“My mother told me that Gabrielle received a letter from Cinderella shortly before her death, asking her to meet here, at this very house, under the cover of darkness, but when Gabrielle showed up, Cinderella was being dragged away by the king’s guards.”

“What did she want to meet her for?” I ask.

“Gabrielle heard her screaming about …” She trails off.

“Screaming about what?”

“She said that the prince was the curse upon Mersailles and that to save us, he had to be stopped.”

“But he’s dead now,” I say. “And nothing has changed.”

Constance sighs and pushes her hair, which is now completely loose, over her shoulder. “You can’t go home. I don’t think it’s worth it to ride back to my family’s cottage, but I’m not sure where we go from here.” She stands and goes to the little fireplace, poking at the kindling until the fire burns bright and hot again.

Her body, backlit by the flames, is like a vision. She is tall and strong. She’s got her sleeves pushed up; a wide, jagged scar runs over the muscles of her upper arm. They flex as she stokes the flames. I imagine how they might feel wrapped around me, and I wonder if she can tell how enthralled I am with her.

“Can I ask you something?” I say, trying to put my mind elsewhere.

“Of course.” She stares down at the fire, and I can only see her face in profile; the apple of her cheek lifts, smiling. She’s seen me watching her.

“Do you believe in curses?”

“I don’t know. And what does that mean anyway? Who could even do that?”

“Someone powerful,” I say as an idea completely takes hold of me. “Maybe someone who could turn a pumpkin into a carriage, someone who could enchant a pair of glass slippers.”

“The fairy godmother?” Constance exaggerates every syllable. “Are you saying she might have known more about the curse Cinderella warned Gabrielle about?” She looks doubtful.

“Maybe,” I say. “And think about it. All that fairy godmother business was probably just another lie. What kind of a woman has the power to transform objects and make a gown materialize out of thin air?”

Constance stares blankly into the fire. “A witch.”

A chill runs through me and I stand up. “A witch?”

In Mersailles, a belief in magic is almost bred into us. Woven into the Cinderella story are the fairy godmother’s fantastical abilities. But I don’t know anyone who has ever truly seen magic. I think of Liv and her prize at the bicentennial celebration, her replica wand. She believed unquestioningly, as do most people, in even the most unbelievable parts of the tale.

Witchcraft is something different. I’ve never heard anyone suggest that the fairy godmother might have been a witch.

“Do you know what happened to her?” I ask.

Constance shrugs. “When Cinderella died, the godmother disappeared. There were rumors she went into the heart of the White Wood to live out her days.”

Luke’s plan for our escape had included venturing into the White Wood. I think of his face as the guards took him away. My heart breaks all over again. “I want to try to find someone who knew her,” I say. “She was there, and after everything that happened, especially if it happened the way you say, there’s got to be some kind of record. Maybe she knew people in the area?”

“We’re talking about a woman who lived almost two hundred years ago,” Constance says. “Anyone who knew her would be dead.”

“You’ve kept your family’s story all this time. Maybe something similar happened with her. I think we have to go to the last place she was known to be.”

“The White Wood? You want to go looking for answers there?” Constance asks, her voice creeping up.

“We have to try. Or I suppose, I have to try. You don’t have to come with me, but I’d like your company. If there are others like you and your family, people who have kept a history, maybe we can find them and they can help us understand this curse.”

“You’d like my company?” Constance asks.

I nod.

“I can’t say no to that,” she says softly. “I don’t think we’ll succeed, but who wouldn’t want to be alone in a creepy forest with you?” Constance struts over and stands in front of me. “I’ve had people on my side before but none quite as headstrong as you.”

“Is that a good thing?” I ask.

She gently nudges my shoulder with hers as she brushes past me and speaks in a hush, very close to my ear. “I guess we’ll find out.”

A rush of warmth spreads over me. In my mind, I see Erin’s face and again feel guilty. I step away from Constance, ashamed of how I’ve behaved. Constance wrings her hands in front of her and shakes her head as if she’s done something wrong.

“We’ll leave tomorrow,” she says.

I nod. “If she was in the heart of the White Wood, I say we just head for the center and see what we find.”

“So we have no actual plan then? No map. Nothing.”

“Not true,” I say. “I know the general direction, and my plan is to make it to the center of the White Wood alive, with you at my side.”

“All in a quest to take down the king and bring his entire kingdom to its knees?” Constance asks.

“More or less,” I say, laughing.

She grins so wide I can see a chip in her bottom front tooth, her eyes creased at the corners. I want to spend the rest of the night talking to her, finding out every little detail about her.

“Well in that case, we’ll need some rest.” She strips off her trousers, and I fuss with the blankets to avoid staring at her.

Constance takes up a spot on a pile of blankets next to the fire, and I hear her breathing fall into a slow, steady pattern while I struggle to quiet my mind. As I lie awake, the moon with its mournful face shines its ethereal light down on me through the sitting room window. Liv will never again see something so perfect and beautiful.

I try to sleep. My body aches and my mind is tired, but every time I close my eyes, I see Liv lying in that ditch.

Sleep is something I can do without for a while.

I sit anxiously on the edge of my seat, watching Constance sleep. I want to get moving, but I don’t have the heart to wake her. She stirs and rolls over, eyes still closed, lips parted, her hair a tangle of tight ringlets spread out under her head like a crimson cushion. Her eyes flutter open.

“Morning,” I say.

“Morning.” She rubs her eyes, sitting up. Her bare legs jut out from under the blanket. She gives me a once-over. “You haven’t slept at all, have you?”

I shake my head. “I’m eager to get going.”

She stands up and stretches. “We should go into town for supplies.” Constance lets her gaze pass over me from head to foot. I’m still wearing the pants and tunic she gave me in Cinderella’s tomb. She smiles. A little shudder of excitement pulses through me. “You’re already dressed. I just need a minute.”

Constance rummages through a large burlap sack in the corner, producing a wadded-up ball of clothing that she tosses onto a chair. She turns back to her bag and retrieves a pair of boots to add to the vests and tunics.