Fated: Cinderella's Story (Destined Book 1) Read online

  ~

  I walked through the hallways at school, admiring the beautiful antique molding and intricately carved door frames. I loved this building—its creaky, polished wood floors, the papery smells, the thick, wavy glass windows. The Royal Academy was the one place where I truly came alive, as though only in this building could my mind become what it was meant to be. I heard the distant laughter and shouts of my classmates, but here in the dim hallway, I was alone.

  Someone dressed in dark clothing hurried ahead of me in the hallway. He turned the corner, and I followed. He rounded the next corner further down the hallway.

  I walked faster. Something about him wasn’t right. I had to find him. I had to warn my classmates.

  Even when I ran to catch up, he was always just ahead of me. I ran faster, and so did he. We raced through endless corridors until the last hallway ended in a blank wall. The man stood there, facing the wall, his back to me. He wore a black hood.

  I opened my mouth to shout a warning to my classmates, but what would I say? Slowly, he turned toward me. His face was gone, replaced by a pool of dripping blood. I screamed.

  He stepped toward me. One step, two.

  I should run. But something had trapped my legs, and I couldn’t make them move. A wave of unbearable heat and pain washed over me. Was this it? Was I going to die?

  I woke in a fever, sobbing, and gasping for breath with my legs tangled in the sheets of my own bed. My skin was slick with sweat, and my face throbbed like someone was hitting it again and again with a club.

  The golden-haired mage sat on my bed, his hand on my shoulder. His image wavered before my eyes. He held out one hand with three small blue pellets in it. “For the pain,” he said.

  I grabbed his hand and ate the blue pellets off his palm like an animal. Shame filled me. But who could remain human in the face of such pain?

  Chapter 4

  The blue pellets kept me in a hazy, dreamy, painless state for days. I wasn’t sure how many. Occasionally, gentle hands lifted me from the bed and pressed a spoon of warm broth into my mouth. Voices spoke over my head—a gentle, concerned female voice, and a terse male voice. Zel and Weslan? Why did they sound so worried?

  Then one day, I felt a little more alert, and the next day, even more alert.

  The next time Weslan brought a bowl of broth, I was awake. His clothing and hair were rumpled, and the skin under his eyes was dark and heavily creased. I couldn’t bear to ask where he had gotten the little blue pellets that had alleviated so much of my pain.

  He held up a bowl of steaming broth, and I took it from him, whispering a raspy “Thanks” that didn’t seem to cover it one bit. He nodded and left without a word.

  I inhaled the broth, hungry for the first time in days. Then, with a full, warm belly, I curled up on my side with my back to the door and slept the rest of the night.

  ~

  When I woke next, the familiar smell of cinderslick was heavy in the air. The scent that had only vaguely bothered me before now made me want to run upstairs to the bathroom and retch. It wasn’t only the smell of cheap fuel. It was the smell of shame, of dependence. The smell that told me I’d never be anyone other than Cinderella.

  I got up and exchanged my sweaty, wrinkled dress for the old work dress hanging on the rack in the corner of my room. My skin crawled as I slid it on. Putting a clean dress on skin this dirty was just plain wrong, but I was too hungry to draw a bath now.

  A dull ache plagued the side of my face. Zel had removed the bandages in the last few days. I remembered that much. Now I felt only a long area of sensitive, raised skin that hurt to touch. I didn’t dare look in the mirror. Didn’t know what I would do if I saw it right now. Best to face reality with a full stomach.

  Part of me longed to cover the scar with my hair or a scarf of some kind, but I ruthlessly squashed that desire. I twisted my hair up into a tight bun. This was how I looked now. There was no point in trying to hide it.

  I opened the door to the kitchen and stopped short. There, in front of the oven, Weslan sprawled on a pallet, snoring as though he had not a care in the world. I stepped closer, eyeing his tousled blond hair as it spilled over his forehead. He was so obviously Kireth, with his long, broad limbs and light coloring. But his skin held hints of Fenra heritage too. A bit of a tan colored his hands and cheekbones, and a smattering of brown freckles—the telltale mark of Fenra blood—clustered on his knuckles. I stepped closer, wondering if I should wake him.

