Torn: Novelette Prequel to Cinderella

by Kaylin Lee

  Silas shoved me in the chest. and I stumbled backward. What was going on with him? Why would he strike out at me with such aggression after avoiding me for months?

  I held my ground and glared at him from my height advantage.

  His hair hung over his forehead in thick, black strands, standing out against his pale skin in the gray morning light.

  He was skinny and weak. I could take him in a physical fight—no question. But the malevolence in his eyes sent real chills down my spine.

  What kind of mage was he, anyway? Funny how that had never come up in conversation before. Not that it mattered if he decided to turn his magic against me. Nearly every mage classification was more powerful than mine.

  Argus stepped between us, forcing Silas back. “Hey, forget it. All in fun, Wes. That’s what we want, right?” His voice took on a pleading tone. “To have fun? C’mon, let’s keep moving.”

  Silas leaned closer, and I clenched my fists, wondering what would come next.

  Then he spat at my feet, smirked, and turned around, clasping his hands at the back of his head as he sauntered away like he hadn’t a care in the world.

  Argus patted my shoulder. “Wes. Forget about it. Come on. He’s a good guy. He’s watching out for me, just like you used to. Can you let it go?”

  Like I used to? Huh. I ran a hand through my rain-soaked hair. If this was the kind of fun they’d had in mind, I shouldn’t have come. But if I weren’t along to hold them back, would they do something even worse?

  I blew out a breath and rolled my shoulders. Argus and I had grown up together on the same compound for the first few years of our lives. After my mother won the Falconus patronage, we still lived right down the street in adjacent Procus compounds. Argus was my oldest friend. My closest friend. And now I hardly knew him.

  Ella

  “Students, settle down.” Professor Silvanus stood at the front of the classroom, holding a thick stack of papers. They had to be our exams from last week.

  I huddled in my seat, my wet, cold clothes putting a damper on my excitement over finally seeing my score.

  I’d worried my mud-stained uniform would get me kicked out of class today, but I’d gotten lucky. The professor had simply looked me up and down with a smirk and let me enter the classroom without a word.

  He passed out the exams while a chorus of complaints followed him around the classroom. It had been our most difficult exam so far for this term, and I doubted many of my lazy Procus classmates had fared well.

  Professor Silvanus reached me and set the exam face down on my desk with a thump. He watched me for a moment with an oddly amused look on his face. I shrank in my seat. Was my uniform too muddy after all? Would he force me out of the room?

  After a long pause, he moved on without saying anything, but the look on his face stayed with me. What was wrong with him? It was almost as though he’d been leering at me. But a teacher would never do something like that. Would he?

  I shook my head at the thought before flipping my exam over. A perfect score! I ran my fingers over the red-inked number, then moved my hand away from it so it would be visible to someone else. Would anyone notice? If just one of my classmates could see that I truly belonged at the academy—

  Professor Silvanus cleared his throat from the front of the room. “We have a new student who earned the honor of top score in last week’s exam. Ella Stone—she’s the one with the odor. I believe you call her Cinderella?”

  That would be me.

  The class burst into titters of laughter, and my face grew hot.

  Professor Silvanus gave me a mocking bow, and I fixed my eyes on my desk.

  “Let’s all congratulate her,” the professor said. “It can’t be easy to earn high marks as a kitchen girl.”

  I gripped my seat to stop myself from getting up and running out. I had to do this. I couldn’t give up and leave. Without the Royal Academy, I had no future in government and no way to provide for Zel and the twins. We couldn’t live off victus forever.

  My classmates and professors could make whatever jokes they wanted. I wasn’t going anywhere. At least, not if I had a say in the matter.

  Somehow, I survived all the way to the end of the class. When the bell rang, I sat for a moment in my seat, gathering my composure as Professor Silvanus and the rest of my classmates filed out.

  Then a shadow blocked the light from the luminous lamp above me. Felix stood over me, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry, Ella. About those pranks last week. It was all in fun. You get that, right?”

