They slid onto the ice bridge, fine as spun sugar. It looked as if it would shatter beneath the weight of the moose and the grand sleigh hurtling across it. Marietta gripped the blanket, pulling it tighter around herself to ward off the glacial breeze. To either side, the view swept down to the snow-coated valleys below, gigantic firs reduced to doll-sized proportions. The sheer plummet was dizzying and Marietta tore her eyes away. ‘I’m failing to understand for what purpose you brought me to the palace if you’re having me escorted directly back to the forest?’ she asked. His motives confused her, though the confirmation she hadn’t been an unwitting volunteer in her own kidnapping sent her darker thoughts scuttling away.
‘You were in immediate danger; I removed you from the situation. I am the Captain of the King’s Army, I do possess more important tasks than cavorting about the forest searching for a wanderer’s door,’ he said wryly. His expression was calm and measured. It rankled Marietta.
They soared over the final stretch of the ice bridge. The palace doors loomed, a lattice of silverwork set into the thick-walled sugar. Legat called a command to the moose and they banked right, swerving round the thin loop of a path wrapped around the palace, a precipitous drop on one side, the ice cliffs towering above them. Marietta suffered a swoop of vertigo and clamped a hand down on the side of the sleigh. A low doorway materialised and they plummeted into it, skidding to a stop.
They had halted in a low-ceilinged, vast area. The floor was glossed in obsidian, impervious to the moose shifting on their hooves. When Marietta glanced down, it reflected her intrigue back at her, along with her bedraggled appearance. A doll with ripped seams. She smoothed her hair and looked about. On one side, a low, wide rectangle was cut from the wall, forming the entrance. Snow fluttered through it. Opposite, a huge decorative door was mounted in a wall of frozen sugar, glimmering in the glowing ice lanterns dangling from the rocky ceiling. She ascertained it led to the palace and her intrigue deepened. Though the market woman had warned her from it she harboured a desire to glimpse it for herself. The child that resided within her – the one that had clasped a clothbound volume of fairy tales to her chest as if the stories themselves might warm her with their magic – would never forgive her otherwise. Either side of the great expanse of space, heaving with sleighs and bustling, liveried footmen, were doors. On the left, the doors were large wooden squares, with little latches and windows, through which moose poked their heads out, surveying the scene. On the right, the doors were waist-height, striped in jaunty red and white, and swung open and shut. Miniature reindeer frolicked in and out of their own accord, approaching the footmen to be fussed before darting away and back into their little stables.
Three footmen approached their sleigh and the soldiers hopped out. Marietta followed suit. In an inverse of the soldiers’ uniforms, the footmen wore white jackets over garnet breeches, tucked into high black boots. Tiny mice were engraved on their silver buttons. They reminded Marietta of something but when she cast her mind back, she found her recollections of her own world hazy, as if she was peering into an antique looking glass that mottled her memories.
Moving seamlessly, the footmen unharnessed and stabled the moose, pushing the sleigh into a line that another team of footmen were de-icing. The sleighs were an assortment of sizes and colours like bonbons in a sweetshop. Marietta’s eye was drawn to a behemoth in holly-green and gold that sat an additional layer of passengers stacked above the first like the larger horse-drawn omnibuses that served Nottingham, and a narrow sleigh with long, curved runners protruding before it.
‘There is always a bevy of guests visiting the palace,’ Danyon explained, noting her interest. ‘King Gelum is well known for his extravagant balls and they’re always well attended.’ He nodded at the narrow sleigh. ‘The one-person sleighs are owned by guests residing within Everwood. Smaller sleighs are pulled by a team of reindeer. The larger sleighs are long distance and require moose, in addition to the ones the King’s Army use for patrolling the forest, like ours.’ He indicated the sleigh they had just departed and Marietta frowned at the mice fronting it; something felt familiar about them.
Then Claren appeared at his side and Marietta lost her thought-wisp. She could better differentiate between them now. Claren’s mussed hair and slight slouch looked as if someone had made a copy of Danyon and smudged it, rendering his outlines less crisp, less professional.
