Free Moonlight and Ashes by Sophie Masson

white pearls, threaded on a fine, filigreed gold band.
    The finch flew out one more time and when it returned it did not have a leaf in its beak – but a key. The key to my room!

I waited for about an hour till I could no longer hear a sound from the kitchen. The staff had been given the rest of the evening off and I knew most of them were planning to go to the night-fair that was being held to celebrate the Prince’s visit. No-one remembered me, in their eagerness to go off and enjoy themselves. And no-one would be around to see me creep out of my room.
    After I was sure I was alone, I unlocked my room and went into the kitchen. I warmed some water on the big wood stove, added a few drops of the rose water used for flavouring sweets and, taking it to my room in a jug with some soap, stood in a tin basin and poured the water all over me. After a thorough wash, I dried myself and put on the underthings and stockings, then slipped into the dress, which fell in perfect folds around me, and shoes. I brushed my hair till it shone, and pinned it up so it fell in a soft roll at the back of my neck. I then placed the crown of rosescarefully on my head and put on the cloak. I looked at myself in the bowl of water.
    I’m truly touched with magic, I thought, as I looked back at myself in the soft light of the moon that came through the window. My hair shone, my eyes sparkled, my lips were alive with a coral shine. My skin – now with a honey glow – gave off a perfume of roses much stronger than the few drops of rose water could have provided. Even my hands, that usually bear the marks of my drudgery, felt soft once again. It was strange, like seeing oneself in a beautiful dream. I wondered if my stepmother and stepsisters would recognise me, as I hardly recognised myself. My mother had promised me everything would change. It was now up to me to make sure it would, and not to let fear or doubt stand in my way.
    Before I left my room and ventured into the moonlit streets, I took one last thing – Maria’s locket – and fastened it around my neck. She had thought it too poor to wear but I felt differently. And when I looked into the watery mirror and saw that it too glowed with the same glamour, I knew I had been right.
    I closed the door of my room and locked it behind me, replaced the key on the nail and set off into the patch of woodland. As soon as I saw the hazel tree, I realised it had stopped growing. No, it had actually shrunk, as if the effort of the magic had taken some of the vitality from it. I gazed at it, a little anxious; then, suddenly, from the tower in St Hilda’s Square, came the sound of the clock striking nine and as it did so my mother’s voice came into my mind and said, ‘When the clock strikes twelve, you must leave or be discovered, my darling daughter.’
    â€˜I will, Mama, I promise I will,’ I said aloud. I slipped out through the door in the garden wall and into the street. I had half-thought that perhaps there might have been a carriage waiting for me, a vehicle born of the same night-magic, but there was not. I’d have to walk through the backstreets to avoid attracting attention, for St Hilda’s Square and the main bridge across the river were full of people going to the night-fair. In this part of the town, though, it was quiet. As I sped up the hill towards the castle, my feet, in those lovely shoes, seemed to skim over the cobblestones as though they had wings, and in hardly more time than it takes to write it, I was at the gate.
    Quite suddenly, I was frightened that my stepmother had somehow contrived for me to be refused entry, so when the guards asked me my name I gave them the name of a character in one of my mother’s favourite novels – a young Champainian woman who was a mistress of disguise and who worked as a spy for her government. And as citizens of the Republic of Champaine, a country far to our west, have a romantic