by Kaylin Lee
Another uniform, ruined. Another of my mother’s dresses would have to be sold to replace this uniform.
A keening sob broke free at the thought. I forced it into silence and hunched over where I sat, fighting with all my strength to keep the rest of the tears and sobs locked inside.
People passed me on both sides, but not one person extended a hand to help me up. They simply kept their eyes averted and walked right by. Typical. Everyone in Asylia thought they were better than me.
Well, I was grateful. I didn’t want to speak to or look at another soul in this stricken, nasty, nightmare city. Not today. Maybe not ever.
Weslan
She was beautiful. Impossibly, perfectly beautiful. The angry scowl on her face as she strode toward us made me smile. Clearly, the petite girl would sooner bowl us over than step out of the way. But then she met my gaze for the briefest of moments, and her stunning, light-green eyes nearly knocked me over. She was perfect. Beautiful, angry, and perfect. I couldn’t stop staring.
I paused as she brushed past me, her tan skin warm through her white school uniform shirt as her arm brushed my hand. I reached out to... do what? I didn’t know.
“Sorry,” she said, her voice tight. And before I could respond, she had already moved past us.
I couldn’t help it. Like a lovesick fool, I spun around to watch her walk away. Her dark hair was pulled into a haphazard bun, and long, thick tendrils had fallen out to twine around her shoulders. Her build was slight but strong, as if she were made to fit beside me, tucked beneath my arm. I shook my head at the thought. I needed to get my imagination under control.
I took a step toward her and opened my mouth to call out something, anything, to make her stay a moment longer.
But then she slipped and fell backward. There was an excruciating crack as her head hit the ground. I lunged forward even though it was too late to catch her. Something restrained me but I kept fighting, trying to move forward. Silas and Argus held me back.
“What are you doing?” Silas hissed in my ear. “She dared to shove you out of her way. A stinking commoner like that? Argus only gave her what she deserved.”
He’d … Wait, what? He’d done that to her? On purpose? But what if she’d—
“Come on, Wes. We need to go. School got out an hour ago. They’ll be expecting us home soon.”
I glared at Argus’s nervous face. “Unbelievable. You actually—”
“Hey, idiot.” Silas shoved me hard. “You going to let your buddy get in trouble over this, or are you going to come with us now? Her or us?”
Argus scowled at me from my other side. “Seriously, Wes. Some random, common girl who reeks of cinderslick? I know you go for anything with long hair and a pretty face, but I think you can do better than a common laborer. And besides, we’re your friends. Her or us, huh?”
Her or them? He didn’t want to know my answer to that question at the moment. What rats. Both of them. How had I stayed friends with Argus for so long? I kept my mouth shut, too furious for words, and focused on the girl.
She sat up. So she wasn’t hurt too badly, then. She twisted to inspected the back of her uniform, which seemed to be stained with some red, ugly fruit now. She hadn’t noticed us yet.
Silas watched her with a sick venom in his eyes, his fists balled at his sides. Was he truly so offended that she hadn’t gotten out of the way on the footpath? What did he expect? We were in the Merchant Quarter, not the Mage Division at the center of the city. She had no reason to show us special reverence.
But the darkness on his face helped me decide. Whatever was going through his head, I didn’t want him anywhere near that poor girl. “Fine,” I said. “Let’s go. What a fun day, guys,” I couldn’t help muttering under my breath.
They didn’t answer, but at least they followed me and left her alone. At last, something had gone right today.
I was already back in the Falconus compound, having left Argus and Silas in the street without a good-bye, when I stopped in my tracks on the stairs. Why hadn’t I at least offered to get the stain out of her uniform? My power wasn’t good for much, but as an appearance mage, I could have done that. I was as much of an idiot as Argus.
Ella
Each step on the way back to the bakery made my back throb with pain. Whispers and snickers followed me as people caught sight of the stinky, vineberry-stained back of my uniform, but I refused to acknowledge them. Surely, I wasn’t the first person in the city to slip on damp cobblestones. They could laugh all they wanted.
My foot slid on the slick stones with my next step, and I jolted forward to keep from falling back again, throwing out my arms at my sides to stabilize myself. Another wave of giggles came from the pack of children behind me. I kept my face straight and unresponsive like a stone, like my last name. A cold, unfeeling stone. That was what I was. What I needed to be.
When I made it back to the bakery, I didn’t bother to go upstairs and greet Zel and my stepsisters. I couldn’t have faced the pity and apologies I knew I’d see on their faces.
Besides, I knew what I needed. I didn’t need a hug, a warm bath, or a pitying smile. I needed money, and nothing was going to change that.
I went to my room and stripped off my damp, disgusting uniform, crumpled it into a ball, and stuffed it into the trash. I dried off my body as best I could and opened the heavy, ornately carved chest at the foot of my bed.
My mother’s dresses. Zel wore a few, but she had little need for dresses since she never left the bakery these days for fear of the tracker mages. The rest of the dresses were here. Or they had been until I won the first commoner scholarship to the Royal Academy and sold off my mother’s fine dresses one by one to buy my school uniforms.
