Cinderella Is Dead(72)

Amina helps me tuck the sheath for the dagger between the folds of my dress and walks into the house, dabbing her eyes with the sleeve of her cloak, leaving Constance and me alone. Her eyes move over me, taking in every part, and I don’t have to ask her how she thinks I look. It’s written in her eyes, in her smile.

“I don’t know what to say,” Constance says.

“That’s a first,” I say. I close the gap between us. “I’ve never seen a dress like this.” I reach down and give the gown a little tug. It looks like it is made from the moonlight itself.

“It’s nothing compared to you,” she says.

My heart breaks at the very real possibility that I might never see her again.

“Promise me something,” Constance says.

“Anything.”

“Promise that you will come back to me.” Constance wipes tears from her eyes. “If you tell me you’ll come back, I’ll believe you.”

I press my forehead against hers and close my eyes. “I promise that I’ll do everything I can to come back to you.” That’s all I can say without lying to her.

I lean forward and kiss her, wrapping my arms around her, breathing her in and hoping that this isn’t the last time.

Amina stands in the doorway. “It’s time, Sophia.”

Constance loops her arm under mine, and we walk toward the front of the house. We pass a row of windows, mostly broken fragments still hanging in their frames, and I catch a glimpse of myself. I peer into the glass and reach up to touch my hair. My natural curls hang down around my shoulders, held away from my face by tiny silver butterflies made of glass set on silver pins. My skin shines, brown and beautiful, free from rouge or powder.

“You’re stunning,” Constance says. She plants a kiss on my cheek and lets her lips linger there. Her touch sends little sparks of fire straight through me.

My ride waits for me in the front drive. Two elegant stags, black as night and fitted with red bridles, are hitched to a shimmering black carriage with a domed roof, decorated with red ribbons and matching curtains.

“Is this real?” I ask.

“It’s real in this moment,” says Amina. Suddenly, a ball of light engulfs her, and I step in front of Constance, totally unsure of what is happening. When the light fades, a squat little man in black coattails and a red bowtie stands where Amina had been.

Constance grabs her dagger and raises it up.

“Wait a damn minute!” Amina’s voice comes out of the little man. “It’s me, you fool!”

Constance’s eyes grow wide, and she holsters her dagger. “Maybe give us some warning next time?”

“Maybe don’t try to stab every man you see,” Amina shoots back.

Constance looks to me and shrugs. “It’s a habit.”

Amina climbs up to take the reins. “Let’s get moving.”

“That look suits you,” Constance calls to her.

“You like it? Then I’ll have to make sure I never look this way again,” says Amina, scowling. “Let’s go, Sophia.”

Constance puts her hands on my shoulders and kisses me gently.

“I’ll go on foot,” she says, “and approach the palace from the mausoleum. I’ll try to find another way in.”

We’ve decided that, while I walk through the front door, Constance will try to gain entry in secret and make her way to the row of cells where I’d heard a voice from behind the locked door.

I climb into the carriage and Amina snaps the reins. We lurch forward and begin our journey to the palace. As we cut a path through the freshly fallen snow, I look back only once to catch a glimpse of Constance retreating into the house.





33





The castle comes into view, much as it had before, except this time, I’m not at all impressed by the opulent show of excess. It’s a fa?ade put up to entice the girls of Lille, and once they’re inside—Liv’s face flashes in my mind, and I can almost hear the king’s patronizing tone as he degraded her in front of everyone—they can’t escape.

We join the long line of carriages that extends up the drive to the main road. When we’re directly in front of the palace, Amina hops down and opens the door for me. We exchange glances as I step out, and she leans in to close the door behind me while whispering in my ear.

“I’ll stay as near as I can and find Constance once she’s close.”

I nod and file in with the other girls. Murmurs surround me. Some smile warmly. One young woman tells me she likes my dress and that my hair is beautiful, but the compliments are tinged with fear. I catch a snide comment about what I must have done to earn such a dress. While the insinuation stings, I let it go. I didn’t come here to care about what anyone else thinks. I have a job to do.

I hand my invitation to the guard, who studies it thoroughly before pausing. My heart gallops in my chest. Does he know the name doesn’t match the face? He looks me over slowly. After a few more moments of scrutiny, he files the invitation away and crosses off a name on his list.

“Go on,” he says.

By taking the invitation that was meant for another girl, whoever she was may be at home right now, wondering why she wasn’t invited. A stab of panic. I hadn’t thought about what position I’ve put that girl in. She is supposed to be here; the cotillion is mandatory. If she’s found at home, something terrible could happen to her and it would be my fault. I feel an even greater need to find the king and stop him.