Cinderella Dressed in Ashes ( Book #2 in the Grimm Diaries ) (11 page)

Shew thought it was amusing, compared to the way Carmilla had told the beginning of the tale. She’d been talking fast with no attention to details or passion in her voice, as if she were reading a grocery list.

“It was a
single
shoe that eventually led the prince to find his lost love. He walked around town, asking every girl he met to try on the shoe promising he’d marry her if it fit—some stupid prince, I must say.”  Shew wondered why the Queen told this tale if she thought it was so predictable and hated it so much.

“Some stupid prince indeed,” Bloody Mary suddenly appeared in the mirror, growling in her gushy voice.

Shew leaned back in her bed and looked away. Bloody Mary was young, but genuinely ugly and scary.

“Shut up, Mary,” the Queen said firmly. “Go back to whatever hell you came from. You’re scaring my daughter.”

“As you wish, my Queen,” Bloody Mary vanished from the mirror and Carmilla checked her beauty in it once more.

“So where was I?” she questioned, adjusting her crown.

“
Stupid Prince
, my majesty,” Tabula said. “I assume he found the poor girl eventually.”

“Ah, yes. One of the evil stepsisters, being unable to accept the fact that the prince liked her stepsister better, cut her toe off. Can you believe that? The little brat cut her toe off so the prince would choose her. I am always incredulous about the way girls are portrayed in these tales, helpless, disadvantaged, and afraid to be alone and never married.”

“You’re right, my majesty,” Tabula commented. “Women should be much stronger. What a horrible thing this stepsister did.”

“Well, let’s not be too harsh on the little brat,” Carmilla waved a hand in the air. “I did worse than cutting someone’s toe off for Angel—I’ve given him my flesh and blood. Right, Shew?"

Shew nodded, worried about the Queen’s suggestive implications.

Of course, you’ve done worse, you child killer!

“So where was I again?” Carmilla wondered.

“The girl cutting her toe off,” Bloody Mary snickered from inside the mirror without showing herself.

“I know you love this part, Mary,” Carmilla said. “So although the world conspired against the prince and the poor girl’s pure, puppy, pitiful love, he finally found her in the home of her stepmother.”

“Didn’t the shoe fit her stepsister?” Shew finally interacted.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. Pigeons warned the prince about the stepsister and urged him to look at her foot after she had tried the shoe on. The prince saw that the stepsister was bleeding from the cut, and immediately knew the girl was an imposter.”

“She got what she deserved, my majesty,” Tabula said.

“Yes, she did, but we’re not talking about the stepsister. She is by no means the main character here,” Carmilla said. So, in the end,
love
, in its most clichéd state, finally prevailed in this little Italian bedtime story. And the Creators clapped their hands, applauding the girl who went from rags to riches and won the prince’s heart,” Carmilla clapped her gloved hands elegantly, her palms barely touching.

“So what’s the point of this boring story, mother?” Shew dared to ask.

“I’ve always loved how impatient you are, Shew. You know impatient girls always get what they want, don’t you?” Carmilla said. “Here is the point of this glass shoe story—I told you the Godmother had given her a pair of glass shoes, didn’t I? Long boring story short, the love  between the prince and the girl made the Creators cry,” she pretended to wipe tears from her eyes, the way pantomime actresses did in old black and white movies. “So the Creators decided that to honor their love, they’d redesign the landscape of Italy into a shoe, an epitaph to the single shoe that saved the love of the shoe-crossed—I mean star-crossed—lovers.”

“So this is basically the story of how Italy came to be,” Tabula said. “I understand now.”

Shew wondered if Carmilla was talking about Cerené. But how was that possible? This story happened centuries ago. Maybe she was talking about Bianca, or Cerené’s ancestors.

“So back to that Slave Maiden,” the Queen said. “Her name means ashes in Italian. Suits her fine, actually,” Carmilla said. “She is a low life, will live a low life, and will die an even lower life. I’m only telling you this story so you’ll know the only thing she wants is to meet a prince. She wants to get rich without deserving it. Her friendship with you isn’t real. She’s playing with you. I won’t allow you to be fooled by a Slave Maiden like her.”

Shew wasn’t going to argue. She was now even more curious about Cerené.

 “I don’t want to hear that you’re talking to her again, understood?” Carmilla said.

