The Spinner and the Slipper (12 page)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Glass Slippers

The gold-spun gown was complete.

As the team of seamstresses unrolled it on the fine rug in her bedchamber, Eliana wanted to shut her eyes. It was too much! Too rich, too gloriously gleaming! The tireless seamstress had sewn rubies and carbuncles into the sleeves and the many flounces and tucks of the skirt. The skirt opened in the front to reveal layer upon layer of frothy cream ruffles, their edges embroidered in intricate designs of flowers and birds, also done in gold thread. The fabric itself was richer, more gleaming than the finest silk—for this was faerie fabric woven of faerie thread.

And she—the miller’s daughter—was expected to
wear
this?

“Let’s get to work,” said the head lady-in-waiting. Her sister ladies nodded, their faces grim, and they pulled Eliana into their midst. Somehow they had to make this peasant into a princess before the ball began! Eliana cast one last desperate glance over her shoulder at Martha—who offered her an encouraging smile—then succumbed to the ladies and their ministrations.

In the mayhem of strange, structured undergarments, scented bath waters, perfumes, combs, pins, stockings, and the like, no one noticed the lady in the dark hood who appeared in the corner of the room. She gazed out from underneath that hood, smiling at what she saw taking place, then looked around, searching for something, something important . . .

Ah! There they were.

Gliding like a shadow, she made her way to the little table where a pair of gold be-ribboned slippers waited to ornament the feet of the miller’s daughter. They were pretty things, worthy of the fantastic gown they were designed to match.

But they were nothing compared to the pair of slippers the hooded lady pulled from beneath her cloak.

“None of
my
magic,” Titania whispered even as she exchanged the glittering shoes in her hand for the golden shoes on the table. “But he said nothing of others’ magic, now did he? Such a careless oversight!”

Feeling much like a proper faerie godmother from the old stories, Titania slipped away, leaving behind the work so carefully crafted at her command by the nameless captain:

A pair of delicate glass slippers sculpted from the tears of a mortal maid and a faerie man combined.

“Oh, heavens above! Where did these come from?”

Eliana, sucking in a deep breath as the ladies laced her gown as tight as some instrument of torture, turned at the sound of Martha’s exclamation. She saw her maid lift two shining objects from the table.

“Put those down, girl,” one of the ladies snapped with only a hasty half-glance. “They are fine shoes and . . .
Where did you get those
?” The lady dropped her hold of Eliana’s laces and turned upon Martha, her sharp expression melting away in wonder at the sight of the slippers. If anything in that room could rival the beauty of the gold-spun gown, it was those two dainty objects held in Martha’s work-roughened hands.

But where the dress was garish in its design, these were exquisitely simple. No adornments, no jewels or laces marred the exquisite purity of their shape. Formed of the clearest, brightest crystalline glass, they seemed to glow with some inner light.

The ladies-in-waiting clustered around Martha, leaving Eliana momentarily alone. Then they turned to her, to Lady Gold-Spinner, with wonder shining in their eyes. After all, she had, according to common knowledge, spun full rooms of straw into mounds of gold. Could she also, somehow, by her strange magic, create such beautiful things as these slippers?

They did not question her, for which Eliana was grateful. Her own mind was suddenly filled with a whirl of uncomfortable thoughts plucking and poking but not quite solidly forming. She gazed upon those shoes as Martha carried them to her, and they seemed so . . . so . . . familiar?

An image flashed across her mind’s eye—the image of a man seated on a low stool, his finger held up to catch her falling tear. And that tear crystallized on the end of his finger . . .

The memory—if such it was—vanished almost before she had time to recognize it. But this time no searing pain replaced it.

With one hand Eliana touched her mother’s gold necklace draped unobtrusively about her throat, half hidden by the ruffles and jewels on the gown’s bodice. With the other hand she rubbed her thumb against her mother’s gold ring. Both warmed at her touch.

“Will they fit, my lady?” Martha whispered, kneeling down with the slippers before the enormous bounty of Eliana’s skirts. “They seem so small.”

Eliana wondered the same herself, for she did not think her feet that tiny. But, with an effort, she pulled back the ruffles and flounces and lifted a newly scrubbed and cleaned foot to Martha, who slid the slipper into place.

