Torn: Novelette Prequel to Cinderella Read online

  TORN

  Novelette Prequel to Cinderella

  Prequel to Book 1 of the Destined Series

  KAYLIN LEE

  TORN: NOVELETTE PREQUEL TO CINDERELLA

  Copyright © 2017 by Kaylin Lee

  First Edition

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For information contact:

  Kaylin Lee

  http://www.kaylinleewrites.com

  Editing by Kathrese McKee of Word Marker Edits

  Cover design by Victoria Cooper Designs

  Contents

  Weslan

  Ella

  Weslan

  Ella

  Weslan

  Ella

  Weslan

  Ella

  Weslan

  Ella

  Weslan

  Ella

  Fated: Cinderella’s Story

  DESCRIPTION

  Cook, clean, study, repeat. Cinderella is exhausted.

  After years of misery thanks to the plague, her city is recovering at last. But recovery has a price, and it may be more than Cinderella’s willing to pay. She thought winning a scholarship to the best school in the city would lift her family out of poverty. She never expected it to ruin her life. Now she has to make an impossible choice – support her family or protect herself?

  Commoners are replaceable. Mages aren’t. That’s just the way of things.

  Weslan’s not the best mage student in the city, so when his old friend convinces him to skip school, he’s happy to oblige. Too bad his friend has something far more sinister in mind. A mysterious threat is brewing in their city and it seems that some mages now think nothing of endangering commoners. As one of the city’s elite mages, Weslan shouldn’t care. So why can’t he stop thinking about that beautiful common girl with light-green eyes?

  —

  This 12,000-word novelette is the prequel to Fated: Cinderella’s Story. Read it before or after Fated, the first book in the Destined series, to catch a glimpse of the intersecting lives of Cinderella and Weslan two years before Cinderella’s story begins.

  Weslan

  “Weslan, get your feet off the couch! Calla could be here with our breakfast at any moment. She’ll see you.”

  I groaned, keeping my eyes shut. Why was our chandelier so bright this morning? I shifted on the couch. Perhaps I should get up and turn the dial down. Never mind. Too much work. “What does it matter if she sees me?”

  A moment passed before my mother knocked my feet off the couch with a sharp whack. “It matters to me. We are guests in this home. We must show that we appreciate the privilege by treating their belongings with respect.”

  I dragged myself upright and sighed, squinting against the overly bright luminous chandelier. “We've lived here for almost ten years, Ma. At what point do we stop being guests?”

  “Never. And don’t you forget that.” She eyed my stockinged feet. “Shoes on. You must be decent when the maid comes.”

  “Fine, fine.” I slid my shoes on. “It won’t make a bit of difference. You know it won’t.”

  But she only tightened her lips and sat at the small breakfast table by the window. “Pour us some coffee, Weslan. And come look at this.”

  I should have known better than to bring it up. She never spoke openly about our maid’s rudeness or about anything else, for that matter, besides working for her patron.

  I poured two mugs of coffee from the pot on the sideboard and set them on the table, avoiding my mother’s narrowed eyes as one of them sloshed onto the white tablecloth. Even spilling the coffee was an affront to our patron. There was nothing quite like living in a grand Procus villa on sufferance.

  But she didn't say anything, only shook her head. “See this? A little something new Lord Falconus has me working on.” She held out two sparkling gold crystals, each one the size of her fist. Then she pressed them together and they emitted a soft, musical noise.

  I sat across from her and leaned closer. “Is that a violin?”

  She beamed and lifted them higher. “More than one. It’s a quartet! Playing the ‘Dance of the Wasps,’ Lord Falconus’s favorite waltz.”

  I raised my eyebrows. My mother was a powerful mage, that was for sure. But I’d never seen a creator mage do anything quite like that. “That’s pretty amazing, Ma.”

  “Oh, this is only the beginning,” she said, smiling wider and running her fingers over the crystals. “I’ve got so many ideas. I’ve wanted to do this for ages, but Lord Falconus was only recently able to procure the crystals.” Her smile faded, and she bit her lip. “Imported, you know.”

  I nearly laughed aloud at the guilty expression on her face. “I thought the old man said imports were akin to treason.”

  She sniffed. “Well, he was willing to make an exception for this particular work of art.”

  I held back a snort. No doubt Lord Falconus would make all kinds of exceptions for his own luxuries. The expensive foreign furnishings in his villas hadn’t been burned in the plague bonfires eleven years ago.

  My mother pulled the crystals apart, and the music ceased. “I have much more work to do, of course. I want to make it louder, with a richer sound. But I know what I need to do. It's going to be beautiful.”

  I couldn't help but smile at her obvious pride. My mother was a stickler for rules and proper comportment, but no one could deny that she loved her work. Lord Falconus was lucky to be her patron, and I didn’t doubt he knew it. We lived in the grandest suite in the whole mage-designated villa on the Falconus compound, and my mother never lacked for fine things.

  Today, she wore a long, sparkling black dress with gold beading at the edges and a shimmering gold headband that sat on her forehead, pushing down her blonde hair. The appearance mage in me couldn’t help noticing that the gold details on her dress and headband matched her gold service armband perfectly.

