‘We must do something before we lose her, Dellara.’
‘We should be thankful that the palace has its own supply of fresh water imported from Mistpoint. If we were in the town she wouldn’t have lasted this long. I hear the courtiers’ whispers that the mineral sickness spreads further.’
‘A person cannot survive off water alone.’
‘Then we’ll redouble our efforts to sneak something in. I shan’t let another one die.’
Marietta heard their urgent whispers as if from a great distance. She opened her eyes to plead with them not to risk themselves on her account, that she no longer hungered, wondering why their faces were unusually grave, why the words were shaped like icicles upon her tongue. Before she could force them out, a pair of faceless guards marched in and wrenched her up onto her feet.
The room blurred and her head roared. She heard a protest but it was quashed by a soldier’s voice she did not recognise. ‘She has been summoned. King’s orders.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Against her expectations, the soldier escorted Marietta further up the spiral, her head tipping back, the hollowed centre of the palace a dizzying prospect. They lapped around it and it loomed at Marietta until she felt its nothingness, its vacuity shift into something more tangible, gobbling up the heart of the palace and hungry for more, a beast that would devour everything in its midst.
They halted before another identical door. The soldier knocked. His fist sounded as hard as the bronze lion knocker mounted on the townhouse door and for a moment Marietta expected to hear Jarvis announce a guest for dinner. Though the voice that bid them enter was not his. The soldier threw Marietta onto a small wooden chair, the force with which he handled her sending her slipping off the side. Her body felt as insubstantial as a will o’the wisp, drifting over a sea of ice.
The door slammed shut. A pair of strong arms suddenly lifted her back onto the chair. A murmured, ‘What have they done to you?’
Marietta forced herself to look at the man swimming into her vision. The captain. He seemed to be peering back at her in some concern. A hard rim brushed her lips and she tasted liquid, registering that it was hot and salty and satisfying. Her preservation flared to life and she began to gulp it.
‘Pace yourself or you will bring it back up again,’ the captain said.
She drank slowly. The mist encasing her brain receded. Captain Legat handed her a roll and she bit into it, groaning at the taste. It filled her, warming her from the inside. She glanced at their surroundings as she ate.
It appeared as though she was sitting in a log cabin. It could have been perched atop a mountain in the Swiss Alps for all its rustic idyll. The walls, low ceiling and floor were hewn planks of frozen gingerbread, a fire crackled before plump chairs and furs, and a large desk sprawled out across half the cabin’s cosy interior. She was seated before the desk, the captain at her side, monitoring her. She looked at him and he stood, offering her a wry smile. ‘Has it passed your examination?’ He took the carved gingerbread chair behind his desk and passed her a fresh glass of water in an ice glass. Large lanterns were mounted on the walls, lending the space a flickering glow.
‘Why have you summoned me?’ Her voice felt harsh, alien to her after days of drifting in and out of consciousness, weak and silent.
He sighed, running his fingers roughly through his bronze hair and closing his eyes for a beat. ‘I could not, in all good conscience, allow the king to starve you.’
Marietta met his eyes. They were warmer than the rest of his face, as if within them it was impossible to hide his emotions. She decided she admired his eyes; they were honest and kind. Aware that she’d been staring into them for longer than she ought, she lowered her gaze to the desk. There was an abundance of papers, fountain pens, a half-drunk cup of molten chocolate and wax seals stamped with sword-fighting mice. She frowned at the latter, the image resonating through the time-fogged looking glass of her memories.
The captain cleared his throat. ‘When you leave, take care to appear as weakened as when you entered. I cannot afford to nurture suspicion.’
Marietta inclined her head. The cabin gave a sickening swirl. ‘Of course.’ She fought to her feet. Captain Legat rose from his chair to help with the endeavour. He spread a thin swathe of cloth over his desk, placing another few rolls along with several oat and nut biscuits upon it. ‘Wrap this around your waist, your dress has grown loose enough to hide it,’ he said, meeting her eyes. She nodded and he turned around. Her hunger a gnawing fiend, she failed to feel a sliver of embarrassment at hiking up her dress in the presence of a gentlemen. Though she did manage a smile at the thought of Ida’s reaction to her situation, certain her mother would have decried her as a cigarette-smoking, scarlet crêpe de Chine-wearing fast girl.
