Fairy Godmother

the ones she's turned.'

'Well, I can see why,' Elena replied, struck that the answer hadn't already occurred to her. 'Good heavens, the last thing she wants is for one of them to turn back!'

'Hmm, that would be a nasty surprise,' Randolf replied. 'I do suggest to her that she could do so just as well through me, but she seems to think that the personal touch is more effective.'

'Using both would be a better idea, it seems to me,' Elena said judiciously. 'After all, even though you might get a better notion of something odd going on by being there yourself, people are on their best behavior when visitors arrive. It's when they're alone, or think they are, that they let things slip.'

Randolf tsked. 'Truer words were never spoken,' he agreed brightly. 'Like that little pair of turtledoves from the Christening you went to! Bless their hearts, they're so like every other pair of new lovers I've ever watched — they so want people to believe that everything is always perfect in their little world! If there was anything wrong between them, you wouldn't see it unless you had me look in on them.'

'Is there anything wrong?' Elena asked, suddenly anxious. She felt rather — proprietary about those two. She didn't want there to be anything going wrong between them —

Randolf laughed. 'Bless you, sweetheart, not a bit of it! In fact — well, look for yourself!'

The mirror went to black, and for a long moment, Elena thought that Randolf was having her on, for there didn't seem to be anything at all in the mirror. But then, her eyes gradually adjusted, and she realized she was looking at two deeper shadows silhouetted against the night sky.

Then the moon rose, a huge and golden Harvest Moon, flooding the top of a tower upon which the two were standing, close together.

Arachnia had changed.

It was a subtle change, but to a Godmother's Apprentice, quite noticeable. Her hair was down, cascading over her shoulders and down her back; she still wore black (at least insofar as it was possible to tell in the moonlight) but the lines of her gown were softer. In fact, everything about her was softer. Elena got the vivid impression of a fortress whose walls have not been breached, but eroded, and covered with vines and flowers.

As for her Poet, there were changes in him, too. He stood straighter, and yet there was an easiness about him that had not been there before. In his case, Elena had an image of a man who has put aside a mask he no longer feels compelled to wear.

As Elena watched, Arachnia leaned her head on the Poet's shoulder, and he snugged his arm around her waist as they watched the moon rise. A moment later, she turned her head a little, and he turned his face to meet hers; their lips met, and —

— and at that point Elena couldn't tell if it was the Sorceress who flung herself passionately into the embrace, or the Poet who crushed the Sorceress to him. Probably both. All that she knew for certain was that the two silhouettes became one, and from the way the one was moving, it might not stay upright for very much longer —

And she felt heat rushing to her cheeks, a tightness in her chest, and a slow tingling excitement all over, but particularly centered at the cleft of her legs that —

'Thank you, Randolf, I believe I understand you,' she somehow managed. She wasn't sure how. Her throat felt very thick, and her face very warm.

Randolf's guileless face emerged from the blackness. 'Nothing wrong there!' he laughed. ' Unless you're fussy enough to insist on a wedding before the — '

Her flush deepened, and she licked her lips; now it wasn't excitement that filled her, it was frustration, and an emotion she was vaguely surprised to recognize as jealousy. It took a lot of self-control not to snap at him. 'Of course not,' she said, immensely proud of how neutral her voice was. 'If you insisted on that, there would be a lot fewer babies born in these Kingdoms.'

'I expect they'll have one eventually, though,' Randolf continued artlessly. 'Wedding, that is, not a baby, though they'll probably have one of those, too. More than one, if they keep on like that all the time.'

The jealousy grew, and she finally took herself in hand and mentally sat on it. After all, what right had she to be jealous? 'Well,' she replied, trying to sound as light and carefree as possible, 'if they do that, it will certainly keep Arachnia out of any more mischief.'

She couldn't bring herself to say anything more, but fortunately Randolf, who was by nature oblivious to human emotions, began nattering on about something else, and she was able to get herself back under control again. She was even able to laugh at some of his outrageous jokes before she excused herself for the night and went off to her rooms to prepare for bed.

But she did not read as she usually did; instead, she pulled the curtains wide and sat in the window-seat of her bedroom, staring out at the rising moon. Somewhere under that moon, Arachnia and her Poet were locked in a passionate embrace. Elena knew very well what that kind of embrace led to; by the time she'd become 'Ella Cinders,' no one in the household had cared what she saw. Servants had little or no privacy, and when coupling went on, it happened wherever they could find a corner where they wouldn't be disturbed. The cook and old Jacques had rutted shamelessly in the kitchen, the maids had done it with the footmen in the laundry. No one paid any attention to Ella; it was up skirts and down drawers, and away they went — on a heap of linen, against a wall, a pile of hay in the stable —

Oh, she knew what went on — what was going on, somewhere out there, under that bright moon. And that was what she was jealous of.

Because that wasn't just lust; that was love. Only love could soften and strengthen two people the way those two had been. Only love could have turned rut into passion. And it had been passion between them. She had no doubt of that. Just the memory of it made her heart beat faster, her knees feel weak, and that flush and tingling spread all over her body.

She couldn't say it wasn't fair — first of all, what was fair? Arachnia had endured a horrible childhood, much worse than Elena's, if Madame was to be believed. Maybe she'd done a deal of harm, but not as much as she could have, and anyway, she was making up for it now — so who was to say she hadn't earned her happy ending at last? Not The Tradition, and not Elena, and anyway, it was a Godmother's job to make the happy endings, not take them away from someone. Plenty of people got happy endings that some might say