Cinderella Is Dead(84)

They will burn to death if I don’t get them out.

I run to the little door I’d escaped from during the ball. My head begins to clear, and I remember I had the keys in the folds of my dress before the enchantment wore off. I frantically search my pockets and find them safely tucked away. I pull them out and fumble with the lock. None of the dozens of keys seem to fit.

Constance, where are you?

My hands are unsteady, and the sky grows brighter with each wasted second. I pause for a moment and then back up enough to get a running start. I have to knock the damn thing down.

I rush forward, shoving my shoulder into the wooden door. It breaks from the frame, and I kick it the rest of the way in. Inside the passageway, I can smell smoke, though the flames have not yet reached the hall. I bang on each of the cell doors.

“Hello! Just hang on! I’m going to get you out!”

Coughs and pleas for help ring out as a thick black haze penetrates the confines of the hallway. I’m running out of time. They are running out of time. I go to the cell next to the one I’d been held in and try each key until finally one fits, and the lock pops open. I push the door in to find a woman standing in the far corner. Her long brown hair hangs around her face, two streaks of white at her temples. She comes forward, sputtering as the smoke fills the cell. I put my arm around her waist, and we hobble out into the hallway.

“Where is the king?” she asks, searching the hall frantically.

“He’s dead,” I say. Even in the haze of smoke, I can see the astonishment in her eyes.

“You’ve done it?” she asks, tears filling her eyes. “You’ve done it!”

“You need to get out of here.” I still need to unlock the other doors, and smoke is starting to stream into the hallway. I guide her to the door, and she falls onto the snow-covered ground. I take a swallow of fresh air and duck back inside to open the other doors.

Excitement begins to mount. The king is dead, I can free his prisoners, and maybe things can be different in Lille. One by one, the girls emerge, and I rush them outside. My head swims as I approach the last door. I can no longer see the lock in my hands, so thick is the smoke. I fit the key in by feeling where the opening is, and as the last girl stumbles out, the smoke overtakes me.

I fall to the floor of the servants’ passage; a thick cloud of black smoke lies over me like a blanket. My lungs burn, and my eyes water. I can’t move, so I close my eyes. All I can think of is Constance. I see her face in the darkness as I give in to the falling, sinking feeling. Manford is dead. The people will be free, but there will be no escape for me.





37





“Get up.”

I’m floating. Drifting away. There isn’t any pain. I’m letting go.

“Sophia!”

I know that voice, but it’s so far away, and I can’t answer.

“Sophia! You open your eyes right now!”

I try, but I can’t. Then I realize they are already open, and I’m staring up at the blazing orange sky.

“Breathe,” says the voice. “Please, Sophia … please.”

Clean, crisp air fills my chest, but it only makes the pain worse. I gasp, taking in breath after breath. Someone is there. Her hair melds with the sky, and her hands clutch at my face.

Constance.

“That’s it, Sophia.”

I roll onto my side and suck in the cold air, my throat raw from the smoke. Constance leans in next to me as I cough until my ribs ache. I reach up and put my arm over her shoulder. We are far from the castle, which is ablaze on nearly every floor.

“How did I get out here?” I ask, still disoriented.

“I saw the girls coming out of the castle, and I went in to help. You were on the floor, just like the vision I had, and I thought—” Her voice catches, and she pulls me closer to her.

“You saved me,” I say. She has. And in more ways than I can count.

Thick black smoke billows out the windows. A crowd gathers. Girls from the cotillion stand in shock as more and more people arrive in carriages and on horseback. Everyone rushes around, unsure of what to do.

“Where’s the king?” someone shouts.

Constance helps me to my feet, and I scan the crowd. Even now, as the palace burns, some of the suitors hold tight to their newly won prizes. One young woman struggles in her partner’s grip as he looks around, wild-eyed. The king may be a pile of ash, but his ideas are still alive and well. I steady myself before marching through the parted crowd. I stand in front of the man and turn to the girl.

“Is this what you want?” I ask her. She stares at me, afraid.

“What do you think you’re doing, wretch?” the man yells.

“The king is dead!” I shout back, putting my face very close to his. A hush falls over the crowd, and the man gawks at me as if I’ve struck him. Constance does a double take. This is news to her, too. “He is dead, and his disgusting laws and rules will die with him. This ends now.”

Everyone stares at me in confusion. The parents of many of the girls descend on the scene and find their daughters in the crowd. The flames crackle and snap behind me.

Much more than beams and timber are burning to the ground.

Determination swells inside me. I watch as the young woman in front of me pulls her arm from the man’s grip, scowling at him. He leans over her, and several of the other girls rush to stand in front of her. A murmur of voices ripples through the crowd.