Precocious

Rue rushed across the street pulling a light-blue shopping trolley behind her, past the people who lazily strolled around, window shopping. She turned into a narrow deserted alley, darkened by the shadows of tall buildings and with the stench of ammonia clinging to the brick walls. She wrinkled her nose. The trolley in her hand flattened to the thickness of a piece of paper and then rolled in from both sides into a scroll that thinned until it became a ray of light. The light reduced to a spark that flew to the blue topaz centre of the silver flower that adorned the ring she wore on her left hand.

Certain that nobody was watching her she squatted down. She pointed her ring at the ground, the bluish light from it drew a full circle. She stood up and with her arms pressed against her sides she stepped into the nothingness of the blue. She fell feet first into a vertical tunnel glowing a gentle yellow. For as short second she hovered in it while the hole above closed. Then she shot down, a small swishing sound in her ears.

She had been coming up to the surface almost every week now, selling vegetables and fruits to small grocery stores with a focus on organic products, collecting human money to buy silver. Every journey she made was documented in the Magistrate's Records of Travels. It was not prohibited to ascend to the surface or to socialize with humans as long as the humans stayed in the dark about who she was, but business deals were forbidden. That didn't stop it from happening, but if one got caught, they took away one’s ability to make wormholes. Something she couldn't lose, not with that woman's spending habits.

Lemon-green now overtook the yellow glow, then became a light-green, telling her of the approaching entrance. She crossed her arms, hands on her shoulders, and smiled. She loved this part.

The wormhole curved and she shot out like a cork from a champagne bottle, flying in an arch through the air above the blue tops of the forest and the white foaming river. White butterfly wings with violet edges appeared on her back, helping her to gracefully land on her feet on the vivid cerulean blue grass that reached her knees.

“Nice landing,” a male voice said.

She wheeled around and her eyes saw a black-haired boy leaning on the willow tree three steps away. The narrow ribbon of blue meadow between the hedge that framed the Topaz Tree's territory on one side and the banks of the river on the other was difficult to access and always deserted. That was why she always landed here. “Who are you? And how did you get here?”

He pointed to the leaf-boat.

“This is private property.” Her gaze slid over his short black hair that was shaved on the right side and long over his forehead, his tight black shirt with silver writing and his black pants with pockets and zippers and ribbons. That was a human fashion.

“I don't see any signs.” He crossed his arms and moved away from the tree, his brows arched and his mouth curled in a smirk as he scrutinised her.

It seemed to Rue that he was looking down on her. She didn't mind it, too used to it already, probably.

His mouth narrowed and he frowned.

She followed his gaze down to her hand and the ring. She hid her hand behind her back, her fingers twirled the ring around. The flower reduced and flattened and the silver narrowed and thinned then adopted the colour of her skin. It was almost invisible, but she could feel it and if she looked at it closely, she would be able to see its outline.

“I haven't introduced myself.” He covered the three steps that separated them and offered her his hand. “I'm Andrew.”

Andrew? What kind of a name was that? A human name? She stared at his hand, her brows furrowed and the corners of her mouth pressed together before she lifted her head. “You are from the above?” Of course he was one of the above, why did she even ask?

“Yes.” He let his arm fall to his side. “I'm one of the halfings.”

“Young Prince Angrec's friend?”

“Hmmm.” He tilted his head like he was thinking. A wrinkle for a second cut into his forehead. “More like a congenial acquaintance.”

“Ah.” She pushed her hands into the pockets of her denim jeans. She had heard so much about Angrec, a halfing who had come into the Demesne of Britannia at the King’s invitation together with his parents. At that time, and still, the King and his son, who lived in the human world above were not on speaking terms. Nobody except Britannia's remaining royal family and a few trusted servants had ever seen or met the King's son and grandson, but that only worsened the gossip. “What is he like?”

“Why are you all so fussy and curious about him?” Andrew crossed his arms.

“How could we not?” The King was sick and he had only a few decades left to him, he needed a successor and he had one in the young Prince, who despite being halfing was still of royal blood. Of course, the Prince could refuse. “If he decides he's going to rule the Britannia when he reaches his adulthood.”

“That's six years from now.”

That meant that he was eighteen years old, the same as her, well, her eighteenth birthday was four months away. And how old was he?

An owl cried, three times.

It was already three. Rue's eyes widened. She was going to be late. She backed toward the hedge. “Well, umm, Andrew, nice to meet you and all.” She turned, touched the leaves of the hedge and the foliage divided, making a hole big enough for her to go through it.

“You are from the Topaz Tree?”

