And they listened. And they believed her.
‘Are you certain you wish to return?’ Worry veined Pirlipata’s words.
Marietta took a deep breath. ‘If I allow him to prevent me from living my life, accomplishing my dreams, then I am not the woman I want to be.’
Dellara clinked her mug against Marietta’s with a nod of approval. ‘And what of the captain?’ she asked a beat later. ‘He has feelings for you; do you share those?’
‘Do stop interrogating her about the captain.’ Pirlipata shook her head at Dellara. Marietta had become familiar enough with the gesture that she now saw the fondness underlying it. ‘Besides, we both are well aware that she would not be able to do a thing about it even if she desired to; if King Gelum found out, the consequences would be dire for both of them. That nutcracker was a warning. If the king knew of any romance, his actions would be far darker.’
Marietta drank her chocolate, focusing on its creamy sweetness rather than her wash of bitter regret. She ignored the hunger that whispered in her ear, the fluttering in her stomach as if some tiny winged creature resided there, with hope-bright wings and a silky dress of longing.
‘Fine. At least he’s aiding us in our secret endeavour. Now, onto other, more pressing matters; how shall we retrieve my wand?’ Dellara reclined on her cushion, stretching out and yawning.
‘We assumed you already possessed a scheme to liberate it since you knew the details of where it resided.’ Pirlipata noticed Dellara’s glinting expression and sighed. ‘If you required our assistance, you only had to ask.’
‘I don’t need help. I had merely made the mistake of thinking that since my wand benefitted all of us, we should all work on finding a way to retrieve it as a priority.’ Dellara glared at Marietta.
Marietta surveyed her back. Dellara could be trying and each time she assumed she’d reached the point of understanding her, the woman would baffle and infuriate her all over again. ‘The only mistake you committed was the time you wasted lounging about in your hand-painted silk pyjamas, cossetted by enchantments, the finest gowns, and silver trays of cakes and drinking chocolate. You have grown indulgent and it is not on my head that you have been too lazy to formulate your own plans in which to achieve your escape.’
As her acerbic attack waned, Marietta did not glance away from Dellara to see whether Pirlipata’s face had lost its friendly glow towards her. Neither did she apologise for the strangeness that now hung between her and Dellara, no matter how her stomach twisted and her mind sank, weighted with melancholic regret.
Dellara slowly revealed her teeth in a considering smile. ‘Well, well, well, it seems I have underestimated you after all. Who knew the blushing dancer was hiding such a bitterly cold bite.’
‘We shall devise a plan between us,’ Pirlipata said, shattering the snow globe of a moment and returning them to the matter at hand. ‘We three women shall never leave one of us behind, is that understood? In Crackatuck, some believe that our lifepaths are mapped through the veins of rocks. In mountain ranges and rocky hills, you can oft find where your life cosies against another’s, your lifepaths entwined forevermore. Such are we. We three escape together, come what may.’
‘I agree,’ Marietta said.
‘Agreed,’ Dellara added.
‘Then we shall be free before the winter has thawed.’ Pirlipata lay back on a cushion, turning her gaze to the invisible star-studded skies. ‘What small dreams do you both hold dearest, the ones you envisage doing first? I have been longing to take a solo trip to the Shragran Mountains, in the far west of Crackatuck.’
Marietta reclined on her own cushion. ‘What do the mountains hold for you?’
‘An abundance of trails to climb, sapphire lakes and the most glorious sunsets you could ever imagine, that set the sky aflame in a decadence of colour.’
‘It sounds like a wondrous destination,’ Marietta said. ‘I should give anything to return to a life where I might dance upon the most revered stages of Europe. I hope to audition for a ballet company again next year so that wish might come true.’ Returning to Nottingham felt inconceivable. How could she ever explain where she had spent the past few months? And Drosselmeier would be awaiting her return. No, better not to venture into that dark pit of thoughts.
‘I should steal away to the Sugar Alley one morning at an unreasonable hour,’ Dellara was saying, her voice dreamier than usual.
