The Real Cinderella by S. G. Ricketts (good books for high schoolers .TXT) 📕

reply but she stayed quiet. I struggled to my feet, groaning as the bandages caught on raw skin. Confused, I reached out for her but she flinched away. “I’m sorry, Liza. You know how I am... I’m sorry.”

Her face was something I’d never forget. Beneath the horror and disgust was a pain that hurt far worse than my lashes. Wordless, she turned and ran out the door. I was left staring into the darkness of the night. The door caught in the wind and slammed shut again, leaves and dust swirling in its wake.

She’d left me. The little girl inside me collapsed, scared. Liza had never left me angry before. Even after our family was gone, she’d never left me without telling me where she was going. And the look on her face... I had to find her. Grateful for the numbing herbs, I struggled into my shift and the softest, oldest dress I could find.

The smoke of the little hut followed me out, pungent on the night air. All the windows were covered, the only proof of life the cracks of light around the doors and the plumes of smoke from their roofs. I gritted my teeth against the chill autumn air and headed towards the center of the village.

I knew where she would be. Builder’s Brooke was just big enough for our own temple, and Liza found the place soothing. I found it disturbing, with its shrines to the living and its dedicated followers.

As I walked, I kept my head down. My act of defiance was sure to make me a popular target, both with the rebels and with the overseers. My skirts swept softly against the top of my boots as I walked and for the first time, I wished Builder’s Brooke were smaller. A group of men stared at me as I passed. One tipped his hat mockingly. “Headed to finish the job, are ye?”

I ignored him, staring at the ground in front of me. Please be there, Liza. Please.

I hurried the last few steps to the crude little builing. Gently, I pushed the temple door open and stepped inside. The light was dim, only a few candles lit before the image of the King and Queen. I shivered at their stoic expressions, the light catching on the paint and making them look almost alive. My hope died. She would have been before the image of the Queen, her patron goddess. Frantically, I tried to think of where else she would have gone.

“She’s daft, you know.”

I froze, suddenly cold. I knew that voice, but it had never sounded so cruel before. Quickly I slipped behind the curtain of the Prince’s tiny chambers just as the door opened. Liza swept in with the wind curling her hair and flipping her dress. The candlelight lit up her face, dusting her cheeks a soft gold and her hair a brilliant flaxen color. She frowned prettily up at whoever was following her. Carefully, I moved myself so I could see the other portion of the room.

“She’s not worth your time, sir.”

I shuddered as she laid her hand against a leathered chest. It was the head overseer. Confused, I pulled the curtain slightly farther apart. His tattooed face stared blankly down at her. “Woman, you have nothing else I want. I want

her.” He pushed brutally past her, pulling out a candle from the King’s basket and deftly lighting it. I caught the overwhelming smell of man and held my breath. He was inches from my hiding spot. Dark eyes rested for a moment on the King’s face, hungry and empty. Yet again, I couldn’t help but think that these men weren’t Royals. When I’d seen the Prince, he’d looked nothing like this empty, twisted creature. He stood and grabbed my sister by the arm. “You are useless to me. Bring her to me.”

Smoothly, Liza turned his grip into an embrace. He frowned down at her but didn’t move. She smiled slightly, hand sliding down his chest. “What could a builder like her do better than I can? She’s marked, cursed with the green eyes of one of the truly flawed.” She turned, eyes focused almost desperately on the image of the Queen. “I look almost identical to the Queen herself. How many times have you had one who looks like Her?”

“Hundreds of times.” He pushed her off, emotionless. “You have nothing else I want, woman,” he repeated, eyes travelling down her body. I shivered, terrified for my sister. “Unless you have something better to offer me, I will have her this time. Enough of your stupid games.”

I sat back, the Prince’s basket pressing into my hip. So that’s what this was all about. Oh Liza... For how many years had she been taking my punishments? My mind shied away from all the times I’d been beaten or whipped. To think she’d taken it to protect me... At least now I knew she agreed with me: the curse wasn’t an excuse.

“I might have something more you’d be interested in.” I brought myself back to the present. Her voice matched his now, completely different than the previous lusty woman’s voice. Suddenly I wondered if the sister I knew was the real Liza. Quickly, I banished the thought.

“And what would that be?” He sounded almost bored.

“Three gold royes in payment for her to remain pure.”

I gasped. Between the both of us, we’d never seen

more than twenty silver drakas. Three gold royes? The amount was mind-boggling. The man snorted. “Aye, lass, I’ll take your money. Only problem is you don’t got any.”
I heard her skirts rustle as she walked to the door. “See the slaver in the morning. We have a deal, then?”

