Cinderella Is Dead(69)

“We did everything exactly as we were supposed to,” Mrs. Preston says. “We recited the verses, knew them all by heart. We served the king, followed the rules, and two years in a row we’ve been denied a visit by a godmother. I wish I knew what we did wrong.”

I clench my jaw. She believes, as Liv did, that the stories are real, and while I now know there was real magic involved, it wasn’t something you earned by being faithful to the palace or reading Cinderella’s story a million times over.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I say. “Please understand that.”

Mrs. Preston shakes her head. “I wish you could have come to the funeral. It was lovely, and you were such a good friend to her.”

Tears fall again, and I turn away. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.”

“No, no. Don’t apologize,” says Mr. Preston, shaking his head. “You managed to get away. I’m sure your parents miss you, but you shouldn’t go back.”

“Marcus,” Mrs. Preston interjects.

“I don’t mean to give the impression that I’m speaking ill of your parents,” he says. “But it’s my sincerest wish that you never have to be a part of that terrible ball ever again. And now that he’s ordered a cotillion, he’ll have another opportunity to ruin our lives.” I turn to look at him. He gives me hope that there are still good people in Lille.

Mrs. Preston pats the air with her hands, urging him to quiet his voice, which he does immediately.

“I have two more who will have to—” Mr. Preston stops short. His face contorts into a mask of pain. “They’re just eleven and thirteen, but the thought never leaves my mind that very soon I’ll be forced to send them off to the palace.” He fights back tears.

Mrs. Preston stares out the kitchen window. “Everyone wants to be chosen, but they don’t think about what that really means. Have you seen what happened to Erin?”

My heart almost stops. “I saw her in the market. I saw the bruises. Her fiancé, édouard, had—”

“Husband,” says Mrs. Preston, as if she knows what I am going to say. “He’s her husband now. It would have been better if she hadn’t been chosen at all.”

“Where is she?” I ask.

“They’ll be living in Eastern Lille, behind the gates, but Erin’s parents couldn’t come up with the dowry they’d promised, and so édouard and Erin have been staying about a mile past the orchard until the money is paid in full,” says Mrs. Preston. “I’ve gone to see her twice and was turned away at the door each time. He didn’t even let her come to Liv’s funeral. I think he resents having to stay so close to us commoners and takes it out on her.”

“I want to put an end to it,” I say. “The ball, the laws, the traditions. All of it.”

Mrs. Preston glances toward the stairs. “People will not let go of those things so easily. I sometimes think they don’t even understand that they are doing anything wrong.”

“I don’t pity their ignorance,” I say. “They see what’s going on. We all do. We have to show them a better way.”

Mrs. Preston covers my hand with hers. “You’ll change the world then, Sophia?”

There is no hint of sarcasm, of doubt. She is sincerely asking me what I aim to do.

“I don’t know about the world, but we can start with Lille,” I say. That’s enough for right now. “I should be on my way.”

I tuck my hair under my cap, and Mrs. Preston hugs me tightly. “Erin doesn’t want to be married to that man—or any man.” She looks up at me. The love and gentleness she has for her own girls has always extended to me and to Erin, but I didn’t know exactly how much until this moment. “She tried so hard to pretend to be happy about the match. She wanted to make her parents proud.”

“I know.” How being married to a man like édouard, who beats her, could make them proud is beyond me. Why was that an acceptable price to pay for being chosen? She’s worth more and deserves better.

“Perhaps it has always been you who was meant to save her,” she says.

“There’s still hope,” I say, although I’m not sure I’ve fully convinced myself of that. She holds me for a long time before going upstairs. Mr. Preston walks me to the door.

“I won’t ask you what you plan to do or where you’re going,” he says. “It’s best that I don’t know, but you know where to find me if you need anything.”

I nod, take his hand in mine, and give it a squeeze. “Thank you.”

I hug him and leave without looking into his eyes for fear that I won’t be able to see through the tears. I stand on the stone pathway in front of the house and breathe in the chilly air. It allows me to refocus. Erin.

Just down the road from the orchard, I find Erin and édouard’s temporary residence, a large house with a tiled roof and large stained-glass windows that sits apart from the others on the street.

I leave my horse tethered to a tree close by and walk up to the house, my heart pounding. Will she even want to see me? And what can I say to her after all this time?

Just as I’m thinking of chucking a stone at one of the upper windows, the front door opens, and Erin comes out. I stop, frozen where I stand. I wait for her to notice me, the anticipation tying me in knots. She pulls her shawl in around her neck as she looks up into the sky and exhales long and slow, the way she does when she’s exhausted. She levels her head and steps forward.