The house was silent as I crept from my bed. No one else would wake until well after ten. By then I would be long gone.
I slipped into my clothes, a pair of fitted black pants and a tan shirt with laces at the top. My boots I carried so they wouldn’t give me away as I made my way through the house.
Back home I wouldn’t have to sneak out. My father and I would have both been awake by now and ready to start the day, but my father wasn’t here, and this wasn’t home. Not really.
Stopping by the kitchen, I grabbed an apple from the bowl on the table. Missy, a plump older woman, ran the kitchen and would have been cross with me for eating before the designated meal time. I was still in disbelief we even had a cook, let alone the fact she didn’t usually wake until eight-thirty.
The rest of the Inner Circle, or the Soft Hands as we liked to call them back home in the Glade, weren’t much different. The paved streets were quiet with only one or two early risers walking about like me. Back in the Glade, the streets were barely able to be called that, mainly made of dirt and scattered rock. I’d become accustomed to the hard trails making the trek through the town feel like floating on a cloud.
I ate my apple as I headed for my usual place, the juices almost too sweet for my taste buds. Even the food tasted different here. Bland meals with too ripe fruit filled our table in the Glades. Even as head of the farm faction, my father and I didn’t eat much different from the rest of the workers.
The first time I had eaten with our new family I had become violently ill. I’d only been able to eat small amounts of food until my stomach became used to it. My taste buds still hadn’t adjusted, nor myself in general.
When I finally passed the last of the two-story houses – something else I had to get used to compared to our hovel in the Glade – I sighed. All my built-up tension seemed to float out of me as my eyes scanned the open field. There weren’t many places like this in the Inner Circle, most of the space had been utilized for one reason or another.
“We must be useful, Clarabelle,” my stepmother had made a habit of telling me.
“Useful,” I snorted to myself as I strolled into the open area. Houses packed together side by side barely enough room to walk let alone breathe? It didn’t seem very useful to me.
But here, out in the open air without the hustle and bustle of their busy streets, I found my solace. This place was useful. If for no other reason than my sanity.
I sat down on the grass. Even it, like the rest of the town, had a fake shine to it. When the sun hit it just right the field shone like emeralds, something, which could have only been manufactured. A poor substitute for the fields back home.
Letting out a deep breath, I laid back on the ground not caring that the grass would get stuck in my dark hair. My stepmother would have a cow if she saw me. Just one more thing to add to the list of grievances against me.
Why she married my father bewildered me. They were nothing alike.
While she held a cool disregard for anyone other than her precious daughters, who were mini versions of herself, my father loved all living creatures and never found a person he didn’t like or who didn’t like him in return. So, when he came home one day from delivering the weekly crops to announce he’d married, I’d been more than a little surprised by his choice.
My mother, savior rest her soul, had died not four winters before and while I hadn’t expected him to stay a widower forever, I, at least, expected him to pick someone from the Glade. Someone who knew what life was like there, the hardships and the good. Belinda Seam didn’t know hard work if it bit her in her perfectly fluffed behind.
I finished my apple and tossed the core into the field and then went and picked it up. It wouldn’t disintegrate back into the earth, like in the Glade, the ground held too much metal and rock in it to do it any good.
So, I tucked it into my pocket and headed back to town. The time I had spent in the little field had been long enough for the market to open. There weren’t many buyers at this time of the day but enough that many of the shops would lazily show their wares.
Finding a trash receptacle, I dropped in my apple core. Its contents would be shipped off to Middleton, the industrial part of the bands which circled the capital. It sat between the Inner Circle and the Glade. I’d never been there, but I’d been told they had it even worse than us on the outskirts.
Most of the jobs were underground, leaving the people covered in dirt and their eyes sensitive to the sun. It was what got them the nickname Moles. Though, I doubted they would have appreciated it.
“Hey, Clarabelle,” Marsha called out from the meat stand. When the tall beefy guy had told me his name was Marsha it had taken everything within me not to giggle. Men just weren’t named that in the Glade. But like so many differences between our two worlds, names were only the tip of the iceberg.
“Hello,” I smiled pleasantly.
“I see you are up early as always. Don’t you ever sleep?” he grinned making his pale blue eyes crinkle at the sides.
“Force of habit,” I replied, casting my eyes down on the slabs of meat before me. Beef, fish, and a large selection of poultry were neatly displayed with little tags. So many choices for such a small population. We didn’t have so many choices back home. Sometimes we were lucky to have meat at all. Most of the food ended up shipped here or to the capital, leaving the workers with just enough to survive.
Anger filled me at the sight of it all. The system made no sense to me, but whenever anyone questioned it, we were told it was just the way it was and to be happy with what we had. Well, I had been until I moved here and saw how much better they lived compared to us. Now I had sudden spouts of rage at how blind we had been to the injustice in our lives and how powerless I was to stop it.
“Are you excited?” Marsha asked jerking me out of my internal fight. My gaze met his expectant one and my brow furrowed. Seeing my confusion, he added on, “You know about today?”
“What about today?”
He laughed a sort of hard noise that ended abruptly. “I thought all the girls counted down until Election day.”
The term held some familiarity but I couldn’t quite place it. I knew we had learned something like that in class before we went to work in the fields but I couldn’t remember what it was about.
Not wanting to look even more than an idiot, I shrugged. “Not this girl.”