“Yes.”

“Not the young lady?”

Oh, so he had heard about Ivy. The blonde wasn't that bad -- or she wouldn't have been that bad if not for her mother's influence. “No, I'm just a domestic there.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why would I need to be sure?” She glanced at him over her shoulder.

He shrugged. “No reason.”

“Okay then.” She moved through the hole. She was really going to be late.

As soon as the hole behind her closed she started to run, her long brown hair fluttering behind her. She could hear Andrew yelling from the other side, but she was already too far away to understand him. She rushed past the orchard where the ripe fruits weighted the tree's branches, past beds of vegetables lined up in neat rows, until she stepped on the sand path that led to the back side of a large birch tree. Strings of windows dotted its white bark in three lines and an abundance of light-blue leaves grew at its top, some of them large enough to be used as leaf-boats. It was a three-story high tree, the Topaz tree, her home, the place she had lived since she was born.

She shoved the blue bark marking the door and almost fell into the kitchen. Cabinets in dark-brown stood against the slightly curved walls and a table for eight the same colour as the cabinets ruled the space.

“You are late.” An older lady pushed a pile of clothes into Rue's hands and nudged her through the opened door of the pantry then shut it behind her.

Rue peeled off her jeans and red tank top to replace them with a white shirt with puffy sleeves and a simple long cotton dress the colour of hazelnut. She wove the ribbons that hung from the shirt's shoulders around the sleeves and tied them at the wrists. They prevented the fabric of the sleeves from getting in the way while she worked.

She could hear sounds coming from the kitchen and she pressed her ear to the door. She recognized Laurel's voice. Her lips pinched together and her blue eyes darkened, she kicked the clothes lying on the wooden floor under one of the shelves, grabbed the first thing that came to her hand, a jar of beetroot, and returned to the kitchen.

An old lady dressed in simple clothes similar to Rue’s, only in a darker brown colour, stood with her arms crossed while Laurel, the mistress of the Topaz Tree, set her arms akimbo, the long sleeves of her silken pink dress almost reaching the ground.

“Your lunch will be brought up shortly,” said Rue. “Unless you want to bring it up yourself?”

“Don't take that tone with me.” Laurel faced Rue. Her face framed with blonde, almost white hair, and with hints of wrinkles around her mouth and eyes showed displeasure. Her brown eyes caught sight of the jar. “I'm not eating beetroot.”

“No, we are. Daisy,” Rue turned to the older woman. “Go, call Elm and set the table. I'll be right back.” She went to the cabinets next to the stove where a rectangular tray stood covered with a box-like lid. She picked it up. It was heavy, too heavy for Daisy, and since Laurel disliked having Elm trotting into the rooms she appointed as hers, Rue was the one who usually had to carry it.

Rue brought the tray into the parlour on the second floor, with the view on the most prestigious street in Britannia, the one that led to the main square. Since their Tree was stationed at the end of the street like a king at the head of the table it also had a view of the ninety-nine white stairs that ascended to the marble palace with its fragile looking towers and their lush treetop roofs.

Laurel and her daughter Ivy sat at the round table by the window. Rue laid her burden on the table. She removed the cover and placed the plates of food out on the wooden surface, giving a smile to the blonde girl of the same age that sat behind the table. Then she returned to the kitchen.

“Did you find it?” was the first thing that Daisy asked; she already sat behind the table, her husband Elm on the chair opposite to her.

“But, of course.” Rue joined them. “Don't tell me you doubted?” She leaned over the table, a satisfied smile playing on her face. “And not only that. We now have enough silver to drop by Lancewood's shop.”

“When are you going to go?” Elm asked.

Rue took the spoon, her eyes on the stew. “Tomorrow morning when those two are still asleep.”

#

Lancewood's shop was dark; shelves upon shelves veiled the morning light coming from the large display windows. Lancewood, a middle-aged man, stood behind the desk, counting for the second time the silver plates Rue had given him, while Rue cleared the items leaned against the desk into the extension of her ring that was now a medium-sized bag. She had already stored the antique chest of drawers, a round table, four chairs and most of the other items from her deceased father's study, but she still had to put in two shelves of books, a large mirror and two armchairs.

She had a little trouble with guiding the larger objects into the bag, but luckily she only had to get an edge of it in for it to be sucked inside. As she occupied herself with lifting up the armchair to put its leg inside the bag, she observed from the corner of her eye how Lancewood pressed all the silver plate she gave him between his horizontally placed hands. When he lifted the upper one up, he revealed a fine silver dust.

