Cinderella Dreams of Fire (Fairy Tales Forever #1) (3 page)

C
inderella felt
around in the dark of the creepy, old building where she'd spent so many of her midnights. Even though she'd passed so much time there that she could make it through most of the training area and the surrounding rooms by touch alone, she actually knew very little about the woman who'd pulled her out of the lowest point of her life.

Cinderella's fingers brushed one of the old practice dummies she'd spent years pounding upon. She felt the tattered stitches of the roughly woven face, remembering how often she'd pictured the inanimate opponent as her sister, as her stepmother, and as her father. She'd punched and punched until her knuckles were raw and bloody. On those nights, the Godmother had been the one to gently ease her hands away and into a bucket of ice.

Her hands could use the ice today after slamming so hard into the prince's bone and muscle. He was thicker than he looked, and one of the reasons she hated fighting drunks was that they needed an extra few punches to take them down.

This wasn't just any drunk, though. It was the Crown Prince of Loren, and he was standing between her and her mission.

Why'd you have me steal from the queen? What is this thing?

Cinderella's hand moved along the practice area and made contact with the weapon rack. She recalled the pride at mastering every one-handed, two-handed, and long-distance tool of war the Godmother possessed. Her late nights of training even included using random objects she might find along the way. She'd become so handy with a shovel, she sometimes preferred it to a halberd or mace.

Nowadays, she only practiced once or twice a week. The rest of the time was dedicated to missions that served some greater purpose.

Not that I'll ever know what that purpose is.

Her fingers traced along the wall just the right number of paces from the rack and found the lantern. As she illuminated the room, she was hardly surprised to see the stoic face of the Godmother staring right back at her. As usual, she seemed to materialize out of thin air.

The woman spoke as if she were holding something back. “Do you have it?"

Cinderella had never been able to determine her mentor's age. It was like she was preserved in the sweet spot of middle-age, and her face had barely acknowledged the passage of time in the decade they'd been training. Aside from a thin, gray line of hair down the side of her cheek, the woman seemed to have found the secret to defeat aging. It wouldn't be the only secret she'd kept from her protégé.

"Of course.” Cinderella stretched her achy fist as she pulled out the pouch. “I think at this point I know better than to come back without completing a mission."

She pulled the stone out of the bag and felt it in her hand. It was even warmer than it had seemed before. The lantern made the red gem glisten. It wasn't the prettiest item she'd obtained for the Godmother, but it did seem to hold some kind of mysterious power. She could feel it in the way it seemed to change its temperature. She could feel it in the way the Godmother looked at it: with fear and hope in equal measure.

Her mentor gestured and Cinderella placed it in her hand. The Godmother turned the gem over with her fingers and held it up to her eye.

"You know, a little validation on this one would be nice. It wasn't the easiest thing to get."

The Godmother continued examining the stone. “Yes, I heard. Half the village is talking about a thief battling Prince Braedon on a rooftop. Your stealth is commendable."

Cinderella put her hands on her hips. “I could've ended it before any spectators started watching, but I didn't think you wanted any princes thrown off the roof."

Her mentor ignored her and walked swiftly to a desk where she began scribbling a note on a piece of parchment.

"Did you want princes thrown off rooftops?"

"No."

Cinderella snorted. “Good. I'm so glad we had this talk."

She began to walk away until the Godmother cleared her throat. “I need you to do one last thing today."

Her protégé stopped in her tracks and sighed. In the silence, Cinderella felt the bruise forming on her shoulder from her earlier effort to break through the wall. She waited for her mentor to finish the note.

The Godmother placed the gem back in its pouch and handed it and the parchment toward Cinderella. “I want you to give this to Tristan.”

Cinderella raised an eyebrow. “So it's a weapon?"

"Of sorts."

She looked her mentor in the eye. “Is the reason I never get answers from you because you don't trust me?"

The Godmother walked back over to her desk and sat down. It was only after a few moments of quiet that she answered.

"You'll get answers when you're ready for them.”

