A Feather and A Song
MY STEPMOTHER WAS already up and preparing for the long day ahead when I returned. At my dishevelled appearance, her thin eyebrows nearly merged with her hairline.
“Whatever happened?” she asked.
“A fight with a tree.”
“Oh, dear heart, I thought you’d outgrown the tree climbing! Go and wash up, hurry now. There’s so much we need to get through, and I know you want to help your sisters make the best possible impression!”
My stepmother was determined that every nook and cranny be made suitable for a royal visit.
I considered pointing out that even if Acantha snagged King Tāwhiri on the very first night of the ball, what were the chances he’d be inspecting the broom closets of Bloodthorn Manor the same day?
Besides, if he was going to marry her, surely he wouldn’t care about our broom closets?
But Lady Bloodthorn kept rubbing at her left horn, which she only did when she was agitated, so I didn’t argue.
While the house brownies cleaned, I spent the better part of the morning on tasks Lady Bloodthorn didn’t trust them with.
I swapped the standard cushion covers for our fanciest embroidered ones.
I polished the brass noses of the gargoyles that decorated the entrance stairs, who tended to bite the brownies if they dared venture too close, considering the low-fae beneath their dignity.
On the balconies, I rearranged the bushy pōhuehue vine that had sprung up only last year, probably a reflection of King Tāwhiri’s continued rule, twining it nicely with the older ivy until it fell just so.
Lady Bloodthorn refreshed the house spells, the clip-clop of her hooves on the marble stairs a constant background drum as she walked between floors, checking and re-checking all was being done to her satisfaction.
Meanwhile, my stepsisters were whisked to their bathing chambers to begin their own scrubbing and polishing.
“I wish I didn’t have to go,” Rose admitted later when I was called to help her dress. “I hate dancing, and it’s not as if His Majesty is going to choose me, anyway.” She touched her dark hair, arranged so that it covered her curling horns.
I dredged up some sympathy, even though my every muscle ached from the day’s cleaning marathon, and I felt like saying at least she was allowed to go.
Unlike some other members of this family.
I thought of all the balls at Bloodthorn Manor I’d watched from a hidden, yearning distance and swallowed down bitterness.
“Why shouldn’t the king want to marry you?
” I said instead of any of this. “You’re a daughter of the twelve houses just as much as anyone else, and who’s to say you might not suit?
Maybe King Tāwhiri hates balls too. Maybe he secretly wishes he could be a librarian. Do you know what he’s like at all?”
“We’ve spoken a handful of times, and he was perfectly well-mannered.
A bit cold. But it doesn’t matter what he’s like; I’m not earning the ire of every noble scion of the Golden Wood, which is exactly what will happen to whoever he does choose.
” Rose shuddered. She never liked being the focus of attention.
“No, Acantha is welcome to him. I’ll just be glad when we’re done with all these balls. ”
I thought about what else I’d heard of King Tāwhiri.
He’d inherited young, I knew, a boy-king who’d managed to keep the throne until he reached manhood despite the many challengers.
A powerful glamourist who’d once single-handedly defeated a lion-drake.
I’d heard a rumour that he wasn’t pure sidhe himself, though apparently he was enough of a hypocrite to value that in a bride.
Acantha had once said the curve of his profile put the sharp turn of the river’s cliffs to shame. I tried to imagine what that must actually look like in person, and my brain helpfully supplied the image of a rock with nice teeth draped in expensive fabric.
But the king’s supposedly poetic jawline wasn’t what captured my runaway imagination.
As my mind’s eye spun out the full scene, what I saw most vividly was the court’s attention falling enviously upon his bride, a woman who held her head high—a queen, fully aware of her worth.
A sharp, secret longing went through me.
“Cinders?” Rose tilted her head to the side, a small frown between her brows.
I gave myself a shake. Daydreaming about holding that sort of power was folly.
I didn’t want King Tāwhiri, obviously; I’d never even met him.
Not that it would have made any difference if I had.
Even if I was technically a daughter of the twelve houses too, just as much as Rose and Acantha.
Lord Bloodthorn thought the king wouldn’t choose even a noble fae bride who showed evidence of the less-aristocratic kinds of fae ancestry.
A base-born human would no doubt disgust him.
It was hard not to feel my own lacking at the end of the day, when my stepsisters were dressed in their finery, both impossibly beautiful and graceful as a pair of deer.
Acantha’s gown was golden star-silk, her hair pulled into a sleek style that left her long neck bare and made it clear no belua attributes were hidden by the long, glossy locks of her hair.
Her nails and lips were both painted gold.
She glowed, radiant as a sun goddess and magnetic as flame.
I didn’t see how King Tāwhiri could resist that.
Maybe my stepmother had been right to worry about him turning up at the manor later tonight.
Rose’s attire wasn’t as dramatic as Acantha’s, but she was still effortlessly lovely.
Her dress fell in soft, deceptively simple lines that emphasised her height and figure, and her eyes were outlined in a glittering black that emphasised their colour, a deep, ruby-rich red.
Her horns were the same colour, though not a bit of them showed beneath her headdress.