I fingered the rich, colorful fabrics of the dresses that remained in the chest. They were impossibly soft, clean dresses from before the plague, a time when Asylia was so wealthy and the bakery’s profits so abundant that the lady of the house didn’t even need to work in the kitchen. At least, that was what Zel speculated. I could barely remember those years.
I pulled out my favorite dress. It was made of gauzy, pale-violet fabric with a slim belt at the waist. When I wore it, I could pretend I was a girl in one of Zel’s novels—pretty, feminine, and carefree. Like I could smile and laugh and flirt with a boy without worrying that he would hate me if he truly knew me. Like I was a real, live girl instead of a stone.
I shook my head. Frivolous, foolish thoughts. No matter what happened, I could never let my guard down. Not in this forsaken city. I’d always be a stone, that was for sure. But I’d sell my own bed out from under me before I’d sell one more of my mother’s dresses.
I slid the dress over my head and tied the belt at my waist. I spread my hands over the fabric and smoothed it around my hips. Then I reached behind my head and shoved a few of my wayward locks back into my bun.
Money. All I needed was money. I couldn’t worry about what anyone else thought, not anymore. They didn’t matter. None of them did. All that mattered was my family, and I needed more money if I was ever going to escape this bakery and win a real government position that paid a stipend big enough to care for all four of us.
I slipped through the front door of the bakery and strode down the lane toward Gregor’s, shivering as the cold, misty wind whipped through the fabric of the lovely violet dress.
I was dimly aware of faces turning my way to stare, but I didn’t bother to glance around. They could look all they wanted. If Milos saw me, all the better. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore.
I reached Gregor’s shop and knocked. The door swung open, and Gregor’s familiar face greeted me with a wide smile. “Ella! What—”
“I’ll take that Lerenian flour you offered,” I said, cutting him off. Gregor raised his eyebrows, and I cleared my throat to stop my voice from shaking. “Ten pounds. As soon as you can get it.”
Weslan
Our suite in the Falconus
mage villa was frigid and dead quiet. Calla hadn’t brought new suffio embers for the hearth, of course.
I sat on the small couch in my bedroom, crinkling and straightening the scribbled notes for the test I had missed. Maybe if it looked like I was studying, my mother wouldn’t ask any questions about the academy today.
The girl’s lovely face and striking green eyes haunted me. Why was she so angry and so sad at the very same time? Why hadn’t I spoken to her or offered to help her? Silas wasn’t that much of a threat to a common girl. I’d overreacted earlier. Would I ever see her again? Short of lurking on that same street every day, I wasn’t sure how.
I was halfway through a fantasy where I’d found her in the Merchant Quarter and won her regard by fixing her uniform when my mother stormed into my room.
“Weslan Fortis. You—” She stopped short, glaring at me, her arms folded across her chest.
“Hey, Ma. Done at the studio, huh?” My attempt at a calming tone seemed to enrage her further.
“You!” She paced out of the room and then marched back in, but this time, she shook her finger at me. What was that supposed to mean? “Your father would never have behaved this way.”
“Ma…” All at once, my lingering fantasies about the girl evaporated.
“Never! He would never, ever—” She blinked rapidly. “He was studious, smart, hardworking. He could always be trusted to take care of his responsibilities. But you…” She shook her head and pressed her lips together.
I wanted to sink into the floor and never reappear. “I’m sorry, Ma. Is this about—”
“You’re sorry? Sorry! Yes, in fact it is indeed about you missing your fourteenth day of school this term. It’s also about the fact that you’re failing Luxury Fabrics Level 3, and your professor wants to hold you back another year. And that you enticed two other students to skip with you as well today.”
“That’s not—”
“I’m not finished!” But she didn’t speak. She only crossed her arms again.
It was all I could do to meet her angry eyes with a hopefully penitent expression.
Finally, after several uncomfortable moments of silence, she spoke, her voice significantly calmer … and deadlier. “If you don’t start taking school seriously, you will never win a patronage. Don’t doubt me, Weslan. I know this city. I know the Procus families. And I’m telling you, if you want to keep living like we do, you’ll keep your head down and do what you’re told. Or you’ll be lucky to get a position in the Sanitation Ministry when you graduate, and you’ll spend your life in the government barracks. And…”
A single tear stole down her cheek, and my insides seemed to twist into knots at the sight.
“And please, even if you don’t care about anything else, think of your father. He would never—” Her voice broke, and she cleared her throat. “He would never have behaved like this. You’re his son, aren’t you?”
I nodded.
“Then act like it. Please.” Her voice broke again on the last word. She left the room, slamming the door behind her.
I slouched back against the couch and let my crumpled notes drop to the carpet.
My father would never have behaved like this, huh? How nice for him. Not that I’d ever truly gotten the chance to know him. He’d died when I was six, one of the first healers lost to the plague. I had only vague memories of a stern, bearded face. He had occasionally appeared at family meals, but otherwise, he had always been busy with important healer work. I couldn’t remember ever seeing him embrace my mother, much less me. But he took care of his responsibilities, did he, Ma? What about his family? His kid? Those responsibilities didn’t matter?