  He and his friends had caused me to slip on the stairs in front of the whole class. I’d gotten a horrible bruise on my thigh and ripped my uniform. I’d had to sell one of my mother’s dresses to buy a new one. All in fun? Right.

  “I know. I get it.”

  The corner of his mouth turned up, and he leaned a little closer, his eyes darting over me with a quick look that had me confused. “Well, congratulations on your exam score. That's amazing, Ella. I didn't know you were so smart.”

  I didn't quite know what to say to that, so I simply nodded.

  “Well …” He smiled again. “I'll see you around?”

  “Yes.” My voice came out a hoarse whisper.

  He joined his pack of friends at the door where they waited, all grinning like mad. What was that all about? Another prank?

  Then a new face appeared in front of me—one of Belle’s friends. Estella? Alyssa? Something like that.

  “Umm, Ella?” The girl twirled a lock of her dark, wavy hair as she spoke. “A little piece of advice. A Procus lord like Felix Falconus will never ever be interested in a common girl. Ever. Especially a girl with such a smell.”

  I blinked at her. What was she talking about?

  The girl watched Felix as he left the room with his friends, then returned her gaze to me. She smiled, her upper lip curling as though her face objected to the expression. Then she leaned closer and whispered in my ear, “He only talked to you because your shirt is soaked through and completely transparent right now. Professor Silvanus should’ve sent you home for being indecently dressed, but he’s too nice.”

  I gaped at her. I’d never— How had I not known? Had I suspected, I would have gone home for an umbrella.

  “Just thought you should know.” The girl straightened and coughed, waving her hand in front of her nose. “That cinderslick smell … I don’t know how you stand it,” she murmured. Then she left me alone in the classroom.

  Weslan

  The Common Quarter was wetter than the Procus Quarter. That was the first thing I noticed. Huge puddles took up whole sections of the footpath, and every time a fomecoach sped past, dirty rainwater from the street soaked us again.

  Silas hadn’t spoken to me since we’d left the alley where we had met the three mage girls. Fine by me. I wasn’t exactly itching for more conversation with him anyway. He’d led us down side streets through the Procus Quarter and across the border into the Common Quarter, and now we were walking toward the site of this morning’s attack.

  The commoners who roamed the street wore threadbare garments that more closely resembled Calla’s cleaning rags than the shirts and slacks we wore to the Mage Academy. They avoided us, leaving a wide buffer, making sure not to brush against us. The gold armbands spoke for themselves, didn’t they? We were clearly marked as mages—too rich to threaten, too dangerous to fight. We were pariahs here.

  Did they envy us or hate us? Or were we simply too strange to merit a reaction? Perhaps it was just another sign that we didn’t belong and weren’t wanted here, never mind the fact that mages had been in Theros for a thousand years.

  I was staring at a frail, elderly woman as she poked through the gutter, picking up what I assumed must be salvageable pieces of trash, when I ran into Silas’s back.

  He shoved me away, and I stumbled.

  “Watch it, Wes,” Argus said, grinning. “We’re here.”

  The words
sent off a wave of nervous energy in my limbs. Why had they wanted to come here, anyway?

  Against my better judgment, I looked around at the scene, taking in the destruction.

  We stood at the mouth of a narrow alley just outside a rope bearing the Quarter Guards’ insignia. The alley was lined on both sides by piles of rubble, with not a single upright, intact market stall in sight. Dust coated the visible cobblestones down the center of the alley, along with something dark. I peered closer.

  Blood. The cobblestones were stained with blood.

  My stomach twisted like I’d taken a punch to the gut. What a mess. I angled my head away from the scene in the market alley, took a deep breath, and tried to focus on the small patch of grass that served as a park across the street.

  “What’s the matter, Wes?” Silas acknowledged me at last. “Too much for your delicate stomach? Think you’ll lose your fancy breakfast?”

  I could have done without his attention. “Alright, you saw the market,” I said, eyeing Silas. “Feeling great now, huh? Too bad they already cared for the dead and wounded, or you could have gotten a real eyeful. Can we go? I thought you guys wanted to have fun.”

  Silas’s answering smile was accompanied by a nod, as though he’d been satisfied by something I’d said. He nudged Argus before spinning around to face the alley without answering me.