  He’d cared for me with great gentleness while I was recovering. I could remember now—little glimpses of his face, his hands feeding me broth and wiping my brow. He’d brought me those small blue pellets again and again, and he’d somehow eased them out of my system at just the right time. Perhaps he was a good man. Perhaps he could be trusted.

  No. I knew better than that. Asylian mages were nothing but lazy, greedy leeches. Not every commoner thought so, of course. Some coveted the mages’ magical powers and secure, comfortable positions in government. But I wasn’t one of them. I wasn’t so naïve. Besides, he was too attractive to be trustworthy.

  The next moment, as though he sensed me standing over him, he opened his eyes and sat up blearily. “Ella? What are you doing up?”

  I fingered my dress, inexplicably shy. “I suppose it was time,” I said. “I feel better. Pretty hungry, actually.” I steeled myself. I had to thank him for all he had done. It was almost too humiliating to put into words, but I couldn’t let his actions go unacknowledged. Even I wasn’t that harsh. “Weslan … I … well, I need to say …” I faltered as he got up and turned the dial on the luminous that lit the kitchen.

  He stretched, and I saw the exact moment he caught sight of my scar, revealed by my severe bun. Shock and revulsion twisted his finely sculpted face. He dragged his gaze away from my scar and met my eyes. “You were saying?”

  My chest tightened. “I just wondered if you’ve already put in the baking for the morning, or if you were too busy napping on the kitchen floor to do it.”

  He glared at me. “It’s already in,” he ground out. “Not that you’d know, after doing nothing but sleep for days.”

  “Fine,” I said. “Glad to hear you’re at least good for something besides making pretty dresses for rich girls.” I’d gone too far. I knew it as soon as I said it.

  The next moment, he threw on his jacket and stomped out the back door, slamming it shut with a crack that echoed through the kitchen.

  I sucked in a deep breath and let it out. I couldn’t think about some lazy mage and his bad temper right now. I needed real food in my stomach and a bath. Everything else could wait.

  ~

  “Sorry about your ribbon, Ella.” Alba hovered at the door to the kitchen, twisting her fingers in her skirt. “I’ve looked everywhere, and I just … I can’t find it … I really don’t know what happened, but I’m so sorry—”

  I wiped my floury hands on my apron. “Alba, I’ve told you before. It’s not my stricken ribbon. Forget about it.”

  Her face blanched at my tone, and tears glistened in her eyes.

  I should apologize. I knew it. But I couldn’t stand the sight of her perfect, beautiful face and flawless skin. “I have work to do.” I went back to kneading the dough. Her little sob and the pitter-patter of her slippers echoed from the stairway.

  My face throbbed in rhythm with each push on the dough. My scars were still tender to the touch, and I fought off constant headaches. Zel thought the headaches were connected to the original head injury, but knowledge didn’t make them any easier to bear. I desperately wanted more of those little blue pellets. I was too embarrassed to beg Weslan for more, and I had no idea how he’d been able to find them. Besides, everyone kept reminding me that we were completely out of marks thanks to my healing expenses.

  I tried to make peace with Weslan when he returned to the bakery in the evening. “Thanks for sanding down the front door,” I said quietly. “It looks good. You can’t tell the carving was ever the
re.”

  He barely spared me a glance, his voice cool and distant. “What are you talking about? There were no carvings on the door.”

  I knew he was mad at me, but that was no reason to call me a liar. So much for trying to be nice.

  We spent the rest of the evening eating cold victus and navigating around the kitchen with a cold wall of silence between us. Later that evening, Zel hinted gently at me to be nicer to him.

  Right. He was the one ignoring my attempts to be nice. Also, who was the one recovering from a head injury?

  Before dawn the next morning, I finished kneading another batch of dough and covered it to let it rise. I’d make the winterspice rolls later in the morning. First, we needed breakfast. There had to be something in the larder that I could cook up. I averted my eyes from Weslan’s suspiciously empty and unrumpled pallet by the oven and grabbed the little vial of cinderslick from the shelf by the oven.