‘Thank you,’ she said after she had finished. The captain turned round and surveyed her. He gave a curt nod then checked his timepiece. ‘We can afford a little longer.’ He motioned to the seat.
After a brief hesitation, Marietta sat.
‘Can you manage any more?’ he asked and she nodded. He slid a pot in her direction and she picked up the accompanying fork and ate the baked dish. He sat and sifted through his papers, marking the occasional note on them, and time drizzled by.
When next he glanced her way, she asked, ‘Why?’
The quill in his hand stilled. Its feather glistened white as snow, soft as ermine. It could have been plucked from Victoria’s Odette tutu; overlaid with swan feathers that fluttered as she channelled Anna Sobeshchanskaya, the original Odette at the Bolshoi. Though Victoria had delighted in informing them all that Anna had been replaced for the premiere after selling the expensive jewellery a government official had gifted her and marrying the dancer cast as Siegfried instead. Marietta had remarked how telling it was that Siegfried hadn’t been recast for the offence.
‘Why have you taken it upon yourself to aid me?’ she repeated.
His eyebrows pinched together. ‘As I told you, I could not in all good conscience allow you to stave.’
‘So you said. Yet I cannot help but wonder where your true motivations lie. After all, you will not assist me in leaving this palace. I suppose, as captain of the King’s Army, that’s understandable. This, however—’ she gestured at the half-emptied dish ‘—is not.’
The captain tapped his quill on the papers. Marietta slid her gaze onto them. An elegant penmanship curled over the pages. ‘I have witnessed enough suffering for a lifetime,’ he said, shuffling the papers out of her sight. In his abruptness, a ringlet of crimson ribbon unfurled from his interior jacket pocket.
‘Careful, you’re revealing your heart,’ Marietta said wryly, gesturing at it.
He tucked it out of sight and rose to his feet. ‘It is a mere token of affection and I do not care to discuss my personal life. Nor will you.’ His tone was icy, his face frosted over. Those warm butterscotch eyes she had so admired cooled as he looked down at her.
‘You had better leave now.’
Marietta felt her cheeks warm. ‘Fine.’ She stood, ignoring the tilt of the room.
‘And do keep up the pretence,’ the captain snapped as he strode towards the door.
Marietta clutched her arm, feigning an injury, and glared at him as she made to leave.
The captain reached the door before her and opened it with barely restrained force. ‘Take her away,’ he commanded of the soldier, shutting it without looking at her.
The soldier didn’t search her. The pretext of being escorted to and from a punishment had fooled him into a false sense of security. Once she had been tossed into her suite and the door locked behind her, Pirlipata and Dellara helped her onto a sapphire cushion.
Pirlipata’s brow creased in delicate confusion upon Marietta’s summarisation of events, while Dellara tapped a finger against her lips and gave her an evaluating stare. They secreted the food within the armoires, and that night Marietta felt the first stirrings of her appetite return. Dellara ratione
d the food out and she was glad of that when she was forbidden from joining them for meals the following day. The king still did not summon her. She was starting to realise the true extent of his cruelties and life in the palace.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Marietta was recuperating well but still stewing at Captain Legat’s strange and sudden dismissal until several days later when she was taken into his study once more. She crossed her legs at the ankles, smoothing down her berry-red dress. A furred cape caressed her shoulders and Dellara had painted her lips in matching red. ‘Are you toying with me, captain?’
He passed her a plate; toasted and thickly buttered garlic and herb rolls with a pot of something sweet and smoky reminiscent of soupe à l’oignon. A cluster of herbs with a single white flower floated on top. She picked it up and examined it. It reminded her of the daisies she’d once plaited into chains.
‘Saltspray flowers,’ the captain said, nodding at it. ‘They hark from Mistpoint. It’s said their petals carry the taste of the ocean. The stew is named for it. And no, I am not, to answer your previous question.’
