Cinderella Is Dead(79)

“Just wait,” I whisper. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

I glance down the hall, debating how to sneak up on the guard. I take the most direct approach and walk quickly past several cells where the prisoners have taken notice of me. As I near the guard, he stands, a look of disbelief plastered on his face.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to be down here.”

One of the girls in the cell behind him screams at the top of her lungs. As the guard spins around, I bring the candlestick down on his head, and he slumps to his knees, sputtering and groaning.

“Hit him again!” someone yells.

I do, and he falls face-first onto the dirt floor.

“He’s got the keys on his belt!” A young girl, perhaps only a year or so older than myself, appears at the front of a cell, frantically waving her hand through the bars.

After tossing the candlestick aside, I unhook the keys dangling from a loop on his belt and go to the cell directly behind where the guard had been sitting.

“Are you all right?” I ask. “You screamed, and I thought—”

“I was only trying to distract the guard,” says the girl.

“Which one is it?” I ask. There are a dozen keys, and they all look the same to me.

“It’s silver with a square hole at the top,” says the girl. She begins to shake uncontrollably. She holds tight to the bars and watches as I fumble with the keys. Her slip dress has come apart at the bottom hem. Her cheeks are smudged with dirt. She wears an unmistakable mask of pain on her face.

I find the key with the square hole and unlock the cell. The girls shuffle out, unsure of what to do next.

“Listen to me,” I say. “There is a cotillion going on as we speak, and the king is looking for me. Take these keys and let the others out. There’s a man in the last cell who may not be able to walk on his own. He’ll need help. Do you know where this door leads?” I gesture to the door where the old man had disappeared.

“To the rear courtyard,” says one of the girls.

I hand the keys to her, and she runs to unlock the other cells. My head is spinning. I can’t think of a way to get everyone out and still go back for the girls locked away on the upper floor. As the others leave their cells, I look on in revulsion as at least forty girls and a half dozen boys stand before me. Were there so many forfeits in Lille? The young woman from the first cell has looped her arm around Luke, and he leans on her. Most of them are my age or older, but a few girls couldn’t be more than eleven or twelve. Is this the fate of the missing girls of Lille?

Suddenly, a thunderous rumble comes from behind the door that leads to the courtyard. I climb the stairs and listen closely before easing it open. Confusion and shouting erupt outside as everyone who has emptied into the rear courtyard rushes away.

“Get out! Everyone out!” I hear a man yell.

“I think the king has ordered everyone to leave,” I say. I push the door open wider.

No one moves.

“Go,” I say. “Move with the crowd. Don’t look back.”

“Where are we to go?” asks a young girl. “We can’t go home. Some of us don’t have a home.”

I only know they need to get out of here. Now. “Head up the drive toward the main road. Just keep going, and do not stop.”

They rush out, clinging to one another, keeping their heads down. I see the cotillion guests glancing at them and then looking away as they run from the dungeon. This is the one occasion where the people of Lille’s indifference to seeing its citizens in such a sad state will work to our benefit. Luke and the young woman who is helping him stop.

“Are you coming with us?” he asks. He can barely speak, and I cup his face between my hands. I kiss his forehead before nudging him and the girl toward the door.

“No,” I say. “I can’t. There is something I have to do.”

Luke straightens up, trying his hardest to support his own weight. He puts his arms around me, and I can feel how devastatingly thin he is. If I hold on too tight, I fear I may break him. One of the girls presses the guard’s keys into my hand, and I tuck them in my dress, next to Cinderella’s journal.

I nudge Luke toward the exit, and when he is gone, I turn and race back down the tunnel and up the stairs. A group of guards heads away from me down an adjoining hall, swords drawn, shouting. When they are well out of sight, I cross the landing and descend a short flight of steps that leads to the doors of the main ballroom. I cut across the now-empty expanse of gleaming marble, the king’s portraits in all his guises staring out at me.

I make it halfway through before the doors behind me slam shut. The chandeliers burst to life one by one, casting shadows all around me.

I turn to see the king seated on his throne atop the platform, a sickening smile on his face. I run to the outer door and try to force it open, but it won’t budge.

“It’s no use, Sophia,” he calls after me. “Even if you opened it, there are fifty guards on the other side.”

Brimming with anger, I lock eyes with him. He descends the platform. His midnight-black suit melds with the shadows. His eyes glint in the candlelight.

“You killed my friend,” I say.

He looks off to the side. “Which one was that now? There have been so many.”

I didn’t expect him to be sad or sorry for what he’s done, but he seems completely lifeless, like a walking shell that only serves as a vessel for his hatred.