announced. Soon after, Ombrine and Desirée left and Rose was alone. For long hours she languished in her sickbed. Her lips were chapped, her throat parched. She remembered her mother’s sweet voice, singing to her when she was ill. She could almost feel Elise’s cool hand on her forehead, sponging away the heat.
She woke up to their voices, followed by a sharp knock on the door. It opened before she could speak. As she sat up in her bed, Ombrine glided toward her with a candle in her hand, and there was something odd about her eyes. In the flickering light, they appeared completely black. Rose drew back with a gasp.
“What is it, Rose? Did I startle you?” Ombrine’s voice was a little shrill, a little wild, as if she had been drinking.
“I was asleep,” Rose managed. Her heart skipped beats. “How was it at the market?”
“The market? Oh!” Ombrine smiled. “We did well.” She reached forward and pressed her fingertips against Rose’s forehead. “You’re still feverish,” she said. “I’ll bring you a brew. Tomorrow you’ll get back to work,
oui?
There’s no rest for the wicked,”
Her smile grew. Her teeth seemed sharper thanusual and Rose tried very hard not to betray her alarm. Whatever Ombrine brewed, she would never drink it.
Ombrine turned and walked toward the door. Her shadow grew and grew, thrown against the wall like a mountain. Two tiny horns sprouted from the shadow’s head. Rose looked at Ombrine, and saw nothing but her hair piled atop her head.
I’m seeing things because I’m sick
. Rose closed her eyes, but her heart was beating so fast she was afraid she might die.
A short time later, Ombrine stood in the doorway with a goblet between her hands. Steam rose from the bowl as she glided forward.
“Here, Rose,” she said in a lilting tone. “Here is something to make you feel better.”
Rose licked her lips as she regarded the steaming goblet. A terrible odor rose from it and she knew she would rather die of fever than put her lips to the rim. Remembering the first time Ombrine had offered her a cup of wine, she took it. As she lifted it to her mouth, she feigned a cough and let go of the goblet. It tumbled end over end and landed on the floor.
“You clumsy idiot!” Ombrine shrieked.
Rose coughed again as she slid from beneath the covers and began to mop up the wine with her ragged bedsheet. The smell was so strong that her eyes began to water.
“I’m so sorry, Stepmother,” Rose said contritely.
Ombrine huffed. “Clean it all up.” Then she turnedon her heel and stomped out of the room, slamming the door so hard that she shook the plaster from the wall.
Once she was done, Rose carried the sodden sheet across the room, thinking to rinse it in the kitchen. But Ombrine had locked her in.
Rose trembled. The axis of the earth had shifted once more. She could feel it, feel the imbalance and the wrongness. Something had changed. Something was coming.
She dropped the sheet beside the door.
Then she went to check her money bag, hidden beneath her mattress.
She gasped.
It was gone.
Rose searched her entire room for her money. Someone had taken it while she’d lain asleep or in a faint. She paced, ill, half-delirious, outraged, and frightened. And yet, strangely hopeful. She had a way to bring in money now and Ombrine knew it. Perhaps at last her stepmother would value her. Even be kind to her.
But Ombrine brought her no more potions. Nor did she bring her food. She completely ignored her. That was not what Rose would have expected.
And yet, one morning, she found that the door was unlocked and felt well enough to go downstairs and forage in the larder. As she took the stairs slowly and carefully, she found Ombrine and Desirée eating breakfast and the smell of food made her stomach rumble.
Desirée said, “Thank the gods you’re up! I swear I couldn’t cook another meal.” She grimaced at her plate of runny eggs and pushed it away. Rose was so hungry she had
She woke up to their voices, followed by a sharp knock on the door. It opened before she could speak. As she sat up in her bed, Ombrine glided toward her with a candle in her hand, and there was something odd about her eyes. In the flickering light, they appeared completely black. Rose drew back with a gasp.
“What is it, Rose? Did I startle you?” Ombrine’s voice was a little shrill, a little wild, as if she had been drinking.
“I was asleep,” Rose managed. Her heart skipped beats. “How was it at the market?”
“The market? Oh!” Ombrine smiled. “We did well.” She reached forward and pressed her fingertips against Rose’s forehead. “You’re still feverish,” she said. “I’ll bring you a brew. Tomorrow you’ll get back to work,
oui?
There’s no rest for the wicked,”
Her smile grew. Her teeth seemed sharper thanusual and Rose tried very hard not to betray her alarm. Whatever Ombrine brewed, she would never drink it.
Ombrine turned and walked toward the door. Her shadow grew and grew, thrown against the wall like a mountain. Two tiny horns sprouted from the shadow’s head. Rose looked at Ombrine, and saw nothing but her hair piled atop her head.
I’m seeing things because I’m sick
. Rose closed her eyes, but her heart was beating so fast she was afraid she might die.
A short time later, Ombrine stood in the doorway with a goblet between her hands. Steam rose from the bowl as she glided forward.
“Here, Rose,” she said in a lilting tone. “Here is something to make you feel better.”
Rose licked her lips as she regarded the steaming goblet. A terrible odor rose from it and she knew she would rather die of fever than put her lips to the rim. Remembering the first time Ombrine had offered her a cup of wine, she took it. As she lifted it to her mouth, she feigned a cough and let go of the goblet. It tumbled end over end and landed on the floor.
“You clumsy idiot!” Ombrine shrieked.
Rose coughed again as she slid from beneath the covers and began to mop up the wine with her ragged bedsheet. The smell was so strong that her eyes began to water.
“I’m so sorry, Stepmother,” Rose said contritely.
Ombrine huffed. “Clean it all up.” Then she turnedon her heel and stomped out of the room, slamming the door so hard that she shook the plaster from the wall.
Once she was done, Rose carried the sodden sheet across the room, thinking to rinse it in the kitchen. But Ombrine had locked her in.
Rose trembled. The axis of the earth had shifted once more. She could feel it, feel the imbalance and the wrongness. Something had changed. Something was coming.
She dropped the sheet beside the door.
Then she went to check her money bag, hidden beneath her mattress.
She gasped.
It was gone.
Rose searched her entire room for her money. Someone had taken it while she’d lain asleep or in a faint. She paced, ill, half-delirious, outraged, and frightened. And yet, strangely hopeful. She had a way to bring in money now and Ombrine knew it. Perhaps at last her stepmother would value her. Even be kind to her.
But Ombrine brought her no more potions. Nor did she bring her food. She completely ignored her. That was not what Rose would have expected.
And yet, one morning, she found that the door was unlocked and felt well enough to go downstairs and forage in the larder. As she took the stairs slowly and carefully, she found Ombrine and Desirée eating breakfast and the smell of food made her stomach rumble.
Desirée said, “Thank the gods you’re up! I swear I couldn’t cook another meal.” She grimaced at her plate of runny eggs and pushed it away. Rose was so hungry she had
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