Cinderella picked at her nails. “I know you're not going to tell me, but I might as well ask why. I did take down six soldiers and a drunken prince. Not exactly a snatch and grab."

"If the queen truly knew what she had, she would've doubled the number of guards."

"That's comforting."

The Godmother sighed and pushed away from her desk. She slowly glided over and put her hand on Cinderella's shoulder. “Just take it to Tristan. I promise some things are about to become clear for the first time in your life."

Cinderella looked away. “Uh huh."

Her mentor reached for Cinderella's chin and pointed her face upward. “You did a good job tonight. Thank you."

Cinderella's heart fluttered with affirmation, as much as she didn't want to admit it. She nodded and tucked the items away.

S
he crept
into her stepmother's home about an hour before dawn. She'd oiled every hinge and lock in the house monthly for the last decade. Between her stealth, the constant covering of Kiyara, and the non-creaky doors, Cinderella hadn't been caught on her nighttime jaunts for ages. As she lay down upon her stiff, unforgiving mattress, she thought about the red stone that was warm to the touch. She wondered if the Godmother was right. She wondered if she'd soon learn the answer to the greatest question of all.

P
rince Braedon woke
up so sore he could barely sit up. As he stretched his arms skyward, he heard a pop in each of his vertebrae. Then he brought a hand up to his throbbing face. It was swollen and raw.

His cheek ached when he smiled. “She was something else."

The image of the thief standing upon the roof, a few stray strands of her golden hair blowing in the wind, consumed his thoughts. He never even saw her face. Her body was almost completely concealed in her fighting cloak. And yet, he didn't care whether or not he saw all the outward signs of beauty. His heart pumped a little faster for her.

A short healer entered the room with his head bowed, making him look almost dwarf-like. He recognized the man from some of his previous late-night encounters with a fist and a boot.

The dark-skinned islander looked up at Braedon's face and opened his eyes wide. “It looks like you were in battle."

The prince nodded. He'd love to share everything about the encounter, and about the incredible female thief, but he knew how fast rumor traveled. If Falstone found out the thief was a woman, the prince would never hear the end of it.

Braedon put on a brave face for the healer's stinging salve. “You should see the other guy."

The islander nodded as he dabbed the prince's eye. “People are saying that the thief fought dirty."

The prince's memory was immaculate after only three drinks, and there was no foul play whatsoever in his fight with the thief. But he knew the darkness of night could play tricks on the spectators below, and he wasn't about to dispel the rumors.

"The thief was fast, but definitely not interested in a fair fight."

The healer's eyes told the prince that this clarification of the rumor would make its way around the castle pretty quickly. There was only one person he hoped the news wouldn't make it to.

"Braedon!"

The healer rose and stood at full attention as the Queen of Loren stormed into the prince's room.

Braedon sighed. “Come to wish me well?"

If there was one word to describe his mother, it was proud. She stood tall and regal wherever she went. Falstone said he looked just like his mother, though he often prefaced it by saying he was an uglier version of her. They shared the same sandy-colored hair and blue eyes. They were both tall and had a much-stronger-than-average constitution.

But it was their pride that stood out among the other attributes. And her pride was never hurt more than when word spread about her son doing something stupid.

The queen waived the healer away, and the short man sprinted out the door.

She took over the islander's job and began dabbing additional salve on her son's wound. “More like I've come to finish you off."

His mother was much less gentle than the healer, and the prince squirmed in pain beneath her fingers.

"I'm not going to say it's any better when you get into a scuffle in some back alley. But at least then we can control the story better. Everybody saw you fighting, and they know she got away with whatever you were trying to protect."

Butterflies multiplied in the prince's stomach. “You heard it was a woman?"

The queen put on a sly smile and moved to the other side of his face. “I have better sources than your healer, Braedon. Don't worry, I've kept your reputation intact.” Her grin spread. “Were you completely drunk or was she actually that good?"

The prince shifted to his side and stood up. “I think that's enough, Mother. My eye is bound to heal in the next few days."

"Fine. You don't have to tell me anything about the fight. But you'll need to speak with the Captain of the Guard about the thief. She stole something very valuable from the crown."