“Of course, mother,” Shew finally said, wondering where Cerené was at the moment.

“Hmm,” Carmilla leaned slightly forward, looking in Shew’s eyes as if trying to see behind them. “Politeness is not one of your virtues, princess. I wonder if you’re trying to fool me. You know the consequences will be dire if you don’t do as I wish,” she patted Shew’s cheeks.

Carmilla’s words left Shew confused. Carmilla was putting on some kind of show, the same way she warned her about Cerené’s fake act of friendship. She knew Shew as stubborn, and that warning her would only encourage her to break the rule and meet Cerené again. Why would Carmilla do that?

“You know I make sure you feed, so you don’t want to keep away from me, believe me,” Carmilla said then showed her a small liver-shaped box. “Look what your mother brought you,” she said, opening the box.

Shew looked inside the box and felt dazed; her body leaned forward against her will, her fangs drawing out.

She was staring at a fresh liver.

“It’s ripe,” Carmilla said. “And it’s young,” she licked her lips. “I want to feed you the best, dear.”

 Shew pulled the liver up to her mouth and bit into it, sucking the blood dry. She didn’t know how the liver had been preserved. It was more like a bag filled with blood. The blood quenched Shew’s thirst, and she felt guilty for liking it.

This was a dream, a memory, nothing more, she told herself. The Queen was feeding her, awaiting her sixteenth birthday when she could either turn her into a vampire and fight on the side of Night Von Sorrow or kill her and eat her heart if she disobeyed.

“Good girl,” Carmilla said, a little iffy about the drops of blood spattered on her face. She was planning to feed her dangerous daughter day by day until her birthday arrived.

“I will be sending Dame Gothel to you later today to weigh your heart,” Carmilla said. “Be kind to her, and don’t bite her like last time,” she patted her daughter gently then wiped some of the blood from her lips with a red napkin.

Who the heck am I? What does being a Dhampir really mean? If I fed on so many people in the past, and if I killed all those teenagers in the Schloss, how can I be forgiven? How can I be the good one?

The blood had entered Shew’s veins like a drug, and she liked it. It was her nature, and it explained why the Wall of Thorns wanted to kill her. She was a Sorrow after all, and she had a big choice to make, to stay a Sorrow or fight the Sorrows.

“What do you mean by weighing my heart?” Shew asked.

Carmilla’s face knotted slightly. The Queen had a minimalist way of showing facial expressions as if not wanting to wrinkle her beautiful face. She had been working hard—killing girls and swimming in their blood—each week to stay beautiful. She wasn’t going to allow it to fade so easily, just to please her daughter with a tender smile. “Your heart needs to be weighed each week. No more questions asked. I offer you food and shelter and private schooling like a good mother. In exchange, I’d like you to do as I say without too many questions. Are we clear?”

Shew nodded.

Carmilla’s tone was scary. She smiled flatly at her obedient daughter then stood up slowly, taking her time. She never did anything in a hurry. She rubbed her dress gently as if she had caught germs from sitting on her daughter’s bed then turned and walked out of the room.

“And don’t worry about Mr. Oddly Tune,” she said from the hallway. “May he and his laughable name rest in peace.”

Shew grimaced. How was it possible to keep anything from the Queen?

“Would someone prepare my bath?” she ordered other servants outside.

“Why does she have to weigh my heart, Tabula?” Shew asked in the absence of her mother.

“Ah—” Tabula stuttered, unable to look Shew in the eyes. “I’d better be going, princess.”

She watched as Tabula clutched the Queen’s mirror and left with it, closing the door behind her.

Shew walked to uncover one of the mirrors in her room and inspect her image. She was a mess.

 “Who the hell am I?” she muttered again. “And why can’t I remember why they weighed my heart? How is it even possible to weigh someone’s heart?” she scowled at her own image. Although her reflection looked like her, it also looked like a stranger. People tend to think of themselves as good and kindhearted, until they look in the mirror and discover they have blood on their hands. Of course, that’s when they decide to go buy another mirror.  For a long time, Shew stood in front of the mirror, imprisoned by the silence of her room.

Suddenly, she could hear something crackling in the walls. It was a strange sound, as if someone was walking inside them. Alert, she scanned the large chamber with her eyes.

