Page 75 of Cinder
Floy’s voice, when it came again, was smaller than Cin had ever heard it, tight and terrified. “Fine.”
Cin’s nausea grew, and he curled his toes against the inside of the single shoe he still wore, telling himself it wasn’t his feet, it wasn’thisfeet. His heels hurt. They felt too large suddenly, two protuding knobs that might fall off if he twisted his ankle the wrong way.
Floy and Louise shuffled about, and a chair slid loudly across the floor. Then the noise stopped. In the silence, the carving of the knife through flesh sounded thick and ragged. Floy’s suppressed groan turned to a sob as it happened again. And a third time.
Something flopped wetly onto the ground.
Bile rose in the back of Cin’s throat and he nearly slipped. His head felt light. He’d seen blood, seen death—slid knives into backs and throats and bellies—but not seeing was worse somehow. The thing was no longer out there, external, untouched, but inside him, his mind building weight and pain to the echo of that meaty thud.
Floy’s sniffles lessened as Louise barked at them to quiet themselves. Cin swore he could hear the blood as it seeped into the bandages Louise applied with none of the care or love that Cin had given Emma’s. When they were done, Louise left on steady feet, and Floy at a lopsided shuffle.
Louise’s voice sounded as cordial and unaffected as ever as she greeted the party back in the parlor. “It seems we need to send for water to make the tea, but in the meantime, my dear Floy would be honored to try on that royal shoe of yours.”
Cin knew the magic in his elvish-made shoes would not let Floy’s feet fit, heel or not, yet the fear of it was still suffocating; whatever his head told him, his heart could not stop believing there was a chance—a chance that Floy would be the one at the prince’s side for the rest of their life, Cin forever hearing news of their exploits in papers and cross-kingdom gossip.
Stranger things had happened so far that day. Lorenz was there, in Cin’s parlor, after all; for some stupid, haphazardous reason, he’d wound up a hall away from Cin, talking amicably with Louise and Floy. Cin could imagine the scene in visceral detail: Lorenz’s smile masking his fear and loathing, Louise’s calm gentleness pinching to anticipation around the edges, Floy holding back the pain with a stony expression.
“Here, if I may?” Lorenz asked, and he could only have been kneeling.
“Please, yes!” Louise exclaimed, and Floy said something softer.
Lorenz would be picking up their foot then, the bandage hidden beneath a pristine stocking. Cin hoped his fingers brushed the place Floy’s heel had been. Hoped they bit their cheek open to stifle their cry, pink lacing their teeth when next they tried to smile.
Envisioning that was the only thing that kept him from panic.
The shoe would be going on now, in the silence and the tension. The moment seemed to drag on forever. Cin’s arms shook. Flecks of soot rained from where his feet braced.
“Does it fit?” Queen Idonia asked, and for the life of Cin, he couldn’t determine the emotion behind the question.
Lorenz answered impatiently. “It’s nearly…”
Through the moment of quiet, Floy cried out in pain.
“My god!” Lorenz’s voice lifting above an onslaught of shuffling and whispers. “Are youbleeding? I’m terribly sorry.”
“It’s nothing—” Louise interrupted him.
“Clearly not!” Lorenz snapped. “The back of their heel isred.”
Cin tried to smile, but he could hear thehack-hack-hack-flopof that heel falling to the floor once again and his body gagged against the joy he wished he could find in the situation. There was no future with Lorenz for Floy. Heel or no heel.
Louise seemed to be arguing against that very obvious fact, but Queen Idonia cut her off with a solemn determination. “Clearly, the shoe does not fit.”
And Cin thought she sounded just the tiniest bit disgusted.
“My— Floy is not my only eligible child,” Louise said, almost begging now. “Please, let me get my eldest.”
“If you will,” Queen Idonia said, yet she did not sound particularity interested.
Cin caught the sound of a guard’s voice, too low to make out the words, then the queen gave an equally soft response. The guard moved through the house once more—clearly not ready to give up quite yet—though it seemed most of their group had already moved outside.
The sounds of the search party were lost under Manfred and Louise’s footsteps as they burst into the kitchen.
“But my feet are bigger than Floy’s!” Manfred protested.
“We trimmed Floy’s heel and they nearly fit,” Louise said. “Without your toes…”
“Mytoes? Fucking hell!”