Braedon nodded. “Sure. But she didn't exactly tell me where she lived or anything."

"We'll make do with the info you give us.” The queen took Braedon by one of the few unaffected parts of his face. “Why do you have to be so much like your father? He would always come back from the bar with a bruise or two. Even after he became king."

The prince knew he was a grown man, but he couldn't help but feel a bit soothed at his mother's touch. “Does that mean I have permission to rough it up at the tavern?"

She looked deep into his eyes. “I wouldn't go around following the lead of someone who died before his time."

Braedon had no idea what to say to that, and he sensed a quiet emptiness.

The queen stepped away and broke the silence by opening the curtains wide. The sun burned the prince's eyes more than any salve could.

"I'm worried about you, Braedon. If even half the rumors are true about how you spend your nights, then nobody will take you seriously when you become king."

There's that word again.

The prince groaned and turned away from the sunlight. “Can't you just live to 100 so I don't have to worry about that stuff?"

The queen laughed. “With soldiers retiring so fast, I'm lucky if I last the week."

Braedon had heard rumors, too. People had been saying that dozens of the queen's soldiers had either abandoned their posts or quit in the last month. In about half of those cases, the men left after experiencing a tragedy in their families. He wondered if the guards needed guards.

His mother interrupted his thoughts. “You know, that eye of yours should heal just in time for the midweek tea."

The prince ran a hand through his hair. “That's this week?"

"It's always been this week. It's an important event leading up to the ball."

Braedon wished he had a drink. There's nothing he wanted to do less then get dressed up and dance around with the prissiest women in the kingdom.

"Yes, Mother."

She stormed over from the window. “Don't 'yes, Mother' me, Braedon. You have certain responsibilities in this kingdom that I've let you dance around for years. But it was always leading up to this.” She took his wrist. “You have to get married, have a child, and keep our lineage going. If you do nothing but these three things, then people will forget your misdeeds and think of you as a productive king."

"And what about love? You really think I'm going to find true love among these terrible women?"

His mother tightened her grip. “Not with that attitude you aren't."

He sighed and tried to roll out his wrist. His mother was stronger than she looked.

"I will try to keep an open mind. That's all I'm promising."

She gave her approval and let go. “Good. This afternoon I need you to help choose a new Captain of the Guard. Of course the old one retired, and we need someone to take his place."

The prince raised an eyebrow. “We should really look into these retirements, Mother. They have to be connected in some way."

The queen attempted to wave his thoughts away. “It's all about morale. We're working on it."

He shook his head. “No. I want to talk to the former captain."

"It's a dead end. He's lost all interest in the job."

Something about losing all interest reminded him of another rumor. The men who'd quit had lost all their passion. All their will to serve. There had to be something tying all of them together.

"You want me to be involved? I'm going to go investigate."

"Braedon, we have people for that."

The prince stepped up to his wardrobe and removed some clothes for the day. He couldn't remember the last time he went out when the sun still shined.

His eyes danced. “But why should we let them have all the fun?"

L
ike on most days
, Cinderella fought the urge to leave her stepmother's home and complete the task while the light still had a part of the day. Instead, in an ongoing mission the Godmother wouldn't let her quit, she pretended to be the weak little girl that Armenia ordered around from dawn until dusk.

At first light, she prepared breakfast for her four family members, not that she ever saw her father take a bite. After watching her stepsisters and Armenia eat like a ravenous pack of wolves, she washed the previous day's clothing by hand and then started the long list of tasks set out for her. As her hands kept busy, her mind processed the possibilities of the red gem hidden in her tiny bedroom.

She asked me to take it to Tristan, so we're going to use it to fight against something. But what?

"Did you hear me, peasant girl?”

Cinderella hid her ire and looked up from the chair she was polishing. Armenia loomed over her like a disapproving statue. Cinderella had actually liked her stepmother when she first met her. She was pretty and proud, and the young girl who'd just lost her mother thought this new woman could help her on the path to a happy childhood. But any smiles she'd seen before the marriage turned quickly to sneers and disapproving glances. Cinderella only saw Armenia laugh when it was at her stepdaughter's expense.