It fit perfectly. As did the second. Though they were made of glass and Eliana expected them to be hard and uncomfortable, she found that suddenly she could move with grace and ease, even in the vast skirts and petticoats that so imprisoned her.

“Your mask, Lady Gold-Spinner,” said the head lady-in-waiting, holding out not the moon-and-sun mask Eliana had worn the previous two nights but a mask made of gold and shaped in the rays of a blazing sun.

Eliana took it uneasily. Would her oak-leaf man recognize her now? But there could be no arguing, so she slipped the mask into place.

“You are beautiful beyond words!” Martha breathed, twisting her apron in her hands with nervous delight. The ladies-in-waiting, rather than shushing the lowly maid, merely echoed her words with approving murmurs of their own. They had done their work well. Eliana, the miller’s daughter, truly looked the part of a princess.

Now if she claimed the heart of the prince, she would become a princess indeed.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Nameless

“What a
glorious
dress!” exclaimed King Hendry’s queen. Her eyes widened hugely behind her mask and, when it seemed she could not look fully enough, she slipped the mask up onto her forehead—despite the fact that the Reveal was not due for another several hours—and openly gaped at Eliana. “Oh, it’s more beautiful than I could
possibly
have imagined!”

Eliana flushed under the queen’s stare . . . then paled under the king’s equally potent glare. She sank into a deep curtsy, once more finding herself blessed with an unexpected grace. Ordinarily the enormous skirts would have pulled her off balance, and she would have landed in a heap of gold flounces right there on the step before her monarchs!

“Oh, darling!” the queen said without so much as acknowledging the girl. She grabbed her husband by the sleeve. “Darling, we simply
must
have my ladies make
me
a dress like that!”

“Whatever you wish, lovebird,” Hendry growled. Then he reached out and took hold of Eliana’s elbow, dragging her back to her feet. “All right, Lady Gold-Spinner,” he said, his long mustache puffing with the force of his words, “you’re not getting away so easily tonight!”

With that, he pulled her down the steps. Eliana felt the eyes of all the guests in the enormous ballroom fixed upon her. Even the musicians had stopped playing, their pipes and woodwinds dropping from their lips as they gazed up at the shimmering vision on the steps. A halo of gold light seemed to radiate from that faerie-spun dress, and the more everyone admired the gown, the more it gleamed, as though soaking in the admiration to increase its own splendor.

Eliana wished she could melt into the floor and vanish forever! Only the glass slippers on her feet gave her courage.

King Hendry, entirely unaware of the spectacle Eliana’s entrance had created, focused his eye upon his son standing at the bottom of the steps. He dragged Eliana down so hastily, she would have fallen on her face were it not for the power of the slippers she wore in secret under those cumbersome skirts.

Prince Ellis, like everyone else in that room, stood transfixed by the incredible vision dragged before him. He had heard tell of Lady Gold-Spinner and her talents—heavens above, his mother had spent all this last week telling him over and over and
over
again how lucky he would be to marry this girl!—but he had never expected something like . . . like this! He couldn’t even say that he had any impression of the girl herself, so lost as she was in that powerful haze of golden glory!

“Here she is,” King Hendry said without preamble, and pushed Eliana right up against his son, so that Prince Ellis was obliged to take several steps back or be enveloped in vast skirts. “Girl, meet my boy. Boy, meet the gold-spinning girl. Now dance with her, devils take you! Dance!”

Prince Ellis shut his jaw with an audible
clunk.
Then, bowing with courtly courtesy, he extended a hand to Eliana. “May I have the honor of this dance, Lady Gold-Spinner?”

Eliana cast about quickly, her eyes searching from behind her golden-sun mask for some glimpse of bronzed oak leaves. But her companion of the last two nights was nowhere to be seen. Even if he were near, how could she refuse the invitation of the prince himself? Particularly with King Hendry standing just behind her, glaring daggers into her spine.

“It . . . it would be my honor, Your Highness,” Eliana whispered, and placed her fingers lightly in the prince’s hand.

So she found herself led once more out into the center of the dance floor. But she felt none of the confidence and joy she had experienced while held in the arms of her oak-leaf man. She felt only terror at many, many eyes fixed so intently upon her. No one else joined her and Prince Ellis on the floor, so she could not hope to hide behind other dancers—as if it were possible to hide when clad in such a gown!

