Chapter 9
Cinderella stood in the field of flowers, her bare feet wet from the morning dew, and watched beautiful flowers of gold and sunshine yellow sway in the breeze. Because of their circular shape and the way they swayed, the Sun Skip flowers looked like tiny suns bounding across the field.
The wind tugged at Cinderella’s apron and skirts, and she clamped her chin-length hair to head with her hands as she looked at her gorgeous crop. “I don’t know if they’re going to sell, but they are beautiful,” she said, her gray eyes softening as she inhaled the sweet fragrance.
“It is as you say, Mademoiselle,” Gilbert said.
Two months ago, Friedrich had first given her the flower seeds. Now, near the last month of summer, it was time to test his words. “Cut enough to fill a dozen buckets. We’ll take some to the market today,” Cinderella said.
“I will inform the men, Mademoiselle,” Gilbert said.
“Thank you,” Cinderella said, turning from the field. “There is something I must do. It will take but a minute,” Cinderella said.
“Of course, Mademoiselle,” Gilbert bowed.
Cinderella picked up a wooden bucket, filled it at the kitchen well, and grabbed a ladle before she returned to the flower field. As she walked the perimeter, she watched the servants cut the flowers with great care before arranging them in buckets of water.
“They look striking in the crimson, morning sunlight,” Cinderella said as she stopped by a copse of trees and held out the bucket.
Ivo—one of Friedrich’s men—bowed as he stepped out from behind the tree. “My apologies, Mademoiselle. I did not mean to be intrusive,” he said, taking the bucket.
“You weren’t. It is merely that I know better. One of you is always skulking in my shadow. Or is it more than one today?” Cinderella asked.
“The Colonel has forbidden me from mentioning your three-man guard,” Ivo said before he sipped water from the ladle.
“Three of them? Goodness, my criminal skills are rusting. I only saw you,” Cinderella sighed. “Where are the others?”
“The barn roof and the bushes by the kitchens.”
“I see,” Cinderella said. “I am going to the market as usual. Would you like a ride in the wagon?”
Ivo shook his head. “Thank you for the offer, but we will catch an assailant off guard if he doesn’t see us with you.”
Cinderella squinted up at the grizzled soldier. “It’s been months since Friedrich was attacked. Isn’t the danger over by now?”
“Not as long as the Colonel courts you, Mademoiselle.”
Cinderella sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if your charming Colonel is more trouble than he is worth.”
“It will delight him to hear that you called him charming.”
Cinderella snorted and felt for the chain of her dragon necklace. “Perhaps. Could you signal to your comrades to come out of hiding for a moment? I would like to see you all watered before we leave for the market. It is to be a hot day, and you all make me uncomfortable with your long sleeves and armor.”
“As you wish, Mademoiselle,” Ivo said, holding up a small mirror. He flashed it several times, making sunlight bounce across the land.
Cinderella saw a soldier slide off the cow barn roof, and another slip out of the bushes Cinderella stood by when filling the bucket.
“Thank you, Ivo,” Cinderella said, taking the bucket back. “You are a saint of patience. I don’t know how you stand these boring guard duties.”
Ivo shrugged.
“What?” Cinderella asked.
“The Colonel doesn’t force us to guard you. We sign up for the duty.”
Cinderella tilted her head. “If you will excuse my bluntness: why?”
Ivo shifted, making his weapons clack and his armor creak.
Cinderella flattened her lips. “I will wait until Gustav is on duty and ask him. He will tell me.”
Ivo rolled his eyes, more in disgust over his young associate than Cinderella’s craftiness. “As you wish, Mademoiselle,” he said.
Cinderella grinned and started to walk away. “Carry on, Ivo.”
“Aye-aye, Mademoiselle.”
Cinderella watched Vitore sell an armload of the Sun Skip flowers to a well-to-do Erlauf woman. After the lady passed over the right amount of change, she took her flowers and walked through the market—the flowers marking her with a halo of gold.
“Vitore, how many flowers have we sold?” Cinderella whispered.
“All but one bucket, Mademoiselle,” Vitore whispered back.
“The market opened an hour ago!”
Vitore crossed herself. “Mercy on Aveyron, I never thought flowers would outsell hotcakes.”
“Most of the customers are from Erlauf,” Cinderella said.
“All the customers, except for Madame Marie,” Vitore said.
