Just Ella Read Online Free PDF Page B

girl, Mary, was another. She began springing up at odd moments with odd bits of information about Lord Reston (“Criminy! Would you believe he heaved his pillow at the wall yesterday? And him a lord and all?”) or touchingly eager offers of help. (“You don’t need anything, do you?Because if you did, I could get it for you. I’ve dusted the whole castle since breakfast, seems like, and now me mum says I’m allowed to do whatever I want.”) I found myself telling her things I probably shouldn’t have, because she was so much like a puppy dog bouncing around me, ready to fetch anything I wished without so much as a pat on the head for a reward.
    â€œVinegar will get that out,” I told her one day when she informed me she wouldn’t be around for a day or so because she’d been given dozens of stained napkins to wash.
    â€œYes, that’s what me mum said,” Mary answered. She squinted, an expression that made her features look even more unmatched than ever. “But how do you know? Is it true, what people say about you?”
    â€œWhat people? What do they say?” I braced myself for Mary to accuse me of having washed plenty of dirty laundry in my lifetime, and of possessing no more royal blood than herself—an accusation that was certainly true. I was more than prepared to confess. But Mary was backing away from me in awe.
    â€œOh . . . nothing. Is . . .” She started timidly, then grinned with a bit more of her usual flippancy. “Is magic easier than vinegar?”
    It was my turn to squint, puzzled. But Mary just melted away because yet another instructor was being shown into the room to teach me something I didn’t want to know.
    â€œDo you believe in magic?” I asked Jed later that morning when he showed up for my religion lesson.
    â€œIt depends,” he said slowly. I was discovering that Jed never gave easy, automatic, or quick answers, but had to ponder out every side of things. “I believe there can be extraordinary events that ordinary humans tend to label as magic because we can’t fully understand.”
    â€œAnd are you an ordinary human?” I teased.
    He hesitated and seemed about to ask me something, then appeared to think better of it.
    â€œI’m certainly no prince,” he said. “Now, about that catechism I gave you . . .”
    I recited it word for word, the list of twenty beliefs I was supposed to swear to that would make me a fit wife for the prince and a fit mother for a future king. This catechism was much longer, more formal, and less understandable than the one children learned back in the village. Of course, that one ran: “I believe in God. He is good. I will obey Him”—so there was lots of room for improvisation. But I had a hard time believing that my ladies-in-waiting—the moronic Simprianna? the breathtakingly beautiful but addled Cyronna?—had spent much of their lives pondering “the transubstantiation of the Spirit” or “the resurrection of the physical being of our entities.” For that matter, the king, queen, and Prince Charming didn’t seem like the types to sit around considering weighty religious matters, and they supposedly were in charge of the entire church.
    â€œGood, ah, good.” Jed nodded encouragingly. “That’s really all you need.”
    I stared.
    â€œSo, that’s it? I’ve—graduated?”
    He looked away.
    â€œNo, no, of course not. Now that you know the creed, we have to make sure you understand it.”
    I breathed a sigh of relief. That could last at least until my wedding, if not until my dying day. Jed opened the Book of Faith between us and pointed at the first line of the catechism I had just recited. He opened his mouth to begin an explanation.
    â€œI wasn’t raised to be religious,” I said suddenly.
    â€œNo?” Jed asked, typically patient with the