“Play!” King Hendry roared at the musicians in their gallery. They gulped and gasped and launched into a tune, hitting several sour notes until they found their stride. Prince Ellis, his eyes huge but his mouth unsmiling, began moving in the intricate paces of a dance Eliana did not know. She followed as best she could, and felt again how her crystal slippers kept her, for the most part, in rhythm with her partner.

It was nevertheless the most miserable dance she’d ever experienced.

“I have not met you at court before, have I?” the prince said, speaking with cool politeness.

Eliana glanced up at him through her sunburst mask. Did he not know her origins? Or was he simply testing her, trying to see how honest she would be? “I am a miller’s daughter,” she said, speaking with difficulty as she struggled to maintain the pace of the dance.  “I have never been invited to court before.”

She saw his eyelids flutter through the holes of his panther mask. Was it possible that she glimpsed kindness there? Could it be that Prince Ellis was as good and generous as Martha claimed he was, a man who did not scorn to speak with courtesy to housemaids or peasants?

Or was he simply embarrassed? Deeply, painfully embarrassed . . .

A sudden movement on the edge of the crowd caught Eliana’s eye. She turned her head, almost against her will, and saw three figures pushing their way through the lords and ladies, three figures she knew too well! Mistress Carlyn, followed closely by Bridin and Innis. They were dressed in silks and gems but somehow managed to look drab and out of place. Where they had come by their finery, Eliana could not guess, though she suspected Mistress Carlyn had gone into deep debt with various merchants, claiming kinship with Lady Gold-Spinner and her riches.

They stared and pointed, and Mistress Carlyn waved and called out, “
Yoohoo!
Eliana dearest!”

Eliana wished she could bury herself underground and never come out again. Prince Ellis, still moving in time to the dance, looked over her head and saw the three women, saw Mistress Carlyn’s rude behavior with her exaggerated gestures and smiles. “Friends of yours?” he asked, sounding as though he did not wish to hear the answer.

“My stepfamily,” Eliana breathed, more ashamed than she had ever before felt in her life. By some magic she had managed to avoid even a glimpse of Mistress Carlyn and her daughters these last two nights—but apparently whatever lucky charm she had enjoyed while in the company of her oak-leaf man was now truly broken.

The song came to an end. Prince Ellis, though still holding Eliana by the hand, looked this way and that as though searching for some means of escape. Before he could settle on a course of action, Mistress Carlyn rushed out onto the floor, her two daughters trailing behind her, shamefaced with eyes downcast. There was no shame in Mistress Carlyn’s face, however, as she grabbed Eliana by the arm.

“Sweetest girl!” she exclaimed, her eyes bright and cold behind her feathery mask despite the warmth of her words. “You simply
must
introduce us to this
handsome
young man!”

Eliana wanted to die. Her stepmother knew perfectly well with whom Eliana danced, and she knew perfectly well how indescribably rude it was to foist herself upon the attention of the prince himself, especially in so public a setting. There could be no excuse for this display of ill-breeding. Eliana did not even have to look at the prince to feel the enormous discomfort and irritation radiating from the very marrow of his spirit.

Though Eliana did not speak a word, Mistress Carlyn extended her hand to the prince, simpering delicately when he, after some hesitation, took it and offered the smallest bow possible. “I am Lady Gold-Spinner’s mother!” she declared, then ushered her two daughters forward. “And these are her sisters, my sweet cherubs, Miss Bridin and Miss Innis.” Clutching the prince’s hand as though she would never let go, she swept her gaze about the watching crowd of guests and declared in a loud voice, “They are both
excellent
catches for
any
nobly born man, these
sisters
of Lady Gold-Spinner!” She addressed herself to the prince again, a secret, knowing smile creasing her painted face. “Especially now that she has caught the eye of the prince himself!”

Eliana dared cast Prince Ellis only the briefest glimpse. But in that instant she saw, even behind his mask, the deep flush of red creeping over his skin. If before he had felt only vague discomfort and disinterest in the bride his father had chosen for him, he must surely hate her now!