She produced a subservient smile. “Yes, Mother?"

Armenia gave her a glance that could kill. “I asked if you pressed our dresses for the tea this week. We can't have the prince seeing us look like common folk, now can we?"

While Cinderella kept the laugh to herself, she couldn't help but wonder if her rooftop encounter with Braedon had left him with any visual bruises. What excuses might he use to explain away the marks of her fists? Hunting accident? An errant slide down the golden staircase of the castle?

"I have, Mother."

Her stepmother stormed around the room like the queen she believed herself to be. “I'd like you to do it again. Stay up all night if you have to. These dresses must look perfect."

Cinderella nodded. “Of course. Would you like me to do it right now?"

Armenia beamed, clearly enjoying the feeling of total dominance. “You can finish in here first."

She walked out without a kind word or even an insult. She left with the same attention she might give a lame house pet or a stranger. Cinderella might have felt a new wave of pain with every uncaring exit if she hadn't hardened herself to handle the village at night. She wondered how many stepdaughters and partial orphans hadn't been so lucky. How much pain did they store in their hearts every single day?

With footsteps louder than a horse clomping through a city square, Malina appeared at the doorway. Like her sister, she was long-legged and beautiful, with soft skin. But the darkness inside of her honed her features to a sharp point. Her face at neutral looked more likely to cut a man than caress him.

"And while you're at it, Elle, can you take an iron to my undergarments as well?” She primped herself as if there were a mirror in the room. “I'm not sure if it will be the tea or the ball, but I have a feeling the prince is going to see more than my dress. If you know what I mean.” She laughed her cute, irritating laugh.

Cinderella wanted to tell her stepsister that the best way to get the prince in bed was to put a keg in it, but she saved all the useful advice for Kiyara.

"I'll put it on the list, Sister."

Malina took long, exaggerated strides into the room. She leaned on the chair her stepsister polished. “What was it like?"

Cinderella had played this game before, though the rage remained difficult to keep at bay.

"I don't know what you mean."

Malina leaned forward like she was about to share a juicy piece of gossip. “What was it like to watch your mother burn to death?"

Cinderella's memory flashed back to the day it happened. She watched the red flames circle around her as her mother lay in the middle of it all. She closed off the memory before the tears could come.

When she stood up beside her stepsister, it wasn't the lowly cleaning girl in that room. It was the thief of the night, and Malina took a step back in fear.

Cinderella wanted to toss the entitled witch through the window, but she kept her attack to words only. “If you really wanted to know, a similar scenario could be arranged."

Malina hesitated before taking a speedy exit.

With a tension-releasing sigh, Cinderella closed her eyes. “I don't think I'll tell the Godmother about that."

W
hen every light
in the house had been extinguished, the thief took her cue to come out and play. Moving from shadow to shadow and flying through the air between rooftops made Cinderella feel free. She knew that one day she could let this sensation come out during the day, but that would have to wait until after the Godmother gave her permission.

Until then, she reveled in the crisp, dark air of the night.

She arrived at Tristan's house, which was situated in a sort of professional district of town. An expertly crafted metal sign in the shape of a hammer swung on a wire hook above her. She rapped on the door three times.

A small girl opened the door slowly. The child's red hair was partly matted from sleeping.

Cinderella laughed. “Now Hannah, aren't you supposed to be in bed?”

She suppressed a yawn. “I wanted to see if you were coming."

A wide man smelling of iron and flame placed his hand on his young daughter's shoulder. “She knows your knock, Elle. Come in."

Cinderella stepped into the modest blacksmith's home. A warm fire crackled from one side of the room, while the delicious smells from a plate of smoked meat and cheese wafted over from the other.

"Were you expecting me?"

Tristan's smile wasn't pretty, but it was so genuine that it lit up the room regardless. “I heard you embarrassed the prince on a rooftop last night. I thought you might save the victory tour for tonight."

Cinderella felt a tug at her cloak.

