Now it was Ella’s turn to be dragged across the cobblestones. The exchange of bread was nothing in the face of determination. Besides, if I slowed my gait, I might have to face the improbability of it all: the sheer distance between someone and their dreams. 

“I have to pick up the bread,” Ella reminded me. As though the baker’s baffled look as I pulled Ella away without our usual purchases wasn’t reminder enough. Admittedly, I might have waited for us to buy the bread first. But it was too late now.

“This’ll just take a moment.” Our entire routine was scheduled around dallying. Most mornings were spent pushing how much time we could steal away from our errands. I had to look at the newest fabrics anyway. Quickly, too, as many mothers would be buying up fabrics to make their own dresses for their daughters. 

Ella puffed a sigh, sounding like a horse, behind my shoulder. 

“Did you eat something strange?” Her voice thickened with a brief amusement. 

“That happened once,” I said with a huff. Even without looking at her, I knew she was grinning at me.

“Well, I’m surely not going to any ball.” Ever, was her inflection. The weight of the word pounding with every step she took along with me. 

Her stepmother was nothing if not predictable. 

“The three of them will be going.” Viola and her modest stand of fabrics stood before us. She’d always reminded me of an underfed bird. Her features were sharp and ever-watching. Or maybe she just always looked at me like that because my mother and I always argued with her prices. The greater part of her wares were foreign fabrics that she tried to sell for far more than they were worth. But the rest were local fabrics for women sewing clothes for their families. When we reached the end of her stands, I allowed myself to look at Ella. An eyebrow was raised up at me and a wrinkle deepened by Ella’s mouth as she stared in skepticism. “They leave,” I continued, “And then we leave. You’ll come with me and mother. Once you’re there, what are they going to do?” While her stepmother was hardly afraid of slapping her across the face in front of locals, it wasn’t as though she’d do so in front of nobles. Neither of her biological daughters were engaged yet after all. She’d want them to attract the attention of a count or even a baron, she couldn’t afford to be seen for the monster she was. 

“You want to go to the ball, Esther?” Ella asked quietly. But that was the wrong question for her to ask. This wasn’t about me. I wasn’t going to be able to find any sort of happy ending at a ball. I could put on the best dress in the village, and I would still just be the seamstress’s daughter. How would I ever meet some old man who shone even half as bright as the girl next to me? Normal stones wouldn’t shine no matter how much they were polished. But Ella was a raw crystal. The right dress would reflect and refract every angle of her potential.

Viola was busy stuffing away the heavy furs she’d started to peddle for the upcoming winter. Instead, she was putting out all the best fabrics for dressmaking she had. 

“I’m going to take you to the ball,” I stated firmly. It wasn’t that I wanted to go there myself. I just needed to get Ella there. 

I’d had savings stowed away for a rainy day. It wasn’t much but I’d be able to afford enough fabric for a dress. What would work best? Silk? Velvet? I wouldn’t be able to buy that much of either. But if I picked decent linen as the base, I could layer it with pieces of nicer fabric and no one should notice the difference. It wouldn’t be too hard to stitch together some fabric flowers around a neckline and waist. Time-consuming but certainly not impossible. There was no way, linen or otherwise, that I could afford the fabric for a full gown skirt. But a trumpet or a mermaid skirt–Ella with sea foam splashing around her? Pure grains of sand were said to be the same shade as her hair. A mermaid skirt would definitely suit her best. 

“You’re not listening to me.” Her exasperation cut through my thoughts. The mint green fabric between my fingers was momentarily forgotten. I hadn’t actually been listening to her that time. I did my best to at least look humbled. Ella didn’t seem to buy it as her eyebrow remained directed towards the sky. “I said, I don’t even want to go–”

“Everyone wants to go.” I pressed the green skein against her, despite Viola’s glare, to see how it matched her skin. “Music, chandeliers, all the food you can eat, dancing–”

“I don’t know how to dance like nobles do,” Ella stated in a tone that sounded much like mine often did. 

The mint green was no good so I picked up a midnight blue. No, too dark. “But the prince–”

“And the prince,” Ella interrupted with an offended chirp. Apparently, all either of us could do at the moment was cut into each other’s sentences. “When have I ever spoken about the prince before? When have you ever mentioned the prince before? Or said I wanted to be the crown princess?” She added accusingly as she swatted away the amber yellow I held to her arm. 

When I turned to ask Viola if this was all they had, I found she’d turned to talk to one of the farmers’ wives. The yellow was warm, like braided daisies, but warmth might not be enough to stand out at the ball. This time Ella swatted at my hair.

“What’s his name then?” She asked. 

“Who?” Ella kept my gaze blankly. 

“The prince.” I blinked. Then I pressed my lips together as I tried to remember if it had said his name on the invitation. Ella threw her arms up in a vexed victory. “Exactly!”

She didn’t even give me a chance to really think about it. At the noise, Viola shot us another sharp glare and Ella dropped her arms back to her side.

"Who cares about his name? If you get him, you'll have everything you ever wanted."

“I don’t know it either.” The impassioned energy was directed briskly towards the yellow linen. “That color would suit you better.” Then she crossed her arms across her chest and shifted her stance. “So then why would I want to ‘get’,” She started as she motioned loosely with her fingers around the word I’d used, “the prince whose name I don’t know–who I’ve never seen with my own eyes?” 

“Princes are usually handsome.” My addition didn’t seem helpful according to the twitch of her lips. “What could your stepmother say against the crown prince?”

It was, without a doubt, indignation that crashed in the waves of Ella’s stare. 

“I–” She started before thinning her lips into a straight line. “We’ve never even talked about princes–boys, before. Or marriage.” Her nostrils flared with the word ‘marriage’ before she inhaled deeply. 

“Well,” I started, the storm in her eyes making me feel defensive. “We were going to have to eventually. Or did you think things would stay like this forever?”

There was something teetering on the edge of her lips and whatever it was, she seemed to just exhale right back out. “I have to go get the bread,” She said instead. “And the water.” When she finished, she only looked at me briefly, cuttingly, before leaving me with Viola. 

I hadn’t really meant it in a terrible way. But it was a sharp and horrible truth. We were either going to have to get married or pick up trades or something. The something I was choosing, at this moment, was getting her out of this suffocating road we were on. At least one of us should get out. 

“Are you going to buy any of those, Esther?” Viola asked. The fabric felt limp in my hands. Suit me better? No, it wouldn’t. There was only one thing that brought out that sort of warmth in my pallor and I was going to save her. 

“Yes,” I answered Viola. I stacked the skein on top of the greens and a proper shade of mauve and rose. “These for now. Mother will probably send me back for more.” It was the fabric costs that served as the most of our expenses. Aside from being a tad impatient and sharp-tongued, Viola was who I spoke with most outside of my mother and Ella. My mother had an agreement with Viola, of a sort. The more fabric we bought, the less the overall stock was. The simple flax linens were one silver for a small bolt and two for a large. There were always plenty of tiretaine, a cheaper alternative to wool that was woven with wool and cheaper linen, were two silvers for a small or four for a large. The available silks and wools were four silver or eight. They weren’t the same quality that would have ever been used for high-ranking nobles, but it was good enough for us.

But if we bought five of a type, then Viola would throw in another free. Still, I couldn’t use mother’s money for fabric I wouldn’t be using for the business. I’d start with this six for usual and check my stash. I’d make it work.

There wasn’t any other choice. I had to make her life better.