Page 55 of Cinder
Cin had not realized just how cautious every action he took had become: the energy he’d dedicated to approaching thingsfrom the right angle. Holding and cutting, pushing and pulling—everything felt different now, like he could be careless after so many years of not realizing he was caring in the first place.
He threw the basil and garlic into the pot whole and sliced the onion in quarters, nearly taking his finger off with it as he sped up the motions beyond what his ribs would normally permit. The end result wasn’t fit for a prince, or even the original inhabitants of the Reinholz estate, but it would fill their stomachs just fine.
It filled Cin’s, at least, and only Floy grumbled about the flavor of the broth, Emma and Manfred both slurping down their entire bowls in a feverish haze while Louise snapped at them for their manners and Cin’s father diligently stared into his own soup between every slow bite. They left Cin to clean the dishes after, yawning their way back into the now-cold second parlor. Cin yawned too as he moved the soup off the stove.
From down the hall, Floy shouted at him to tend their hearth.
One of his hands slipped. The towels that padded them shifted as he struggled to catch the large pot, shoving it back into place. The side of his thumb stung, and he shoved it absently against his tongue. The taste of ash filled his mouth.
“Any time now!” Louise called, echoing the demands of the rest of Cin’s family.
His hands shook as he lit one hearth after another, each fire taking longer to coax into something capable of warding against the late autumn chill. His hands felt raw by the end. It was all he could do to drag himself to the kitchen hearth. The room was snug now, at least, the embers still hot. He was too tired to wipe the ash that had crept forth from the fire as he bundled his cloak and lay across the warm stone.
A foot immediately prodded him in the side.
“Cinder,” Louise snapped, no “child” tagged gently onto the end to soften the blow. “You have a room of your own! One not covered inashes.”
Cin sat up groggily. “There’s still a draft.”
Louise only gave him a firm kick in the thigh. “How do you think we lived while you were off gallivanting on your little adventure? At leastyou’llhave a fire. Go!” She kicked again.
Cin grunted as he stood. His attention slipped over the embers, still bright and hot in the hearth, and he thought of what it might be like to see one spill out of its stone home, to watch as their world went up in flame. But that would take Cin with it. If he was going to burn his world to the ground, he refused to go up in the inferno. Not now that he had something to live for.
“Fine,” he muttered to Louise, and stumbled miserably toward the hall, his cloak bunched in his arms.
She called after him, “And clean yourself tomorrow before you tend the chores! You’re as filthy as a damn whore.”
The rest of the week went little better. If Cin had any hope that his family would get over his absence quickly, it was dashed with each new demand and pointless badgering. Only Emma didn’t harass Cin. Whenever the rest of their family grew too restless and aggressive, she seemed to vanish, sneaking away in her nightgown for hours at a time, her hair a mess and her knuckles raw with cold.
Caring for her every inadequacy had always annoyed Cin, but somehow this was far worse. It felt as though the only light in hishome life had been extinguished, turning to a ghostly presence that fled from the horrors that surrounded him. And, when Cin had the courage to admit it to himself, being abandoned by Emma hurt. It wasn’t as though she’d have been able to change the rest of their family’s treatment, but he had not realized how much having her tiny spark of affection had made everything else feel bearable. Like he could be doing this all for her.
Hehadbeen doing it all for her.
Cin choked on the thought through the end of the week, and all Saturday morning as he tromped across the house trying desperately to get enough done that he could run into town before his family left for the final ball. Louise claimed that Father would be attending with her, despite how little interest he seemed to show in it. He seemed already to be plotting his next trip in his mind.
He’d sat at the table that morning long after breakfast had been cleared, staring out the window into the distance. Every attempt Cin had made to speak with him had ended with one word: not sharp, not short, just detached.
Was he still hungry?—No, soft, unconcerned.
What had he heard of the balls?—A shrug, his gaze unmoving.
Was his trip successful?—Enough, spoken as though he was dreaming of living it again.
For once, Cin almost—almost—didn’t blame him. He didn’t want to be there any more than his father did. But unlike his father, Cin had no easy way out, not for any longer than a half a day at least.
The one good sign of the week was watching Perdition heal.
She seemed more chipper by the day, hopping around Cin’s drafty room, where a crack he’d left in the window allowed her flock-mates access. They brought her bugs and seeds to complement the vegetable and boiled potatoes that Cin had been sneaking her from his own meals, and she’d made a little nestfor herself in the fabric of his old binding. Despite her improved energy and enthusiasm, she had not attempted to fly again, one of her wings tucked in awkwardly even when she made a point to stretch and flap the other.
He worried at what that meant—both now and for her future—but regardless of whether the wing healed, Cin was determined to be there for her, just as her little flock had been there for him.
When he left with one of the horses on Saturday morning, he turned east to loop around, past the home of the woman he’d watched cry behind her well far too many times already, whispering an apology to Prince Lorenz’s kind heart as he did. However much he hated it, he was still this: still a menace, turning the villains into victims.
He found the house dark, though—both front and back doors locked and the horse and wagon gone from the barn. He hoped that meant the woman had left for good, but more likely the couple were just out visiting friends or family for the day. If her husband still gave her that decency.
In town, Cin tried his best to ignore the ball gossip. Everyone had a favorite for the prince’s hand—none of them knowing yet that it wouldn’t be his choice at all. Few truly thought their future queen might be Floy, though every mention of his sibling’s name still made Cin’s stomach twist. Worse though, were those who were placing all their bets on the mysterious feathered seducer. There were so many—too many—and Cin swore he heard whispers of the Plumed Menace within some of their giddy conversations.
At least none of them seemed to notice him, not as the prince’s friend, much less as their notorious killer. Dorthe waved to him when he passed her on the street, but most of the town couldn’t even seem to place him as Cinder-Szule, even when they should have, when he’d seen them every week for years, knewtheir names and lives and loves. Or maybe they did recognize him, and they simply didn’t care to know him beyond that. No one had ever seemed to.
