Cinderella Dressed in Ashes

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.

“You know she slaughters young girls and swims in their blood, don’t you?” Shew said, trying to sound as tender as possible. The imagery of what the Queen did sent a cringe through her soul.

“I know. I’ve seen it,” Cerené said.

“You have?”

“I have figured out most of this castle’s secret doors and pathways,” Cerené’s eyes glittered.

“I can imagine,” Shew said. “I’m wondering why the Queen spared you, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Isn’t it obvious? She doesn’t hesitate in bathing in any peasant girl’s blood,” Shew said. “So why hasn’t she killed you?”

“Maybe she thinks I’m good at housework?” Cerené suggested, her eyes darting aimlessly, trying to figure out why. “I could be a senior servant like Tabula one day.”

“I doubt that is her intention,” Shew said.

“Do we have to talk about this?” Cerené asked. “I came to show you my magic!” She held her glass urn up in front of her.

“I want to see your magic,” Shew assured her, but she was still thinking about why Carmilla spared Cerené. It crossed her mind that even if Cerené decided to expose the Queen, no one would believe her. She had no one to tell, no one respected her, and if her mother had been a burned as a witch, it was easy to accuse Cerené of being like her. It made sense why Tabula had sent her to wash Shew after biting the prince.

In the Kingdom of Sorrow, Cerené was a nobody. She could’ve been killed without anyone missing her.

“Are you still thinking about why the Queen spares me?” Cerené broke the silence.

“So you actually have an idea?” Shew said.

“Yes,” Cerené looked sideways, inspecting for intruders then leaned forward, “the Queen wants my Art!”

“Oh?” Shew raised her eyebrows.

“You think your Art is that valuable?”

“You have no idea,” Cerené’s face lit up from behind the ashes, titling her neck upwards, and making both her hands into fists. “My Art is astounding!”

“Alright, then it’s time for you to show it to me.” Shew would have preferred if Cerené just told her what the Art was. The things Cerené had shown her were fascinating, though. It was reasonable to think the Art was worth the suspense and the wait. What could Cerené possibly have that the Queen would desire enough to spare her life?

Shew’s thinking confirmed the Queen’s phoniness when she warned her not to mingle with Cerené. In fact, the Queen must have told her the Italian fairy tale for a reason, something to stir Shew’s thinking.

“Remember when I told you my Art is made of a Heart, a Brain, and a Soul?” Cerené said. “There are two Brains, the tools for my Art, one of them can only be obtained from a house in the Black Forest.”

“House?”

“An evil house,” Cerené leaned in, whispering.

“Huh? Evil house,” Shew said. “If it’s such an evil house, why would it help your Art?”

“There is something special in the house, something we need.”

We? Shew thought. Although I am barely contributing to anything, I like the idea of ‘we’.

“What kind of something special?” Shew wondered.

“A furnace!” Cerené exclaimed. “One where children are cooked.”