Cinderella: The Cinder from the Ash

Chapter Sixteen

Ella woke up, her stomach cramping. The tea she had drunk at the tinker’s wagon had long since given way to hunger pains so severe she was not sure she could walk. She glanced at the scattered remains of her home-made gown. Esmae had been oddly determined to keep her from the ball. Ella frowned. Could jealousy be a factor in her step-sister’s behavior? That possibility gave her the strength to crawl to the attic door. Forcing herself to her feet, she leaned against the wooden barricade. The silence on the other side of the door was deafening. Where was everyone? It took her a few moments to remember…tonight was the ball. And she was late. Reaching up, she hung onto the doorknob for support. It turned under her grip and she fell through the doorway, catching herself with one hand. There was a sharp crack as her hand twisted. Her whole body flashed cold. Ella gasped with the pain of it.

“I can do this,” she whispered. “I have to do this. I must meet the prince.” It was a litany she repeated to herself all the way to her bedroom, cradling her injured hand. The ball would be starting any moment, and she had every intention of showing up, even if it was in nothing more than the rags she was currently wearing. But food and make-up came first. They were the only way she would survive long enough to be welcomed into the royal presence. Rummaging underneath her bed produced one dust covered and rather wilted carrot, but she was past the point of caring. Her left hand shook as she raised it to her lips, and took a large bite. Before she realized it, the carrot was gone and she was reaching for another one, then another. Only when they were gone did she turn her attention to the make-up pots and get to work, ignoring her twisted wrist as much as she was able. It was awkward, but one glance into the mirror told her all she needed to know. The ash in the fireplace served to darken her already black hair into a grayish mess more becoming of an undead.

“You look like an urchin,” she told her reflection. “The prince will not know you exist…” her voice drifted off as she remembered. The black spider’s web gown the tinker had promised her was in his wagon, waiting to be worn. Surely the prince would listen to her pleas for justice if she wore such a gown. Besides, Grey had promised her a dance, and she wanted to look her very best. Glancing at herself one more time in the mirror, she giggled. She would get both the prince and Grey’s attention tonight, and there was not a blessed thing her step-relatives could do about it. Ella skipped down the stairs and out the front door.

The once empty expanse of front lawn was taken over by the tinker’s wagon, which appeared to have grown in stature since she last saw it. The old tinkerer slumped against it, watching her with an unblinking gaze. “You are late,” was his only comment.

“Your wagon is orange.” It was the first thing that popped into Ella’s head.

He grinned toothlessly. “All the best pumpkins are.”

“That makes no sense,” Ella said. “Now, how did you know I was coming? And why are you here?”

He shrugged. “Tonight is the ball, and your gown is just inside my wagon.”

“I was—I was just coming to get it,” Ella admitted.

“I have some things to take care of, but I will be ready once you have changed. You do house a stable, do you not?”

“Of course,” Ella replied, “but why on earth do you need one?”

“Because you need a way to the ball, and your step mother has taken the only carriage.”

“I do not believe arriving in a tinker’s wagon will allow me through the front gates,” Ella pointed out. “Besides, we only have two horses left, Jacquie and Gus, and they are simple drafts.”

He straightened up. “The Gypsy breeds have a long history of worth, Ella. They are far more than simple draft horses. You shall arrive in the style benefiting your status as the sole heir to the Adler fortune. Now, go. Get your gown. There are shoes I believe will fit you, as well.”

Ella’s eyes widened. “I have actual shoes? Not just slippers?”

His smile was a bit sad. “Yes, Ella. You have actual shoes. I will get them for you. By the way, do you have a scarf?”

“I…ummm…yes, I do. Why?” Ella found herself asking thin air. He had already stepped into the wagon, pulling the door shut behind him. It was not a moment later before he returned, black silk falling over one forearm, and a pair of…were those black glass shoes?...in the other.

“Go change, Ella, and scrub that make-up off your face. You do not need it. You will be wrapped in the scarf. No-one will know you are not undead. We both know if you show your face at that ball, in any guise, you will never see the light of day again.” He handed her the gown and the shoes. “Oh, and be sure to apply make-up to your feet. The volcanic glass will hide your feet, but why take a chance?”

She clutched the gown close to her chest and took the shoes. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He nodded. “I will return shortly. Please be ready. What direction did you say the stables are in?”

“They are on the other side of the green…the old greenhouse,” Ella pointed to behind a strand of river birch. “Over there.” She watched as he walked toward the stables, then turned and went back into the house to get dressed.

The small black buttons refused to co-operate with Ella’s desire to dress quickly. They began underneath her arm and marched their way down to the embroidery circling the edge of the black taffeta gown. Surely they did not fasten all the way down. That would be worse than impractical. She began to hook the buttons into the buttonholes as swiftly as she was able, her fingers tangling in the spider silk of the gown’s train. What did the tinker say it was made from? ‘The broken hearts of a thousand dreams’ or some such nonsense? Whether that was the truth or not, the gown’s strapless bodice hugged her torso, while the skirt flared out and down to the utterly absurd glass shoes the tinker had provided. The silk train was so light as to be nearly non-existent. It hung down her back and bunched onto the ground in a mass of shimmering black.

Ella stared at her reflection through the gauzy black veil she had found in the back of her step-mother’s closet. She was a mystery swathed entirely in black. Her step-relatives would never know her. It was perfection.