Cinder Ella, page 7
And now she was stuck on this boat, sailing to the new world with a father in little but name, an act meant to sever her from the world she'd made for herself and force her back into a shell she couldn't wear. Like a beetle shedding a carapace too small, she'd grown beyond the expectations for Erik and there was no going back.
Her father would have to adapt.
The lantern behind her creaked as the boat tipped back the other way, throwing Erika's shadow across the shelves and lighting up her single battered travel chest. The only thing of her mother's she'd been allowed to keep. It stood up to her knees, the top rounded and banded in shining brass. The oversized lock only had one key, which Erika wore around her neck on a chain thin enough to hide under clothes.
The contents of a chest like this hadn't yet come under her father's scrutiny and Erika wanted to keep it that way, because the chest wasn't the only thing of her mother's she'd kept.
With one hip braced on the shelves against the rocking of the ship, Erika fished the key out of her undershirt and unlocked her vault of treasures. On top was a layer of men's clothes: trousers and button shirts fit for an heir of the house. Better than rough-hewn, but still stiff and abrasive with the expectations of her father. The real treasure lay buried beneath, like Erika herself hid away during the day. It wasn't safe to be a woman among these men, not when her father was her biggest enemy.
But at dusk, when the wind had picked up, speckling her skin with salt and pushing the Legacy to a swift speed, Erika could struggle out of the cocoon she'd spun and let her wings grow in the light of the moon. A secret moth ready to glitter like a star. Unknowable but to those who prayed in the night for their own truth.
Her lips still tasted like salt, abraded by the sun and the wind after weeks on the water. That same scratch of salt itched her skin as she stripped out of a jacket and trousers meant for a man and reached for her wings.
The dress she'd saved from her mother's closet wasn't the most glamorous—it didn't have four layers of tulle skirts or a crest of diamonds across the bust. Erika had to select something she could hide in the trunk and it laced up the front so she could tie the ribbons herself. But the satin gleamed in the lantern light, throwing jewel-tone green and pristine white reflections into Erika's eyes. A water lily bathed in the moonlight.
She adjusted the corset around her waist, throwing the ribbon ties out before her. The act of lacing was as much a ritual as the shedding of trousers. These ties bound to her all the grace of a woman and freed her to act accordingly. Ribbon in, ribbon out, crossed in front and then behind. The ties started at the top and bottom, meeting in the middle where Erika could cinch out the slack. Steel boning hugged her ribs, squeezing her waist in as if she could shift the mass of her body to her chest, forcing her to breathe high in her lungs instead of low in her belly. The steel kept her together when she couldn't hold herself, an unflinching reminder of who she was.
White satin covered the bodice, dotted with tiny pearls, each one hand stitched. White fell down into the skirts, wrapped in folded green like leaves surrounding a lily. A bloom that opened for the light of the moon and glowed only in secret darkness. Erika kicked the edge of the skirts with her bare toes and spun once. The dress twisted, then flared around her knees, gleaming in the lamp light. A jewel wrapped from top to bottom.
Erika found a small mirror in her trunk and angled it overhead to see her whole self. Her dark skin shined like the satin of her dress, but the lantern's light was yellow and it took all the life out of her. How unsatisfying.
Erika eyed the door of her cabin.
It was well past dusk now, and only three men crewed the Legacy overnight, a rotating watch every four hours. If she was careful, she could sneak on deck and be back with no one the wiser. Her door opened to the top deck…
Erika slipped the mirror into the strap of her bodice and eased the cabin door open. Salt spray tickled her face and the night breeze made her shiver, but the deck glowed with silver moonlight and Erika found herself transfixed. Yes. The cold blue glow of the moon was exactly what she needed.
She flicked her attention around the deck even as she inched herself out of the doorway, drawn to the moonlight despite the danger lurking in the dark. The sailors wouldn't appreciate the governor's son dancing around in a woman's dress. And she'd heard them discussing their superstitions in the week's she'd been here. Superstitions were like luck, intangible and fleeting. But they held power over men and they would act on them. Erika couldn't afford to be caught.
The doorway of her cabin was bordered on both sides by wide stairs leading up to the wheel, a platform that overlooked the rest of the ship. But she rarely saw anyone at the wheel lately. Ever since they'd cleared England's bay, the captain had set the course and tied the auto-steer—some device that flopped back and forth to correct their heading. It was a crude measure, totally useless in the tight channels of the bay, but out in the ocean expanse, it kept them on course and allowed the captain to handle other tasks in the meantime.
Erika hoped it meant no one stood at the helm tonight.
Forward of her door, the top deck of the ship stretched, yawning into the dark distance like a boardwalk that never ended. The main mast stood just in front of her, illuminated by a single lantern at head height and looming overhead, only its edge caught by the moonlight at the top. Canvas sail creaked under the wind and lines that ran down their length slapped softly, the sound almost lost under the steady rush of the waves.
A ship wasn't silent, but for its size, Erika was surprised at how little sound it made, floating in the big blue sea. A thing this large should make more noise, but it was the water and the wind that drove the pace, both of the boat and now of her heart.
There were three men on watch overnight. She spotted one high in the rigging of the main mast, his legs dangling, and his head drooped like he was asleep or getting there quickly. Erika didn't think she was afraid of heights, but she wouldn't trust falling asleep without being securely tied! Sailors were another breed altogether.
A man sneezed into the dark. Erika squinted through the tempting moonlight and found a sailor at the front of the ship, facing out to sea. He was lit from behind by a dim lantern and picked his fingernails with a knife. He wore trousers, and a belt loaded with pouches, but no shirt, and the lantern light on his skin made it look like leather. Perhaps after years in the sun it was more like leather now.
