Cinderella's Inferno Read online

  I could not allow it. How much was I willing to give?

  Everything. I would give everything to save her and send her back into the light of heaven’s grace. Or perhaps, said a small voice that whispered a hope I hardly dared to entertain, you might bring her home—the same way that Edward was released from the Abyss.

  It had never been clear whether my brother had died before being cast into hell in Celia’s clutches, but by some power, he’d been returned to me. Was it so strange, then, to think my mother might be returned to me, also? That our family might be whole again?

  That possibility, that hope, that truly was worth everything.

  I twisted in my captors’ grasp and pulled away easily, so startled were they by my resistance. I ran, stumbling through the doors to the Great Hall before they swung shut, and held my shackled hands before me.

  “Allow William to help me, Your Majesty,” I said, my voice raised and brimming with as much authority as my trembling lungs could muster, “and I vow to renounce my powers once the task is complete. You will have your kingdom free from necromancy, free from the dark forces within my control, and free from the conjuring of spirits. Allow William and I to rescue my mother, and you will be rid of the abomination. You will be rid of me.”

  8

  The Confinement

  That is how I found myself squatting in a dank, windowless cell smaller than one of my family’s horse stalls amidst moldy hay that made me sneeze with every second breath.

  I had no idea how long I remained there before hearing the clank of a jailer’s belt, laden with a heavy ring of keys. I called out to catch his attention, intending to ask for some water to calm the dry soreness of my throat, courtesy of the piles of hay, but I shrank from the bars when the man turned a filmy eye in my direction. He was shaped like a barrel and sported a gap as wide as the ones between the bars of my cell where one expected to see front teeth. He also appeared rather pleased to have been blessed with a young woman as a prisoner in his cells.

  I didn’t dwell on the reasons why for long, for the moment he began his approach toward me, the thunder of boots on stone steps announced the arrival of another guest. With a grunt, the jailer moved to greet the newcomer. But as the soldiers and their quarry came into view, I gasped aloud.

  Although he now sported a purplish bruise around his left eye, I recognized him easily. This was the young player who had come to my rescue outside the castle only hours before. He heard my gasp, for he turned to regard me with his good eye before being unceremoniously tossed like a sack of carrots into a cell two places away from mine. As there was no barrier between cells save the bars that caged us, I watched with a tightness in my chest as he tried and failed to rise once, then twice. On the third try, he gave up halfway and instead settled for leaning his back against the furthest wall of bars that he might look through the cell between us.

  “Hello, princess,” he said, though not in the kind and valiant tone he had taken hours before when coming to my aid. Now, he sounded bitter and mocking.

  I hardly knew how to respond. “I’m not a princess,” I finally said. “If I were, I wouldn’t be here.”

  He snorted. “And to think I believed the lies of a common rabble-rouser. I suppose I can blame my own weakness. A pretty face and a forked tongue are difficult adversaries.”

  I flinched, for his words slapped as hard as an open palm and stung even worse. “I’m not sure how you blame me for our predicament, sir. I certainly hope there’s another woman to whom you’re referring, for I’ve been here for some time. I don’t even know if daylight has arrived or if I’m awake in the dead of night.”

  “Daylight is long gone, and I’m tired from the journey.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, knees pulled up to his chest. “And here I’d hoped to be spending the evening in a lush palace suite.”

  Presumptuous, this one. I waited for him to elaborate on why he’d chosen to blame me for his incarceration, but he appeared to be in no great hurry to do so. Would he truly make such an accusation and then fall asleep? My curiosity would not stand for it.

  “Tell me what brought you here,” I said, choosing my words with care. “Help me understand why it is you believe me to be an enemy of the king—for I assure you, though my recent actions may be perceived this way, I’m no danger to the crown. I’m betrothed to Prince William.”

  The man opened one eye, regarded me, then closed it again and sighed. “Your lies come too easily, miss, if I may say so. Perhaps I should have left you to those guards after all. If I had, I certainly wouldn’t be here.”

  I did feel guilt at that. “Please don’t tell me you were clapped in irons and thrown into a cell for merely aiding a fellow person?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m telling you, and a fine welcome it’s been to your town. You implied some familiarity here when first we spoke, but His Majesty seemed to believe I’m indirectly responsible for your crashing his dinner party. And with that, I’m also telling you I would like to rest so that I have the strength to plead my case when the time comes. I suggest you do the same.”

  I swallowed against a growing lump at the back of my throat. Did the king hate me so much that he’d punish an innocent man for simply coming to my rescue when under abuse from his own soldiers? How had the kitchen staff also not been dragged into a cell, if so? They were just as responsible, not to mention the young page. But those folk served a useful and critical function within the palace, I supposed. Perhaps this man was meant to be made an example.

  “What’s your name, sir?”

  He didn’t respond. Though impatience wormed its way up my spine and lodged between the blades of my shoulders, I would not be unkind. He’d been kind to me, and I would show him that whatever the king claimed of me and my doings was untrue.