They mixed silver dust with the crushed blooms of their name and of the Tree to which they belonged to create a fairy dust for their personal use. They could also use just the flowers of the Tree, but that magic dust would be at the disposal of the whole household, which in Rue's case meant that it was lost to them as soon as Laurel got her hands on it.

“Baroness de Topaz also made a stop in Magnolia's shop, too.” Lancewood pocketed the silver dust.

Of course Laurel had, to spend the silver she got by selling Topaz Tree's valuables for dresses. Rue lifted the bag and let it hover close beside her, then said goodbye to Lancewood.

“I'll let you know if she brings more things in,” he told her when she was already at the door with the bag following her.

Rue doubted that Laurel would, since she had already cashed in everything that was valuable, with the majority of things now hiding in Rue's ring. She couldn't save Daisy's spinning wheel, which had been one of the first things to go since it was one of the first mechanical devices to arrive in the fairy realm, brought in by Queen Violet, the second queen of the Britannia. But just yesterday, after a few months of searching, she had found a spinning wheel in the above world and she had already given it to Daisy.

Rue went to the market two streets off the main street. In the shadows of an alley that served as a shortcut, the blue bag vanished back into her ring, which also became invisible to anybody but her.

It was still early in the morning, but the market with stalls selling vegetables, fruits, blooms from flowers and trees blooms, fabric, low quality silver and all the small necessities needed for comfortable living, was already bustling with activity. They had a stall with vegetables and fruits at the end of the row of food vendors, opposite a Fabric Maker and a Blacksmith. Elm was already there, while Daisy was probably busy making breakfast for the ladies.

“Hey.” Rue joined Elm behind the desk that served as a counter, with boxes of stored food underneath it and samples of fruit and vegetables in the baskets on top. “Any sales?”

“No. I have a feeling it’s going to be a slow day,” Elm said.

And even if it was a good day, the proceeds of their sales could never compare to her profit on the same amount of the products she made in the above world. Probably because she always visited pawn shops looking for cheap silver jewellery, which, with the help of magic, she melted and shaped into small plates.

A group of four darkly dressed boys and two girls passed them and stopped at the Blacksmith, admiring his skill as his swinging his hammer shaped the half-finished blade over the round stone with cold green fire in the middle.

One of the boys separated from the group; with his hands in the pockets of his black jeans he surveyed his surroundings, until his eyes stopped on Rue. A smile stretched his lips and he stepped closer. “Hey, you.”

At first Rue hadn't recognized him because of the hair that was gelled up in a fauxhawk. It was that boy, Andrew. “Hi,” she greeted him back as she slid lower on her stool feeling strangely self-conscious.

His chocolate-brown eyes glanced over the fare on the table and he grabbed an apple. “How much?”

“A kilo is one gram,” Elm beside her said.

“Samples are free,” Rue added.

“Thank you.” He rubbed the apple against his dark-brown shirt then sunk his teeth into it. He chewed and swallowed. “They are really great. Juicy and sweet. Why does food here taste so much better?”

“No air pollution,” Rue said.

“That makes sense.” He nodded, taking another bite.

A boy with a similar hairdo but with brown hair, a little lighter than Rue's curly hair, wrapped an arm around Andrew's neck. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get her name.” Andrew pointed at Rue.

Rue slid even lower behind the table. She was never good with boys, actually she was never good with girls either; the behaviour of her peers seemed to her foolish and too carefree. She got along with old people well though.

The brunette's eyes landed on her. He straightened and offered her his hand. “Hey. I'm Greg.”

She inwardly sighed and despite not wanting to, she took his hand. “Rue.”

“See. See.” With his elbow Greg poked Andrew. “It's that easy.”

Andrew rolled his eyes.

“We should invite her to the ball. The more the merrier, right?” Greg proposed to Andrew then focused on Rue. “Rue, would you like to come to the ball?”

“A ball?” She hadn't heard anything about it, which was strange since if there was a ball, party or just a small soirée, Laurel was the first to find out.

“We are going to be the main entertainment,” Greg said.

“Wrong.” Andrew shook his head. “The Prince is going to be the main entertainment; it's his debut. They are probably going to exhibit him like some sort of rare animal.”

Rue folded her hands in her lap.

Greg frowned. “Don't be so --”

“So are you going to come?” Andrew inquired. “It would be nice if you did.”

“Um, well... Thank you for the invitation, but... if the ball is going to be in the palace, I'm afraid I won't be able to attend.”

“Why not?” Andrew asked..

“Duh.” She pointed at herself.

“Yeah?” Andrew arched his brows.

