3

I make a quick turn and hurry toward the town square. The Bicentennial Celebration has been going on for a week and will culminate with the annual ball. Until then, the festivities continue every night. Before curfew, people crowd the square to make music and drink, and tonight is no exception. As I push through, trying to cut directly across the square, vendors are hawking their goods in the shadow of the bell tower, a gleaming white structure with four tiers topped by a golden dome. There are jewelry and dresses from the city of Chione in the north, and satin gloves, makeup, and perfume from the city of Kilspire in the south.

As I zigzag through the booths, searching the crowd for Erin’s face, I notice a young woman standing on a raised platform. She is reciting passages from Cinderella. The palace-issued volume sits on a book stand in front of her.

“The ugly stepsisters had always been jealous of Cinderella, but seeing how lovely she looked that night, they realized that they could never be as beautiful as she and, in a fit of rage, tore her dress to shreds.”

People who’ve gathered around jeer and boo. I keep walking. I still don’t see Erin, and an all-consuming terror creeps in. I tell myself she’s at home, but I have to get there to make sure.

A booth, much more crowded than the others, sits near the middle of the square, and a crowd of people blocks my path. As I try to maneuver around them, I see that all the fuss is over a game being played in the booth. There are shoes piled up, and little girls pay a silver coin to be blindfolded as they pick one set of slippers and try them on. If they fit, they win a small prize—a beaded bracelet or necklace, along with a little slip of parchment that reads “I Was Chosen at the Bicentennial Celebration.” A little girl with a crown of bouncy brown ringlets beams as her tiny foot slides into a violet-colored shoe with a tall heel. It’s all good fun until another little girl picks the wrong size shoes and wins a slip of paper with a small portrait of Cinderella’s fabled stepsisters, their faces twisted into hideous smiles.

She looks at her mother. “Mama, I don’t want to be like them.” Her bottom lip trembles as she chokes back a sob. A palace guard laughs uproariously as her mother scoops her up and carries her away.

I slip through an opening and move from the booth toward the center of the square where a fountain, a life-size replica of Cinderella’s carriage, stands. Made entirely of glass, it shimmers in the fading sun. Water spouts up around it, and in the bottom of the pool are hundreds of coins. It’s tradition to make a wish, much like Cinderella did so many years ago, and toss a coin, preferably silver, into the fountain. I remember tossing coins in when I was younger, but I haven’t done that in years.

“Sophia!”

Liv bounds toward me; her long brown hair is pulled up into a bun on top of her head, and her rosy cheeks look like candied apples on her tawny skin. She looks me over.

“What happened to you?”

I look down at my dress, which I hadn’t bothered to change. “You don’t want to know.”

“Where are you off to?” she asks.

“I’m looking for—” I hesitate. It’s too dangerous to talk in public about what happened out there in the woods. “I’m going to my fitting.”

Liv’s face twists up in a look of disbelief. “You were supposed to do that weeks ago. The ball is two days away.”

“I know,” I say. “I’ve been avoiding it.” There’s an opening and I move to leave, but Liv loops her arm under mine.

She shakes her head. “You are so stubborn. Your mother must be pulling her hair out.” She laughs and holds up something wrapped in a shiny silver cloth. “You’ll never believe what I won at one of the booths.” She unwraps the object.

It’s a stick.

I look at Liv and then back to the stick. She is beaming, and I am thoroughly confused.

“Are you feeling okay?” I put my hand on her head to see if she’s running a fever.

She laughs and playfully bats my hand away. “I’m fine. But look. It’s a wand. A replica of the very same one the fairy godmother used.”

I glance at the stick again. “I feel like you got taken advantage of.”

She frowns. “It’s a real replica. The man said it came from a tree in the White Wood.”

“No one goes into the White Wood.” Erin steps out from behind Liv, and my heart almost stops. It takes everything in me not to grab her and pull her close to me.

“Close your mouth before a bug flies in,” says Liv, looking around nervously.

“You’re safe,” I say, relieved.

Erin nods. “And you’re a mess.”

I wish I’d taken the time to clean up a little better before I left my house.

“Still lovely, of course,” she says quickly. “I don’t think you can help that.”

I glance at her. “Maybe Liv can use her wand to help me clean up.”

Liv points the stick at me and gives it a flick. She frowns. “I always hoped that one day I’d develop some magical powers. I guess today is not that day.”

I pat her arm. “No one has seen that kind of magic since Cinderella’s time. I doubt it even exists anymore.”

A hush falls over them, and they exchange worried glances.

“Of course it exists,” Erin says in a whisper. “You know the story as well as anyone. If we are diligent, if we know the passages, if we honor our fathers, we might be granted the things Cinderella was.”

“And if we do all those things and nothing happens—no fairy godmother appears, no dress, no shoes, no carriage—then what? Do we still believe it?”

“Don’t question the story, Sophia.” Liv steps closer to me. “Not in public. Not anywhere.”

“Why?” I ask.

“You know why,” Erin says in a low tone. “You must put your faith in the story. You must take it for what it is.”

“And what is it?” I ask.

“The truth,” Erin says curtly.

I don’t want to argue with her.

“She’s right,” Liv says. “The gourds in the royal garden are grown at the very spot where the remnants of her carriage were gathered up. And I’ve heard that when her tomb was still open to the public that the slippers were actually inside.”

“Another rumor,” I say. I remember hushed conversations between my grandmother and her friends about the tomb. No one has seen it in person in generations. Just more stories to trick young girls into obedience. Liv and Erin both look like they’ve had about enough of me.

“Well I’m still hoping to earn the favor of a fairy godmother,” says Liv.

Liv’s plan seems risky. My mother hopes for the same thing but has arranged for my dress on the off chance I don’t find a magical old lady in my garden the night of the ball. If anyone shows up with anything less than a gown fit for Cinderella herself, they’ll risk their safety, and I don’t think the king cares if it comes from a fairy, a dress shop, or someplace else. What matters is that we look like a fairy godmother blessed us with her magic.

“Do your parents have a plan in case that doesn’t work?” I ask. I don’t want Liv to be in danger because they waited too long to get her what she needed. This will be Liv’s second trip to the ball. A third is permitted, but it would break Liv’s spirit and send her family to ruin.