The Rat Prince by Bridget Hodder

over.
    â€œAh!” I cast it away and stood up, staring in wonder at a waterfall flowing in the air without touching the ground. The cascade hovered, shimmering with chiming laughter.
    What was happening? I passed a trembling hand across my eyes.
    Then the liquid took the shape of a woman who stepped down in front of me.
    She glowed faintly blue, like the lavender edging our flower beds. Her thick purple-black hair fell to her ankles in lively waves. Enormous eyes, set slantwise in her face, seemed to scatter light of their own. Now they were sapphire, now aqua, now amethyst. So dazzled was I that I cannot tell you what dress she wore—or indeed if she wore one at all.
    My ring—the Lancastyr ring—had changed into this?
    How?
    An image of a sleek black rat popped into my head. Blackie! He’d given me the ring. This was his doing!
    I would have puzzled more over it had not the woman looked at me with those changing eyes, laughed like a song, and parted her lips to speak. Oh! What wisdom of the ages would this unearthly creature grant to me, a mere mortal?
    â€œYou asked to attend this evening’s ball,” she said in a sweet little voice, completely unexpected in its childlike trill.
    What?
    She hadn’t revealed the secrets of the cosmos. She’d said something else. Something about a ball. What ball?
    It took all the power I could muster to speak.
    â€œGreat lady, who are you?”
    She smiled, spun on tiptoe so her hair swirled around her, and said in that dulcet voice, “Do you jape at me, girl of the Lancastyrs? I adore jests and foolery! Yet your kind has always seemed so dreadfully serious to me. In fact, it’s been hundreds of years since any of you have called upon me at all. What game do we play now?”
    Play? I felt my jaw go slack. With great effort I gathered my wits and replied, “It is no game, my lady. I know you not. I am Rose de Lancastyr.” I curtsied with as much elegance as I could in the uneven soil of the garden, worrying about my unseemly attire.
    With another melting laugh, she came forward and kissed the top of my head. “You are delightful! Full of silliness,” she said. “You must of course know who I am, if you summoned me. I shall grant your wish, the dearest wish of your heart. You shall attend this celebration tonight, since it is so important to you.”
    From the spot where she touched me, joy rippled through my body. I wanted to give way and savor this new feeling, but instead I persisted: “I don’t understand. Forgive me.”
    â€œAh.”
    A tiny pucker visited her perfect brow. She put a long finger to my cheek, and while bubbling lightness spread through me from that point of communion, she tilted her head sideways and studied me intently for a few moments, as if she were listening to something.
    â€œAh,” she said again, yet it was a different sound, one of dawning comprehension, as though she’d taken possession of my thoughts through her fingertip. “I see. I understand. The ring was lost to the Lancastyrs for centuries. The rats of Lancastyr Manor stole it from your forebears. And very recently, a quite special rat has returned it!”
    More laughter, and she danced away, casting her delicate wild fragrance hither and thither, stepping into the air and down to earth again.
    â€œI know what to do, I know what to do!” she cried.
    In a flash, she was before me again. I braced myself for more glorious strangeness.
    â€œDear Rose, also called Cinderella, I am Ashiira, your family’s goddess. I have cared for your line since long before your ancestors took the name of Lancastyr, in the days of old Phoenicia. My power comes from the Great One who rules all. In antiquity, your family danced and sang for me and burned fragrant wood to please me, and in return I gave them the precious blue stone, which they could use to call upon me for aid. Yet I warned them to choose wisely before