The captain pulled a timepiece from his jacket. It was gold and featured more dials and hands than Marietta had seen on a clock before. ‘I must appraise the king of our findings.’ Legat snapped the timepiece shut and returned it to his pocket. His gaze rested on Marietta’s, hardened gold. ‘On no account are you to leave the stables before I have returned to secure you an escort. That’s an order.’
Marietta levelled a stare at him. ‘I am not one of the soldiers in your retinue, captain. You cannot direct your orders onto me.’
‘In this palace, this kingdom, you fall under my command, wanderer. Danyon, I require your accompaniment. Claren and Fin, your guard duty in the throne room has commenced.’ Legat marched away, leaving Marietta stewing in her own broil of indignation and contempt. Two footmen scurried to open the ornate door, its width greater than a Steinway, the metallic lattice glittering as Legat and Danyon strode through. Marietta was flashed a glimpse of a dusky corridor beyond before the door clanged shut.
‘Frightfully pompous, isn’t he?’ Claren grinned at her. ‘Shall we defy him and take a peek inside?’
Marietta turned to him. ‘Why are you so keen to tempt me inside the palace? What stake do you hold in this quest?’
Claren’s voice slid into a more seductive note and despite herself, Marietta’s desire to witness the wonders she imagined within the palace grew. ‘I would wager you’ll never see a more magical sight in the remainder of your days.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Besides, perhaps I’m secretly yearning you’ll grant me a dance.’
Fin groaned. ‘Must you always behave in such a terrible manner? The captain will have you stripped of your rank if you continue to flout his rule.’
She had a sudden, visceral memory of her nanny reading the Brothers Grimm story The Shoes that were Danced to Pieces and drifting off into dreams of enchanted castles and dancing until dawn wrested the sky from the moon. Upon confessing her secret wish to be one of the princesses, nanny had chided her, reminding her that, ‘A little magic may sound like a wonderful adventure but disobeying your father is not the path to follow.’ Marietta was so very weary of men that behaved like generals in the war of life. She turned to Claren. ‘Escort me to the ball.’
Fin cleared his throat. ‘Are you certain that’s wise?’
Marietta was still watching Claren, awaiting his response.
His smile was slow. It sparked his steel-grey eyes. ‘After you, wanderer.’
Chapter Seventeen
Marietta felt like Alice wandering down the rabbit hole as she entered the passageway the captain had disappeared into. Claren led the way, falling into a self-appointed role as tour guide, regaling her with morsels of information about Everwood, intensifying Marietta’s cravings to nibble just a little more of its magic. ‘In this world, we say Mistpoint looks to its past, Crackatuck to the future, but here in Everwood, we delight in enjoying the present.’
There was a flash of consternation on Fin’s face at this. Claren remained ignorant to it and continued expounding on the hedonism of their kingdom until Marietta almost expected to enter a bacchanal. Fin fell back to amble at Marietta’s side, her stride slower after switching back to pointe shoes. She’d left her boots and cape in a little mechanised cloakroom. She readjusted the pearl comb in her hair and smoothed down her ballet dress as they progressed through the dark and winding passageway. Here and there, a globe of ice glowed of its own accord, lighting their way. A trio of black and white birds with hooded eyes and curving bright-blue beaks filtered past, regarded them curiously before continuing to waddle on their way.
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��What were those?’ Marietta asked, understanding how Darwin might have felt disembarking the HMS Beagle on the Galapagos Islands. She hadn’t seen the like of them or the miniature reindeer in her world and each time she thought those words to herself – her world or this world – her thoughts tipped on their side as she considered the machinations of the universe, wider and stranger than she’d known.
‘They’re frostpeckers,’ Fin said. ‘In some parts of Everwood, they’re consumed as a delicacy but King Gelum is fond of the creatures and passed a declaration protecting them. He has since installed a colony of them within the throne room.’
‘Curiouser and curiouser, cried Alice,’ Marietta murmured to herself.
The hallway curved a final time. A pair of golden doors greeted them, bracketed by two footmen. Upon seeing Marietta and the soldiers approach, they each grasped a golden handle and opened the doors. Music and scent and life poured out of them.