“This is a strange phenomenon. I thought Friedrich exaggerated the Erlauf love of nature, but perhaps he didn’t. I wonder if we could charge more per flower…”
“Blessings be said over your Colonel. I will never call him a rake or rogue again,” Vitore said looking to the sky with clasped hands.
Cinderella grinned at the maid, but the gossip’s face was creased in seriousness. “Don’t tell him that,” Cinderella said. “He’ll be insufferable with smugness for a week.”
An Erlauf government worker approached the stand, and Vitore lunged to help him.
As the man bought the remaining armful of flowers, Cinderella started making calculations. She had one field of flowers, but she needed to keep some planted in Aveyron so the seeds could be harvested. They cut a small portion of the flowers that morning, and according to the book Friedrich gave her, Sun Skip flowers could be harvested and sold for two weeks.
If they raised the price of the flowers…
“Is it enough, Mademoiselle?” Vitore asked, watching Cinderella count on her fingers.
“It’s not,” Cinderella said.
Vitore drooped.
“But, it’s quite a bit. Depending how high we can raise the price, it could cover a sizable portion of the fine,” Cinderella said.
Vitore smiled. “We will make it, Mademoiselle,” she said.
“I hope so,” Cinderella said.
As Vitore bustled about, collecting the empty buckets, Cinderella tried not to despair. The flowers would take care of a fourth of the fine. It was an incredible amount for a single field, much less a single crop. If Aveyron pulled through this, Cinderella would expand the crops to include a variety of flowers. However, there were few other options of fundraising as the rest of Aveyron’s income was already spoken for between upkeep, servant wages, and regular taxes.
Still, chopping a large chunk off the fine was more than Cinderella imagined. Hope was not lost, yet.
“I’m going to step out for a few minutes,” Cinderella said, untying her apron and stowing it beneath a basket.
Vitore raised her eyebrows.
“Yes, I’m going to call on Friedrich,” Cinderella said.
“You needn’t explain yourself to me, Mademoiselle.”
“I doubt that,” Cinderella dourly said. “I won’t be long. I’m sure even Friedrich must be working this early in the morning,” she said, running a hand through her bright, silky hair.
“Of course, Mademoiselle,” Vitore said.
Cinderella shook her skirts. “I won’t be long.”
“You’ve already said that, Mademoiselle.”
“Good morning, Vitore.”
“Good morning, Mademoiselle.”
Cinderella left the cheeky maid and the market, and marched towards the outskirts of Werra. The closer she got to the regiment’s camp, the more it seemed Cinderella left Trieux for Erlauf. Most government officials and officers made their homes near the army camps, and their families milled up and down the streets during the day. Cinderella could tell their country’s heritage because everything about them was darker—their hair, eyes, even their clothes were dark and boring.
Every once in a while, there would be a splash of gold against the muted Erlauf colors—someone wearing a Sun Skip pinned to his shirt, woven into her hair, or set in the band of his hat.
“Such a different culture,” Cinderella murmured.
When she reached the First Regiment’s camp, the soldiers guarding the gates did nothing to stop her. They saluted her, but their eyes passed over her without care. However, as she passed through the gates, a large square of scarlet red cloth was hoisted up the flag pole with the Erlauf flag and the flag of the First Regiment.
The path Cinderella took was dotted with sedate, orderly soldiers. Like the ones at the gate, they all saluted her. Occasionally one or two of the soldiers smiled at her, but most appeared to move along at a brisk pace.
Cinderella was not fooled.
Up in a watch tower, a soldier cawed like a crow, and at the edge of her vision, she saw more than one soldier sprint to the officer’s lodging—her destination—as if hellhounds were after them.
A soldier “accidentally” let go of his patrol dog. The dog bounded up to Cinderella for a petting before the soldier leisurely collected the animal. Berta also “happened” upon Cinderella and invited her to the kitchens.
“Don’t you want a pasty, or Apple rings? You’re just a small morsel. You need to eat more lest the wind carry you off,” Berta said, planting her meaty fists on her hips.
“After,” Cinderella said. “I need to see Friedrich first.”
“As you wish, Your Grace,” Berta said.
Cinderella was almost to the front door of the officer’s building when a window on the second floor opened.
Friedrich—impossible to miss with his black eye patch, popped out of the window. He sat on the frame before flinging himself off it.