‘What kind of establishment would you patronise?’ Marietta asked, sinking back into her cushion and curling her legs up, the carpet thicker than cloud beneath her.
‘All kinds. I used to reside in an apartment in the perfect location; nestled between firs with a view of the great frozen lake from my windows and a short stroll from both the Silk Quarter and Sugar Alley. I dream of the days I’d shut myself inside and spend an entire afternoon cooking, baking and tasting a curated feast, the entire apartment perfumed with the most divine scents. Throw my doors open in the evening to serve a ten-course meal to my friends in my most splendid gown.’
‘I had no notion you were such an accomplished cook,’ Marietta said.
‘There’s nothing like a ten-course meal,’ Dellara said, still dreamy. ‘Sometimes I would make one purely for myself and whatever lover I held at the time. Serve the courses at appointed hours throughout the night.’ She grinned at Marietta. ‘Life’s too short to deprive yourself of a little extravagance.’ Her grin morphed into one of wicked delight. ‘Though not for me, of course; I’m immortal,’ she added.
Marietta was too struck by the casual flippancy with which Dellara had announced her immortality to respond. Before she could formulate any questions, Dellara had lain back and closed her eyes, bidding them both goodnight.
Marietta supposed they’d formulate a plan the following day. Or whenever they happened to rouse themselves; the ball had slunk through the night and blazed into the next day, until she’d lost count of the hours. The constant darkness her head outside the frozen sugar walls added to the disorientation muddying her head. That and the memory of dancing in the captain’s arms, the moment when she’d considered the possibility of him lowering his lips to hers and the electricity that had shot through her veins upon realising that she had wanted that. And that she must never let him, for both their sakes. She also dwelled on the bewildering skirmish with Dellara. On the vulnerability that had shot through her prickly exterior, leading Marietta to despise herself for exposing it. And, as they were wont to do at night, fears crept into her head, whispering of a man with ice for eyes and silvered hair. A hunter, his sights set on her.
‘You are in deep need of sleep,’ Pirlipata said, noticing the tiredness seeping through Marietta. She handed her a soft, thick blanket. ‘Curl up under that and let your mind ease up for a spell. My mother always used to tell me that there’s no use thinking on a tired head, the worries of the world can wait another day.’
Marietta took the blanket. ‘Thank you.’ A soft scent that hinted of fresh snowfall unfolded with it. She nestled under it.
‘It is laced with an enchantment that will soothe you to sleep,’ Pirlipata said. ‘A deep, dreamless sleep for it is not the body alone which requires rest.’
Marietta’s response lagged, the enchantment creeping into her mind, a light-fingered thief stealing her consciousness. ‘I bitterly regret how I spoke to Dellara, lest she think I have spent this time judging her. I do not; I am not in the position to judge anyone. I have lived my entire life surrounded by riches; who am I to criticise anyone?’ she whispered, closing her eyes. ‘I have never had friends, sisters, like you both, and I am so very glad of it, but every time I feel close to Dellara, she holds me at arm’s length and I cannot understand it. I wished to make her feel the same way. And now she must dislike me more than ever.’
‘Do not trouble yourself with such thoughts,’ Pirlipata said. ‘Dellara has longed to provoke such a reaction in you; it is her way. She is a provocateur. Yet she has never disliked you. Quite the opposite, in fact,
but she fears becoming close with the king’s “pets”. If she had not befriended you then it would have been easier for her to bear your death. Buried beneath her chest beats the warmest heart I have ever had the privilege of knowing. Big enough to bleed for you one day before she confronts you in anger the next, purely from the fear of losing you. There was once a woman she lost, many moontides ago now. She was strong and brave and beautiful. The kind of woman that sets the dawn itself aglow. Her heart was kind and caring and you could not help but love her. Though Dellara loved her most of all.’
‘What happened to her?’ Marietta asked in a whisper, afraid to know, more afraid not to, battling the insistent tug of sleep long enough to hear Pirlipata speak once more.
