Fallen: A Cinderella Story

Books and Other Dangers

Asha did not have much experience in dealing with men beyond the vendors or laborers who served the needs of the manor. They existed for her only in periphery, and the nature of her work left her little time to ponder the more tender transactions between men and women. The orphanage from which Mistress had plucked her had been run by women. The manor was owned and inhabited and run by women.

She had of course heard tales of the bolder girls who had boys on the side, and had seen the bodies of the deceased males brought into the kitchens for draining, so she was not wholly ignorant. It was, however, entirely novel to have found herself in such close proximity to a living, breathing, male. She was struggling to comprehend her reaction to him. Asha wasn’t certain whether time was coursing at its normal pace or had quickened in the aftermath of that man.

The others did not notice this unusual exchange or her perturbation, and it was just as well. Asha would not have liked her instinctive politeness or her flustered state to have been interpreted by the others as a flirtation.

She would have to examine herself later, however, as the bridge road brought them swiftly to the gates of the town. At this juncture, the little group parted ways, each with their own assignments, and a general agreement to regroup at the bridge at the stroke of eleven from the cathedral’s bell tower.

Asha had carried from The Run the month’s carding. It was to be taken to a dye house with instructions as to the colors written out in Jane’s tidy, no-nonsense hand. From thence it would pass to spinner and weaver, both former staff of Mistress’ household. As it was yet early, there was no crowding at the dyer’s, so Asha moved on to her next tasks, completing each with quiet efficiency. Soon, however, that telltale itch between her shoulder blades that someone was watching her began to make itself known. She discreetly studied the faces of those around her, and glanced surreptitiously into the shadows at the edges of the narrow streets. Of course, whoever it was would not be obvious. She had been free of her silent observer for long enough that she felt this new intrusion keenly.

Asha hurried to her final destination, a bookseller near the first crossroads. This bookshop was a small, tidy place specializing in histories and morality works. Novels and poetry occasionally made an appearance as well.

Asha browsed the shelves of histories, looking for nothing in particular. She would find no histories of the Nightfallen here; to the vast majority of mortals, such a people simply did not exist. Being thus unable to find a tome describing the Borne monarchy, Asha settled instead for a history and genealogy of the local mortal monarchy. She paid for her purchase and stepped into the street once more. Across the way, she saw the man from the bridge turn into an alleyway. Odd, given that he had been traveling away from the town. She watched the blue morning shadows of the alley swallow him. Her feet pulled her in his direction of their own accord, and she cursed herself. Curiosity in moderation was good, this was verging on excess. She paused at the entrance to the alleyway. It extended up the hillside, four buildings deep with a warren of side alleys. How far was she willing to dare?

Just then, the bell tower began its tolling. Asha turned to hurry to the bridge and her foot met with some impediment. She looked down to find a book with a plain, brown, broadcloth cover. She picked it up, grateful it was not wet or damaged. Its binding bore no title. The bell continued to ring, so she tucked it in the parcel with her other book and rushed to the bridge.

Asha arrived ahead of the last two stragglers. They huddled against the chill to the left of the bridge. She noted Theodosia had not yet returned. Asha exchanged a look with one of the senior staff from The Run. Silently, they waited. The minutes piled up into half an hour. Finally, the more senior house woman from The Run, Hortense, signaled to the others to come away. Theodosia had run or was being hunted. She would save herself or perish accordingly.

The return walk was somber. They did not speak of Theodosia, only of the tasks completed. Asha felt sorry for Hortense, who, as a more senior member of the household, must be the one to report Theodosia’s absence.

Jane seemed to guess at least part of the situation when the women entered The Run, for she met them at the door with a questioning look.

“What has occurred that such a merry party is returned so crestfallen? Was there trouble in town?”

“Indeed,” spoke Hortense quietly with a small sigh, “one of our number has not returned. Theodosia.”

“Wherefore did such a thing occur and how? Is a search required?”

“Only let us speak privately, and Chatelaine can make the necessary determination.”

Jane’s mouth set in a grim line, made all the more severe by her thin hair scraped into its tight chignon. She nodded and gestured to her office, allowing Hortense to lead the way. They returned but a short time later, as the others were sitting down to supper. No further mention was made of Theodosia or the incident.

Asha focused on her meal— tender roasted duck and greens with roasted rutabagas and carrots. It was excellently seasoned. They would be dismissed after supper to their own devices, and there was a new book awaiting her in her room. If Asha worried for what had become of Theodosia, she pushed it deep down. Chatelaine would certainly speak to each of the women who had been on that excursion in turn.

Asha left the dining room with practiced unobtrusiveness and headed up the back stairs to her temporary quarters. If those who had remained noticed Theodosia’s absence, they would certainly pester the others for gossip. Asha wanted no part of it.

It was afternoon. The day was a fair one, if bitterly cold. The formal garden below was sere and grey-brown in the harsh light. It was long past time to sleep. Asha drew the heavy drapes closed enough to dim the light, but not so much that she couldn’t duck into her new book for a few moments. Alas, reading was not to occur that night. She had pulled the book parcel onto her lap to unwrap it when a light tapping forced her to get up and open the door. Jane, The Run’s chatelaine stood in the doorway.

“Good afternoon, Chatelaine.”

“Let us speak briefly on a delicate matter before you sleep, Asha.”

“Do come in.”

Chatelaine seated herself in an armchair by the fire. Asha sat opposite and waited, hands folded on her lap.

“I wish to speak about Theodosia.”

“What would you like to know, Chatelaine?”

“Can you think of a reason she has not yet returned?” She asked the question casually, as if asking about the next day’s weather.

“We are, alas, not confidants. I do not know her heart. In town, we all parted ways to attend to our individual assignments, with the agreement to meet at the bridge at eleven bells. All returned, save Theodosia. We waited an additional half hour with no sign of her. Ought we to have attempted to seek her out?”

“No, it was the correct response to return; she might just as well have come early. None could have known. But tell me: what was the conversation on the walk into town?”

“Only the normal pleasantries. Theodosia did ask if anyone knew what the mortal role of consort entailed. All of us are too young to recall the last time. We advised her to reread the histories.”

“What was her response?”

“Only to state that the histories listed prior consort names and the children born to them without elaboration.”

“Did she seem upset by this?”

“She expressed frustration at the necessity of preparing for a role with no understanding of its nature.”

“Did this upset any of the others?”

“Not to my perception, though the possibility always exists that I err.”

Chatelaine sat a while, no doubt considering the other versions she’d heard of this tale.

“Thank you, Asha,” she said at length and stood. Asha stood and curtseyed, and saw her out. She returned to her window. The garden remained unchanged. She pulled the draperies tight, sealing out the light, and returned to her bed.