Cinderella Is Dead(57)

Constance’s voice cuts through my own screams. She is in the water with me, her arm around my waist, pulling me toward the shore. I cough and gasp, and fetid water spews from my mouth. I’d gone under and hadn’t even realized it.

Amina stands very still, staring. Watching. I lean against Constance as we wade out of the pool. I fall to my knees in the dirt, and the cold air stings my damp skin. I’m completely drained, as if I haven’t slept in days.

Constance rests her hand on my back. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I saw something,” I struggle to explain, glancing back at the pool. “The king—I saw his face. There was a light …”

Constance looks nervously toward the pool as she pulls me up and drapes my clothes around me. The ground seems to move under my feet, and the sky tilts. She lifts my arm and puts it around her neck. “Come on. Let’s get you dried off.”

Once inside, she helps me into a chair and wraps me in a blanket as my head clears. Amina follows us in and locks the door, a troubled look on her face. Constance kneels beside me, tracing circles on the back of my hand.

“You frightened me,” she says softly.

I’m struggling to process what just happened. I saw something out there in the water. It was like a dream, but I was wide awake. A vision? A hallucination?

“What did you see?” Amina asks as she moves to a chair by the fire.

I can’t think clearly. Constance answers first.

“I was sitting, reading a book,” she says.

“What book?” Amina asks.

“Cinderella’s story,” she says.

“That’s it?” Amina asks.

“No,” Constance says, her voice low. “There was a hallway. It was dark and filled with smoke. I saw someone lying there.”

“Who?” I ask.

Constance shrugs. “I don’t know.” She turns to Amina. “What did you see, Granny? A vision of you and Manford skipping off through the White Wood, hand in hand?” Constance is shaken and seems to be trying desperately to take her mind off whatever it was she saw.

Amina turns to me. “I saw my own death.”

My heart ticks up. “You’re going to die?”

Amina shakes her head and stares down into her lap. “Death comes for us all, doesn’t it?”

“Not to Manford,” Constance says quietly.

“What did you see, Sophia?” Amina asks.

I take a deep breath and try to think straight. “I felt like I was falling. I saw the king and I saw Cinderella, and there was a pull at the center of my chest and a drop in the pit of my stomach at the same time. His face was smooth but blurred around the edges, and he was just standing there. He—he smiled at me. And then he changed into a rotting corpse, and then a light engulfed me.” I hold myself around the waist to keep from shaking. “It felt like—like dying.”

The corners of Amina’s mouth turn down and her lips part. I saw this look on her face the night Manford came here. It is terror.

“What does it mean?” Constance asks.

Amina stares into the fire, composing herself before speaking. “I cannot say. I do know that the meaning will make itself clear to you in time.”

The images replay in my mind over and over. “I’m scared.”

“You’d be a fool not to be,” she says. She puffs away on her pipe, a wreath of earthy-smelling smoke encircling her head.

Anger and fear bubble up inside me. “I want to stop Manford. I don’t want him to hurt anyone else, but how can I do that if he is the monster you say he is? Who am I to stop him?”

“There is always fear, always doubt,” Amina says. “The only thing that matters is that you push forward. And seeing as how that’s exactly what you’re doing, I would ask you to recognize that you are worthy of this task.”

“I don’t know if I am,” I say. “Constance has been fighting for what’s right her entire life. And you, you’re the fairy godmother.”

“Do I look like a fairy to you?” Amina smiles a wicked little smile. She sets down her pipe, takes my hand, and presses it between her palms. “Do you know how many old witches are running around in these forests?”

I shrug. I don’t know the answer to that question, but, I wonder, if there are other witches and fairy godmothers out there, what are they doing with their powers? Are they hiding? Are they at all concerned with what’s happening in Mersailles?

“There’s a woman in Lille who runs a shop called Helen’s Wonderments. She claims to have all of your recipes, all your potions and powders. Says she’s as close to a fairy godmother as most of us will ever get.”

“Helen is a liar and a cheat and sells cow piss in fancy glass bottles to unwitting, often desperate people,” Amina says disapprovingly. “The only reason she’s allowed to continue is because Manford knows she’s a fake.”

I swallow hard. I drank a half vial of cow piss and gave Erin the rest. That is a secret I’ll be taking to my grave.

“Aside from the pretenders, there are more than a few conjure women in this land. I’m not special. I’ve made mistakes and used my power to hurt people, to do unspeakable things. I am not a saint.”

“But you are special,” I say. “You have a gift.”