Cinderella held in a shriek, but Friedrich landed with ease. He paused long enough to brush himself off and twitch his Erlauf burgundy jacket into place before speaking. “Cinderella, my Pet, how happy you make me by coming to visit,” Friedrich said, curling an arm around Cinderella’s shoulders.
“You must be the only officer in the whole Army who involves his regiment in his personal relationships,” Cinderella said, slipping out of the arm, although she followed Friedrich away from the building.
“You hurt me, but no. I’ll have you know it’s a family tradition. When my Father courted my Mother, he used an even more elaborate system involving his soldiers. However, he didn’t have a regiment under his disposal, so I would like to think I can still beat his antics,” Friedrich said, moving at a rapid pace.
“Is there a reason we are running away from your office?”
“It’s not my office we’re running from.”
“The general you serve?”
Friedrich hesitated. “Yes. Yes, it is my general I don’t want you to meet. Certainly. You are so sharp,” Friedrich said, reaching for Cinderella’s hand.
Cinderella darted out of range. “You’re lying.”
“Pet! How could you say such a thing? I am deeply wounded,” Friedrich said, relaxing after they darted behind the mess hall—which was finished and fully operational.
“I doubt that. You will be a gloating monster after you hear my news,” Cinderella said.
“You’ve decided to stop denying your feelings and plan to elope and run away with me?” Friedrich said, perking with interest.
“No.”
“Oh,” Friedrich said, easing back into a stance of nonchalance. “Then no. I don’t think I will be doing much gloating.”
“I am here to humble myself and admit you were right in your advice to plant flowers.”
“So they’ve bloomed, then?”
“They’ve bloomed, and I sold a batch at the market this morning.”
“Sold out already, eh?”
“Yes.”
“In all fairness, it seemed unlikely you would ever know that about our culture unless you visited Erlauf. As you haven’t many flowers besides wild flowers here, we don’t often get to express our passion,” Friedrich said.
“All the same, I doubted the wisdom of your words. Thank you for pushing the subject.”
“Of course. Anything for you, Cinderella,” Friedrich said, brushing Cinderella’s cheek with his fingers. “Will you make much off them?”
Cinderella nodded. “A fair amount.”
“But not enough to cover the landholding fine?”
“No.”
Friedrich nodded. “That’s unfortunate.”
“I will keep trying. The summer isn’t over yet,” Cinderella said.
“Perhaps our sweet queen would accept a partial payment?”
“Your queen is a harpy, and I very much doubt she would bend that much,” Cinderella sourly said.
“She’s not so bad,” Friedrich said. “Haven’t you heard? Next week she and the Erlauf Commander—the consort—are reopening the Trieux Royal Library.”
“What?”
“Yes. It has been renamed. It’s now the Erlauf Repository of Stories and Education.”
“That’s a mouthful.”
“They’re calling it the Rose for short. See? I told you flowers are important to us.”
“I believe you, now. I am impressed she means to open it again, but it may not help me. If they limit the patronage—as they did when it was under Trieux rule—it might be even more difficult for me to conduct my farming research. Do you know what the membership fee is? Knowing your queen, I should think it to be the price of a good horse,” Cinderella said.
“No, it’s free.”
“Free?”
Friedrich nodded. “Free for everyone—commoner, servant, noble, Trieux or Erlauf. Everyone can use it.”
Cinderella tucked her head, uncertain. “That’s very…generous.”
“The patrolling soldiers—mostly from the Second Regiment—were relieved to hear the news. With the library opening again, they no longer need to fear embarrassment by the book thief that persists in evading capture,” Friedrich said.
“How fortuitous.”
“There’s going to be an opening ceremony and everything. You should go,” Friedrich said.
“Will you be attending?”
Friedrich sighed. “Alas, I cannot. I am being forced to work myself to the bone for the occasion.”
Cinderella laughed. “You haven’t worked a full day since I’ve met you.”
“That isn’t true,” Friedrich objected.
“Hah!”
“Perhaps I have worked less since becoming acquainted with you. Unfortunately, next week even I cannot weasel my way out of work—though I long to do so.”
“It saddens me to be told that, Fred.”
Friedrich laughed, a sound that caressed Cinderella’s skin like velvet. “At least you are beginning to acknowledge how you pine for me.”