‘King Gelum murdered Amadea. And a part of Dellara died with her.’ Pirlipata’s sigh was soft against the night. ‘Her words are her armour, Marietta; do try to remember this. Beneath them is a grieving heart.’
Marietta stared up at the ceiling. It was painted in a likeness of the frozen sugar wall, though it lacked its opalescent quality. She missed the stars. She wasn’t sure how to respond to Pirlipata’s confidence and her thoughts were too slow to shape. When she glanced at Dellara, she saw that the woman’s eyelashes were wet. Marietta closed her own eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.
Sleep came, fast and urgent, the night possessing her as one of its own.
Yet during the night, something roused her from her enchanted slumber. The figure of Drosselmeier was bending over her. She attempted to scream but she was unable, the charm rendering her helpless, her eyelids heavy and closing, closing against her will. When next she forced them open, he was not there. And Marietta couldn’t tell if her vision had been real or nothing but a concoction of shadow and imagination shaped into a fear, giving it life and presence.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The weeks blurred together in a sparkling haze of balls, rereading the diary that contained the outpouring of the captain’s heart, and the strict confinement that regimented Marietta’s days and would have dissolved her sanity had it not been for the twin pillars steadying it: Pirlipata and Dellara. On occasion, Marietta half-believed she was walking through a dream, her days too removed, too gossamer-fragile to hold any meaning, any reality to them. There were no books, no classes or, loath as she may be to attend them, social appointments to keep, and time began to drip from the hours, melting the nights into one pot of darkness. Yet when those nights were at their bleakest, those twin pillars stood firm and unyielding, the two women framing Marietta’s life into something which she could tolerate. Each day they discussed another chunk of their uncurling plan. And each night, she devoured the captain’s words.
With the string of balls ribboning on throughout Everwood’s long, dark winter, their suite was under constant notice. Dressmakers, shoemakers, confectioners all drizzled by at the king’s behest, frantic in their devotion to ensure that King Gelum’s ‘pets’ were clad in the finest gowns, the most fashionable accessories, enveloped in the sweetest scents and most bewitching of enchantments. To escape being overheard, the three of them refrained from speaking on the matter of their plan until the opportune moment to steal away presented itself. In the bathing pool, the rush of the peppermint-tinted waterfall foamed over the sound of their voices and there they lingered, until their fingertips puckered and their ideas were spent.
Those moments were fewer and further apart than Marietta would have liked. She did not know how long she had resided within the palace for. Both day and night were cloaked in darkness; and each time she attempted to count, she found she could not remember how many had passed. Night after night, she pirouetted through yet another ball, the throne room a-spin around her, the time hazy, in one sparkling gown after another.
Though her cage was soft and glittering, she refused to allow her sugared imprisonment to rot away her willpower. She would not sit inside it, glazed in meekness and obedience. She would rattle the bars and find her way home. Her days of living on someone else’s terms were short-lived. In the meantime, she dwelled on their current predicament: how might they enter the locked chamber concealed beneath the king’s throne? Between mulling it over, probing through the possibilities with Dellara and Pirlipata under the gurgle and froth of water, they planned how to play their parts.
And then there were the balls.
First came the Buttercream Ball, where the pâtissiers whipped up rows of petits fours, topped with extravagant swirls of buttercream in vanilla, chocolate, praline, pistachio and glossy frostberry. All the guests wore a frothery of tulle and gauze or sheaths and suits that might have been piped on, and some that were, in buttery pastels and creamy concoctions. The night rippled in scents, torn between sugared vanilla and the darkest of chocolates. It was the occasion on which Marietta had presumed to set eyes on the captain for the first time since their dance, yet hadn’t. He was nowhere to be found. A large envoy of guests from Mistpoint had been escorted to the palace via moose-drawn sleighs, for whom Marietta had been ordered to dance. The women wore grey-blue veils over their hair, silks that moved like river-water. Upon Marietta launching into a springing variation from Paquita, the Mistpointian women lowered their veils over their eyes. Dellara had attempted to use the distraction to pilfer the enchanted mechanism from the king’s jacket, but his faceless guards had remained too close, watchful due to the Mistpointians’ presence. Dellara later informed Marietta that they disproved of King Gelum and the reputation he was garnering over the land.