I shook my head and pressed my palms against my eyes. What a striking awful day. And Argus and Silas had sold me out when they were the ones to drag me off in the first place. Well, maybe they hadn’t exactly dragged me off, but…
I shook my head again. I was done thinking about them. Done thinking about school and Procus families and patronages. Done thinking about perfect, furious green eyes that made me want to run straight to the Merchant Quarter and fix everything that had that gorgeous girl so upset.
I was a failure, anyway. Irresponsible. Lazy. Right? Nothing like my hardworking father.
No. I was done with all of it.
When night fell, I threw open the window and scaled down the outside of the villa. Those three blonde mage girls had wanted to see me again tonight. That would be exactly the right way to end this miserable day—by forgetting it.
I had planned on inviting Argus to come too, but there was no chance I’d include him now. I wasn’t the perfect Mage Academy student my mother wanted, but at least I didn’t go around using my powers to torment people like he did.
There was no question about it—my friendship with Argus was over, and I wanted nothing to do with him and Silas. Perhaps our friendship had been over for some time, but I’d been too idiotic to see it. Not anymore.
Ella
I lay in bed, my teeth chattering from the cold even with my sweater layered on top of my nightgown.
We’d sold our suffio rations the day we got them, as usual. Perhaps if our bakery’s profitability increased after we got that Lerenian flour, we could keep the suffio rations for ourselves. Perhaps. Not likely, though. We needed too many things, and there would never be enough money. Why did it always come down to money?
I curled as small as I could under my blanket and buried the side of my face in my pillow.
At least we’d saved forty marks on flour this week. I’d wake early and go to the market to buy a new school uniform with the extra money. I’d get a perfect score on the next test, and the next one, and the one after that. Because nothing and no one was going to stop me from graduating from the Royal Academy. Not an obnoxious boy. Not a smirking professor. No one.
No, from now on, I’d be Ella Stone—unmovable, unfeeling, unstoppable. And no one would get in my way.
afterword
I hope you liked this little window into Ella and Weslan’s lives. Their story continues two years later in Fated: Cinderella’s Story, Book 1 of the Destined series, a collection of overlapping fairy tale retellings. Get it here. Can’t wait? Read on for a sneak peek…
Fated: Cinderella’s Story
“Ella, they’ve set a date for Prince Estevan’s selection ball. It’s this summer!” Alba spread the Procus Society pages of the Herald across the breakfast table.
I dragged my attention away from my exam notes. “Already? Didn’t he just have one of those?”
My stepsister ran her finger under the words. “It’s right here. ‘Crown Prince Estevan is set to welcome all the young ladies of good Procus families in a summer selection ball, sure to be an extravagant affair, if last year’s selection is any indicator.’”
I sat at a rusty table with my family on the rooftop terrace above our bakery. Honey scones and coffee cups crowded together on the old white tablecloth, sharing the small space with inky pages of today’s Herald.
My stepmother Zel and my other stepsister Bri ate their scones and ignored Alba. They had both been quiet all morning, so I answered Alba again. “But I thought the whole point of a selection ball was that he’s supposed to choose a wife and be done with it. He’s not supposed to have a ball every year.”
“You can’t force true love, Ella! The prince just didn’t meet the right lady last year.” My twin stepsisters were not quite thirteen, but to hear Alba talk, she was an expert on love. “He needs another ball so he can have a chance at true love. Even you wouldn’t begrudge him that, would you?”
I bit back a smile. “Even me, hmm?”
The gossips at the Royal Academy whispered that the prince had found true love with at least six beautiful Procus ladies since last year’s ball. I didn’t want to wipe that sweet smile off Alba’s face, so I didn’t elaborate. She went back to drooling over the paper, and I returned to my notes.
I made it th
rough a few more minutes of studying before I dropped my notes on the table and leaned back in my chair and groaned.
“What’s wrong, El?” Zel nudged me.
I rubbed at my tired, burning eyes. “What’s the point? It doesn’t matter how well I do on the final exam. I’ll never belong at the Royal Academy, much less in a government apprenticeship. I don’t know why I’m trying so hard.”
Zel squeezed my hand. “Never say never. Besides, it’ll be that much sweeter to prove them all wrong, won’t it?”
I had to laugh. “True.” Zel had been the one to encourage me to apply for the scholarship when they first opened the Royal Academy to commoners. But it was one thing for my own stepmother to believe in me. It was quite another to convince my professors and classmates that I was worthy of a government position. “Even so, I wouldn’t mind being descended from a Procus line. Or at least looking like a true Fenra.”
Zel snorted. “There’s no such thing as a true Fenra. Ignore them, El. I’m serious. You’re beautiful. I wouldn’t change a single thing about you.”
Heat spread across my cheeks. “Not even these green eyes?” I kept my tone light, but from Zel’s gentle smile, she saw right through me.
“Definitely not the green eyes.”
I was fortunate to have the dark hair and bronze skin of the Fenra ruling class who had founded Asylia centuries ago, but I’d also been cursed with the light-green eyes of a Kireth descendant—the eyes of a mage. I was well past the age when any magical tendency might manifest itself. Without doubt, I was not and never would be a mage. But my green eyes suggested a different story to everyone who saw me.