her grip on his arm sharp. “I don’t like what you have in mind. Is this how you treat your staff?”
Veins in the man’s face bulged through his skin. His mouth opened and closed several times, resembling a fish, but he remained silent.
Cinderella glared. “What is your name?”
“Richards,” he wheezed.
“Richards, you should be grateful I have a purpose for you.” Cinderella sent power through his veins. The predatory glare of his eyes dulled until a vacant look remained. She released his arm. He remained facing her, waiting for instruction. “Return to your post. I will call when I have need of you.” He turned, obedient, and walked away. Cinderella returned to the task of shoveling ash into the cast-iron bucket.
“I don’t know what’s come over Richards, but I hope it stays.” A young servant girl dropped her bag of laundry beside the heated pool.
“That lecherous sod?” Milly grunted as she moved sheets through the purple-colored water.
Cinderella pulled sheets from the other side of the pool and fed them into the wringer that would rinse the bluing. “What happened?”
“I keep out of his way, ever since…” She blushed as she looked around the room. “Well, you know how he is. I turned the corner, and he’s standing at the door. Just standing there, staring. Thought my heart was going to burst out of my chest. But he stood, didn’t turn or nothing.”
“It’s this backward province. He wouldn’t behave that way elsewhere.” Milly looked at Cinderella. “You grew up gentry.”
“I barely remember life before my stepmother. It was my father’s house. He wouldn’t have allowed me to be mistreated.”
“How’d you end up here?” The girl stared.
Milly threw a bag of the mistress’ dirty linens. “If you can’t work and chatter, then keep silent.”
“Stepmother thought I was competition when it came to finding mates for her daughters.”
Milly laughed. “Competition? If she could see you now, she’d know how wrong she was.”
Cinderella did not give in to the tingle of irritation.
The girl moved closer when Milly turned her back. “Ignore her. She thinks she’s in charge. Everyone takes what they can.”
“But not you?” Cinderella grabbed her arm. The girl struggled, gasping at the pain of Cinderella’s grip. Until she, like Richards, went blank. Cinderella released her. “Get Richards and meet in my chamber.”
The girl turned and walked away as Milly entered the cleaning room. “Where’s she going?”
“I sent her on an errand.”
“You? What right…”
Cinderella glanced at Milly. The woman silenced, returning to her duty of paddling the sheets and linens through the bluing formula.
Cinderella finished wringing sheets, then took the back stairs to her chamber. Both Richards and the servant girl stood inside the door. The girl stared in the mirror while the man stood with his arms hanging at his side. Cinderella walked behind the girl. “What’s your name?”
“Abigail.”
“Have you ever been anywhere besides Belton Province, Abigail?”
She shook her head. Cinderella looked into the mirror. “Take them to Monmoore Palace. A soldier and a chamber maid.”
The mirror dripped down the wall and formed an oval large enough for the two to pass through.
“In you go.” Cinderella stepped out of the way, allowing Abigail to pass first with Richards following. Both crossed into the mirror. Their steps faltered, and bodies arched. Though silence remained in the room, Cinderella could see their mouths open in voiceless screams. The clothing they wore blasted away in bits and pieces, wind-blown sand tearing at them. The wind stopped, and Abigail fell to her knees, naked and bloody. Then wind came once more, this time from all directions, pummeling them. Cinderella lost sight for a moment, and then the air cleared. They lay on the ground dressed in the livery of the King’s court. Richards pushed himself, crawling forward, looking toward something Cinderella could not see.
Cinderella tried to turn away, but she was caught, watching, until both figures completed their journey through the mirror. Her heart thudded, desiring and repelled by the power contained within the mirror. Silver slid up the wall, until the small mirror returned to its original shape.
18
Elizabeth Boyde felt the chill of a cold finger down her back. She closed her eyes. The evil in Monmoore deepened. She thinned her lips, noting her pale reflection in the mirror. “Been too still for too long.” She spoke to herself, but Guardians were never unwatchful. She glanced upward. “Might have warned me a witch had her focus here.”
She opened the narrow center drawer of the dresser, reached around to the back of the drawer and tugged at