“'Servants aren't considered to be the most suitable choices for parading around the palace as guests.”

“You are not a servant.” Elm's deep voice almost startled Rue.

“And that's why I'm selling vegetables with you instead of sleeping in my luxurious soft bed, right?”

Understanding that could be easily be mistaken for pity was in Elm's pale green eyes as he stared at her before he silently averted his gaze.

She wasn't a servant, not in the strictest sense, but she wasn't nobility either, despite owning a ring that told of possession of a Topaz Tree. The Topaz estate was hers, but the title of Baroness de Topaz belonged to her stepmother, who as Rue’s guardian until Rue's twenty-fourth birthday pretended to manage the estate. Of course, her “management” did more harm than good to the estate's finances, but there was only much Rue could do, except to go behind her stepmother's back and earn money to buy back everything that woman sold.

“With a personal invitation from the Prince himself, it doesn't matter if you are a servant or an aristocrat,” Greg said.

“Yes,” Andrew said. “We will get you a personal invitation.” He glanced at Elm. “To Rue of the Topaz tree, right?”

Elm nodded.

“Great.” Andrew nodded, too, before he grabbed his friend's arm, said goodbye to Rue with a promise that they will see each other later, and dragged his friend away.

She had no intention of going to the ball, Rue told that to Elm and later, when they were having lunch in the kitchen, she repeated it to Daisy.

“And besides, if Laurel doesn’t know about it, there's a high possibility that it might not even happen,” or so she thought. She was proved wrong when two days later, at supper, Laurel burst into the kitchen, the silk of her crimson red dress whispering, two green cards edged in gold in her hand.

The blonde showed Rue her name and her daughter’s name, imprinted in gold letters on the cards like she was bragging about them. There should have been three cards, one of them for her. She didn’t ask Laurel about it, though; she just assumed that Andrew had eaten his words. But then when Andrew, who came by their stall the next morning, asked her if she had gotten it, she told him that she didn't.

“There’s no point in giving me one, anyway. I’m not going,” she told him.

He didn’t listen to her. The next day he strode toward the stall, a green and golden card in his hand.

Redness dusted Rue’s cheeks and a soft warmth pooled in the pit of her stomach. She suppressed the smile that twitched at the corners of her mouth.

He gave her the invitation with both hands and a bow, imitating a royal messenger, a playful grin playing on his face.

“Thank you, but I don’t think I will use it.” She took the card.

“Just in case you change your mind,” he said, the smile vanishing from his face, and then after saying that he would love to stick around and chat but he had to go, disappeared into the crowd.

#

Rue felt the folded card she carried in the inside pocket of her skirt. For some phantom reason she hadn’t disposed of it, but like a dear souvenir had kept it close at hand. She smiled and with a spring in her step walked to the stove with the basket of dried leaves she had gathered for the fire. She opened up the side door and took a handful of leaves to put it in when she noticed a bit of gold and green paper stuck on the inside of the door. She tossed the leaves into the stove and then carefully peeled the thick paper from the metal dusted with magic to prevent it from heating up. ‘Rue of’ the golden letters said and she didn’t need the missing pieces to know what the rest of the words were. It was her invitation to the ball, the one that had come with the morning delivery. This was Laurel’s work, Rue was sure of it.

Irritation started to shimmer in the pit of her stomach. She had been working her ass off, together with Daisy and Elm, so that the Topaz Tree would be a well-maintained, profitable estate while Laurel played the high lady and pawned everything that she could sell. Rue deserved to go to that ball, she had every right and Laurel had had the audacity to destroy it.

She pinched her lips together. She hadn’t had any intention of going to the ball, but now... why shouldn't she? Laurel might treat her as just the help, but she was in fact her stepdaughter.

She stood up. Well, if she wanted to attend the ball the first thing she needed was a ball gown. She still had some silver left from her last visit, but not enough. The proceeds from the market stall were tied up and she couldn’t withdraw them without Mr. Linden, Topaz Tree’s accountant, and she didn’t have any savings. If she’d had any spare vegetables and fruit she could have gone to the world above, but that would have to wait until the new batch that would ripen sometime next week.

But hadn’t she seen an ad today, a royal pronouncement pinned on the announcement board that stood where the market ended and the Street of Commerce began?

They were looking for temporary workers; they were short of staff because of the ball and the preparation of the palace for the visitors from other cavlings.

She made an inquiry the next day, stopped by the Magistrate. They gave her the information pamphlet. A wage of one silver plate a day for the worker and a compensation of one-fourth of the plate a day for the manager of the Tree to which they belonged, which in this case was Laurel.