And in that flash, the world spun, sugar-laced and poetic.
The throne room was larger than any ballroom. A grand staircase rose up one side, the frozen sugar walls glowed in pale violet and indigo hues and a central oval stood on a raised platform with golden cages sprinkled about. Thin chains were attached to their tops, and now and then, one ascended up to the ceiling. Or they might have, if there had been a ceiling. The centre of the palace was hollow. Multiple floors rippled up, connected by a single staircase which ran in a helter-skelter manner up around the edges. Marietta’s stomach swirled at the height of the looping staircase, the sloping levels spiralling up around the carved-out space. If anyone slipped … She shuddered, tucking the thought away.
The throne room was filled with people in glittering gowns and suits, dancing around the dusky edges, where little golden globes of ice were strung along the walls. Shadows clotted in the spaces between clusters of gossipers who reclined on satin cushions the size of settees. Beside the door, large, translucent igloos held benches carved from packed snow, lined with furs for people to sit and exchange confidences within, and towards the back of the room, on a high platform, stood the throne. A rich shade of crimson, its most distinguishing feature was the wall of stalactites and stalagmites that entwined to form its back. It was empty.
A few tiny streams cut through the palace, frozen thoroughfares that servers skated down, evading the frostpeckers. Other servers strolled round with trays of delicate petits fours, piped twirls of ice cream and frosted goblets filled with a creamy drink.
Marietta had stepped inside a fairy tale.
Ballgowns in every shade she could imagine, and some she couldn’t, sparkled and fluttered. There were silks and satins, chiffon and tulle, intricately designed dresses in bewitching fashions she’d never thought to imagine, women in suits and men in gowns, and everyone’s faces painted in an indulgence of colour. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she whispered.
Claren seized two goblets from a passing server’s tray and handed her one. ‘A shame we hadn’t staked a purse on our wager, I’m rather short of funds these days.’
Marietta sipped at hers. It was thick and sweet to taste with a hint of spice, and delicious beyond measure, like drinking molten starlight.
Claren toasted her. ‘Snowberry crème. They’re deliciously potent. Do have as many as you’d like,’ he said, surveying her over his rim.
‘Captain,’ Fin said, snapping his heels together and saluting.
Taking another languorous sip, Marietta observed the sudden reappearance of Legat. Shadows crept beneath his eyes and the beginnings of stubble shaded his face. He was graver than when she’d last set eyes upon him. ‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘I’m escorting you back at once. And I shall ensure that this time you follow my command.’
‘Then I had better make this count,’ Marietta said, enjoying the way his jaw tightened at her pronouncement. Somewhere between encountering this magical world and surviving the prospect of her own demise had left her exhilarated and uncaring. It was deeply liberating. A waltz was playing, dark and fast and intoxicating. It slunk into her bones, entwined itself with her senses. Marietta hungered for it, her skin itching to be swallowed in motion, wrapped in music as if it had been made for her and her alone. She downed the goblet and handed it back to Claren, who looked intrigued. Sweeping her arm out, she stepped out from their corner and into the moving tide of dancers.
‘That is expressly what I had forbidden,’ she heard the captain say.
Retaining a modicum of discretion, Marietta stayed flat on her feet, keeping her turns understated and demure, dancing balancés to the count of the waltz. Adding in little spins and moving into a seamless adagio when the music shifted, becoming slower and more urgent, coaxing a new rhythm from the dancers. Marietta’s fluidity evoked the pattern of water, deep and endless and graceful, her steps light, her arms as feathery as a swan.
Floating past a woman her own age in the inky periphery, Marietta slowed, her attention stolen. The woman wore a plumcoloured dress with iridescent silvery stars stitched into the gauzy overlay. Knee-height, it flared out at her waist and spun up and around her Rubenesque figure as she danced. High-heeled shoes enlaced her ankles, and her short plum curls were arranged around a black headdress that spiked up like twigs, twinkling with diamonds. Her eyes were painted the same shade of plum as her hair and dress, her cheeks fuchsia-pink, her lips glossed in midnight. She was devastating. Yet her glance at Marietta spewed vitriol. Marietta stared back, unflinching. The woman’s lips parted, a single word hissing off her tongue: Leave.