Erika inched further out of her doorway, catching her skirts in one hand so she could close the door silently. There should be one more man on duty tonight, but she couldn't find him. Maybe he was belowdecks. Or he ditched his shift. Erika wasn't familiar with the culture of sailors, but such a limited living space made her think men who ditched their work didn't last long.
Under the salt and spray, the ship smelled like pitch—a tar and cotton packing shoved into the gaps of the wood to seal out the ocean water. It was tangy and dark and settled on the back of her tongue like molasses that had turned months ago. She scrunched her nose and almost turned back to the warm wood oil scent of her cabin. There were no luxuries out here.
But the moment Erika reached her hand out and saw the silvery moonlight fall across her dark skin, she gasped with delight. She forgot all about the sour pitch taste and the rough scour of the salt air. Her skin glowed in the moonlight, its purple undertones shining like a polished jewel. There was no comparison to the lantern light of her cabin.
Erika pulled the small mirror out from the strap of her bodice that kept it secure against her breast and held it up as she stepped into the moonlight. Silver draped across her shoulders and glittered in the pearls sewn into her bodice. Erika spun, sending the light dancing through the satin and her dark skin. She caught her own eyes in the mirror and grinned at the light in them. There was no other place for her but here in the deep moonlight, fluttering like the luna moth.
She couldn't catch her breath. The dress and the light and her joy were wrapped so tight that tears squeezed at the corners of her eyes. Her breath caught in pants and she couldn't blame it on the tight lacing. If only her mother could see her now.
Erika hugged the mirror to her chest and closed her eyes. The tears fell, but they were happy tears, and Erika continued to rock her skirts as she smiled. There was no better feeling than expressing her true self. A euphoria of rising emotion, both blissful and driven.
And it shattered when work-rough hands, muscle-bound arms, and the sour breath of beer wrapped around her from behind. Erika shrieked as she was lifted bodily off the deck. Her mirror dropped and she heard it shatter, then crunch as the grunting, hulking man who held her stomped toward the rail.
His breath, slimy and hot, licked past her ear and she heard him growl through grit teeth, "Bad luck t'ave a woman aboard."
The rail of the ship loomed closer and despite how the deck rocked, the arms around Erika tightened and the sailor's march never wavered. Beyond the rail there was only darkness. Slapping, churning, windy darkness. Even the moonlight failed to illuminate the water, leaving its surface as inky black as the fear growing in Erika's heart.
She struggled. She kicked and screamed and scratched. Her stomach dropped like the ship. The arms around her waist would not keep her from vomiting. Silky dress tangled around her legs, and the boning in her bodice dug into her ribs.
Then she was falling. Her knees hit the rail and the sailors broad chest dumped her over the side. Her hands smacked the heaving wood side of the ship as she tumbled head over feet, whipping past the crew deck, and plunging into the icy water.
Black water folded over her head. She clawed at it with nothing to grab. Her legs tangled in the dress, she watched the weaving dot of silvery moonlight fall into the distance. Cold seized her lungs. The pressure squeezed from every angle, like a bodice tied too tightly. The ship was only a grim shadow, and she lost even that in a blink of her eye.
Erica felt the last bubbles of air leave her nose and she knew she was dead.
Mer Made is available exclusively on S.T. Lynn’s website.
About The Author
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S.T. Lynn is a pseudonym of Tami Veldura, an enby/aro/ace author of queer fiction. Hir pronouns are sie/hir/Mx. Sie loves romance, fantasy, science fiction, and paranormal stories that push genre limits. Hir work has been nominated for the M/M Goodreads Reader Choice Awards and sie has been nominated and placed in the Rainbow Awards.
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Short Stories
The Art of Magic
The City At The Bottom Of The Lake
Chasing Dragons
Living City
Mech Vs. Aliens
Simulation
Smuggler’s Dispatch
Tea Ceremony
Tentacle Awareness
The Eminent God
What The Sun Sees
Dreamers
Novellas
The Wolf And The King
En Memoriam
Spring Tide
Learning To Want
An Act of Piracy
Blood In The Water
Ruin And Will
Tidewater
Dawn Patrol
Rough Recall
Remaking Josh
Wild Untouched
Collections
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Fanged
Anthologies
Love Among The Thorns
BSQ #8 Asteroid Miners and Comet Wildcatters
Love Is Like A Box of Chocolates
Novels
Perihelion
Zero Day Exploit
Cinder Ella
Ella is transgender. She's known since she was young; being a woman just fit better. She was happier in skirts than trousers, but that was before her stepmother moved in. Eleanor can't stand her, and after Ella's father passes she's forced to revert to Cole, a lump of a son. She cooks, she cleans, and she tolerates being called the wrong name for the sake of a roof over her head. Where else can she go?
An opportunity to attend the royal ball transforms Ella's life. For the first time, strangers see a woman when she walks down the stairs. While Princess Lizabetta invited Cole to the ball, she doesn't blink an eye when Cinderella is the one who shows. The princess is elegant, bold, and everything Ella never knew she wanted. For a moment she glimpses a world that can accept her, and she holds on tight.
She should have known it wouldn't last. Dumped by her wicked stepmother on the farthest edge of the kingdom, Ella must find a way to let go of the princess and the beautiful life they shared for an hour. She'll never find her way back. But it's hard to forget the greatest night of her life when every rose she plants is a reminder.
Cinder Ella © Tami Veldura 2016-2020.
ISBN 978-1-941319-47-5
Edited by Micki.
Cover design by Satyr Designs.
All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the copyright holder, except in the case of brief quotations embodied within critical reviews and articles. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The author has asserted his/her rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book. This book contains sexually explicit content which is suitable only for mature readers.
S.T. Lynn, Cinder Ella