“Oh, really?” he chuckled before holding up a finger as a customer approached. Marsha wrapped up a few packages of beef and veal before handing it to a young woman with a wink. He always had the girls blushing, old or young, it didn’t matter. His charms only went so far with me, though. Even as a butcher he was too clean, too much like them.
“Yes, really,” I responded once she had left. “I don’t care about that kind of thing.”
“Not even for the chance to meet them?” Marsha lowered his voice to a mysterious timber.
“You mean, the capital?” I glanced away from his stall toward the large castle that loomed over the Inner Circle. From the Glade, we could barely make out its peaks but from here it shadowed over the town by early afternoon.
“No,” Marsha murmured, “The Crimson Fold.”
My eyes turned back to him in a rush, my mouth forming the shape of an o. The Crimson Fold, the elites who lived in the capital, had never come down from their palace. We only knew they existed because of the decrees they sent out every few years or so. They were always marked with a blood red wax seal and the signature, the Crimson Fold.
Why they wanted to name themselves something so image provoking confused many. But since they were silent rulers, who didn’t give us too much grief, most people didn’t think much of it. I know I hadn’t until now.
“I suppose it would be nice to finally meet the face behind the paper,” I smirked at Marsha who gave me a weird smile in return.
“Well, I wouldn’t worry too much about it in your case.” He turned away from me to pick up more wrapping paper. “You have a fifty-fifty chance of being chosen anyhow.”
“Why’s that?” I cocked a brow, his sudden change in demeanor unsettling.
“Your sister is of age, isn’t she?”
“Stepsister,” I corrected and then wished I hadn’t. The more people who knew of my displeasure of being there the more grief my stepmother would give me. “I mean, Julianna just turned seventeen.”
“Then she’s more likely to be picked than you.” He offered me a wink before adding. “Then you and Lea should be set for the future. Could you imagine?” Marsha stared up at the sky a dreamy look covering his face. “Being rich enough to do whatever you want to do for the rest of your life.”
“I don’t. My family seems pretty rich enough as it is now,” I muttered not able to keep the bitterness out of my voice. As far as I knew we had more than enough to live off for years to come. Who needed much more than that?
“Either way,” Marsha continued looking back down to his work. “With you and Julianna being of age little Lea won’t have to worry about anything.”
After that, the market began to get busy and Marsha couldn’t stand there any longer to talk to me. I waved good-bye and started my own shopping.
As I stopped at different stalls, some for food others for frivolous trinkets my mind whirled. Lea, my younger stepsister, had only hit fourteen not too many weeks ago, but she still acted like a toddler in my opinion. Living in the Inner Circle, she wouldn’t have to worry about anything until she went to find a spouse and even then, she’d have her pick.
My stepmother might not get her hands dirty but she could sew a dress like no other and had a waiting list a mile long for her creations. It was that list that kept her so lofty in her perch. I had my fair share of congratulations for my father’s good fortune. It seemed more like a curse to me, but since I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter, my thoughts didn’t matter. Like most things, it seemed.
Marsha’s talk of the Election had me paying more attention to the people around me. Especially the girls. They all went about their day as normal but there seemed to be an underlying excitement. Whispers here and there that to any other person would look like friends exchanging secrets, but by the way their eyes went to the capital, I could guess what they were talking about.
When I arrived home the quiet of the house had transformed into mayhem. My stepmother and siblings argued in the living room. They were almost identical with their pale hair and dark brown eyes, their voices the same nasally pitch. Their words overlapped too much for me to make out what they were arguing about. Probably something about the latest fashions, no doubt.
I sat my purchases from the market down on the side table, the contents making a noise as they found purchase in their spot. The sound must have alerted my step-family to my presence because their arguing promptly stopped. I slowly turned from the table to find three pairs of eyes on me. Each of them filled with a different emotion.
Lea’s eyes held amusement as if what they fought about had no real importance. While Julianna’s couldn’t be more livid. She hadn’t liked me much before, but now for some reason or another, I had gotten on her bad side. Not that she had much of a good side to begin with.
My stepmother’s expression held a mixture of emotions. Frustration, irritation, and possibly relief? An odd combination I didn’t know what to make of it. Any of them for that matter.
“What’s going on?” I finally asked stepping toward the trio.
Julianna’s hands tightened into fists as she stomped toward me with a finger pointed at my chest, she snarled, “I’ll tell you what’s going on. You have ruined my life!”
I frowned. I’d ruined her life? I doubted that. I’d done as much as possible to be as little in her life as possible. The only time I really participated in our little family was at mandatory family dinners and even those were rare.
“I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you are talking about.” I held my hands open to my sides, looking to the others for some enlightenment.
Lea giggled but when her mother shot her a warning look she clapped her hands over her mouth stifling the sound.
My attention turned to my stepmother who seemed to know exactly what I had done to cause such an uproar. The emotion on her face disappeared as a mask of indifference – one I had seen too often pointed my way – took its place. Approaching me, she held out something.
A bright red envelope sat in her hand. My brow furrowed in confusion as I took it from her. The back of it had a dark red wax seal of the capital, the Crimson Fold. Just from the seal alone, I knew what I held in my hand. Why my stepsister and stepmother were so upset.
This envelope held an invitation to the ball. The event Marsha had told me about. The one every girl in the inner circle was anxiously awaiting an invitation to. And here we had one but with one problem.
It had my name on it.
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