“Speaking of pine, I must return to the market.”
“You pine for that loose-mouthed maid of yours?”
“No, for our customers’ money.”
“Sometimes I worry you will marry me only for my money,” Friedrich said, leaning over her.
Correctly interpreting his movements, Cinderella squirmed to the side before he could kiss her cheek. “One day someone is going to hear the way you moon over me and report back to whatever Erlauf lady your parents have selected for you,” she said.
“It makes no difference. My parents already know all about you,” Friedrich said, losing the jesting edge to his voice.
“What?” Cinderella said, freezing.
“Do you really think I could use my regiment as a sort of go-between and not tell my parents?” Friedrich said.
“Isn’t that a part of sewing wild oats and what not?” Cinderella said, her forehead scrunching. She had the barest sense of what “sewing wild oats” meant, and suspected it was wilder than what she was picturing.
“The moment I chose you I told them,” Friedrich said, sliding his hand under Cinderella’s chin.
Cinderella shifted and avoided looking at Friedrich’s painfully intense eye.
Friedrich sighed. “I wish you would stop clamping up whenever I mention how serious I am,” he said, his voice low like a dog’s growl.
“It’s because you aren’t serious,” Cinderella said. “You always flirt and joke.”
“No, I flirt and joke because I doubt you would stay in my company for longer than a moment if you knew just how serious I am,” Friedrich said, sliding his fingers up Cinderella’s jawline.
Cinderella caught his hand and pulled it away from her face. “Friedrich, I can’t.”
Friedrich sighed and looked up at the sky. “I know.”
The pair was silent until Friedrich tore his gaze from the sky and smiled at Cinderella. “I will let you run back to your market stand. Take care, Pet.”
“You as well, Friedrich,” Cinderella said.
Friedrich was the first to go, leaving Cinderella in the shadow of the mess hall.
Her relationship with the Colonel was complicated, not just because of the position Cinderella was in, but because of who they were. “It would never work,” she said.
Cinderella squared her shoulders and put her chin up. “It would never work, and he’s not wholly sincere,” she said before she turned on her heels. “I know perfectly well he’s a rogue. He cannot be serious. It just isn’t possible.”
Cinderella realized she sounded more like she was trying to convince herself than stating a fact.
It would be easier if he were joking, Cinderella thought before she angrily shook the topic from her head. “Sun Skips! That is what I should think of. I must speak to Pierre about their price, and ask how many we should harvest per day so as to not flood the market…”
“Studies and academics are vital to humanity. They allow limits to be pushed and countries to be changed,” Queen Freja said, standing on the front steps of the Trieux Royal Library—now the Erlauf Repository of Stories and Education—with her husband, three army officers, and two government officials.
“It is my hope all parts of Erlauf will flourish if its people are properly educated and given the opportunity to seek out knowledge,” Queen Freja said. Her voice was hard, like iron.
“Every person, whether he or she is a true scholar or a baker, should have access to books,” the queen continued.
Cinderella narrowed her eyes as she studied the foreign queen. She had seen her before—she was presented to Freja when she inherited her title from her father—but back then Cinderella saw her as the hardened woman who was slowly choking Trieux to death.
Cinderella took in the woman’s height and lean stature with new eyes. There was something about her face and the sharp angles of her cheekbones that seemed oddly familiar.
“She goes on, doesn’t she, Mademoiselle?” Vitore darkly muttered as the queen continued with her speech.
Cinderella shrugged. “It’s rare for her to do something good here. I am sure she must capitalize on the few chances she has,” Cinderella said, safely surrounded by Trieux market vendors.
The milkmaid whose stand was next to Aveyron’s in the market squawked, “Good? The library was already built and furnished. She’s just renamed it,” she said, brushing goat hair off her skirt.
“She is opening it to the public,” Cinderella said.
“For the moment,” Vitore grunted.
Cinderella shifted her attention to the queen’s consort—the Commander of all Erlauf armies. The man was so uninvolved in palace politics and court happenings that Cinderella didn’t even know his name. She did know he was the terror of the Erlauf Army. His title was not something worn casually. The man was a brilliant strategist and just as hard and unmoving as his wife.
He looked incredibly common. Cinderella wasn’t sure if she would be able to pick him out of a crowd if he wasn’t standing next to Queen Freja.