Rue’s next stop was Magnolia’s shop.

“A new custom-made dress is thirty plates, but for you, since you are my old friend’s daughter, I will give you a price of twenty plates,” said Magnolia, a fiery red-haired woman with smooth pale skin, freckles on her nose and a heavy bosom made more pronounced by a tightly laced green bodice.

“I don’t have that much,” Rue said.

“How much do you have, child?” Magnolia guided her past the displayed dresses and plush sofas occupied by customers that studied the garments moving before them, through the dark-red velvet curtain into the back room where the soft buzz of sewing machines vibrated in the air.

The only fairy, a small girl, Magnolia’s daughter, moved to one of the three machines set on the long desk and readjusted the fabric that moved on its own under the machine’s needle.

Human electronic devices did save a fairy a lot of time, but they needed large quantities of magic; no wonder Magnolia’s dresses were so expensive.

“Well...” She had at least one silver plate from before and if she worked for eight days... “Nine.”

“There’s not much that I can make for nine,” Magnolia said. “But, I have three left-over dresses, paid for, but discarded. If you like any of them, it’s yours for six plates and you can use the rest for shoes and accessories.”

“I don’t have the money yet. Only one plate. But I will have it eight days from now. Would that be a problem?”

“For you, of course not.” Magnolia gave Rue an encouraging smile. “Let’s see the dresses.” From the wardrobe that stretched across the whole wall, Magnolia pulled three dresses and with a pinch of dust make them spread out for Rue.

All the dresses had a corset-like bodice that continued into a full long skirt. One was peach coloured, one light-grey and one chocolate-brown, all with different necklines and sleeves.

“I suggest this one,” Magnolia said, indicating the light-grey dress with square cut and short sleeves. “It’s the most flattering to your colouring and since it’s too big, it would be easy to alter.”

Rue wished for something that would be hers alone, made especially for her, but since she couldn’t afford that, and since Magnolia was right; of the three dresses, the grey was the best, she nodded. “That one would be fine.”

Magnolia took her measurements and promised that when Rue had the money, the dress would be waiting for her.

She probably shouldn’t have made any plans before she got the job, but Rue was confident that she would get hired without any hassle. She was right.

The only obstacle now was Laurel.

In the evening when she brought up supper, Rue told her about the additional work that she had taken.

“As long as you get Daisy and Elm to do your chores at the market and your work at home doesn't suffer, I don't mind it,” Laurel said, then she dismissed Rue to focus on the food.

“She was probably glad of the additional income,” Rue grumbled as she climbed the stairs leading to the palace under the morning light of the white orb mimicking the sun above. She went around the palace, found the back door and through it stepped into a large, all white kitchen bustling with fairies. She reported her presence to the grave looking fairy that floated beneath the high ceiling as if she was keeping a close eye on the kitchen staff.

“The Topaz girl?” the fairy asked, making a note with a quill on the light-grey petals that were tied together at the left edge with thin twine.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“I’ve heard about you,” the fairy said. “You are a hard worker. Those are always welcome here.” She descended to the marble ground, turned and gestured for Rue to follow her.

Through the double door they stepped into a long hallway, the fairies nearby making a detour around Miss Azalea, the chief housekeeper, nodding in greeting and accelerating their step trying to look busy. First they stopped at what looked more like a warehouse than a storage room where a fairy, at Miss Azalea's request, gave Rue a sponge, a rag and a small container of magic dust mixed with something white. Then they continued their journey across long hallways with light-grey walls and then flew up in the stair-less halls into what seemed to be the third floor. They stepped onto a twin of the hallways from the ground floor that spread into a gallery with red carpet on the floor and frescoes showing the Last Battle decorating the wall. White, fragile looking sofas with end tables on each side overlooked the great hall that stretched under the gallery and which was at this moment bustling with fairies moving the tables and chairs.

Miss Azalea pointed at one of the huge sash windows. “They need to be washed. When you’re done come to the kitchen and I will give you a new assignment.”

Rue, frowning, looked at the vast expanse of the gallery, there was at least twenty to thirty windows. She turned toward Miss Azalea. “Do you expect me to...” Her voice trailed off when she noticed that the fairy had floated up and crossed the lacy rail. She was now lowering to the hall's ground floor, yelling something to one of the fairies, waving her notebook of petals.

Rue grimaced, took another look at the windows, then sighed. There was no point in getting frustrated at the task before her; she would just take one window at a time. She took the wet sponge, used her wings to rise up and started to work on the window panels. She was at the tenth window when now a familiar voice interrupted her.

