Cinder X Bella ~ Nine!

It was approaching summer by the time Alaric returned, but the intervening months had barely taken the edge off Bella’s fear of Matringa. The young woman had thrown herself into her work, finding new and inventive ways to involve the creatures in and around the house.

Bella quietly took her seat at the foot of the table, as had become her routine, and served herself last. She braced for yet another meal swallowed in silence, only to join her father in confusion when Malvagio subtly cleared her throat to draw attention.

“Mother, I’m in dire need of new paints; my palette is almost exhausted,” the oldest stepdaughter lamented. Her gaze briefly met her mother's before darting strategically towards Bella’s father, Alaric, who seemed engrossed in his dinner, deliberately oblivious to the unfolding drama.

“She’s not the only one! Another of my lute strings snapped today,” Cattiva added, quickly following suit. Her complaint was almost casual, as she was struggling with a tough piece of meat. Only after a moment did her glance flit towards Alaric, signaling to Bella that this was an orchestrated event. Going off her last long-ago conversation with Matringa, she felt that she even knew what they were after.

“Now, girls, we shouldn’t burden the dinner table with such concerns,” their mother interjected with a practiced smile, slicing into her meal with a casual ease no one else was able to mimic, all while her eyes remained locked on Alaric to gauge his reaction.

“But it’s of utmost importance,” Cattiva insisted, dropping her fork with a clatter and earning a glare from Bella, who’d spent hours buffing nicks out of the silver. The younger stepsister’s voice rose in a calculated whine. “If I can’t practice, I’ll never refine my talents. I’ll end up performing in dingy taverns instead of palaces, and what suitor would have me then?”

Alaric chuckled at the overly theatrical display, but a sharp look from his wife quickly stifled him. He cleared his throat, attempting to interject, only to be cut off by Malvagio’s escalating grievances.

“Mother, I’m just as stranded! Without the latest fashions, a decrepit carriage, and no social events of our own, how am I to be seen as a suitable match? One cannot simply attend balls without hosting in return. What would society say?” Malvagio, too, abandoned her napkin and mirrored her sister’s indignant posture.

The stepmother allowed a tense silence to linger, her eyes sharply fixed on Alaric, who suddenly found great interest in his potato. Matringa cleared her throat, her voice silky smooth, yet laced with a hint of self-pity as she addressed the table. 

“Ladies, we knew joining this household would bring changes. We’re all making sacrifices. Your stepfather's manor demands a grander staff than it is able to maintain currently, so hosting a ball is out of the question. I know each of you has desires which are going unfulfilled. Even I dream of seaside vacations, but we must set such desires aside. Alaric is working on ventures that will prosper—his talents as a Master Merchant are beyond compare. Patience is key.”

“It’s been weeks, though," Cattiva interjected, tossing her hands in the air with a dramatic flair, her overacting cutting through the tension at the table and spoiling the drama the other two were attempting to push. “Mother, you promised I wouldn't have to sacrifice my music. You said I’d have access to the finest lute strings. Yet here we are, relegated to this remote place, far from the best suppliers. What’s the use of marrying a merchant who can’t procure simple musical essentials?" 

Her complaint halted as Matringa’s fist thudded on the table. “Enough, Cattiva! I will see to your needs myself, if I must!”

Matringa’s eyes then shot towards Alaric accusingly, her frustration thinly veiled as she sipped her wine for composure. Malvagio chimed in with a dry comment, “Is that so? My paint, purple especially, is practically on another continent. What grand plans do we have for those, Mother? Shall we clatter across the lands in our worn carriage, becoming the mockery of high society?”

Her smirk was evident as she took a leisurely sip of her drink, reveling in the unfolding drama. Bella’s father, having observed silently to this point, finally spoke with authority. 

“Ladies. Let’s not burden your mother with these… logistics. It seems I underestimated the needs of adding daughters to my household. This oversight is mine to correct, not hers.” Alaric placed a comforting hand on Matringa’s shoulder, and Bella saw the fleeting look of triumph that flickered across the woman’s face, even if Alaric didn’t. “I will ensure your needs are met. I have connections that will secure your items at a discount. As for social engagements, my neighbors know our situation. They understand why I don’t reciprocate and would be more than happy to host you in your quest for a husband, Malvagio.”

Here he paused, looking between Matringa and Malvagio quizzically. “You must forgive me for not realizing that a suitable marriage was a priority for you. This is the first time it’s been mentioned in my presence, and I hadn’t… anyway, as for the upkeep needed to ensure you don’t look ‘shabby’, I’ll have that taken care of.”