Marietta rested the sprig on the side of her plate. ‘Why am I here, captain?’
‘I behaved poorly last time we met. Forgive me.’
Marietta paused, spoon in hand. ‘Is that an apology?’
Captain Legat gave her a wry smile. ‘I wouldn’t grow accustomed to it.’
Marietta’s smile surprised herself. She skimmed her spoon along the surface of the stew, soaking in its warmth as she ate. They sat in companionable silence until Marietta grew aware of the opportunity before her and commented, ‘You seem young to have achieved the rank of captain to the King’s Army.’
The captain leant back on his chair, surveying her. After a few moments, he replied, surprising her again. ‘It was happenstance. I saved the king’s life when I was a young soldier. He then took a particular interest in my career and I soon found myself accelerated through the ranks.’
‘You must have made quite the impression,’ Marietta said, slicing a roll in half. ‘How ever did you save his life?’
He tapped his quill on his papers. ‘It was during a routine perimeter check of the staircase when I heard it: a great howl that froze the blood in my veins. The screams followed shortly after. I had never heard anything like those sounds. Pain and fear and horror.’ He closed his eyes for a beat. ‘To this day I have never managed to discover why or how the wards collapsed that day, nor how an intruder made his way into the palace.’ He met Marietta’s eyes. ‘The stories trivialise it, I cannot abide them. My soldiers were not there that day; they cannot understand how such an experience changes a person. Somehow I was the sole person left protecting the king. A boy, facing an armed intruder several times his size. The responsibility of the kingdom in his shaking hands.’
Marietta laid her spoon down. ‘I cannot imagine what a harrowing experience it must have been for you as a young soldier.’
Captain Legat grimaced. ‘I was badly injured. My arm was severely wounded and took considerable time to heal,’ he said drily, rubbing his left shoulder as if the intruder still had its hooks in him. Marietta winced. He gestured at his sword, resting against the wall, its metalwork shimmering under the ice-lanterns. ‘When my father assumed his place in the constellations, his sword, Starhunter, was left to me. It’s forged from steel and ice and an ancient curse. Nothing else could have slain such an opponent.’
‘Then you’re a hero,’ Marietta said softly.
The captain grimaced. ‘I would not presume to call myself such a thing.’
Marietta half-smiled to herself. ‘Heroes never do. Am I correct in assuming your father was a soldier before you?’
‘Yes. Though in Everwood, since King Gelum took the throne, all boys are dispatched to the Military Quarter upon reaching seven years of age. The soldiers’ code of conduct is ingrained in each of us.’
‘Seven?’ Marietta repeated. ‘How very Spartan. Does King Gelum have need for such rigid enforcements in his land?’ She toyed with the saltspray flower.
The captain watched her fingers dance over the petals. ‘It’s mandatory. The day you turn fourteen, you are permitted to leave in order to secure an apprenticeship in silks, sugars or enchantments, or join the King’s Army. We believe every seven years the stars bestow a new gift upon us. Some families hold celebrations to mark the occasion. If I had been born under a different star, perhaps my fate would have twisted in another direction, but it was not to be.’
Marietta’s fingers stilled on the flower. ‘Where did your true passions lie?’
‘Joining the King’s Army is an elite prospect,’ the captain said loyally. ‘Only the finest are selected. If you prove worthy, nothing will match its pay.’ He glanced at his sword then back at her. A sadness lingered in his voice. ‘It is of no consequence discussing what might have been.’
‘I understand more than you know,’ Marietta said quietly.
‘Your place might not be here in Everwood, but it is written in the stars that you will be a dancer,’ the captain said.
Marietta frowned. ‘How did you—’
His gaze rested on her, soft and knowing. ‘I see it when you dance.’
Marietta smiled at him. He cleared his throat and pulled a paper-wrapped wedge from a desk drawer. ‘These past few days I had business elsewhere. I passed by my mother’s house on my return. She bakes the finest cakes in all of Sugar Alley. This one is my favourite; I saved you a slice.’ Marietta noticed a tinge creeping across his throat with interest.