“Oh, hey.” She greeted Andrew then busied herself with cleaning. When she looked down again, he was gone. She felt a pang of disappointment, but his reaction was expected. When they had conversed before it was always in the market. It was different now in the palace. And why would somebody who lived, even if just temporarily, as a guest in a palace associate himself with a low servant? Okay, she was getting an inferiority complex again, the result of having to listen to: “Your mother was just a seamstress,” while attending the court's school, and having Laurel treat her as domestic help didn't help either. She liked being who she was and was very well aware of her worth, it was just that sometimes... it felt like she was in the classroom again with her classmates laughing at her when she couldn't understand one of the more complicated uses of magic, hearing the words that it was no use teaching her since only the nobles could use it and she wasn't one of them.

She flew to the next window and just as she was finishing the sound of footsteps drew her attention to her left. Andrew walked toward her, holding a tray with a pot and two cups on it. When he put it down on the polished surface of the end table, she could see a plate with small cakes, various shapes and colourfully frosted.

“It's time for a break.” He threw himself on the sofa, the wood screeched under his weight.

Rue looked around. There was nobody else in the gallery and since she had already cleaned more than ten windows she might as well take a short pause. Her feet touched the ground. She put the sponge and the cloth that hung over her shoulder on the table near her then used a pinch of the magic dust that was given to her on her hands to make them clean. Only then she stepped closer to the pot and smelt the scent that drifted up with the steam. Strawberries. “For me?”

“Like I would have brought two cups for me?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “You might be that greedy.”

“I might.” He rested his arms against the back of the sofa and leaned back while he stretched his legs, crossing them at the ankles, showing her the black, platformed boots no fairy, not even the most rebellious teenager, would dare put on. He really was a halfing and he showed that at every turn. She liked it, actually, that he didn’t hide his origin but flaunted it before others and she hoped that Prince Angrec was like that, too. The only halfing living in Britannia, the old man Oak, resided at the edge of the city, at the edge where the cave ended beside the stone wall covered with light-green moss. They were ostracised, the halfings, which was why a majority of them chose to leave Britannia and live as humans in the world above where, because of pollution, their magic weakened and their life span shortened. Now, with a halfing as the next ruler of Britannia things were bound to change, or so she hoped.

She poured the tea into the cups, with two fingers she carefully picked up a delicate green frosted cake and sat on the sofa beside him. She took a bite and the moist, lemon-flavored cake melted in her mouth. So good.

“I volunteered to help you,” he said.

“And why would you do that?” she asked.

“Because of an ulterior motive.” He moved closer to the tray and took a cup. “I can't dance, you see, and the dance teacher assigned to us... he's horrible and I was hoping...” He put the cup back on the saucer. “They are making fun of me.”

They probably meant his friends, Rue thought. She took another bit of the cake wondering if he would mind if she took more of them and saved them for later.

“I know they don't mean anything by it, but it bothers me and...” His brown eyes found hers. “Would you help me? I assume you know how to dance all those fairy dances?”

“Yes. I learned them in school.”

“Great. Will you help me then?”

“And you will help me with my chores?” That didn't sound bad.

“Yes. We will work four hours and then spend four hours dancing. How does that sound?”

“And Miss Azalea is fine with that?”

“If by that you mean do I have her permission, the answer is yes.”

#

“Right leg forward, bow down,” Rue said as she lowered her eyes to Andrew beside her who mimicked her pose. “Raise your arms and then lower them, wiggling your fingers. Don't wave, wiggle.”

“It feels so stupid.” Andrew obeyed her.

“It's called the Rain Dance, remember. You are imitating the rain.”

“That doesn't make me feel less stupid.” Andrew straightened. “And let's not forget the Sun Dance. That one is really...” He shook his head, disapproval on his face. “It's a dance for five-year-olds.”

“These dances celebrate nature and everything that it has given us; without the earth, its silver and flowers we wouldn't have any magic. Well, the dances are more the remains of the old times when we still lived on the surface, but still... And they do look good when they are preformed by groups of people. The Dance of Clouds is the most beautiful when it’s done by a single person.”

“You haven't shown me that one.”

“It's rarely done nowadays, only on special occasions. And since it won't be performed at the ball, you don't need to learn it.”

“But you know it, right?”

“Of course.”

“Show me.”

“No.”

“Come on, dance for me, please.” He pouted, a pleading look in his eyes. Barefoot and dressed in comfortable cotton of the same beige colours as the leaf that represented Britannia on its banner he looked different, more gentle and fairy-like than in his ordinary clothes.

