Midnight in Everwood

by M. A. Kuzniar

  ‘You don’t,’ Dellara said slowly. ‘But I can taste your dreams. And the acrid tang of fear that bites the night when you suffer a nightmare.’

  Marietta was well acquainted with those nightmares. It had been an indeterminable amount of time and yet Drosselmeier continued to haunt her, stalking through her imagination by night, that dark time when fears seem to creep closer under the silvered moon. Sometimes the boundaries of her consciousness grew thin and she thought she caught a glimpse of Drosselmeier within the palace. Yet time and magic were two grand forces at play and she was trapped between them, left distrusting what was real and what was fantasy. ‘There are aspects I would prefer not to return to,’ she said, setting the cheese down. ‘Though that does not mean I would rather stay away. There are people I miss, a dream I cannot let fade from my sights. Things I am now prepared to confront.’ Her awareness of her own body had been heightened through all she had endured. She knew now how it could fight and resist and wield power. Upon encountering Drosselmeier once more, she would not embody the subservient Edwardian lady he had so expertly manipulated. She would claw her way free of him.

  ‘Good for you.’ Dellara toasted her as if her apple cake were a saucer of Taittinger. ‘You’ll be far happier if you fight your demons.’

  ‘Is that what happened to you?’ Marietta asked, somewhat wary.

  ‘Better. I slaughtered mine.’ Dellara’s answering grin sent shards of ice down Marietta’s neck. ‘And when I stood there, coated in their viscera and bone-flecks, I answered to no one.’

  ‘King Gelum called you a fairy,’ Marietta whispered.

  ‘King Gelum is an incompetent fool. Fairy is what the Everwoodians call anyone who’s shed their mortality, who’s eschewed the boundaries of what it means to be human. Demon might be more accurate.’ The shadows lurking round her irises crept a little closer, eager to have their stories told. But Dellara didn’t divulge any more, not on how she came to acquire her wand nor on the magic that whispered against her skin. Marietta did not press her. Dellara was unfurling her secrets, bit by bit, her trust frost-brittle, and Marietta had no inclination to poke and prod and shatter it. Neither did she wish to say something that might cause offence, despite the fire and brimstone her imagination conjured at Dellara’s confidence. After all, she was in another world and etymology differed here. She had witnessed Dellara offer herself as a sacrifice on her behalf and that was not an action her understanding of a demon would do.

  ‘We ought to discuss how we shall leave this suite.’ Pirlipata glanced at the door and the invisible guards beyond, measuring their lives with their keys.

  ‘We shall cause a distraction,’ Marietta said. She’d given this segment of the plan a great deal of thought. Though tackling two armed faceless guards by herself would have been an issue, now the women had banded together, she was assured they could overcome their iron-strong force. ‘We shall draw them into the room, where a trap will lie in wait. Between us, we will disarm and silence them.’

  Dellara examined her nails. Upon awakening from her fever she had been mortified at the state in which Marietta and Pirlipata had dared to allow her to convalesce in. Now she lounged in hand-painted silk pyjamas, doused in scent and decorated in all the shades of an aurora rippling through a wintry night. ‘Not a problem.’

  ‘Then, we have it? Our plan is complete?’ Pirlipata looked between them.

  ‘Other than procuring the disguises, yes, I believe we are ready.’ Marietta bit into a pastry in private celebration. Its buttery crispness yielded to her, a river of salted caramel sauce melting over her tongue.

  ‘Not quite,’ Dellara said. ‘I’m going to need my wand retrieved.’

  Worry crept up Marietta’s spine. ‘You had led me to believe the king had hidden it in a secured location.’

  ‘He has. Only I happen to know precisely where it is. In this palace, few things transpire without my knowledge.’ Dellara stood up and began pacing to the frozen sugar wall and back. ‘It’s under the king’s throne. There’s a secret chamber buried beneath it. A single mechanism was crafted to open it and King Gelum retains it on his person at all times. No one else has ever descended to its depths.’

  Pirlipata and Marietta watched her pace, a contained storm. ‘It frightens me too much to inquire how you know that,’ Pirlipata said at last.

  ‘Are you certain you need it?’ Marietta asked. ‘Retrieving it would require elaborate measures I am not certain we are capable of, not to mention delay our departure departure.’