  “I understand your need to rest, sir,” I said. I deemed this an appropriate time to muster my will to draw a vaporous spirit back through the veil. This time, the spirit came to me with a familiarity and eagerness I hadn’t felt before from any conjured spirit, and I tried not to worry. Still, it felt as though … as though it had been waiting for me. But that couldn’t be right. The spirits of the dead did not revel in my commands, they obeyed because they could not do otherwise.

  What—or who—had I called that this same eager spirit would willingly come to my side twice over?

  “Then you understand that in order to rest, one typically requires silence,” he said.

  “One question first, please,” I said. “And I beg a response, however simple.”

  “Then you’ll let me sleep?”

  “I will.”

  He nodded for me to continue, though his eyes remained firmly shut. “Be done with it, then.”

  One question. One question to learn as much as I could. “You claim to have traveled some distance to audition for a chance to perform at the crown prince’s wedding. I’m certain there are many weddings in your own land, wherever that may be, full of prestige and at which performing might bring great renown and even greater opportunities afterward. Why risk traveling all this way with your company—whom, I might add, are notably absent from these cells—simply for a chance to perform, a prospect that holds no guarantee? What is it about this wedding that brought you this far? What have you heard of the bride and groom?”

  He laughed, but the sound lacked joy. “That’s more than one question.”

  “No, it is the same question posed three different ways.”

  He sighed deeply and shifted his body, no doubt already uncomfortable from being seated on the hard earth. “I can’t imagine why you’d want to know that, but if you must … we came because curiosity tends to get the better of me, even when I should be wiser than to allow it.”

  Too readily, I could relate.

  “I’d heard stories about the bride,” he continued. “That she was the daughter of a merchant, not of royal blood at all, and I thought—this I have to see for myself. Because if sh
e can rise above her station, who knows what sort of ripples that might create? She must be a remarkable woman, to have caught the eye of this royal family.” He paused, but I sensed there was more to his tale and he was uncertain how much to share.

  “An admirable reason,” I said, “but not the full truth.”

  This time, his laugh held greater sincerity. “I suppose it doesn’t matter if I tell you. If you mock me, so be it, I’ll be out of this cell sometime tomorrow and you … well, if the king’s anger isn’t loosened soon, I imagine your days are numbered.” I said nothing and waited. “I also heard of strange doings. Of powers. That this bride controls magical, unearthly forces.”

  I shouldn’t have been surprised—news travels, after all. But I hadn’t considered how those outside the safety of our kingdom and surrounding territories might have heard and talked about my dealings and, inevitably, William’s. “You wanted to see them for yourself,” I murmured. I might have done the same, in his position. Or asked my father to bring back a tale or some proof during his travels.

  “Call me a fool if you will,” he said, “but that is God’s honest truth.”

  With those words, a smile crept across my lips, and I gazed at the spirit that tickled the light hairs on my forearm as it coiled, wound, and shimmered, rolling slowly over itself.

  “You are no fool,” I said. “And if you want to see those powers still, open your eyes and see.”

  I sensed the growl and impending scold as he lifted his head from the bars, but the moment he opened his eyes, all rumblings were silenced. I held my palm aloft. His eyes widened, round as saucers, and his next breath was shallow and shuddering.

  “You … ” But he could not find the words. “It’s you. And here I called you princess as mockery, thinking you’d deceived me.”

  “I am she. I haven’t lied to you.”

  “But … the king … why are you in here? His son’s intended! The girl who cracked the earth and banished the darkness all those years ago?”

  Rather than reply, I stretched forth my hand to the cell door, and my vaporous spirit slid from my wrist, inch by inch, to coil around the iron lock. For a moment, I worried that the cold iron might prevent the spirit from acting. But a spirit is not a fae, no matter what the superstitious might have you believe. It slipped into the lock’s center as my neighbor scrambled to his feet. Moments later, the latch released with a soft click. The spirit rushed back to my wrist and I released it through the veil once more, surprised to feel an unusual pang of regret at its loss. As I did not know its name, I couldn’t call on it specifically, and any other spirit might answer my summons the next time I had need. I might never see this one again—usually a welcome thought, as most spirits presented a fearsome form, difficult to distinguish from the creatures given life and power by the Adversary himself—but instead of relief came a whisper of sadness.

  I had no time to reflect, however. What I planned to do next, despite my better judgment, was an act that would surely force the king’s hand against me even stronger than before, but I had to make a choice: remain stagnant inside a musty cell and wait for His Majesty’s temper to ease so that I might be formally denied my request for assistance, or …

  Take matters into my own impatient hands, set myself free, and venture forth alone to save my mother from the hellfire into which I’d cast her with my careless association.

  I chose the latter, for there remained a defiance in my veins that demanded more action and less restraint. After all, it wasn’t restraint that had saved Edward from my stepmother and stepsisters. However, it was also my lack of restraint that had resulted in terrifying destruction by a horde of demons and vengeful spirits at the festival ball two years prior. At the time, I’d not truly understood the consequences and severity of my actions and, as a result, had lost control. But I fancied myself more practiced and capable since those days.