11

The Princess and the Pauper

The sound kept increasing.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a pair of black boots behind the curtains. Someone was there, eavesdropping; maybe the black cloaked person from the Field of Dreams.

Shew stood frozen at first, but quickly decided she had enough and hurried to pull the curtain open and expose this mysterious person.

When she was halfway across the room, she heard someone call for her from behind.

“Joy!”

Shew froze in place and turned around. She saw Cerené tucked away in the unlit fireplace with a broom in her hand. It was Cerené who’d made the noise in the walls, she was sneaking in through the fireplace like usual.

“Stop staring and come over and help me,” Cerené said.

Shew lent her a hand. Cerené threw her precious broomstick into the room first—it was a strange broomstick, heavy and made of some kind of iron. Shew pulled on Cerené with all her might and dislodged her from the fireplace, spreading ashes into the luxurious chamber.

Cerené looked like she’d been working in the coal mines.

What was new? This was Cerené, all ashes, all the time.

“Thank you,” Cerené said. “You should make one of your many servants clean that fireplace of yours.”

“But of course, Cerené” Shew nodded, bowing her head and letting out a giggle.

“It’s full of dead squirrels. If you persuade the Queen, I can really clean this mess,” Cerené said. “How can a castle so beautiful have such an awful fireplace?”

“What were you doing in it anyway?”

“I wanted to surprise you,” Cerené picked up her broomstick and smiled at her. Shew couldn’t see much of Cerené’s face except her teeth.

Shew suddenly remembered there had been someone behind the curtain. Cerené had distracted her unknowingly.

When she turned around to look for them, they were gone. She pulled the curtain back and looked out the window, but she didn’t see anyone she didn’t recognize.

“Looking for something?” Cerené asked.

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry.”

“So you like my surprise?” Cerené said.

The way she asked melted Shew’s heart instantly, “I do like your surprise, and I’m glad you’re not mad at me anymore,” she responded with a sincere smile. “However, you need to bathe. You look buried in all that ash.”

“You don’t look bad yourself in all that…” Cerené held her smile. “Blood.”

Shew laughed from her heart. So did Cerené. Although one of them was a princess and the other a maid, they both had a lot in common.

In the middle of laughing, Shew saw a newer scar on Cerené’s neck. This one was a different scar. It was a bite mark that Cerené tried to hide underneath the ashes.

“Who did this to you?” Shew broke her laugh and gently grabbed Cerené by the neck. “Talk to me, Cerené. I’m not going to let go without you telling me about this. Who did this to you?”

“I am a Slave Maiden, remember?” she pulled herself away, holding onto her broom like a cane.

“What are you talking about?” All kinds of obscene scenarios flashed in front of her eyes.
What did they do to her? Who were they? 
“I thought Slave Maiden meant…”

“It means I am a
slave
. I only do what my masters demand of me,” Cerené said, “even when they want to feed. Why is it so hard for you to get it?”

“Who’s been feeding on you?” Shew grimaced.

“Who do you think? There are only two insane people in this castle,” Cerené said, wiping her face with Shew’s bed sheets. She did it spontaneously, unaware of the consequences the Queen had in store for Shew.

“Two?” Shew wondered. “You mean the King and the Queen?”

“I mean
you
and the Queen,” Cerené blew her nose in the bed sheet.

“Are you calling me insane?” Shew smiled.

“Everyone thinks you’re some kind of a monster,” Cerené said. “I know it for sure. I helped you bury one of your victims.”

“Oddly Tune was no victim,” Shew bent forward. “He was a werewolf. How many times do I have to remind you?”

“You drank his blood, Joy,” Cerené said, wiping her teeth with the bed sheet. “But I don’t hate you. Being a monster is good. I expect you to be strong enough to stand in the face of those want to hurt you,” she said. “And maybe those who hurt me,” she said under her breath, but Shew heard her.

How could I not admire a Slave Maiden who sits on my bed, treats my bed sheet like toilet paper, dares to call me what I really am, and then tells me that she forgives and doesn’t hate me?

Shew sat next to her, “Does the Queen feed a lot on you?”

“I don’t know. Whenever she needs to,” Cerené said, pulling out her glass urn from under her dress. She had wrapped it around her waist, covered it with curly leaves, and knotted it with vines from the trees.