  I averted my eyes from the armband and took a gulp of coffee, but the taste only soured my stomach even more. If only I could embrace the symbol of our status as readily as she did.

  The door to our suite swung open and the maid assigned to us strode into the room without knocking, a breakfast tray tilting sloppily to one side in her hands. From the scowl twisting her face, Calla hadn't yet found a new placement. She’d tried to get out of serving us for weeks now, with no success. Poor, poor Calla.

  Most commoners didn’t know what to do with us mages. They were jealous. Who wouldn’t be? We lived like Procus lords even though we weren’t technically members of the Procus families, while commoners scraped by with nothing but crumbs by comparison.

  Some commoners, like Calla, passed from jealousy to outright abhorrence. They hated us because we were descended from ancient Kireth invaders, yet we lived lives of luxury and comfort as we served the city’s government and Procus families.

  We should have been pariahs because of our heritage, but the city needed our magic for everything—healing, fuel, construction, food, clean water, and even my mother’s specialty, art. Commoners were replaceable. Mages were not. That was the way of things.

  Too bad Calla was too jealous and angry to accept it. I couldn’t prevent her from hating us, but that didn’t stop
me from wanting to reach out with my fine, linen napkin to wipe that ugly scowl right off her face.

  Calla stopped beside the breakfast table and gave my mother a mockingly abrupt curtsy. “Adra, would you like breakfast?”

  My mother's cheeks turned pink at the rude address. “Yes, thank you,” she whispered.

  My stomach twisted at the sight of my mother’s embarrassment. Ma wouldn't even rebuke the maid for using her first name, a clear and deliberate insult. Because it wasn’t our house, was it?

  Calla thumped the breakfast tray down and left, not even bothering to dish out the food the way she was supposed to.

  It took a concentrated effort to hold my tongue, but I managed it. Instead, I reached for the covered dishes and smiled at my mother as I knocked my coffee over in the process. “Whoops.”

  I served my mother a heaping spoonful of shirred eggs, two strips of smoked bacon, and a roseberry biscuit. Then I helped myself to twice the amount of each. If some spilled on the tablecloth, that wasn’t my problem.

  Next, I drizzled both of our biscuits with a large spoonful of honey, the latest guilt-inducing import to grace our breakfast table, and let a healthy portion dribble onto the table between our plates.

  And finally, I went back for another helping of eggs and dumped it on the white tablecloth next to the coffee stain and honey. “Oh, dear me. Not again.”

  My mother closed her eyes and shook her head. “Please. Not this morning. I can't, Weslan. Not right now.”

  I hunched over my eggs, shoveling them down and ignoring the guilt that spiked in my chest.

  “Have you read the Herald?”

  “Not yet,” I grumbled. I’d snuck out last night with Argus and some pretty, blonde mages from the Argentarius compound. I’d enjoyed their secret stash of Dracian sweet wines a bit too much, and then I’d overslept. I’d had to spend the time before breakfast preparing for today’s exam.

  We were supposed to analyze the types of luxury fabrics used in the Golden Age of Dracian fashion, back before their whole city collapsed. I’d played with those fabrics and many more since I was a child. Growing up on a Procus estate had its benefits. But for the exam, I needed to know all the proper terms and magical properties, and that meant memorization. Not my finest ability.

  My mother stood and went to the sideboard, grabbed the morning’s Herald, and laid it out on the table in front of her. She sipped her coffee and perused the front page while I reviewed my nearly illegible notes on Dracian fabrics.

  “Strike me!” She gasped and dropped the paper, knocking over her mug and sending coffee all over the table.

  I snorted. “I thought we weren’t supposed to say that. Or do that.”

  “Weslan.” She waved her hand at me. “Did you hear? I can't believe…”

  “What? What are you talking about? I haven't heard anything.”

  She shoved the paper across the table to me, and I read what was visible around the coffee stain.

  “Strike me,” I echoed as I read about the attack at Theros Street Market. She didn’t even rebuke my language. “This is horrible, Ma.”

  She pressed her hands to her chest as tears welled in her eyes. “Twenty dead? Nothing so awful has happened since the plague ended. Who would do such a thing?”

  I shook my head. “I don't know.”

  The morning bell rang, jolting my mom out of her tears. She dashed at her eyes and cleared her throat. “I have to be at the studio in a moment, and you need to get to the academy.”

  She stood and appraised the breakfast table which was covered with eggs, coffee, and biscuit crumbs. “Just leave it.” The corner of her mouth tilted up as she spoke, and I grinned.

  So she wasn’t completely immune to taking petty digs at Calla after all. At least I wasn’t alone. I grabbed my book bag and threw on my blazer, shooting a touch of my pent-up magic into it to straighten out the wrinkles, then headed out the door.

  The mage quarters on the Falconus family compound were huge, an entire stone villa with ten luxurious suites, one for each mage family who won the coveted Falconus family patronage.

  I sped through the hallway outside our suite, then swung around the column by the grand central staircase, skipping the first few steps with a leap. I was halfway down the staircase when Calla started up the bottom.

