And not once in the past decade have I crossed a spirit like this. Before, when I was just Ban of the North or King Killer, I met a lot of scavengers who wanted to meet the Ice Mage of the Frostlands and train. Unfortunately, the only reason I ever gained any magical abilities at all is because of death. And sadly, it’s now happened twice.
“Look, look!” Barty says, gesturing to the empty hall. The princess seems to have guards stationed at the entrance points on both sides of the hall to her room, but no one is directly outside her door–I’ve already checked. There’s an alcove that overlooks the outer walls from here, a space that I imagine no one bothers to use since it’s a dead end and the princess has her own balcony. The handmaid went into the princess’s room; at one point, she’ll have to come out.
“At the stroke of midnight!” Barty says gleefully, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He doesn’t connect with the ground, so it’s strange to watch, even in the shadows. “She will come out soon, soon, soon! Time’s up!”
Glaring at the spirit, I tighten my hand on my staff. I don’t have to bring it with me when I leave the shadows, and most times I let it exist here, where it’s safe and easy to keep out of harm’s way. I’m not certain if this could help anyone else wield ice magic, but I’d rather not find out. When I died, the staff helped to save me, becoming an extension of myself.
When the door finally opens, and the handmaid steps out, I’m very close to sending Barty’s spirit into the beyond. Instead, I simply push him away deeper into the darkness as Cindy leaves the room.
I wait until she’s close enough to grab, dragging her into the shadows. It’s not exactly how I imagined chatting with her, but Cindy seems to keep to a routine. When she’s not helping the princess, she’s surrounded by friends in the palace, checking in on the guards, or doing any other task that involves various people.
I need her all to myself for a few minutes.
She panics when I pull her back through the darkness, making quick work of the passage through the alcove to our quiet little spot. She fights with all her might, and I give her credit for not letting herself be a victim. She snaps her headback, kicking and flailing to knock out my legs or catch my face with the back of her head. In her efforts she manages to kick off one of her shoes, and it gets left behind as we move. She’s even trying to twist my wrist, attempting to leave a burn that’ll get me to let her go.
It won’t work since I can slide into the shadows and avoid it all, but against someone else she could probably win. I keep my hand pressed over her mouth when we reach the overlook, her muffled cries grating on my nerves.
“Shh,” I hiss, which does nothing to calm her nerves. “A fellow told me you hail from Tressa, isn’t that right? And you seem to have a silly name, Cindy. I believe it once was Cinderella.”
She stills, and now that I’m certain she’s not going to make a scene I let her go. She rips herself free, spinning around to glare at me before smoothing out the simple, brown skirt she’s wearing. She’s a little lopsided without her missing shoe, but her glare is fierce. “Who are you?”
I shrug. “It’s not terribly important. I’m a Reaper, if the shadows didn’t give it away.”
Her blue eyes narrow, the torches along the palace wall just below us barely providing enough light to catch the color of her gaze. “You aren’t the Reaper I’ve seen in Swan Lake before.”
Huffing, I shake my head. “Ray’s more of a people person than I am.”
“You don’t say,” she snips, crossing her arms. “How did you learn my name?”
I gesture vaguely toward the palace. “If you know where to listen, people know your name. You haven’t hidden your identity from certain workers in the castle like you have from the royals.”
She scowls and looks away. “What do you want from me? Rumors, secrets? I’m surprised Midas is bothering to senda Reaper of all people to get answers from me after he killed my stepmother.”
That’s marginally interesting, but not enough to distract me from my task. “I don’t particularly care what brought you here. I’m only curious if you ever saw something within the palace walls in Tressa. An old spinning machine. I’m told Midas once used it to spin thread of gold.”
Cinderella turns and blinks slowly at me, her eyes narrowing slightly like she’s trying to decide whether I’m being serious or not. “You came and stalked me in the middle of the night… to hear about a spinning wheel?”
“Specifically the parts,” I clarify.
She gives me a curious look before brushing past me to lean on the balcony. “I was only a servant in Tressa for a handful of years. I stayed home with my mother before she passed, and once she was gone, I moved into the castle with my father, who was a guard. He remarried my stepmother, Lady Tremaine, and he passed shortly thereafter. A few years later, when the King was truly frustrated with me, the Queen told him to send me here and serve as a spy. What could I possibly know that would help you?”
Her story doesn’t really help me, but I grasp onto the parts that stick out. “The Queen? Queen Dorah made the suggestion?”
“I suppose so.” She shrugs again, the firelight dancing off her left side. It’s a tad windy but otherwise a gorgeous night, something I can’t usually say for my own home. “She knew someone, a noble woman out here. I’ve never truly met her, but I’ve crossed her son a few times in the years since. He’s a right freak, that one, but he has his uses too. If you want something odd, he’s who you should ask.”
I already have a feeling I know where this is going and suppress a groan. “By any chance, is this son’s name Dima?”
“So you have heard of him,” she replies pointedly, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her skirt. “He’s who you should seek if you want to find something peculiar. Lord Dima is a bit frightening, but he can get his hands on a strange assortment of things. He uses them to enhance his magic from what I hear.”
There’s the bit about magic again. “And you truly believe this…Dimawould be the person to ask about the spinning wheel? I don’t require the whole thing. I only need the needle.”
“You traveled all the way here to ask about aneedle?” she barks, her voice rising. I don’t bother trying to hush her; it sounds like this conversation is just about over. “If, by some miracle, you find it, how will you be sure it’s the correct one?”
My eyes flash, and Cinderella leans back. She must be able to catch the fury in my gaze, or the shift in the air. “I will know. It will have the essence of snow magic clinging to it, since the Snow Queen once used it.”
“The Snow Queen?” she whispers, dropping her voice again. Once more, I’ve caught her interest. “What could you need with a needle the Snow Queen once touched? This is a mad search, Reaper. The likelihood of finding something like that is microscopic.”
Doesn’t appear she’s familiar with the rumors from the north, then.