Hannah's eyes were like saucers. “Did you bring me anything?"

Her father gave a disapproving glance. “Honey, what did I tell you about begging?"

The little girl blinked her tiny eyelashes. “It was just a simple question."

Tristan sighed.

Cinderella looked between the two of them and felt the tug of a loving household. Her heart nearly opened up before she caught herself and closed things back off again.

"Close your eyes, first."

Hannah shut her eyes tight and put her small hands over her face. The thief produced a small candy from her pocket. The little girl opened her eyes and looked as though she'd just received the biggest surprise of her life.

Her expression was pleading. “Can I have it, Father?"

"Only if you get your little behind up to bed right now."

Hannah flashed a mischievous grin. “Thanks, Elle."

With that, she dashed up the stairs and disappeared.

Tristan shook his head. “That girl is going to be the end of me. I'm helpless against her."

"I don't think they make a weapon for that."

He sighed. “No. No, they don't. So, what do you have for me?"

Cinderella pulled out the pouch and removed the red gem. The way the blacksmith eyed the jewel made her wonder if she'd given two people candy that night. He reached out and she placed the stolen goods in his hand.

He looked stupefied. “It's warm."

She watched the candlelight flicker through it. “I know. What is it?"

Tristan turned the gem with his meaty fingers. “If the Godmother didn't tell you, I'm not sure I'm at liberty to say."

Frustration bubbled within her. This wasn't the first secret the Godmother had tried to keep from her. After all, she didn't even know the woman's name.

She gnawed at the inside of her mouth. “Just tell me something. I had to punch a prince in the mouth to get that."

"Don't act like you didn't enjoy it. Come with me."

They walked through the back door to the main smithy area. Weapons of all shapes and sizes lined the walls. She recognized many of them from the racks in the Godmother's secluded training facility. In the center of the room was the smelter and the rest of Tristan's equipment. Whenever he worked late at night, Cinderella would try to sneak a peek at the scaldingly hot room and watch the bulky man do what he was put on this earth to do. She imagined it was like watching performers act or dance, though she'd never seen such a thing herself.

Tristan set the jewel on a metal table he'd no doubt made.

He continued to look at the shining red object as if it were a birthday present. “It's ancient."

Silence stuck to the room like the black soot that clung to the walls.

Cinderella shrugged. “Okay. So it's old. Is it a weapon?"

"It's not a weapon, per se. But I think I know why she sent you here.” Tristan met her eyes. “Something's coming, Elle. Something dangerous."

"What else is new? We can just stop it like always."

He lowered his voice, as if the windows had ears. “I've been hearing stories. Terrifying ones. Talks of men having the very lives sucked out of them. Their hearts turned black and leaving them a shell of what they once were."

Cinderella tapped her foot. “Uh-huh. Sounds like my father. It doesn't mean there's something evil. Some people just give up."

When Tristan tried to give her a sympathetic look, she simply turned away.

"What happened to your mother was a tragedy, Elle. That could destroy any man. But when it's a pattern….” He leaned in toward her. “I hear the Captain of the Guard just up and quit. He shut himself off from the world."

As a creature of the night, Cinderella had tussled with the captain before. He wasn't much of a challenge for her, but he also wasn't the kind of person who gave up. Maybe there was something to these rumors after all.

"And this gem is supposed to protect me?"

He smiled that broken, comforting smile. “It will when I'm through with it. Give me a day, but in the meantime be careful."

"I spend my whole life being careful."

The blacksmith's laugh was like a hammer hitting steel. “I think we have different definitions of careful. Maybe you'll understand when you have a family of your own."

Cinderella thought of her stepmother and the awful Malina.

"No thanks."

He smiled knowingly and patted her on the back. “It was nice seeing you, Elle. You have to come over for dinner sometime."

Both of them knew that would never happen given her situation, but it was nice of him to ask.

"I appreciate it.” She took one last look at the gem on the table. “I think it's about time I paid a visit to our dear retired captain. There's nothing I love more than voluntarily visiting a man who wants me dead."