“See! It’s perfect.”
The shoe tumbles to the rug.
“It’s too big on you.” Drucilla grabs it before Othmar or I can react. She produces a wicked knife from her pocket. “It will fit me. Watch.”
She inhales and slices three toes clean off. Anastacia yelps and covers her eyes with both hands. Blood spurts onto Othmar’s face. White-faced, she wraps a strip of linen around the wound. The bandage turns crimson in an instant, but she calmly tries to stuff her foot into the shoe.
“Still too small.”
As horrified as I am by her desperate display, part of me admires her stoicism. Determined, Cilla bravely trims most of the flesh from her heel.
Othmar turns away, gagging.
Tremaine says nothing. Not a single syllable of concern or rebuke as his daughter mutilates herself in hopes of becoming the next queen.
I suppose that leaves me to play the role of savior.
“Stop. The shoe does not fit. There is no use in maiming yourself to force it.”
“It. Will. Fit.” she seethes through gritted teeth. Gingerly, she rolls her foot onto the front and pushes up to standing. “Papa.”
He stomps. Bones crack sickeningly. Her crushed and useless foot flops as she shoves it into the slipper, grimacing and ashen.
“See?” she gloats wanly. “It fits.”
That’s it, then.
14
ALISTAIR
“There isone more lady in the house.” A woman’s voice interrupts my cascading dismay. I whirl, but not before seeing Lord Tremaine’s features contort with anger.
Her.
“Elinor,” I breathe. “Othmar. Get the slipper.”
Gingerly, he wrests the bloodied thing from Drucilla’s foot. She whimpers and lurches to the chair, clutching her knee.
“She is only the maid,” whines the short blond. “She is no one.”
“I am Lady Elinor Scinder, and I deserve a chance to try,” says Elsie. Elinor, rather.
Othmar drops to both knees before her. Miraculously, the shoe gleams brightly, free of blood. “My lady.”
The cat leaps down and struts away, his tail high. Elinor toes off her worn flat and balances on one leg. I extend one hand to help her balance. Her hand is familiar in mine. My pulse calms for the first time in days. I have her now. She’s safe. She is mine.
Her foot fits exactly into the slipper. She places it on the floor and holds her skirt aside to demonstrate.
“Noooooo,” wails the younger sister. “It can’t be! Papa! Do something!”
What a torment it must have been for her to be locked away with these vile, shallow cretins all these years.
“Wait.” Elinor pats her pocket and extracts a small object. “This—oh!”
The charm in her palm grows until it matches the one on her foot. Carefully, she sets it on the floor and steps into it, clutching my arm for balance. Magic sings along my skin, pure and powerful, as her dress blossoms like a flower into a gown worthy of a princess.
Anastacia bursts into tears. “This can’t be happening! It was my chance! I was going to be a queen. Nothing good ever happens to me.”
