Cinderella Is Dead(63)

“You need to stay hidden,” says Constance. “The king is looking for you, and I think he may have some idea of where you are. You said his guards came to your home, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence that he just showed up in the White Wood.” She shoots Amina an angry look. “He’s tracking us.”

“For all his cruelty, he is a highly intelligent man,” Amina says. “I think we sometimes make the mistake of thinking monsters are abhorrent aberrations, lurking in the darkest recesses, when the truth is far more disturbing. The most monstrous of men are those who sit in plain sight, daring you to challenge them. He’s calculating and manipulative, and believe me when I say he will not stop until he finds you.”

Her ominous tone sends a shiver straight up my back. “Where will we go?”

“We should go back to Cinderella’s childhood home,” says Constance. “Just for the time being. Until we can make a better plan.”

“That place is still standing?” Amina asks.

I nod, but I don’t like the idea. “We just run and hide then?”

“I think we need to make a solid plan,” Constance says. “Let’s go somewhere safe and then sit down and figure all this out.”

“We have time to plan, but do they? The women of Lille, I mean,” I say. I stare in the direction of the palace. “How many girls will he hurt before we have a chance to stop him? How many women are being hurt right now in Mersailles because of the rules he made?” I look back. “And what about the young boys who will never have a chance to be decent people because they are taught from the cradle to be despicable? And we’re going to hide? I want him dead. Right now.” I say those words and wonder if it’s too much, if I’ve gone too far. No. That is exactly what it will take to stop him. Nothing short of death will do.

“We need a plan, Sophia,” Amina says. “We cannot make a single misstep.”

The weight of all we have learned presses down on me. But isn’t this what I asked for? To find a way to make a difference?

“My entire family has been sacrificed to this notion of stopping the king,” says Constance. “We’ve hidden, lived in the dark, made ghosts of ourselves. Waiting, training, hoping that one day the time would come for us to end him, and I had lost any real hope that a change could be made. But now we have a real chance.” She looks up at me. “I’m with you. To the bitter end, if that’s what it takes.”

“A life of running, hiding, and being afraid every single day is no life at all,” I say. I look Constance in the eyes. “We’ll put the pieces together, and then we’ll destroy him.”





29





We gather our cart and horse and travel the long road around the outskirts of Lille. We take the forked road to the run-down house where Constance and I took cover a few short weeks ago. The path is still overgrown and impossible to navigate with the cart, so we leave it in the ditch, covered in branches.

Amina slows as we approach the house. I watch her eyes move over the fa?ade, pausing on the broken front door and the partially collapsed roof.

“It’s been a very long time since I’ve been here,” Amina says, her tone soft. She turns and looks over the poppies that still color the landscape orange. “I see a little of my magic still lingers here.”

“Your magic?” I ask. “It makes the flowers bloom like this, even in the winter?”

“Not purposely, but so much magic was worked here, on these very grounds, I’d think the land cannot help but be changed by it.”

“We won’t be here long,” I say. “A few days, a week at the most. Just until we’ve figured out what to do next.”

We mount the front steps and stand outside the door. Amina draws a long, deep breath and lets it hiss out from between her pursed lips. We walk into the parlor off the main hallway, and Amina sets to work lighting a fire as I help Constance bring in our supplies from the cart. I put the horse in the small stable near the rear courtyard, glancing at the grave under the giant tree.

Once we’re finished, Constance and I join Amina in the parlor. She’s making herself a little nest of blankets by the fire.

“Getting comfy?” Constance asks, shooting Amina a disapproving look.

“Quite,” Amina says curtly.

“Can’t you bibbidi-bobbidi-boo the place back together?” I ask as a gust of wind whips through the room, rattling the bones of the house.

Constance laughs, and even Amina cracks a small smile. “It doesn’t work that way.” She takes out her pipe and puffs away. “I’m going to take a walk. Clear my head.”

“Don’t you want to get started on a plan now?” I ask.

“This very night?” Amina asks. “I admire your tenacity, my dear, but we can’t rush into this. We’ll start first thing in the morning.”

Amina gets up and shuffles out of the room. I feel like we’re not doing enough, like we’re not moving fast enough. I turn to Constance to complain, and she’s smiling.

“She’ll come back,” she says. “I wouldn’t be sad if she didn’t, but I’m sure she will.”

“I know, but I feel like we’re not doing enough.”

“We just raised a corpse from the dead, Sophia.”