  Dellara spun to face her. ‘I refuse to leave this palace without it. I’m tired of living without my magic, of bearing a half-existence, condemned to fall prey to paltry fevers and the slow knit of my flesh back together.’

  ‘I understand,’ Marietta said quietly, feeling that she did.

  ‘You do not and you could not, but I wouldn’t expect that of you.’ Dellara’s temper simmered down. ‘While we are there, we shall liberate Pirlipata’s armour.’ She gestured at Marietta’s pointe shoes, resting in the corner. ‘The King abuses what makes you special, turns it against you. For Pirlipata and I, he simply stripped us of our talents.’

  ‘Then we shall fight to return them to you both,’ Marietta said and Pirlipata’s smile glowed.

  ‘King Gelum is hosting a ball in two nights’ time that the dressmaker shall be gowning us for.’ Pirlipata exhaled. ‘I have come to the decision that I shall pass her a note to my family. If we are to flee through the worlds then I cannot allow the chance to warn Crackatuck melt away.’

  ‘You must not put those thoughts to paper,’ Marietta said at once. ‘Most likely the walls have eyes in this palace and someone shall read it. You do not want the king to invade sooner if it is found out.’

  The emerald flecks in Pirlipata’s eyes shone. ‘I intend to write it in code. I was instructed in such protocols when I attended university. A story for another time,’ she added upon recognising Marietta’s interest.

  Marietta nodded. ‘Very well. King Gelum does seem inordinately fond of hosting balls,’ she mused.

  ‘They shall become far grander now,’ Pirlipata told her. ‘The deeper into winter we march, the more time eclipses between us and our memories of the sun, the more often and ornate the balls grow. King Gelum proclaims it is his royal duty to keep the good people of Everwood entertained, but the truth of the matter is that this king is given to decadence and cannot help himself spending an exorbitant price on festivities.’

  A deluge of images of the poverty and thirst and mineral sickness in the overtaxed town snowed over Marietta. From an opulent townhouse to a decadent suite, she had never known hardship. Couldn’t imagine the choice facing mothers her own age; to allow their children to thirst to death or condemn them to a slow battle with the mineral sickness. In another life she could picture herself on the frontlines of the rebellion, working side by side with Captain Legat and his mother. But this was not her world, nor her battle. When she returned to Nottingham, she was determined to open her eyes to the people around her. Lost in thoughts such as these, it took Marietta a moment to note Pirlipata’s deliberate use of the pronoun. ‘This king?’ she echoed. ‘Who was his predecessor?’

  ‘Queen Altina Mus and King Elter Mus. They were a charming royal couple.’ Pirlipata puffed out a sad sigh. ‘Fair and just and much beloved by their subjects. Until Gelum Mus, a distant cousin of theirs, stepped in and overthrew them.’

  ‘It was a veritable bloodbath,’ Dellara said. ‘And not the sort I approve of.’

  ‘His treason was swift and vicious, proving it impossible for anyone to intercede, and his wave of cruelty in his first moontides on the throne – reinstating the ancient ice prison, introducing public executions – ensured that all of Everwood were too terrified to challenge him.’ Pirlipata shook her head.

  ‘How terrible,’ Marietta said, the weight of their history pressing down on the room.

  ‘It is. And if King Gelum wages war who knows what the consequences shall be
for our peaceful little world? He is a merciless tyrant, reigning with ice and terror, and funnelling Everwood’s resources into his prestigious military quarter and luxe balls. I do hope this rebellion does not freeze over like the last attempt.’ Pirlipata winced. Marietta’s heart filled with frost. ‘I wonder who is leading the charge this time,’ Pirlipata continued.

  ‘Do you recall the previous king and queen?’ Marietta asked Dellara, hoping the desperation she felt didn’t infuse her words.

  Dellara bowed her head. A strange light danced over her expression, one which Marietta struggled to place. ‘King Gelum murdered the entire court in an icy rage. Sugar-poisoned, they say. Now our Queen Altina shines brighter than ever, the biggest star in the sky, watching over us all.’

  Marietta placed her expression then. It was hope. Trembling and soft and entirely unsuited to the horrors of the world but there nonetheless. Existing. Surviving.