  I plucked the dangling lock from its place and tossed it aside, then swung the door open. I flinched as it creaked and hoped the sound hadn’t caught the attention of the jailer, who slept on a cot at the top of the stairs that led down to the cells. I paused to listen but heard nothing. If our speech hadn’t woken him, perhaps he was too soundly asleep to be bothered by creaking doors. I stepped out and made my way to the stairs, attempting to devise an escape. Could I step lightly enough to pass our guardian? And if so, what of the rest of the palace guards? I was not inconspicuous in my distinctly un-royal, soiled garment, now also covered in hay dust, a finishing touch to the ensemble.

  I had begun to contemplate how I might remove one of the lit sconces from the wall to light my way when a creak at the top of the stairwell sent me into a flurry of motion. Had I awoken the jailer after all? I thought of slipping back into my cell, praying he hadn’t come to check the locks, but even so …

  “The shadows,” my neighbor hissed. “Hide in the shadows and slip past when he walks the other way. I’ll catch his attention so you’ll be up the stairs before he notices you’re missing.”

  Why he might possibly assist me, I couldn’t comprehend, but there was no time to discuss the matter. The soft patter of light boots descending the steps sent me fleeing for the shelter of deep shadows along the walls, just beyond the light of the sconces. But as I crouched, heart thumping in my chest, I wondered: where was the clang of heavy keys? The scuff of thick leather boots against stone? Had the king sent an assassin to finish me off?

  A hooded figure came into view, moving slowly and pressing its feet down toe-first with each step. I tensed, ready to run at the first opportunity.

  My neighbor, true to his word, stood and approached the front of his cell.

  “Excuse me,” he called, grasping a bar in each hand. “Have you come to bring a chamber pot? I warn you, I ate some unusual foods while on the road today that seem to be having a disagreement with the rest of my insides, and as I prefer not to piss where I sleep—not that it’s pissing I require the chamber pot for, mind you—I thought I might simply back against these bars and loosen my trousers—”

  Where he had come up with such a crude distraction, I couldn’t fathom—but I didn’t have time to scold or give attention to the nausea that roiled in my stomach. The time for action had come, and I needed to move before the cloaked visitor saw my empty cell.

  My neighbor’s ploy appeared to be working. The visitor approached him as he babbled, and I crept from my hiding place, tiptoeing along the wall’s edge. I crossed through the sconce’s light, almost reaching the shadows next to the steps where I might escape to further challenge, when my toe dragged across a loose bit of straw. It scraped along the floor, so light and feathery that the sound might have been mistaken for the movement of a mouse. But the cloaked visitor had clearly grown suspicious of my neighbor’s ramblings and he whirled around as I leaped for the safety of the shadows. I thought to flee, with the advantage of a lead in the darkness.

  Unfortunately, the figure was faster than I’d expected, which was my own folly. This was not our jailer—this was a leaner, nimbler figure whose fingers whipped out to grasp my wrist, pull me closer, and twist me around. My back slammed into the stone wall, and I might have cried out in surprise if a hand had not clamped across my mouth, stifling all sound.

  I stared into the cavernous dark of the hood, waiting—and then the figure pulled back the fabric, and everything changed.

  9

  The Plan

  “William!” I fell into his arms, which he wrapped around me with a hunger I had not known for too long. I buried my face in his chest and he held me as though I might slip through his grasp at any moment. I listened to the beat of his heart, strong and sure, as he wove his fingers through my loose, tangled hair. Finally, he tightened his grip around my locks and drew my head back, revealing the skin of my neck to the curve of his lips, which he planted in the hollow of my throat. I gasped in surprise as his kisses, light as feathers, trailed across my collarbone and upward, until he reached my mouth.
Warmth spread from the center of my belly and through to the tips of my limbs, pooling in the secret places and giving life to a need long buried.

  Breathless, I pressed against him, and he against me, and we stood tangled in each other. His hands encircled my hips and he pulled us tighter, and my face might have burned at what I sensed there if it weren’t already on fire, when we heard my neighbor most firmly clearing his throat.

  We had forgotten we were not alone.

  William and I jumped apart, and I found I was not the only one for whom breathing had become difficult. He grinned at me and I couldn’t help but return the gesture, though my lips felt swollen and my chin and upper lip stung from the scrape of his evening stubble. He cupped my cheek, tenderly drawing his thumb across it. I placed my hand over his, leaning into it, wishing we could forget the urgency of the moment. Wishing we were any place but in a dirty, stinking prison.

  Wishing we could be together as promised nearly two years ago.

  “Have you come to rescue me?”

  His laugh was soft and gentle. “You seem to be doing an admirable job of rescuing yourself.”

  “And I would have done, if you weren’t so skilled at sneaking up on me.”

  “Ah, but that’s one of the things you love about me the most.”

  The other man in the room cleared his throat a second time. “If you’re on your way out,” he said, “and if you don’t mind, I would be much obliged if you could please release me? If it’s not too much trouble.”

  William met my gaze and I shrugged. I’d heard the sarcasm as readily as he had, but the man wasn’t wrong to request his freedom after he’d assisted me. “You’re the company player thrown in here for acting like a decent gentleman, yes? I apologize for your troubles. My father is having a rather, uh, difficult day.”

  “Apologies don’t unlock doors, now, do they?”