In comparison, I felt every speck of dust on me, the plainness of my clothing, the blunt ordinariness of my features.
I stood at the top of the entrance hall, looking down at my family gathered together, and felt an even vaster distance between us.
They were fae; I was human. I would never be quite enough.
They didn’t look up.
And then they were gone, leaving me alone in the empty house. I gave a deep sigh, went to eat supper with the house brownies—who had no interest in my self-pity—washed up, and dragged my aching body up to my bedroom in the attic.
And froze.
On my bed lay an elegantly wrapped package tied with silver string and a long, dark feather.
The note tucked under the string read: A feather and a song, my lady. They will not know you for human if you wear the shoes. Transportation will be provided to return you before the dawn.
With shaking hands, I unwrapped the package and spread the contents out on the bed. They lay there accusingly as I stood for several long minutes, afraid to touch them. A ball gown. A feathered mask. A pair of glittering glass shoes. And an invitation.
The shoes were the strangest. They were dazzling creations of clear glass, or perhaps crystal.
I wasn’t sure how to tell. They looked horribly uncomfortable regardless, all sharp-edged facets.
Well, I certainly wasn’t going to tear my feet to shreds just for a chance to attend a ball.
I gave a firm nod as I put them down on the worn floorboards and slipped into them, just to convince myself how entirely terrible the experience would be.
I yelped and fell backwards onto the bed, kicking my legs. The shoes had shifted.
I lay on my back and stared at the glass slippers, which hadn’t come off despite my vigorous movements. They glittered back at me, but otherwise did nothing sinister.
A panicked thought about the Enchanted Beast went through my head, who’d lived for years unable to remove his bespelled mask.
What if I were similarly doomed to an eternity of glass slippers?
I got myself right way up and snatched at the shoes, my heart pounding, but they came off easily under my hands.
Warily, I held the shoes up to eye level.
The contours of them had changed subtly.
Had they moulded themselves to the shape of my feet?
Slowly, I replaced my feet in them, and they did a bit of minor wriggling again, magically adjusting themselves to fit snugly.
This time I managed not to panic at the sensation.
“Right. Magical self-sizing shoes. This is fine.” I stood up. They were alarmingly comfortable, and I scowled down at their glittering beauty. Despite myself, the scowl began to curl into a soft smile of wonder. They were just so sparkly.
I nearly fell over again when I looked in the mirror.
The shoes did more than just dazzle. I touched my ears wonderingly. They still felt round, but in the mirror, they were pointed. The face in the mirror was a stranger’s, a fantastical high sidhe beauty rather than my own human ordinariness.
I had the sudden urge to smash the mirror to smithereens.
Instead, I turned away, ripping off the shoes and throwing them back on the bed.
They lay next to the dress, mask, and invitation, the items horribly, terrifyingly tempting.
With them, a human girl could go where she ought not.
She could finally join the dance instead of just watching, invisible and yearning.
Did I dare? If anyone discovered the ruse, my stepfamily would be furious, and the fae court might be more than furious.
Humans are forbidden at the Golden Hall.
I didn’t know what the punishment might be for breaking that.
Was the risk worth it? What if I ruined Acantha’s chances of marrying royalty?
The king will never know she exists. Acantha’s own words echoed in my ears.
I shrugged out of my clothes, telling myself I was just trying on the dress. Just to see. I hadn’t done anything I couldn’t take back, yet.
The dress was midnight green, darkly iridescent as a tūī, with silver beading up its front and feathers worked into the design at the neckline. The mask was black and smooth, also decorated with shining tūī feathers. There were no ribbons to attach it with.
Heart beating too fast, I held the mask up to my face in the mirror. Despite half-expecting it, I still nearly dropped it as it underwent the same disconcerting personalisation as the shoes. When I took my hand away, the fit was now so perfect that it held firmly in place even without a ribbon.
I examined my face again. The mask hid half of the stranger’s face, but the bits showing still looked high sidhe.
I considered my hair uncertainly and then let it out of its tight braid. It fell in a dark brown wave halfway down my back. The shoes’ enchantment somehow managed to make this look glamorous and interesting rather than untidy.
I twisted this way and that in front of the mirror, but the illusion was flawless. I looked every inch an elegant fae lady, just as much a proper scion of the twelve houses as my sisters.
Transportation will be provided, the tūī’s note had read. I wondered what that meant.
My heart hammered as I crept down through the quiet house, but none of the house brownies stirred. Outside, the moon had risen, and I saw the transportation: a gleaming carriage pulled by a white stag.
We eyed each other in the moonlight. Or at least, I eyed him, and he stood there silently waiting for me to get in, keeping so still he might have been carved of moonlight. Not even the gravel shifted beneath his hooves.
Maybe I could sneak into the edges of the ball, and if the illusion didn’t seem to hold, I could come away again, having at least enjoyed a glimpse of it. It seemed a shame to let the efforts of the tūī go to waste. How had he managed this?
“Hello,” I said to the stag.
He turned his head with slow dignity. Was I going to get in or not?
I got in.