  Hold on—it was much lighter than it should've been. I opened it up and peeked inside, scowling as I realized it was almost empty. Had Weslan not picked up the new rations? I blew the loose strands of hair out of my face. Unbelievable.

  I bundled up in my slim jacket against the cool early morning air and slipped out the back door into the dark alley. Dawn would be here soon, and if I made it to the market as it opened, I could be back with enough cinderslick to finish the baking in time to make our deliveries.

  I patted the thin fold of quarter marks from the kitchen stash in my pocket and made my way through the cramped, winding streets of the Merchant Quarter. Although most families like ours relied on the government rations issued once a week for cinderslick, if you were willing to pay, there would always be more to be found.

  At the closest cinderslick vendor’s booth, I put my quarter marks on the counter, but he shook his head. “Not enough,” he said gruffly. “Prices going up. Nothing I can do.”

  I stared at him, uncomprehending. The next ration day wasn’t until two days from now. How were we supposed to survive until then? And how on earth had Weslan used up a whole vial of cinderslick in five days?

  The next three vendors’ prices were the same. I stormed back to the bakery and up the stairs. Dawn had broken, and Zel had to be awake by now. If she wasn’t, I’d wake her myself. I knocked on the door to the living quarters she shared with the girls.

  She opened the door and stood wrapped in her thin robe, her golden braid mussed and hanging down around her shoulder. Her eyes looked wary.

  I bit my lip. I knew I had been difficult to be around the last two days, but try as I might, I couldn't keep the bitterness from my voice. “We’re already out of cinderslick. I just went to the market, but the price has gone up. I need more marks to buy more cinderslick because right now, we don’t even have enough to make breakfast or do the baking for the day.” I realized I sounded impatient, but I couldn't help it. At least anger kept me upright, still moving forward, still working.

  Footsteps echoed on the stairs behind me. Weslan approached, scowling. “Oh, so you finally decided to start paying attention.”

  My temper rose to meet his. “That’s right,” I said, folding my arms. “I went to the market to try to get more cinderslick because we're already out, even though it's only been five days since ration day. And guess what I found out? The prices are going up. I can't even buy another vial for two marks. I need more money. Otherwise we're all eating cold victus from now until ration day. And good luck baking any bread for our customers without cinderslick!”

  “Listen, Ella.” Weslan glowered and stepped onto the landing toward me. “I told you a thousand times. We spent all Zel’s money to pay your healers. There's nothing left. We sold part of last week’s rations to finish paying the bill. That's why we're already out.”

  I took a step backward. “Well … ,” I faltered, hunting for words to say. Nothing made sense anymore. “Well, there must be something we can do.”

  “Nothing,” Weslan said, gritting his teeth. “There's nothing we can do. We'll just have to wait until the next rations day.”

  “What do you have to say about all this, Zel?” I put my hands on my hips. “Is everything Weslan’s decision now?”

  Zel stepped out of her room and shut the door softly, and it occurred to me belatedly that she might not want the twins hearing our argument. She tried to put her arm around my shoulders, but I sidled away from her.

  “I'm gone for a week, and suddenly this mage takes over the bakery I’ve been running for years. What's going on here, Zel?”

  “Now, Ella,” Zel said reprovingly. “Weslan is doing his best. He’s done nothing but help us since your accident.”

  “My accident?” I scoffed. “Is that what we're calling it? It’s not like I got clumsy and fell. I was attacked.” I spat the words out. My voice was ugly and harsh even to my own ears, but I couldn’t seem to rein it in.

  “There's no need for this kind of anger. Weslan is not your enemy. He’s lost a lot too. He's trying to make the most of it and help us out at the same time.”

  I considered Weslan, and for a moment, all I could think of were his warm hands behind my back as he lifted me out of the hospital bed and carried me home. Guilt gnawed at me, but then I noticed his broad shoulders and square jaw, his confident bearing, and his annoyingly perfect hair. He’d lost everything, had he? Then why did he look like he was still on top of the world?