He then confidently tore a piece of bread, his manner casual yet decisive. "I'll manage the upkeep myself. I can’t imagine maintaining a carriage would be overly difficult."

“Well… there you have it, ladies. Problems… solved,” Matringa smiled at her daughters, but Bella could sense the fury behind it. But, then, the young woman knew what her stepmother was trying to accomplish. The cold glare shot over to her, and Bella knew Matringa was laying the blame for this failed attempt at manipulation squarely at her feet.

But that wasn’t anywhere near the end of it.

By the end of the next two weeks, Bella was prepared to fight her way out the door and make a merchant’s journey herself; as the dinner complaints from her stepsisters had become a nightly ritual. So, it wasn’t a big surprise when, after four full weeks of this treatment, her father finally announced he had agreed to put the entirety of his savings into outfitting a single caravan and heading south. 

Though she had tried to speak her mind on the subject, Bella had always found herself interrupted by Matringa, one of the stepsisters, or called away for some suspiciously timed ‘necessary’ assistance. Yet, with his news, and the fact he hadn’t yet made the investment, Bella finally ignored anything else and barged into his study when she knew he was alone. “Father.”

Alaric jumped in surprise at the sudden intrusion, accidentally knocking over a small quill and inkpot as he worked on his papers. “Bella! What are you doing, barging in here like that? Look at this mess I've made!”

Muttering furiously, the man quickly tossed aside his papers, pushing his maps away, and began mopping up the liquid with his handkerchief, as he couldn't find anything else to do the job. Though she rushed forward to try and help, Bella was angrily waved off. 

“I need to talk to you about this trip you have planned.”

“I know you will be fifteen years old before this autumn, but the answer remains the same. Until Matringa and I agree you have sufficiently pushed away all distractions, or you swear an oath to me, you will not be upgrading your class!” Before Bella could get another word in, Alaric held up a hand. “Also, no, you will not be journeying with me. I'm going to be traveling for at least a year. The whole point of me marrying someone was so you could be raised with a mother's guidance.” 

“This has nothing to do with any of that!” Bella barked at her father, causing him to go very still and finally looked up to meet her eyes. “I need to talk to you about this trip.”

“Well? You have my attention.” Her father placed both hands on the desk and leaned forward, stooped over the mess. “I do hope whatever you want to talk about was worth the three sleepless nights I’ll need to redo this paperwork.”

“I need to inform you of something strange that happened in here several weeks ago.” Bella pushed forward, ignoring the glare and any repercussions she may be earning herself. “Matringa was in here while you were on your last trip, speaking to some other… woman, or thing. They were discussing ‘cursed artifacts’, that they were in the house. Your wife was practically begging for more time, and I don't know what-”

“Stop.” Her father’s cold whisper was worse than any time before when he’d yelled at her. “I can't take this absurd tale, child. Do you even know what a cursed object is? Not only how powerful, and evil, and rare it is… but also how expensive it would be to casually own one? Not just in gold, but in danger? If there were even a rumor of a cursed object being in this house, the Kingsguard would raid our house, tossing every stone until they either found or did not find what they were looking for.”

He slapped his hand on the desk when Bella tried to speak again. “Enough! You are threatening everything we have with this falsehood you don't understand, and for what? To keep me home? Prevent me from using my skills and business to enrich our lives? Are you bored or simply looking for revenge on the family for trying to steer you right?”

“None of that… I'm just scared,” Bella told him, her voice barely rising above a whisper. “I'm not lying. I know what I heard, and you’re in danger. As am I.”

“I'm leaving by the end of the week, and that's the last I'll hear of this,” Alaric told her sternly. “In fact, I want not a word spoken to me by anyone in this home until I leave.  We're going back to silence at dinner, or your stepsisters can go hungry in their rooms.  Every night it's, ‘I want this, I want that’. Now I have to deal with you coming to me and trying to destroy us with rumormongering as I am pursuing our only hope? Just… enough.”

Bella took a shuddering breath, determined to make him listen. She didn't expect him to walk around the desk, grip her arm with an ink-stained palm, and march her out of the study, practically throwing her into the hallway before slamming the door.  She whirled around, raising her fist to pound on the wood, only to freeze in place as a sound reached her ears.

“Humm…?” Ever so slowly, the young woman turned, finding Matringa standing only a few feet down the hall. The woman swept past her, sending chills down Bella's spine, before gently opening the door and closing it almost all the way before turning and staring into Bella’s eyes. 

“What an interesting story you came up with. We'll have to do something about those lying words you spout. Soon.”