to go take that exam on Draician fabrics. I’d missed several days of class since the beginning of this term. Probably too many days. But then again, what was one more day when I’d already missed so many?

  Besides, I didn’t want Argus going off by himself with Silas. Who knew what kind of trouble my oldest friend would get into?

  I fiddled with the loosened gold service armband as the two of them watched me with strangely hungry expressions. Why did that gold band always feel so tight? “Yeah. Whatever. I’ll come.”

  Ella

  “Milos! Why did you—”

  Milos folded his arms. “I heard that slimy importer is already bringing in food from outside the city. The gate’s only been open two weeks, and he can’t wait any longer to bring the plague back? Unbelievable.” He curled his lip as he spoke.

  A lump formed in my throat. Perhaps Milos had family members who had died in the plague. That had to have been hard. But I’d lost my father, and Gregor had lost his wife. None of us had gone untouched. If Prince Estevan said it was safe, was it so wrong for Gregor to sell imports again? And besides, what did throwing rocks solve? He could have hurt Gregor!

  Milos raised an eyebrow when I didn’t answer. “So, I guess I’ll see you later?”

  I cleared my throat. “Um … maybe.”

  He frowned.

  Before he could ask any more questions, I waved good-bye and hurried away down the rainy street.

  I should have said something. I should have stood up for Gregor’s decision, or told Milos that Gregor was my friend. I should have told him we’d eaten imported honey for breakfast that very morning. The heavy weight of the victus sank further into my stomach. Why was I such a coward?

  In my rush to get outside and see Milos before school, I’d forgotten to grab an umbrella. Now I couldn’t stand the thought of going back to our street to pick up my umbrella if it meant facing him again. I ducked under shop awnings as often as I could while I made my bread deliveries to our regular customers.

  But I couldn't stop thinking about the way Milos’s face had twisted as he spoke about Gregor. I’d always thought Milos was handsome, but now every time I imagined his face, guilt ate at me.

  What would my father have thought of Milos? What would Gregor think?

  Then again, what if Milos did like me? I couldn’t reject him. That would be foolish! He was the first boy to ever pay attention to me. I couldn’t imagine simply throwing that away.

  And yet, could I truly pursue an attachment with a boy who hated Gregor? A boy who would throw a rock through Gregor’s window just because he didn't agree with him?

  I dodged a large puddle on the footpath and leapt back under the awning of the next shop. My uniform was nearly soaked, but the rain seemed to be lessening. At least something was going well.

  Then a fomecoach sped past, rolling right through the puddle I’d dodged and splashing me from head to toe. I groaned. Even if the rain stopped, I'd be soaked when I got to school.

  I jumped on an approaching trolley, still agonizing over my loyalty to Gregor and the thrill of Milos’s attention. It should have been an easy choice, right? What kind of girl was willing to betray the man who’d been like a father to her for some nice-looking boy?

  Gregor had offered us an impossibly good deal on imported wheat. But what would Milos do if he knew? Would a rock be coming through the bakery window next? He certainly wouldn't like me anymore.

  I shook my head at my own confusion, drawing amused stares from the trolley passengers around me. I ignored them and leaned against the cold, hard latticed iron of the trolley walls.

  I didn't know what to do. I only hoped today would provide some sort of direction. Because right now, I was being torn right down the middle, and it didn’t feel good.

  Weslan

  We left Grand Procus Avenue and turned down a series of side streets, working our way through the Procus Quarter toward the Common Quarter at Silas’s direction.

  I followed behin
d Argus and Silas, partly to keep Silas from making any more digs at my mother and partly because they seemed to have a strange partnership today—one that didn’t include me at all.

  I didn’t quite know what to make of today’s uncomfortable dynamic. I’d often gotten the feeling that Silas didn’t want me there when he was with Argus. In fact, I’d had a suspicion he only kept me around to help them get girls. Speaking of girls …

  “Hello, ladies,” I said, grinning at three blushing mage girls as they passed us in the narrow alley, no doubt on their way to the academy where we were supposed to be going. Second-years, if I had to guess. Two years below me and Argus.

  They giggled and sent me shy smiles, but they flicked disinterested glances toward Silas and Argus before continuing their walk.

  “Uppity,” Silas muttered under his breath as he watched the girls walk away. “And a little on the chubby side. Aren’t they too old for baby fat?”

  Argus chuckled, but it sounded forced.

  I grimaced but held my tongue. The sooner this day ended, the better.

  Silas nudged Argus. “You should do that thing again.”

  Argus flicked an uncomfortable glance at me.

  “What, you lose your sense of humor now?” Silas punched him in the shoulder. “What happened to that crazy guy I hung out with last week?”

  “Yeah,” said Argus. “I got it, don’t worry.”

  A rush of air swept past me, and the girls at the end of the alley let out a chorus of squeals as their Mage Academy uniform skirts swept up in the air. They held their skirts in place with their hands and raced around the corner.

  Really, Argus? Classy.

  Red splotches stood out on Argus’ cheeks, and he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  “That’s your thing, huh?” I couldn’t keep the disgust from my voice. “Great trick. Girls love it when you mess with their clothes. I’m surprised they didn’t come back and flirt with you.”