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.” Rue fidgeted with her brown braid that hung over her shoulder.

He took a step toward her. “Please. Please. Please.”

“No. No. No.”

“Pleeeease.”

“Do you even understand the meaning of the word 'no'?

“No.” He grinned. “Please.”

She would rather not, but he didn't seem willing to back down, and it wasn’t like it was such a big deal. She relented. She gestured to the harps and flutes that hovered on the half-circle pedestal set at the left wall of the medium-sized hall intended for smaller dances and soirées. Most of its furniture except two upholstered chairs and a round table was covered by sheets and pushed against the creamy walls with green grass painted at the bottom.

A soft melody drifted up in the air and Rue, closing her eyes, wrapped it around herself. The Dance of the Clouds was sort of intimate and every fairy danced it slightly differently, adding something unique to it. The music touched her fingertips; she closed her eyes and lifted her arms, slowly, waving them like they were clouds. She slid her right foot sideways. The left foot joined the right, hands forward, palms before her chest, then a sweeping arc to the side. She was a cloud, a fluffy white cloud that lazily strolled over a sky so blue that it hurt the eyes. And the cloud grew, light-grey colouring first its edges and then crawling deeper into the whiteness. It weighted the cloud and the fluffiness vanished in the colour of ash.

The music's tempo escalated. Her wings lifted her up and Rue twirled around, her arms forming a V above her head. The storm was brewing and lightning flashed in the grey. She displayed that with sharp, jerky movements of her arms as she pirouetted.

The rain fell and the squall ran its course. She slumped to her knees on the ground. A few plucks of a string, the sounds of it echoing in the hall, sounding like raindrops. Her breath rushed in and out of her lungs and perspiration dampened her hairline and the arch of her spine. She opened her eyes.

Frozen and unblinking, Andrew stared at her, his brown eyes glazed as if he were in some sort of trance.

She rose, closed the distance between them and waved her hand before his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“That was...” He swallowed. “Wow.” He cleared his throat and straightened, his voice deeper and his brows slightly gathered together. “I mean, that was very good. You have a talent.”

“You should see some of the other fairies,” Rue said, her cheeks flushed, not from the strain of the exercise, but from the praise. Until now she had heard such things only from Daisy and Elm. “Anyway, where were we? Ah, the Dance of Rain.”

“We should take a break,” Andrew proposed.

“You just had one. With the ball four days from now, we have to hurry. You are better at the Dance of the Sun, but still haven't managed to look graceful performing the Dance of Rain.” Her eye narrowed as she surveyed him. “Sometimes I feel like you are not even trying.”

“It’s that wiggling. Can't we do something else? Like wave or just hold the fingers immobile?”

“You can.” Rue waited until his mouth curved in what looked like relief before she continued, “But it would look really, really strange.”

“You are such a mean girl.” Andrew shook his finger at her and scowled at her, but his lips still smiled.

She couldn't help but grin back. He was easy company, letting her relax and be herself. She patted his shoulder and persuaded him to continue.

After their class ended and they parted ways, her ring containing a box of cakes she planned to eat after supper with Daisy and Elm, she went to the market. She joined Elm for an hour before they closed their stall and after they deposited the daily profits into City Treasury, they headed home, a cart of unsold merchandise trailing behind them.

She went through the same routine as every evening; first storing the produce in the basement, doing the chores Daisy hadn’t managed to do, helping preparing supper, taking supper to Laurel and Ivy, eating in the kitchen, chatting with her companions about their day and then going to bed. She washed and dressed in her pyjamas, made one last round of the house, making sure that all the fireflies that wanted to be released were let out, with a cloud of them following her.

A blonde girl waited on the landing that led to the servant’s quarters.

“What is it, Ivy?” Rue passed the girl and strode toward her room behind the third door on the right.

“Mother,” the girl said in a small whiny voice.

Rue sighed and gestured for Ivy to follow her. She sat on the bed, waited for Ivy to close the door and join her before she asked, “What is it now?”

“The ball. She's making such a fuss about it.”

“Doesn't she always?” Rue sat on the bed.

“Yes, but...” A small crease cut into the Ivy's forehead. “She’s never gone so far as to buy me a dress one size too small and starve me so I’ll fit into it. I'm only allowed to eat a half of my portion. And you know how I like food. It's torture.”

Rue tiredly sighed. “What do you want? More food behind your mother's back?”

“Could you talk to her? Ivy's big green eyes pleadingly gazed at Rue.

“When has your mother ever listened to me?”