‘Might we form allies with them?’ Marietta had asked at once, dismayed when Dellara shook her head, wisps of cirri strewn across her irises.
‘It is one thing to despise King Gelum; it is another thing entirely to rise up against him. He might be loathed but he is also feared, and fear is a powerful motivator. It is why the thought of the rebellion chills me; its failure is written in the stars. After the king decimated the royal court preceding him, their gruesome murder has stuck around in everyone’s memories, a bloody thorn you can’t quite pluck out.’
Then there had been the Ice Ball, when the entirety of the throne room had been coated in a sheen of ice and skating took the place of dancing. Great sculptures of King Gelum, commissioned by himself, had been hewn from frozen blocks. Immense fir trees limned the edges as if the forest had strolled into the throne room for the night. Some guests had resembled woodland sprites, clad in peppermint-green gowns with jewelled antlers crowning their locks. Other guests had taken on the persona of frost fairies, draped in glistening whites, sheer silvers and glacier blues. They’d partaken in crushed ice in little igloo-bowls but Marietta hadn’t had a bite, wary of disguised enchantments. She needed to keep her wits. That had been the night she had skidded under the king’s unoccupied throne, pleading at how unaccustomed she was to the ice after two faceless guards had immediately wrenched her back out. Yet the bruises she’d endured had been worth it; she’d glimpsed the outline of a round hatch beneath the throne. Enough to verify Dellara’s mysterious sources. That had also been the ball when Marietta had caught herself hoping that Captain Legat would see her in her shimmering white gown. She had been disappointed; he had not attended the Ice Ball either.
It had been during the aftermath of that ball, soaking Marietta’s bruised knee, that the three women had decided who would be the ones to descend into the secret chamber: Marietta, as the entire scheme had been her prerogative from its conception; and Dellara, as she would entrust not another soul to reclaim her wand. ‘I cannot expect you to fathom what it is to me, only that as I fled that dark void of a world, I reached out and tore a piece of it free. A piece that clawed back at me, ensnaring a scrap of my spirit within it. Yet we had nothing but each other and, as like calls to like, I came to rely upon it. Feeding it with my magic, my energy, until it recognised and served only me.’
‘Then I shall unleash the distraction for you to locate it,’ Pirlipata had said.
Marietta had rested her head back against the pool edge, soaki
ng in the twinkling starlight above. ‘What do you suppose the chamber holds?’
‘I don’t have a flurry of an idea. Though King Gelum is an avid collector, fond of amassing both people and trinkets from other lands, other worlds. I’m sure he retains them all down there,’ Dellara said, rinsing her hair.
Pirlipata spread thick, toffee-scented foam onto her arms. ‘I am not surprised that a king who is neglecting his own kingdom and allowing it to fall prey to the mineral sickness fails to understand the subtleties of other cultures and only wishes to possess what he could never understand. I do hope we shall be able to best him.’
Marietta lay back in the bubbles, pointing and flexing her toes by rote. ‘Of course we shall. We possess more brains and bravery between the three of us than the king does in a single hand.’
And then there had been Marietta’s favourite of the balls.
The one in which frost peckers had wandered amidst a gingerbread town; a perfect replica of Everwood in miniature. The one where truffles and pralines gently floated down the core of the palace like snow, snatched out of the air to be bitten into, chocolate on the tongues of all revellers, turning kisses ever sweeter and darker. The one where Marietta had worn her most beguiling dress yet: a simple white satin bodice that spooled out into a gown fit for a fairy-tale princess, sparkling like a fresh snowflake. When she pirouetted, her dress lit up with an incandescent glow. The one where she’d turned to find the captain looking at her. And he had kept staring at her. And she’d noticed.
The Gingerbread Ball.
Midnight in Everwood Page 21