  ‘I have heard tales of the soldiers and the military quarter,’ Marietta said, dancing over the knowledge that those stories had been relayed to her by the captain, ensconced in his lantern-lit gingerbread office, warm and spicy and intimate. Her face glowed. ‘Though none of those loathsome faceless guards. Tell me, who are they? I presume King Gelum had them brought into the palace?’

  Dellara’s softness disappeared. ‘We never used to have a contingent of them to supplement the soldiers; Everwood has always had a strong military tradition but soldiers are merely human and King Gelum won them over to his side with mutiny and threats. Now he forever distrusts them should they turn on him if someone decides to rise up against him. That day the armed intruder penetrated the palace’s enchantments, the king found himself suspiciously short of protection. He grew harder on his soldiers over the years. Then the faceless guards happened to appear one day.’

  Marietta’s thoughts ran red with rebellion.

  ‘I’ve heard rumours that they are no more human than I am myself,’ Dellara added.

  Marietta shuddered. ‘That I find easy to believe.’

  Their talk eventually passed onto other matters, lighter topics, keeping the cold darkness of the perpetual winter a little more at bay.

  When Marietta awoke the following morning to yet another black sky, glittering with the weight of a thousand stars, something hard dug into her neck. She sat up. It was a small box, the label bearing the same line-drawing of a mouse she kept sighting all over Everwood. Only this one bore the king’s signature seal. When she removed the lid, she found a nutcracker upon a velvet cushion inside. It was fashioned after the soldiers of the King’s Army, down to the smart red tunic and detailing on the epaulettes. Then Marietta noticed the mouse-carved hilt of the Starhunter sword and the butterscotch eyes. Her blood ran cold, and the nutcracker fell from her hands. It had been sculpted in the likeness of Captain Legat.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The next ball to be held in the palace was to take place later that night. Pirlipata had informed Marietta it was to be a themed black and gold ball as she ran through her barre exercises. After, she shed her ballet shoes and retired to the bathing room, sinking into the pool. If all marched along according to their design, the first cog of their escape plan would be manoeuvred into place. I want you to know, I— The lost words ghosted around Marietta’s mind until a darker skein of thoughts unravelled. The nutcracker. Its uncanny resemblance to Captain Legat. The king was growing suspicious; now was the time to take greater care than ever. A headache nestled at the back of her head, creeping in with a noxious dread.

  Closing her eyes, she sank down beneath the frothing water, the peppermint-tinted waterfall cascading onto her shoulders. With a deep breath, she dived underwater to swim a length. Water rippled past her outstretched fingers in shades of mint and seafoam and pale teal. When her headache skulked away, she slid the tattered notebook the captain had handed her from a nearby towel and settled down to read it. It had taken considerable resolve not to peek through its pages but she had desired to keep it private, and in the suite, privacy was a rarity. It was a little secret between her and Captain Legat, the knowledge of which thrilled her. She smiled at the neat swirl of handwriting in which he had penned a series of his innermost thoughts. Some were scarcely more than a single line: Look to the stars. Others were complete stories, spinning the origins of Everwood into something resembling a volume of Grimms’ tales. One alluded to King Gelum’s bloody usurping of the throne. Another seemed to refer to an upcoming event, where it would snow scarlet ribbons and ice will melt to the people’s will.

  Marietta tightened her hold on the book, careful not to let the steam curl its fragile pages, the heart laid rent upon it. The captain’s feelings on the king ran deep and treasonous and, now, not only was she aware of his role in the rebellion, she held condemning evidence in her hands. Held Legat’s trust in her hands. She had not realised that behind the disciplined soldier’s face lay the soul of a poet, his thoughts buried treasure. Rather than speaking his mind, he had shown Marietta his most private thoughts which were writhing and raging, beautiful and melancholic. Upon reaching the final page, drowning in his words, unable to stop hearing his voice, smooth and deep caramel, her heart quickened its beat as she discovered a short note addressed to her. Marietta, it began, the curve of his quill soft over her name, I wished to share my little ramblings with you as you have graced me with your art. Not entertainment, nor a mere hobby, but art. It seemed the captain understood her more than she knew.

  When she padded back to the main room in a fluffy robe, another woman was present in the suite, listening to Dellara, who was standing atop a small podium, listing detailed instructions. ‘And I shall require pockets, deep ones, none of those flimsy shallow ones for decorative purposes. Tailor me something that could accommodate a dagger.’

