Cinderella Is Dead(71)

I can’t sit still, choosing instead to pace back and forth in front of the hearth. Amina sits in a chair near the fireplace, hovering over a piece of golden parchment.

“It’s disturbing how easily I was able to nick this from the mail carrier,” she says. “They really should be more vigilant about keeping an eye on their parcels.”

Constance took the horse and cart before the sun came up; as soon as I hear the faint sound of wheels on the road, I run out to meet her. She climbs down, takes one look at me, and pulls me into an urgent embrace. She’s as nervous as I am but shows it in subtle ways—a fervent kiss, a look of sadness in her eyes when she holds me.

“The town is abuzz, but I didn’t see a single smile. People are nervous. Kind of like you.” She winks at me. “Are you ready?”

“No. But if I wait until I’m ready, I may never go.”

Amina nods a greeting to Constance as we go inside. They’ve come to an unspoken understanding that there will be no bickering, not on this day, at least.

In the early afternoon, clouds move over the hills, turning the day gray and gloomy. I’m sitting quietly with Constance, holding her hand and studying every angle of her face, when Amina stands up. “You’ll need time to travel to the palace, so it’s probably best if we get started now.”

My heart races. The moment has come.

Constance and I follow Amina outside into the small clearing behind the house where the giant tree sits. Constance drapes a cloak around us, and we huddle together in the chilly winter air. Amina looks to the sky and holds her hands up in front of her. As she mutters something unintelligible under her breath, a shudder runs through the ground.

Suddenly, a light, like liquid starlight, flows from Amina’s fingertips to the trunk of the massive tree, snaking out onto its branches. I crane my neck to look up at the canopy and watch the tree burst to life, wide green leaves sprouting from every branch. In the dead of winter it shouldn’t be possible. Amina steps back as the light from her hands fades away, but the tree remains luminescent.

“Ask of it what you will,” Amina says. “It will provide anything you should need, but you must understand that the magic is only temporary. All that the tree provides, it will take back at the stroke of midnight.”

Constance stares in amazement. “Is this what you gave to Cinderella?”

Amina looks away. “It is. On this very spot, on a night very much like this one.”

I slip out of Constance’s embrace and approach the tree, looking into the shimmering canopy. “A dress.” Do I need to ask it for a certain kind of dress? A specific color? I glance back at Amina, but a rustling sound draws my attention up as a pocket of warm air wraps itself around me like a blanket. The same strange luminescence that clings to the tree now clings to me. I hold my breath as a dress of shimmering silver materializes around me. Constance looks on, her eyes wide, hands clasped tightly together.

Amina whispers something into the branches. There’s a gentle tug at the back of my head, and a tingling surrounds my feet. I can barely see anything through the silvery haze. As it dims, Amina smiles. Constance looks back and forth between the glowing tree and me.

“It worked?” I ask.

“Like a charm,” says Amina.

The light is fading from the tree branches, so I quickly whisper one final thing to it. “Please help me find a way to defeat the king.”

Amina’s smile fades. “It can’t help you in that way, I’m afraid. This spell is very good at creating fancy frocks and unique baubles, but what truly matters is you, Sophia. You must use your head and your heart.”

“You can’t blame me for trying.”

Amina reaches into her cloak and pulls out something wrapped in a piece of cloth. She hands it to me. I unwrap it and find she’s given me a dagger.

“Just a little something,” Amina says.

The blade is long and slender and glints in the light of the enchanted tree. The handle is intricately carved, and set directly in the center is a shimmering pink stone.

“It’s quartz,” Amina says, tapping the stone. “I charged it during the last full moon. It should offer you some protection.”

“Thank you,” I say. “It’s beautiful.”

“I gave it to Cinderella the night of the very first ball. She didn’t get a chance to use it because of my cowardice, my willingness to believe that there was another way to stop the king.”

I look down at the weapon again, grasping its handle, feeling the weight of it in my hand and on my heart. Amina tries to give me a reassuring smile.

It’s hard for me to reconcile my feelings for her. She reminds me so much of my own grandmother in some ways: her quick wit, her knowing little smile. But Amina helped Manford ascend the throne, costing the people of Mersailles their lives. And how many have been lost since the time of Cinderella? How many have had their lives ruined because of Manford? She helped him. But she is helping me now. And like she said, we cannot go back.

“Don’t worry about me,” I say. “I’m going to be okay.”

She takes my hands in hers and sighs. Doubt creeps in. Are we all just kidding ourselves by thinking we can make this work? Amina won’t meet my gaze. Her vision in the pool revealed her own death; had she also seen this moment? Does she know how this will end?