Unsoiled

“The fireplace is dirty again,” Nettle said. She had picked up on her mother’s preference for a spotless fireplace in spite of the fact that we rarely had any visitors. “You need to scrub it till it shines.” Never mind that such stones never would actually shine, no matter how hard I scrubbed them.

“Yes, Nettle,” I said. I didn’t meet her eyes. She would just think I was challenging her.

After finishing with the dishes, I went to the fireplace as she wanted, trying to clean every nook and cranny since I knew it would be inspected afterward. All the while, Nettle’s eyes were boring into my back.

Then, so suddenly and loudly that I jumped, Nettle said: “Look, Poppy! It’s Bella of the Cinders. She certainly doesn’t look like ‘The Beauty’ now, does she? Not with that rat’s nest of hair or those filthy chicken arms. Maybe we should start calling her ‘Cinderbella.’” Nettle started laughing as if she had said the cleverest thing in the world, and I heard Poppy weakly join in.

I didn’t look at them; I just continued cleaning the ashes and soot, aware that it was on my face and hands and clothes, aware that the picture I made was a far cry from the beauty my father had always praised. Why should I have cared whether or not my hands were soiled with soot? What need did I have for beauty anymore?

But as I scrubbed, my hands raw and quite possibly bleeding from overwork, I couldn’t stop my eyes from burning with tears. I felt like a plant that had been uprooted and tossed to the ground and trampled on. Or maybe more than that—a plant that had been wrenched from the soil and flung into a roaring fireplace, with nothing to anchor it to the world or even provide protection from the blistering heat and nasty ashes.

I knew it was partially by choice. How could I forget that Thorny was continuing his attempts to see me? Iris and my stepsisters always turned him away, saying I was busy or gone, and while that was often true, still he kept coming. Of course, my stepsisters, never as busy as I was, got enjoyment out of his visits even if I didn’t, for they always found some excuse to go outside for a few minutes to watch him walk away as they giggled over his tight breeches or his expensive coat.

But regardless of how many girls were eyeing him, I knew he, prince though he was, would sweep me away from this place and help remove the filth from my hands if I only gave him the word. But I didn’t want him to do that.

The letter I had received bound me to this place. I had to respect my father’s wishes. A part of me feared I even deserved to be punished for his death. There must have been something I could have done that would have led to both him and Thorny surviving the night. But I hadn’t done it. And that was something I had to live with.

In spite of these feelings, I did allow myself one pleasure. I had hidden the mirror that Thorny gave me, and every night before I went to sleep, I looked in it and asked to see Thorny.

He was always asleep before I was, and that was fine with me. It was comforting to me to see his peaceful face and know that he, at least, was still alive. It was like the flicker of a candle in a dark room—not enough to warm you, but enough to keep you going.

To say I was miserable would be to call a cloud “cotton”—you would be sort of close to the big picture, but there would be something you weren’t quite grasping . . . something you couldn’t grasp. Not unless you knew what it was like to be unable to clean up the grime that coated you from head to foot—and what it was like for your limbs to always be aching from exertion. Or even the way it felt to keep thinking about how the place where you lived could never be a home without your father’s presence to brighten it.

I had these thoughts in my mind especially strongly whenever I milked my family’s cow, Ciel, as it was work that didn’t require mental effort on my part, and my mind always wandered. But one morning, when I was hunched down, doing that very task, a shadow fell on me, briefly clearing my brain of all its troubles.

I looked up and nearly fell off my stool in surprise when I saw who it was.

“What are you doing here, Thorny?” I whispered, glancing around, certain that Nettle or Iris would be popping out of the ground somewhere to scold me.

“I’ve been trying to see you,” he said, sounding annoyed, “but your stepmother keeps trying to convince me you’ve fallen off the face of the map.”

“You need to go,” I said, resisting the urge to push him away . . . and the urge to embrace him and never let go. “If my family sees the two of us talking, they’ll kill me.”

“You’d think you would be happy to see me,” he said, crossing his arms and showing no indication that he was about to leave.

“I have a lot of work to do, and my stepmother doesn’t allot time for chatting.” That sounded nastier than I had meant it to, but I was tired and more than a little panicked.

While Thorny narrowed his eyes, he was obviously trying to remain unfazed, as he continued calmly: “I thought I’d let you know I’m staying at an inn here in New Fountain—and I have been since the day we arrived. But more importantly, I wanted to make sure you’re still alive before I return to your house tonight.”

I frowned and looked at him in suspicion. “What do you mean?”

He gave me a grin that lit up his face and made me realize just why Nettle and Poppy liked to gush over how handsome he was. “Oh, I’m coming to dinner,” he said, and then he swaggered off.

I stared after him, slack-jawed and feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of me. My stepmother had actually given him permission to eat with us? Or was he planning to just show up? Even with all the presents from Silverthorn that he had sent, it was hard enough for us to feed ourselves, much less another person, as my stepmother hated to sell even a single pretty item—not to mention the fact that everyone in the village knew we were still nose-deep in debt.

Yet though I felt like protesting, my mind was drawn even more to the mystery of what had brought this on. There was no way Thorny was oblivious enough—or stupid enough—to show up unannounced and expect to be fed. He must have talked to my stepmother when I wasn’t around. After all, what better prize for Nettle could there be than a prince looking to wed someone? Yes, that certainly made sense. I could already visualize my stepmother’s face as she worked out all the details of that union and what it would mean.

But I didn’t know why he actually expected to see me at the dinner. I usually took my meals quickly after everyone else had eaten; Iris and Nettle never wanted me, filthy as I was, to sit at the table with them. I sincerely doubted Iris would suddenly lift her ban of me from the dinner table to allow me to interfere with her plans for Nettle. Thorny was going to be disappointed if he expected a pleasant evening where we were able to talk and catch up on everything we had been doing since we parted ways.

I tore my thoughts away from the prince with some difficulty—he really had looked roguishly handsome with that grin on his face—and hurried to finish the milking. I needed to get back to the field. Luna and I had a lot of work to do still, and my stepmother wasn’t one to tolerate excuses. There was no sense in thinking about the prince’s soft brown hair and intense green eyes and strong hands . . . or even the way the corners of his mouth crooked upward when he smiled. No, I needed to focus on my work. Iris would be appalled if she knew I had taken even the briefest break from my duties.

For some reason, however, I was having a difficult time concentrating, and it showed in my terrible job milking. But Ciel, sweet as she was, simply looked at me and mooed.

“Sorry, girl,” I muttered. Why had Thorny felt it necessary to show up anyway? And why couldn’t I keep him out of my mind?