Cinderella Is Dead(81)

The double doors leading into the ballroom groan as they open. My vision is still hazy, but I recognize Amina’s squat frame as she enters the room. She’s shed her pretend exterior and marches up to the king. A rush of relief washes over me.

“Please,” Amina says to him. “Please remember what we discussed before.”

I’m still dazed, but even in my haze her words don’t make sense. “Before?”

The king looks at me and then back to her. He bursts into a fit of wicked laughter. “You didn’t tell her? She couldn’t figure it out?”

“Figure what out?” I demand, climbing to my feet. My ribs throb with each heartbeat.

Amina flashes me a tight smile, but her eyes show me nothing but sadness. “I lied to you, Sophia. I had to do it.”

The king waltzes over and plants a kiss on the top of Amina’s head. “Oh, Mother, you never were a very good liar.”

Mother.

No.

It can’t be true.

“You—you said he saved you from the pyre,” I stammer. “That he came looking for your assistance.”

A maniacal grin spreads across Manford’s face. “Is that the story you’ve been telling?” He turns to Amina. “I like that one very much. It’s almost the truth.”

My gaze returns to the portraits. Yes, they are all Manford, but they are also the boy from the painting hanging by the hearth in Amina’s home in White Wood.

“You lying witch,” Constance says through gritted teeth. She opens the book she’s clutching and tosses it onto the floor. It’s the grimoire. Amina glances up at her.

“Oh, but you, Constance, you had some inkling, didn’t you?” Amina grins, and the subtle similarities between her and Manford stare out at me, taunting me. “When?”

Constance grips her dagger. “I knew the little boy in the painting looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. It gnawed at me.” Constance trembles as she speaks. “When you left for the cotillion, I looked at the necromancy spell again.” She points to the book. The pages containing the necromancy spell lie open.



“You don’t have a good reason for still being alive after all this time,” Constance says. “Manford should have killed you if you knew his secret. But now it makes sense. You’re bound to him by blood, by love, by magic. He cannot exist without you. I didn’t want to believe it. I was blinded by my hatred for him.” She shoots a pointed look at Manford.

He cocks his head to the side. “You poor girl. What have I done to make you hate me so?” His tone is mocking, cruel.

“I have plenty of reasons,” Constance says angrily. “You have been hunting my family for generations.”

Manford is taken aback. He stares at Constance. “Mother, you should have told me we were among such honored guests. You look very much like Gabrielle. Pity.”

The horrible realization dawns on me. I turn to Amina. “You brought him back yourself?” I remember the broken seal in her grimoire, Manford’s cold skin, his stiffened body. He’s a walking corpse. Amina is bound to him and he to her, just like the spell says. Only she has the power to destroy him because she’s the one who cast the spell that brought him back from the dead.

Amina claps her hands. “Well done, my dear. Well done. It’s true that he saved me from the pyre, but I was only on it because the people in my village found out what I’d done. Necromancy tends to scare the faint of heart.”

“You’ve been working with him the entire time,” Constance says.

“I didn’t have to do much,” Amina says. “You were already planning to come back to Lille. I just gave you a little push.” She turns to Manford. “I must admit the things you said to me when you came to visit stung a little.”

He puts his hand over his heart. “My temper got the better of me. I’m sorry about that, Mother, truly.”

He doesn’t sound sorry at all, but he smiles at her like he adores her, and my stomach turns over. All this time, I thought her hesitancy was because she was ashamed, fearful. But it was a lie. Like the Cinderella story. Like the ball. Like everything.

Amina turns to her son. “Your impatience nearly ruined everything. Showing up like that. I told you I’d deliver her to you, but you didn’t want to wait.”

That night we’d hidden in the root cellar replays in my head. He knew I was close by. The betrayal of it is like a knife twisting in my side.

“There was some truth to what I said,” King Manford says.

Amina glances at him, and something like fear washes over her face.

“Your magic has failed me in the past, Mother.” The king turns to her. “Your tinctures and tonics didn’t hold. She would have loved me had you done a better job of concocting your potions.”

“I was sure your wit and charm would win her over without my assistance,” Amina says. “It was only meant to be a little push.”

A loud screeching sound cuts through the air, and Amina’s crow wings into the ballroom from the open side door. It lands on her shoulder.

“I hate that creature,” Manford says.

Amina leans toward Manford and draws my dagger from his belt. “Oh stop. He’s never done a single thing to you.”

They carry on this conversation like Constance and I aren’t standing right here.