  What was that supposed to mean?

  Argus searched my face, that sad smile of his appearing once again. “Yeah, Wes. We’ll go soon. Go have some fun. We’ll be ready to go in a minute.” He turned back to the alley too.

  I rolled my eyes and stepped into the street, leaving them at the alley. The small park across the street was dank and dirty, but a battered food cart was parked beside the muddy path into the park. Whatever it sold, it made the air on the street smell of cinderslick, grease, spice, and sugar.

  I walked to the end of the line, ignoring uneasy glances from the other customers.

  The old man running the cart gave me a sideways smile, and when it was my turn to order, he grinned outright. “A mage, huh? Right here at my cart. Wife won’t believe me.”

  I gave him my most charming smile and patted the food cart between us. “What do you have here, sir?”

  “Spiceberry balls,” he said, waving a proud hand over his steaming cart. “Best in the Quarter. Five for a mark.”

  I inspected the tiny bits of fried dough dipped in what looked like ground spiceberries and sugar. Five for a mark? Cheap. But not as cheap as I would’ve expected. No wonder he didn’t have much of a line, even with all the commoners bustling past us on the footpath.

  “I’ll take five, then,” I said.

  He nodded, took the crisp mark I handed over, and set it in a jar beside him. The marks in the jar seemed weathered. His hand brushed mine as he took it, and I fought the urge to wipe my hand on my slacks afterward. This Quarter had me on edge—the attack, the blood-stained alley, the faded, thin paper marks that they handled with such reverence. I didn’t like it here. More than that, I didn’t belong here. I couldn’t wait to get back to the Procus Quarter.

  I wrapped both hands around the small bundle of wax paper and spiceberry balls. It was so hot it nearly burned my hand, but the warmth was nice in the blustery weather. I thanked the old man and inhaled the spicy-sweet scent as I crossed the street back to Argus and Silas. Perhaps they’d stop needling me if I brought a peace offering.

  They faced me when I was halfway across the street, dodging puddles and fomecoaches. Silas sent another weird smile my direction, then leaned over and said something to Argus. What was it this time? I was stepping onto the footpath beside them when a man’s strangled cry sounded from the other side of the street.

  I whirled around. The spiceberry cart rolled into the street, barreling toward the fomecoaches like someone had shoved it. What had happened?

  The old man who owned the spiceberry cart screamed. “Out of the way! Out of the way!”

  The fomewagon’s driver must not have heard. The large vehicle plowed straight into the cart, pushing it ahead and veering into the small park. The fomewagon crashed against the park’s only tree, crushing the spiceberry cart.

  Children who’d been playing in the park huddled together with dozens of commoners on the footpath. The crash hadn’t killed anyone, but a few of those closest to the accident clutched their legs and arms. The old man was sobbing, holding his hands out toward the cart’s remains.

  A hard cuff against my shoulder finally pulled my attention away from the scene. What had just happened? Argus hit me again. Silas was already gone, and Argus and I were the only ones across the street from the wreck.

  “Let’s get out of here, Wes,” Argus said. “Before they realize—” Instead of finishing the sentence, he hurried away from me.

  I followed him down the street and into an alley where we caught up with Silas. We’d made two more turns before it hit me. Argus wanted to get away but not because he was frightened by the accident. “Before they realize,” he’d said. Because he was a mover mage. Because he’d caused the accident.

  Ella

  I made it through the rest of the school day in a daze. My shirt had mostly dried by the third class of the day, but I kept my arms crossed just in case. Every time a classmate or professor glanced my way, heat spread across my cheeks.

  When the closing bell rang, I shivered and tightened my arms across my chest as I hurried down the staircase. I needed to get out of here. And soon. Before I ran into Felix or any of his friends.

  I stumbled on the last step, and in the entryway, I slammed into a boy’s back. “My apologies, my lord,” I mumbled as I tried to brush past him.

  No luck. He stuck his arm out and stopped me.

  I groaned. Of course, it had to be Felix.