  ‘Is it wise to speak in such a manner?’ Marietta asked Pirlipata in an aside.

  Pirlipata’s lips quirked. ‘Ivana is well used to Dellara; she does not take her words to heart.’

  Ivana was a severe woman twice the age of Marietta with thick eyebrows, sloped cheekbones and coal-black eyes. A lacing of frost was painted over her olive face, veiling her, the pattern continuing over her one-piece, paired with the highest-heeled shoes Marietta had ever seen. Her measuring tape around Dellara, she squinted at the measurements before moving on, memorising the stream of numbers. ‘All done. Next.’ She cracked the tape like a whip and it extended.

  Pirlipata nudged Marietta and she stepped forward. The dressmaker eyed her. ‘You’re new,’ she commented, her manner brisk as a starched collar.

  Marietta stepped up onto the podium. ‘I am.’

  ‘Very well. Any preferences or needs to allow for?’

  ‘Her dancing must be accommodated.’ Pirlipata came to stand beside Marietta.

  ‘You dance? I am greatly fond of watching dancers,’ Ivana said, looping her tape around Marietta’s waist. ‘What kind of dancing do you perform? Salembe? Crackatian?’ She paused her measuring to twist her wrist out in an embellished flick.

  ‘No, I dance ballet, a particular type of classical dance from my world.’

  Ivana, who was stretching her tape down Marietta’s leg, paused to consider her. ‘Then you do not originate from any world I have heard mention of before. How very curious.’

  ‘I shall require the dress to be free about my legs as I lift them very high,’ Marietta said, feeling a peculiar hollowness at the reminder of how removed she was from her home, her world.

  ‘Yes, yes, no problem.’ Ivana snapped her tape away and beckoned to Pirlipata. ‘Your turn, Princess.’

  Marietta stepped down and meandered over to Dellara. She glanced at the farthest armoire. She had buried the nutcracker in its depths. She had mentioned it to the other women the previous night. They had advised caution but disregarded it as a serious threat, claiming the king was often prone to jealousy. But it weighed Marietta’s soul down with fear and she kept thinking of it.

  The dressmaker packed the tools of her tr
ade away in an efficient manner and left without a word.

  ‘I slipped her my note,’ Pirlipata said at once. ‘She took it, I was watching.’

  ‘Good,’ Dellara said. ‘I suppose a conscience grows heavier the longer you drag it around.’

  ‘How can she manage to sew three ballgowns in such a short timeframe? Surely that cannot be possible,’ Marietta said. She had been longing for her own enchanted gown since she’d been locked in the palace and was a little bereft that she hadn’t had a greater agency in the design process.

  ‘She presides over a team of seamstresses that have spent moontides deep in their craft, preparing for the winter ball season,’ Pirlipata said.

  Dellara’s smile was glazed. ‘She’s magical with her craft,’ she said. ‘The queen of the Silk Quarter. You’ll see.’

  Some hours later, Marietta scarcely recognised herself. A strapless golden bodice encased her like a second skin. Onyx silhouettes of fir trees glittered atop. The skirt was jet tulle, voluminous in its whispering mille-feuille layers. Black pointe shoes enveloped her feet, and when she peered in an armoire mirror, the Odile to her Odette looked back at her. Her eyes were darkened in smoky hues, her tinted eyebrows were branches from which tiny golden leaves trailed on vines down her cheekbones. She had painstakingly brushed her long hair with a butterscotch-scented oil that she realised as a blushing afterthought reminded her of the captain. It flowed down her back, entwined with golden swirls of silk that rippled when she danced.

  ‘I declare you perfect. The captain will have a hard time keeping his eyes off you now,’ Dellara said with satisfaction, examining Marietta’s face and laying down her brushes. Marietta’s cheeks warmed. ‘Even better.’ Dellara’s grin spread wider. ‘You look in need of a good ravishing.’ She winked at Marietta’s flushed face and pulled on a pair of black velvet boots that reached her thighs. Marietta averted her eyes, feeling as if she’d strayed into the unsavoury world of the Moulin Rouge. The feeling was not unfamiliar to her; during her stay in Everwood, she had already witnessed a lifetime’s worth of debauchery within these frozen sugar walls. Dellara laughed. ‘I knew it; you’re from one of those worlds.’