Ivy pouted. “Are you sure?”

“It won't make any difference, you know that. All I can do for you is give you food.”

“But if I don't lose weight she's going to be mad.”

“You have to talk to her yourself.” Rue moved higher on the bed and leaned against the grey wall. Her room was small, with just enough space for a simple single bed, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, and two stools she used as night-stands.

“I tried, but she doesn't listen,” Ivy said. “She plans to marry me off, to Prince Angrec. And he's a halfing. I don't have anything against them, I just don't want to marry one, and she... Everybody knows how snobbish she is, she’s never hidden it, so why this change of heart?”

“What do you think?”

“Because he's a Prince.”

“Yes, and because your marrying into the royal family will give her a much more stylish life and more prestige than living in the Topaz Tree.” Actually that was not a bad idea. If Ivy married, despite being, in Rue's opinion, at seventeen far too young for marriage, she and her mother would leave the Topaz tree.

#

Rue stood before the wardrobe in Ivy's girly room that was, like all the other rooms except the parlour, modestly furnished. An old four-poster bed stood in the middle of the room, veiled from sight by a simple white cotton drape where a silk one used to be. Similar stools as the ones in Rue's bedroom served as night-stands, their surfaces covered with white linen. A set of drawers with knick-knacks and a stool stood to left of the bed, beside the window and opposite the wardrobe.

In the light of the fireflies she studied the silver threads that wove around an emerald-green ball dress, making the silk sparkle as it shifted. It was a beautiful dress, its colour perfect for Ivy, who would certainly stand out in it, even among the richly decorated and expensive dresses of the nobility from Venexia and other European cavling.

She had been supplying Ivy with food, but food low in calories, and the girl had lost some weight, but not enough to fit into the green dress. She turned the fabric over to study the seams of the bodice. The edges were wide enough that, in the worst case, Daisy could let it out.

“Get your hands off the dress,” Laurel’s voice said from behind Rue.

“I'm not going to damage it.” Rue's fingers gathered the fabric and tugged it upwards so that she could see the edge where the bodice continued into the skirt.

“It's Ivy's.” Laurel hurried to her side, she grabbed Rue's wrist and jerked it backwards.

“Of course it is.” Rue released the fabric since otherwise she would have ripped it. “Don't be so violent. You are going to tear the dress.”

“I won't allow you to wear it,” Laurel hissed.

Rue faced her, sighing. “I have no intention of wearing it.”

“Don't lie to me.” Laurel's face darkened, the beauty of it lost in the grimace. “I know about the invitation. And I know about the food.”

A short chuckle escaped from Rue's throat. “You think that I'm supplying Ivy with fruit because I want the dress? Do you really believe I would have done something like that? I love Ivy, she's a sweet girl.”

“You are forbidden to go to the ball!”

Irritation surged forward. “I have every right to go, the same as you.” Rue's voice softened. “And how are you planning to stop me?” She curved her mouth in a fake smile. “You don't even know how to secure the entrance door. And who do you think will do your hair while I'm sulking in my room?”

“Narcissus.”

“What are you going to pay her with? You have already spent the advance you got for my work at the palace and thanks to you there's nothing valuable left in the house.”

“From the market income.”

“How do you plan to do that?” Her father, knowing Laurel's spending habits, had made sure that she couldn't get to the proceeds from the market that were intended for maintaining the Topaz Tree. He hadn’t foreseen that Laurel would sell everything valuable until the only saleable items left in the house was the furniture in the parlour they used for receiving guests. “Steal it from the stall like you tried to do two years ago?” Luckily, the incident had been hushed up and Laurel was only mildly punished, a favour bestowed on her by Mr. Beech, the Magistrate Official who was smitten with the blonde. “Or try to convince the Magistrate to give you control over the money like you did three years ago? Remember what happened the month you had it and how much debt you accumulated?” They were still paying for it. Even though Mr. Linden used big chunk of Laurel's monthly annuity, leaving Laurel with nothing but grams for her personal needs, the majority of the silver for it came from the market proceeds. To get rid of the debt sooner Rue could have used the silver from the sales she made in the world above, but that would have raised suspicion and she couldn't risk that.

“You will not go to that ball.” Laurel's eyes became slits.

“Neither will Ivy, not in that dress. You really shouldn't buy her clothes that are one size too small.”

“Get out.” Laurel pushed her away from the dress and toward the door, the fireflies followed.

Rue was shoved out of Ivy's room. She went downstairs where Ivy already waited for her, and told her the good news that they would be able to let out the dress.

* * * * *

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