Cinderella Is Dead(41)

“It’s me!” Constance shouts. “Move!”

We jump into the cart, and I grab the reins, giving them a quick, sharp snap. The horse bolts straight ahead. Constance glances back as the guards stand at the base of the tower, shouting and tripping over themselves. She grips the edge of the cart to keep herself from tumbling out as we disappear into the White Wood.

The ground turns uneven, and the horse slows a bit.

“We have to keep moving,” says Constance.

A feeling of foreboding permeates the forest as the light in the sky fades, ushering in shadowy darkness all around us. Constance stares behind us as we descend farther into the trees. When she is certain we’re not being followed, she whips her head around.

“Were you trying to choke me back there?” she asks.

“I thought you were one of the guards,” I say, heat rising in my face. “I’m so sorry.”

“You can’t choke a full-grown man. You have to stab him or run him over with your cart. Come on now, Sophia.” She straightens her jacket and leans back on the seat, grinning.

Something wings out of the trees, swoops over the cart, and lands on a branch just off the side of the road. It’s the biggest crow I’ve ever seen. Its midnight-black wings stretch nearly as wide as I am tall. Its beady black eyes shine in the dark. I cringe. “I don’t even want to know what other kinds of creatures are in these woods.”

“Me either,” Constance says. “Unfortunately for us, our destination is at least another four days’ travel into the heart of the forest.”

That is not what I want to hear. “Four days? We can travel that far in and not come out the other side?”

“It seems impossible, I know. But that is where the heart of the forest lies. The last place the fairy godmother was thought to be. If that’s where she went, she picked a perfect spot. No one in their right mind would have bothered her in there. Except the very desperate.”

“And now we’re headed out there,” I say. “So what does that make us?”

“I’d say we’re plenty desperate.”

A chill moves through me as a gust of wind splits the air. The trees along the trail shudder, sending a shower of leaves down onto the ground, red and gold and brown, the familiar hues of autumn blanketing the forest floor. But just ahead, the tree trunks turn black, and their branches are devoid of leaves. Constance takes a short, quick breath as we roll past the demarcation in the trees.

“I lost my temper back there in the alley. I’m sorry.” She’s trying to distract herself from whatever feeling had come over her.

“You don’t have to apologize,” I say. “Did your mother teach you how to use a knife as well?”

She nods. “She wanted me to be prepared for anything. I can teach you if you’d like.”

I’ve always wanted to know how to use a sword, a dagger, anything that might help me protect myself. My mother might have actually fainted if I was both in love with a girl and thinking of learning to use a sword. “So you’ll teach me after we survive this little jaunt through the most terrifying place in the land? Seems like I might need to learn sooner than later.”

A hoot comes from the trees, and Constance’s eyes grow wide. “You’re probably right. But you’ve been inside the palace. This place can’t be as bad as that.”

She has a point.

A rustle along the path almost makes me jump out of my skin. I peer into the darkness ahead of us. “When we need to go back, how will we get into Lille?” I ask, trying to keep my mind occupied. “I don’t suppose you have another bomb lying around.”

“I do, as a matter of fact.” Constance grins mischievously. “But I don’t think it’s wise to set off an explosion every time we cross the border. We’ll stay hidden, but next time, it’ll be in plain sight.”

Constance reaches back into the bed of the cart and rummages through her burlap sack, pulling out a small envelope. She hands it to me.

“Is this what I think it is?” I’ve never held, or even seen, an official pass from the king. A part of me thought they were just a myth, something parents tell their children to give them hope that there is something beyond Mersailles’s borders, far from the king’s oppressive rule. Constance takes the reins as I turn the letter over in my hand like it’s made of glass. The envelope is similar to the one my invitation to the ball had come in. I open it and remove the folded piece of paper. The words are written in the same billowy black script, and they list two names: Martin and Thomas Kennowith. Details of their approved course follow. They left Lille to pick up a new cart and will return at a later, unspecified date. At the bottom, a sentence in very small print reads, “Failure to adhere to the parameters of this pass will result in imprisonment and a fine.” Two boxes are next to it, the red wax stamp of the royal crest in one and nothing in the other.

“We can use this to get back in. Save our bombs for another time,” says Constance.

“Where did you get this?”

“I stole it,” Constance says rather flippantly.

“You’ve got everything covered,” I say.

“Well, not everything,” she says. “I haven’t figured out how to make you look at me the way you did when I was standing by the fire back at the house. I don’t know that anyone has ever looked at me that way.” She bites her bottom lip as if she’s said too much.