‘Why … thank you.’
‘It was nothing,’ the captain said gruffly, tipping it onto a plate and passing it to her. He took off his jacket, folding it neatly over the back of his chair, the gold buttons and epaulettes gleaming in the firelight. His shirt was rumpled beneath, the shadows under his eyes pronounced as he ploughed through a stack of correspondences marked with the king’s signature seal.
She watched him drown in their contents, now and then punctuated with a rub of his temples. Rather than question him, Marietta ate the cake. White chocolate and snowberry, it was sweet and light and tasted of Christmas morning. When she returned to the suite, its taste lingered on her lips.
The following day, King Gelum summoned her down to the throne room.
‘Well, my little dancer, have you learnt your lesson in obedience?’
Marietta nodded, too fatigued to resist the siren call of sustenance any longer. She began to dance.
Chapter Twenty-Five
‘I can’t stop thinking of the way your eyes danced when you last smiled at me,’ Claren told Marietta the following week. He was escorting her back up the spiralling stairs after yet another performance. Her dress was an inky ripple of night, her hair flowed down her back, embedded with glittering icicles. Black satin pointe shoes were tied with ribbons around her calves. All she lacked were raven-dark feathers to cast her as Odile. Since she had buckled to his command, King Gelum had ordered a shoemaker over from the Silk Quarter to fit her with a rainbow of dancing shoes. The shoemaker had been fascinated by Marietta’s pointe shoes and had performed an intricate study of them before forging his replicas. She had stretched and rehearsed Aurora’s springing steps by habit, testing the new pairs were of sufficient quality. This had delighted both the shoemaker and Pirlipata, who formed her audience. Secretly, Marietta had been relieved her feet had healed while she had drifted in that fugue state, lack of food tipping her over the edge of life, darkness awaiting her below.
She gave Claren a cool look, freezing the smile on his face. Anger was an uncomfortable emotion. It nestled under her skin with sharp edges that bit. ‘Perhaps once I am free of your king and this palace then I shall find it within me to smile once more.’ The thread of gold stitching along her hem reared up, a wave of lost sunlight against the night of her dress.
Claren appeared sincere for once. ‘I’m sorry, Marietta, truly.’
Marietta gestured down at King Gelum, resting upon his th
rone below, in a silver suit and a white furred cape. ‘How can you bear serving such a man?’
Claren tugged his jacket, making it more dishevelled than it was prior to his adjustment. ‘Being a member of the King’s Army is a well-respected position and the pay is good. You have to understand—’ he lowered his voice ‘—I had no idea this was going to happen. If I had, I would never have suggested …’ He trailed off, looking at her with eyes of the bleakest winter’s day; grey and miserable.
‘At ease, soldier,’ Marietta said wryly, her golden hem melting back into place. ‘You are not the sole person to be held accountable for the events of that night. I too was reckless in my behaviour.’ Reckless was one word for it; childish might be another. She was ashamed of how easily she had been seduced by a wondrous palace and pretty enchantments.
She didn’t seek Claren’s assistance; his naïvety on the king’s nature and position amongst his ranks would only jeopardise her. Besides, what power did one individual hold to subvert the magic regulating the kings’ commands? No, she required a greater plot. Marietta continued to think and Claren fell silent until she entered the suite, where he bid her goodbye and the guards locked the door with a golden key.
She stood and surveyed the suite. She had a sudden sympathy for Persephone descending into Hades’ underworld; she too had drawn the lot of mists and darkness. For here she stood, imprisoned in the gilded cage she had fought her life to avoid.
Marietta found herself falling into a routine over the following weeks. Life cannot be suppressed indefinitely and so it began to take on a new rhythm. Pastimes were scarce in the opulent suite, confined to ornamenting themselves in enchanted creations and allowing Dellara to paint their faces, their skin the canvas of her creations, swimming lengths and languishing in the bathing pool, or conversing among themselves. It was the latter that Marietta was most invested in. Pirlipata and Dellara had proven themselves an infinite resource in their knowledge of the palace and Everwood, and Marietta was determined to unveil its secrets.
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