  He smiled, and his eyes crinkled at the edges. After all those pranks and jokes at my expense, it seemed like he genuinely wanted to see me today. Had something changed?

  His tan, well-muscled arms strained at the white fabric of his uniform shirt, and his black hair was slicked back against his head. Not a single hair was out of place. He was everything a young Procus lord should be—my better in every way, right? This made no sense. What did he want with me?

  Felix folded his arms across his chest and stepped closer. Was it my imagination, or were his arm muscles straining against his shirt even more than before? “You always rush off after school,” he said. “You should stick around and chat with us sometime, you know? Get to know your classmates.”

  I froze, trapped by the blatant, tantalizing interest in his eyes as he smiled at me. Was he serious?

  Then his eyes flicked to my chest.

  That again? Ridiculous! I found my voice. “Yes. Got to get home.”

  I shoved my way past him with more force than I had any right to use against a Procus lord, hurrying down the slippery steps before he could stop me again. I didn’t slow until I was past the border into the River Quarter. I hazarded a glance over my shoulder. He hadn’t followed me. No Procus would ever come here. My breathing calmed as I slowed my pace.

  I didn’t know what to make of Felix. Was he interested in me, truly? And what about that smell—the cinderslick scent that clung to my skin, hair, and clothes, the odor that everyone always complained about?

  No, he wasn’t interested in me. It wasn’t possible. I couldn’t claim to understand the workings of the male mind, but I did know one thing that always proved true for the Procus set—nothing was more important to them than entertainment. So I was simply the latest joke for Felix and his friends. That was all.

  An ugly voice whispered in my head. He would never look at Belle’s chest so rudely.

  Tears sprang to my eyes at the utter truthfulness of that thought. To a boy like Felix, I would never be worthy of true respect or admiration. I’d never be anything more than a diversion, a bit of fun on a boring school day.

  Not that I cared what he thought of me anyw
ay.

  I huffed out a breath as I walked further into the River Quarter, keeping an eye peeled for a trolley going my direction. I found none. Just my luck today.

  It took nearly an hour to reach the Merchant Quarter when normally I was only a short trolley ride from home. I wove through the slick cobblestone streets of the Merchant Quarter, sliding on the worn stones. Everything would feel better once I got home and kicked the sodden shoes off my aching feet.

  What would I say if I saw Milos on the way home? Should I just ignore him? But what if he tried to talk to me?

  My rich Procus classmates at the Royal Academy would never accept me. It was time to admit that. So shouldn’t I be grateful that a friendly, handsome boy like Milos, a fellow commoner, was showing me favor? Or was it better to be alone than to form an attachment with a boy who hated Gregor? A boy who would break Gregor’s shop windows for the sake of a pointless grudge? That wasn’t exactly handsome behavior.

  I was so caught up in worrying about Milos that I nearly plowed into three boys in navy blazers and gold armbands as they came toward me on the footpath.

  Mages. What were they doing here? I dodged to the side at the last moment but brushed against one of them, the tall, well-built, blond one.

  “Sorry,” I muttered as I kept walking, turning my face away to avoid his eyes. I’d had just about enough of fine-looking boys today.

  Not five steps later, I slipped on the cobblestones and landed hard on my back. The breath whooshed from my lungs at the impact. I lay there for several moments, fighting to get my breath back, the back of my head smarting where it had struck the cobblestones.

  Then the sour smell of crushed vineberries reached my nose, and I groaned. Unbelievable.

  I sat up, my back aching, and inspected what I could see of my shoulder. I’d fallen on a pile of rotten vineberries likely tossed from the dilapidated coffee house across the street. Apparently, the lane’s sanitation canister was too far to walk. The berries’ sour, reddish-purple flesh was pressed into my white uniform shirt and navy skirt, spanning my entire back and behind. I didn’t need to ask Zel to know that a vineberry’s stain was permanent. A neighbor had once shared a bowl of them with me, and it had taken two weeks for the stains to come off my fingers. The dress I’d been wearing that day had never come clean. No, my white shirt and navy skirt were beyond repair. Again. Even better, now I smelled like rotting food.