“Their sons must be like slabs of marble,” Cinderella said. Neither of the Erlauf princes had deigned to attend the opening ceremony.
Cinderella was not surprised.
“Is that a surprise considering who their parents are?” the acid tongued milkmaid asked.
“Hear, hear,” Vitore said.
When Cinderella looked at them with raised eyebrows they blinked innocently.
“What is it, Mademoiselle?” Vitore asked.
The milkmaid was not so shy. “Perhaps that Colonel of yours isn’t so bad,” she grudgingly said. “But you can’t tell me those Erlauf princes are as good as him.”
“No, I should think not,” Cinderella agreed.
“…Therefore, it is with great joy that I pronounce the Erlauf Repository of Stories and Education to be open and free to all. Let no one keep his fellow man from these halls, and let knowledge pour forth from its doors,” Queen Freja finished.
Cinderella clapped half-heartedly with her fellow market vendors. The pockets of Erlauf citizens cheered louder, a few even threw yellow Sun Skips—purchased earlier that morning from Aveyron’s market stall—on the library steps.
“Well, that’s done,” the milkmaid said.
“I would bet my eyeteeth before the week is out there will be some sort of book tax that all property owners who have owned their land for more than five years must pay,” Cinderella said.
“She is the rotten sort to do that, if you don’t mind me saying, Mademoiselle.”
“Not at all,” Cinderella sighed, fluffing her skirts.
“Shall we return to the stand, Mademoiselle?”
“Not yet. I want to have a look inside first,” Cinderella said, nodding towards the library. “You may go if you like, though. Don’t let me keep you.”
“As you wish, Madmoiselle.”
“I will go with you, Vitore. I don’t trust Chas with my goats, not for long, anyway. Last time they got into his stand and ate two lengths of rope,” the milkmaid said, referring to the ropemaker.
“Thank you,” Cinderella said before the pair disappeared in the push of the crowd.
The consort and his soldiers pushed back the crowds, opening up a pathway to the library. The first through the doors were Erlauf scholars—eager to get their hands on the priceless volumes the Trieux Nobles gathered over the ages.
After the scholars went Trieux commoners. The library was built and founded decades ago, but it was exclusive in the patronage it allowed, so the average citizen rarely got to see so much as a glimpse inside the decadent building. It was probably why they attended the ceremony—so they could poke their heads inside and gawk at what was once denied to them.
Cinderella sat on the lip of a large fountain—designed for watering horses—and waited for the crowds to depart.
The consort controlled his soldiers—spacing them out and sending a few into the shadows of the library—with several crisp gestures.
Cinderella noted with great interest that none of the Erlauf nobles who had relocated to Werra after the takeover attended the ceremony. Apparently they felt no need to pay homage to their rulers, or so Cinderella suspected as she watched Queen Freja stand alone in the shadows of the library.
The tall, stately woman bent over to pick up a Sun Skip. She brushed the yellow petals with her fingertips, and the hard lines of her face softened to an almost humane expression.
The monarch twirled the flower between her fingers as she returned her gaze to the crowds. People poured up the steps, pressing into the library, but the queen was safe, blocked off by soldiers and standing some feet down the front veranda.
As Cinderella watched, a little Trieux girl who wasn’t older than four popped between the stone railings that separated the library veranda from the small courtyard. A soldier moved to intercept the blonde-haired child, but the queen indicated he should remain where he was.
The Trieux girl popped a dirty thumb in her mouth as she stared up at Queen Freja with wide eyes, her pigtails bobbing in the breeze.
Queen Freja broke off half the stem of her Sun Skip and, to Cinderella’s surprise, crouched down and wove the flower into one of the little girl’s pigtails. When she was finished, Queen Freja smoothed the child’s hair and smiled.
The little girl returned the smile before she startled and turned around. “Mama,” she called before slipping back through the stone railings, having heard her parent call her name.
Queen Freja brushed off her hands and returned to resembling iron and flint when her consort approached her. The two briefly spoke before a squad of soldiers surrounded the queen and bore her away.
The courtyard emptied as everyone smashed inside the library, but Cinderella stood transfixed.
She realized as she sat there, gaping like a fish, that she hadn’t ever seen the queen of Erlauf smile. With great stupefaction, Cinderella also realized when the queen smiled, she bore more than a slight resemblance to Friedrich.