It was silent for a moment. I held my breath, praying he would call her bluff. “Aye, we have a deal.”

~~~~~

The candle wavered slightly as I sobbed. The Prince stared blankly down at me, but I had no where else to go. She was a fool. A damned fool! I couldn’t breathe for the tears. It was all too much. The thought of what she’d done for me left me weak. One corner already reeked of vomit and I offered another pathetic prayer of forgiveness for defouling His place. Somehow I didn’t think the painting would mind, but I said it anyway. Liza would have been proud. I tried to muffle my sobs in the folds of my skirt. Why? The Prince was supposed to be the defender of His people. Couldn’t He protect me Himself? Why did she have to do it? Or was I truly too cursed to be considered one of His? And for that matter, why didn’t the Queen protect my sister?

I sat up, tears still coming unbidden. His face was blurry through my tears, but it was the same face from so long ago. Amber eyes stared out at me from beneath carefully sculpted eyebrows. His face was smooth, the tawny brown of a fresh-baked loaf save for his beard. The painting didn’t do Him justice. There was only the slightest hint of the laughter in His eyes with no attention given to the curve of a smile pulling at his lips or the sharp outline of His jaw. I took a shuddering breath, suddenly angry. “You’re just a painting. Somewhere, you’re a real man, but you’re useless. You’re just like the rest of us, except you get the title of Original.” I blew out the candle and stood abruptly. “For fourteen years, I’ve prayed to you and you couldn’t even protect my sister.”

I ran outside, letting the wind dry the tears on my face. I fought back fresh sobs. The earlier ones had torn open my back again and it was a mass of pain. Remembering who had paid the price, I took a deep breath and let the bandage pull tight. I bit back a yelp of pain. If this was all I could do, I would relish it. Lights danced briefly before my eyes and I stumbled into the wall of a hut. Determined, I took a deep breath and headed southwest straight-backed and dizzy with my punishment.

The night was still dark, the moon a mere sliver above the village. Everyone was asleep now, children and mothers and fathers huddled together against the cold. I weaved my way through the huts, careful to stay quiet. Soon, I could here the creaking of harnesses and the soft whuffing of animals. I slipped into the shadow of the last hut. The slaver’s caravan was packing up even now. A bright head was shoved into one of the wagons and I bit my lip. Liza.

So she had sold herself for me. I watched with a mixture of horror and numb calmness. I would find her and save her, somehow.

“Weel, wot do we’s ha’ here, eh Princess?” I spun around, losing my balance as pain lanced up my back. A man grabbed my hair and pulled me up to meet his eyes. “A rebel, eh? Ye’s make pretteh wenches, ye do.” He grinned and slapped my back. I passed out.

Chapter 2

The wagon jerked and I lurched into the lap of the prisoner next to me. Vacant eyes stared down at me. I shuddered and pushed myself weakly off her knees. Rain pounded the walls of our travelling prison, dripping through poorly sewn seams to splat in pools of excrement. My chains clinked as I pulled my knees close to my chest. It had begun early the previous night and our fresh air had been promptly cut off, the heavy cover pulled over the wagon. Hours of bodily waste and sweat fermented beneath it, creating a swelter pit of stench. I sighed, leaning against my knees. The wagon tipped again and I hissed as my back hit the wooden frame. Skin and scabs pulled against the rough wood and I fought the wave of dizziness.

“Nasty uns, those are.”

“Weren’t so bad before I got on here.” I swallowed, trying to keep the bile down. I didn’t dare look at the post behind me, for fear of seeing my back left upon it.

“Wot wos it sold ye, girlie?” A grandfatherly man slid closer, one eye swollen shut. “Are ye a witch or jus’ someun’s unlucky turget?”

I watched him through teary eyes. “Neither.”

He blinked, surprised, then siddled closer. He eyed my back and nodded sagely. “A criminal, then. Or mebbe an overseer’s woman. Ye’re not un I’d pass up, by th’ King’s own balls.”
I curled tighter, entirely too aware of the way my shift clung to me. “That’s rather vulgar, don’t you think?”

He winked at me with his good eye. “Nay, girlie. This-” he waved grandly at the over-stuffed wagon- “is vulgar. That

is just fact.”
I grunted, amused despite myself. “‘Suppose you’re right.”
He grinned and I winced. His mouth was full of broken teeth