  As if he knew my spiteful thoughts, he sneered. “You know, I'm surprised they charged us that much for your healing, given that you still look the way you do.”

  Chapter 5

  Given that you still look the way you do. Weslan’s words echoed in my ears. I flinched as though he had slapped me and put up an involuntary hand to touch the scars on my face.

  I shoved past him, ran down the stairs, and scurried back to my room where I sat on the bed, hunched over, my head throbbing. I pressed my hand to my scars, feeling the raised, wrinkled flesh and the soft ache. If only I could push the skin down and smooth it back into place, like I would a jagged edge on a ball of rising dough.

  My light-green eyes used to be my only problem. My father called them beautiful. They shone in the mirror, a bright, stark contrast to my bronzed skin and dark hair. But I’d known since I was small that green eyes were no good. Adults would avert their eyes when they saw me, and children would shove me in the back and call me an ugly Kireth girl.

  As I got older, I realized nearly everyone in Asylia had mixed Kireth and Fenra blood. Our people had lived together in this land for a millennium, and occasionally, a Kireth and Fenra couple would have children. Most of the time, though, all anyone cared about was whether your Kireth blood showed. And my green eyes, beautiful or not, certainly showed. Now I had scars to make me even less desirable.

  I stood and kept my eyes averted from my mirror. I didn’t care what anyone thought. I couldn’t care. That had to be enough. The front door slammed shut. Weslan must have left. I was on my own to make breakfast with barely any cinderslick, yet again.

  I entered the kitchen and looked around. We wouldn’t be able to bake bread, and the bakery would have to close for a couple of days. There was nothing I could do about that. But there was a bit of aging fruit in the bowl on the counter and some leftover day-old bread on the shelf. We could eat that for breakfast. I sliced the fruit and the bread and took the last of the cheese from the larder, arranging it all on a tray. It could be my peace offering to Zel. Tomorrow, we would make due with victus.

  I was slicing up one more piece of fruit when a flash of red caught my eye. I paused, the knife still in my hand. A scrap of red fabric was fluttering down beside me, as though someone had been standing there and accidentally dropped it.

  Was that the ribbon Alba kept going on about? It landed softly on the floor and my heart skipped a beat. Had someone been in the kitchen with me, watching me? Why would Alba or Bri do such a thing? If not them, who? The knife in my hand slipped, slicing into the soft tip of the index finger on my left ha
nd. I yelped, threw down the knife, and pressed a dirty dish towel to my finger to stop the flow of blood.

  Zel arrived a few seconds later. “Are you well?”

  “I’m fine.” I turned my back to her, wishing I could take back the sharp words. She was trying to help. Everyone was always just trying to help.

  There was a terrible crash, and I threw myself to the ground, placing protective hands over my head. The man with the face of blood hovered in my mind’s eye. Was he real?

  My body shook as I clutched my head. I should run. I should lead the attackers away from Zel and her daughters. I felt a hand on my shoulder and flinched.

  “Everything’s fine,” Zel said gently. “I just knocked some pots off the shelf.”

  Zel stood over me, holding a stack of pots in one hand as she gripped my shoulder with the other. She set the pots on the counter, clearly trying to make as little noise as possible.

  Of course. Now I looked like even more of a lunatic. I got to my feet and wiped blood onto my dress. With a groan, I grabbed the towel and pressed it to my finger again.

  “What happened to your hand? You're bleeding everywhere.” She grabbed a clean linen cloth from the shelf, took away my dirty dish towel, and pressed the clean cloth to my hand.

  “The cloth will be ruined.”

  “Doesn't matter,” she said. “All that matters to me is that you're safe.” She pressed the cloth against my finger until the bleeding stopped, and then she bandaged it with a clean roll of gauze from the shelf beside her. “Don't worry, I really believe we will find the money to pay for …” She shook her head. “We will find the money, and things will get better. One way or another. I promise.”

  “Money to pay for what? Cinderslick?”

  Zel hesitated. “You know it's almost summer. Inspector Cyrus has been by to ask for our tax.”