Marietta flinched. First the market woman, now this. For a place well used to wanderers venturing through, it was most unwelcoming. Perhaps that was why most ended up leaving. Yet the ball was charming and it had been some time since her heart had been this light. She danced on. She hadn’t paid the captain and his infuriating orders any heed nor would she this woman either. But her focus had spooled away like smoke, obscuring her steps. She stumbled, leading the two men dancing together behind to collide with her. Their glares hot on her skin, she made her apologies. They tugged the mauve brocade of their matching jackets down and the first held his arm out to the second, who took it with an imperious stare in Marietta’s direction before dancing off, their trousers comprised of ivory ribbons, billowing around them. Another couple whirled by, a woman in a whisper-thin gossamer dress that emitted a sweet vanilla scent like perfume unfurling from flower petals.
Amongst the glittering attendees of the ball, Marietta felt the dullest jewel. So, she rose up on en pointe for the first time, pirouetting back into the stream of dancers, the ballroom rushing around her, the music accelerating with her dancing, dipped into a penché with one leg high behind her, then spun in a tight succession of soutenu turns, spinning faster and faster, ignoring the other dancers pausing to watch. She twirled to a finish before gliding into an arabesque.
When she lowered her leg and caught her breath, she set eyes on the king. He was seated upon his throne, his gaze affixed to her. Fair, with onyx eyes and rich golden hair that swung down to his chin, he wore a crown of interwoven icicles studded with crystals. A long finger rested on his thin lips, one leg in tapered charcoal trousers crossed over the over. White pointed shoes and a black and white striped shirt beneath a woven silver waistcoat completed his monochrome attire. A tiny embroidered mouse scampered down his shirt sleeve and disappeared, appearing moments later on his trousers. Marietta blinked and it vanished.
The music slowed, elongating its notes into melodies that sugared the throne room. Marietta slid onto one of the icy thoroughfares, turning her steps slow and gliding. Her glance back at the soldiers threw up Claren’s flirtatious grin and the map of creases spanning Fin’s forehead.
The captain materialised at her side. His strides were long, maintaining pace with her. ‘It’s time to leave, wanderer,’ he said. ‘At once.’
The other guests had resumed their dancing, though they kept sidling looks at Marietta. She wished she could linger awhile in this dream of a ball. Let its
magic seep under her skin. Yet, like a dream, its beauty was sweeter due to its transient nature. She was unsure how much time had passed and feared missing her performance as Aurora. With one last, longing look, she followed the captain.
The music jarred and broke. The other dancers slowed, searching out the cause; the musicians had ceased, their instruments swallowing their notes. A sudden wave of conversation from the cushioned alcoves and igloos was all at once audible before it too leached to silence. Even the servers retreated. The entire ball was suspended.
‘What has happened?’ Marietta asked the captain.
A rare emotion flitted over his expression before he schooled it back into place. ‘It seems you have caught the king’s attention.’
‘Captain,’ the king’s voice boomed through the hallowed silence. ‘For the love of all that is sweet, do tell us who you have there.’
Chapter Eighteen
The ballroom fell silent as Marietta stepped into the centre of the iced floor. She swept into a deep curtsy before the captain reached for her elbow, guiding her back into the crowd. ‘No one of note, Your Majesty. She is but another townswoman,’ he said.
The king smiled. ‘Bring her to me.’
Marietta approached the throne. Now the music had halted, she was all too aware of the whispers misting around her as guests stepped away, carving a path free for her and the captain.
King Gelum descended the steps from the throne to stand before Marietta, evaluating her. He was shorter than he’d appeared from afar and seemed to emit the aroma of spiced cloves and mandarin zest. She met his eyes, and as she did so, she felt the worlds tremble around her. A quivering of the threads the fates had embroidered for her.
He held a slim, tapered hand out to her. She took it and the king twirled her in place, her dress swishing around her knees. He lowered his gaze to her feet, the hard onyx gemstones of his irises glittering in fascination. ‘How lovely,’ he murmured. ‘Would you dance on your toes for me again?’
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