Ellis turned to Eliana, opening his mouth to speak words she could not begin to guess. But before he’d uttered so much as a single syllable, King Hendry’s voice boomed across the way:

“Bring your lady here, my boy!”

Prince Ellis heaved a sigh but spoke no protest. He tucked Eliana’s hand into the crook of his elbow and led her away from her stepfamily, back to the grand staircase. Eliana could not say which emotion dominated in that moment—relief at leaving Mistress Carlyn behind or dread at facing the king once more.

King Hendry, with his smiling queen behind him, scowled down at the prince and the girl as they bowed and curtsied at his feet. “So you’ve met and you’ve danced,” the king said, arms folded over his brilliantly embroidered jacket. “And what do you make of our Lady Gold-Spinnner, boy?”

Ellis coughed and hesitated.
Just speak the truth
, Eliana silently urged him, though she could not bring herself to so much as look his way.
Tell him you do not like me. It would be better for both of us!

But when Prince Ellis found his voice he said, however reluctantly, “My kingly father, I have just now met the fairest maiden in all the land.”

Not an ounce of truth graced his words. He said only what he knew his father wanted to hear. Eliana tried to pull her hand from his elbow, but his other hand latched down on top of hers, holding her in place.

A broad smile split Hendry’s face nearly in two, almost as beaming as the smile his wife already wore. “Excellent!” he declared. “In that case, the betrothal is set.”

“No!”

A united gasp rushed through the crowd of noble onlookers. King Hendry’s smile froze, and his eyes hardened behind their mask.

And Eliana, standing with her hand trapped in Prince Ellis’s grasp, realized that it was she herself who had spoken.

Her breath caught in her throat . . . but she did not take back her refusal. Instead, she drew herself up as straight as she could, meeting the king’s gaze through her own mask of sunbeams.

“What did you say?” the king asked, the words hissing through his mustache like snakes.

Eliana felt the delicate weight of her mother’s necklace resting on her bosom. She felt the warmth of the gold ring on her finger. She gathered herself, summoning a store of courage she had not hitherto realized she possessed, and spoke in a quiet but clear voice.

“I cannot marry your son, Your Majesty,” she said, “though I am grateful for the honor of his kind words. But I cannot marry him because, you see, I love another.”

Another shared gasp shook the assembly like the gusting winds of a gathering storm. Someone—Eliana was quite certain it was Mistress Carlyn’s voice she heard—called out in a near-hysterical voice, “Don’t be a little fool!”

King Hendry stood as though transfixed before Eliana’s bold words. Then he stomped down the stairs, closing the distance between himself and her, and though the mask he wore was bright and cheerful, she saw murder in his eyes.

“You have but one alternative, peasant,” he whispered. His eyes promised:
I have not yet ordered my servants to tear down the gallows!

“Come now, Father,” murmured Prince Ellis reasonably. “If she loves someone else, doesn’t that make for—”

“
Hssssssst!
” Hendry put up one warning hand, his gaze never breaking with Eliana’s. “It’s your choice,” he snarled. “Your fate, your future, is entirely in your hands. So answer me now, once and for all . . . will you marry my son or won’t you?”

“I will not marry him,” Eliana replied.

Purple rage swept over the king’s ruddy face. With a violent movement of one arm he dashed his mask from his face, then flung it to the ground and stomped it beneath his feet. “Guards!” he bellowed. “Guards!”

Eliana paled, seeing the same men-at-arms who had escorted her to and from her chamber the last three nights appear at the top of the stairs.

“Arrest this girl!” King Hendry cried, oblivious to the horrified exclamations of his queen, his son, and his many guests. “She is an imposter! She seeks to ingratiate her way into the royal household under false pretenses! She is
not
and
never will be
Lady Gold-Spinner!”

Eliana realized suddenly that Prince Ellis had dropped her arm and backed away. She stood alone in that empty space before the stairs, and the men-at-arms, looking fierce in their armor and helmets, descended upon her as if she were some dangerous enemy of the crown, not a small slip of a maiden dressed in too much gold. She retreated, her glass slippers clicking on the floor beneath her.

Then she wasn’t alone anymore. Someone stood between her and the guards. Someone wearing a mask of bronzed oak leaves.