Chapter 38

Mother and Comfort taught nonstop. There had been an explosion of interest in etiquette classes in order to prepare for the upcoming ball. The house was now so noisy that I couldn’t hear myself think above the clamor of girls, even if I plugged my ears in the attic. So, I sought the peace and quiet of the forest. I toted along all my work with me. Luckily, all I needed to bring was parchment, ink, and quills. Just beyond the Fairy Tree, hidden from the path, I found a small clearing perfect for my needs. I sat down, spread out my papers on a flat stone, and set to work.

After a few hours, soft footsteps approached. I glanced up, and from between the trees, I glimpsed Cynthia walking my direction. Now, how had she known I would be here when I had intentionally not told anyone where I had gone? I prepared to stand up but then hesitated. She wasn’t coming exactly in my direction and didn’t give any indication that she had seen me. Instead, she headed for the Fairy Tree. I watched her kneel, almost as if she was praying to the tree, then reached her hand inside, groping for something unseen, just as she had on those family walks. After a few moments of searching about, her shoulders slumped, and she retreated back down the path, back toward our manor.

My heart broke. How desperately lonely must she be to still be clinging to a childhood myth? She must have needed something to believe in after her father had passed away. Perhaps she truly did believe that the spirits of her parents were still watching over her. I had been so busy with my work, and Mother and Comfort were so preoccupied with the finishing school, that Cynthia had been neglected lately. It was such a struggle to keep food on the table that I had forgotten to check in on my stepsister. She must be feeling abandoned and forgotten, and to top it all off, I knew Cynthia was in dire need of a new dress and pair of shoes.

I racked my brains, trying to think of anything I could do to help, either with letting Cynthia know that we were there for her to lean on and with finding her new shoes and a dress. The tailor in town and the cobbler were both refusing any new orders—every girl in town, it transpired, had submitted orders for dresses and shoes.

After I completed the work I needed to, I walked to town. I delivered completed translations, collected payments, and picked up new projects. One such project was a thin book that the glassblower Thomas wanted translated. “It is about that new glassblowing technique I inquired about,” Thomas told me. “Supposedly, he can make any shape hard as stone. But the entire, blasted book is in Avivian, and I can’t make sense of the pictures without the words.”

I rifled through the pages. The book had an air of lengthy, difficult, technical jargon and hours of looking up complex words. The letter had been difficult enough, and this thin book seemed even more challenging. “Three silver coins,” I quoted.

His face fell. It couldn’t have been clearer that he didn’t have that sort of money. “Although,” I continued, suddenly inspired, “I do need a pair of small glass shoes, and if this technique works like you say, and they wouldn’t break when they were walked in, I would be willing to accept that as payment.”

Thomas’ face lit up. “How small of shoes?” he asked. I guessed at the length of Cynthia’s feet, and held up my hands.

“About this big? I can bring in a sample shoe if you need it before you start.” Perhaps this way, Cynthia would be able to have some shoes for the ball after all.

Thomas nodded, brow furrowing as he sketched a rough high heeled shoe on a grubby piece of paper. “A woman’s shoe like this?”

I nodded.

“It may take me a few tries to get it right,” admitted Thomas. “With it being a new technique and all, and I won’t be able to start until I get the translated book back.”

“That is fine,” I told him. “This way, I get my shoes and you get practice with a new technique.”

Both pleased with the arrangement, I went on my way. I would need to stay up late to get this book translated if Thomas was to have it in time to make the shoes before the ball.

I got back to the manor just as the sun was beginning to set. Normally, girls would be leaving at this point. But instead, more girls were flocking into our house, as those who couldn’t attend during the day were also eager to learn about poise and elegance in preparation for the ball. Mother and Comfort had begun teaching night classes as well for this knot of girls.

I hurried inside and deposited Thomas’s book in my room, then went to the kitchen. Cynthia was inside, kneading dough while meat sizzled over the fire. “Hi,” I called, tying on an apron. “I thought you could maybe use some help.”

“I usually can, but I rarely get any,” Cynthia said coldly. “Turn the meat.”

I began turning the portions, making sure they didn’t stick to the bottom of the pan. “I still need those cooking lessons!” I told Cynthia, in a feeble attempt to make conversation.

She grunted.

“Quite the racket they are making in there,” I tried again.

“It has been like that all day.”

Once I had finished with the meat, I went to the sink to scrub dishes.

“So…a ball, huh?” I asked Cynthia, determined to have any semblance of a conversation with my stepsister. “Are you going to go?”

“And what would I wear to a royal ball?”

She had a point. Comfort and Mother regularly made dresses for themselves and their clients, but Cynthia and I had no new dresses, and the ones we did have were becoming threadbare and worn.

“I’m sure Comfort and Mother could make you one.”

“Right. In all their spare time.”

I sighed and glanced down at her feet. Her shoes really were very ragged. I wondered if she could wear the glass shoes Thomas planned to make for her, realizing that in my haste to barter for shoes that I hadn’t thought about how comfortable they may or may not be. At least they would be new. A few blisters the next day would be worth a night at a royal ball for someone who hadn’t ever attended one. I didn’t want to tell Cynthia about the shoes in case the technique didn’t work or the shoes weren’t ready in time.

“Well, I’m sure they could make one during their classes. They make them all the time. They could take your measurements and work on that while they are teaching the students.”

Cynthia continued pounding the bread dough and said nothing. “Well, if you did have a dress, would you go?” I pressed.

“You mean, if I had a new ball gown, shoes that actually worked, and gloves to hide my chapped hands from a prince? Then yes, I would go. But that all seems rather unlikely, doesn’t it?” She finished by slapping the dough onto a tray and shoveling it into the oven. “Do you think a pumpkin is going to turn into a coach to whisk me away to the palace?”

“I was just asking,” I mumbled, speaking to the pans I was scouring.

“What about you?” Cynthia asked in clipped tones. “Are you going to go off to the ball?”

Had she not heard me at dinner? Of course I wouldn’t be going. Why would I? All the other girls in Mother’s finishing school were constantly clamoring about becoming Prince Hubert’s bride. I certainly had no interest in that. Curtis was engaged to Aria, and I had rejected him. I didn’t miss dancing and social gatherings like Comfort and Mother did, so I had no reason to attend.

“No.” I finished scrubbing dishes while Cynthia swept the floor.

“Tell me about the prince again,” Cynthia demanded suddenly.

“Hubert? Or Curtis?” I couldn’t recall ever mentioning Curtis to Cynthia.

“Hubert, of course. I thought you said that you knew him growing up.”

“He is serious. Dedicated to his duties. He thinks more than he talks,” I answered. I looked over at Cynthia. “He would like you. You seem like the type of girl he would be attracted to.”

Cynthia flipped a stray strand of hair out of her face and looked up, intrigued. “Really?”

“Yeah. He is a good dancer. He likes history, just like you. And he is terrible at Charades too!” I wiggled my eyebrows at her, hoping she realized I was teasing.

“Well, it doesn’t matter, because I wouldn’t be able to go anyway.” This time, Cynthia said it petulantly, as though debating possibilities on how to get there.

“Tell me if you change your mind. I’m sure we could work something out.”