  I groaned. I’d hoped not to see her again until tomorrow.

  Her gaze dipped to my arm, and her expression went from shocked to downright gleeful.

  My stomach sank as I noticed the plain, un-banded navy fabric of my blazer. Oh, no.

  She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, I sprinted back up the stairs, throwing open the door to our suite just as my mom collided into me, my gold service armband clutched in her white-knuckled grip.

  “Put it on. Right now. Now! Did anyone see you?” She wrapped it around my arm, fingers fumbling, and had just managed to fasten it when Calla came in the open door behind me.

  Calla smirked. I forced myself to look away from her, as though I didn’t care that she’d seen.

  “It’s fine, Ma. I have it now.”

  “Don't forget it again.” My mother’s voice was tight and wobbly. “You hear me?” She grabbed my arm and shook it. “Never forget it again.”

  I kept my gaze on the carpet, annoyed at how I could feel my cheeks flushing. “I know, Ma,” I ground out. “I won't.”

  I pulled my arm from her grasp and left without a backward glance, avoiding Calla’s eyes as I pushed past her.

  “Yeah, don't forget it again, Weslan.” Calla’s soft, mocking whisper followed me into the hallway.

  Ella

  “Victus again, Ella?” My stepsister Alba threw herself into a chair at the kitchen table and leaned on her elbows. “When can we have some real food?”

  I laughed as I set four small bowls on the table and filled each one with a hefty spoonful of victus. The cold, gray mixture was thick, grainy, and nearly unpalatable, but it was free. Hard to argue with that when we had barely a mark to spare.

  Before I could answer, my other stepsister, Bri, spoke up. “You don’t even know what real food is. Besides, it keeps us alive. You should be more grateful, Alba.” Bri sat beside her twin sister and glared at her.

  Alba made a face. “I am grateful,” she said. “I was only wondering when we might get a chance to eat something besides stale bread and victus, that’s all.”

  “Stop arguing, girls.” My stepmother, Zel, bustled into the kitchen and joined us at the table. “Sorry I’m late, Ella. I was working in the garden, harvesting the last few squashes of the season.” She nudged Alba. “We might eat them for dinner. How about that?”

  “Mmm, vegetables.” Alba rolled her eyes. “Not exactly what I had in mind, Mama. But I'll take it.”

  I grinned at Alba's expression. “Be careful what you wish for.”

  Alba smiled back, her cheeks dimpled and still adorably childish, even at eleven years old. “Speaking of wishing, have you talked to Milos lately?”

  Heat flared across my face, and I kicked her under the table.

  “Milos?” Zel’s head shot up.

  “It's nothing. Alba was only kidding.”

  Bri looked between me and Alba, who was grinning from ear to ear. “Are you sure about that?” Bri raised her eyebrows practically to her hairline.

  Oh, Bri. Always so serious. I could never count on her to conspire with me the way I could count on Alba.

  Zel fixed her stare on me, and I shrank in my seat.

  “It's nothing, I promise. It's … He's been …” I stumbled over my words and fell silent. It was one thing to gush with Alba about the dreamy, dark-haired young guard newly assigned to our precinct, and quite another to spill the words in front of my stepmother. “It's nothing.”

  “It doesn't look like nothing from the way your cheeks are turning pink,” Zel said, her eyes narrowing.

  I slouched. “Well, he's been talking to me more
lately, and—”

  A knock at the door cut me off, and I sighed in relief as Zel stood and raced upstairs to hide.

  I went to the door. “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, Gregor,” came a familiar, deep voice.

  Immediately, I opened the door and gave my elderly friend a quick hug before pulling him inside. “Gregor, how are you? I've missed you.”

  He clapped me on the back. “Got a little something for you.” He waved to my stepsisters, who huddled together as they peered at him from the table. They’d known him since they were babies, but they were understandably nervous around anyone other than family. Then he pulled a small, golden jar from his pocket and held it out to me.

  “Gregor…” Was that what it looked like? It couldn't be…

  “The gates are open,” he said. “My first Lerenian shipment just came in this morning.”

  I couldn’t look away from the jar.

  “Go on.” He nudged my hand with the jar.

  “Are you sure it’s safe?”

  “As safe as anything from Asylia,” he said, spreading his arms wide as though to encompass the whole city. “They've got healers, trackers, and purifiers inspecting every single shipment that enters the city. The plague won’t happen again. We know better now. Trust me, it's safe.”

  I took the jar and cradled it with both hands. I didn’t dare drop something so precious. It was cool and smooth and, even with the lid on, a sweet, citrusy scent emanated from it. I held it up to my nose and drew in a deep breath. I hadn’t smelled anything so good since I was a small child.

  “Go on,” Gregor said. “It's for you. Don't know what I would have done without you, Ella girl. Had to thank you. For everything.”

  I leaned forward and hugged him with one arm, gripping the jar with the other and pressing the side of my face against his chest. His clothes were moist from the heavy rain outside, but I didn't care. I’d never have survived the plague years without him. None of us would have. “It's fine, Gregor. You don't have to bring me anything. I was happy to help. Always will be.”