Midnight in Everwood

by M. A. Kuzniar

  ‘They are her dancing shoes,’ Legat drawled in a bored tone. ‘Forgive me, I had not realised the interest you held in women’s footwear.’ His expressionless face formed his own mask as he slotted back into the role of captain

  Marietta glanced at him. It wasn’t him; wasn’t the light shining in his eyes, tender smiles and deep, feeling words she had come to cherish. The same way she wasn’t herself in the tearooms and ballrooms of high society. Since she had discovered the real Legat underneath his façade, rawer and vulnerable, she wondered at how she had ever considered him distant and impassive. He had never not cared for her situation; he had simply cared too much. She ached for the distance between them now, the kiss that had never been.

  One of the faceless guards came closer, looming over Marietta. ‘It’s a large package for a mere pair of shoes,’ he said tonelessly, reaching for it.

  ‘Obviously it contains more than one pair.’ She fought back her panic, not allowing her voice to waver as she glared at him. The guard’s hands fell to his side but he stayed before her. Beneath the soldiers’ livery beat hearts strong and human and capable of fathomless love. She shuddered at what skulked beneath the guards’ blank masks. She sensed a coldness to them, obeying the king’s orders as automatons. If the captain’s suspicions proved correct and the faceless guards were investigating the soldiers then she feared the consequences for them. For him and the dangerous double game he was engaged in, carrying the weight of the rebellion on his shoulders.

  ‘We’ve been searching the palace for you,’ the other crafter said, oozing with suspicion. ‘There have been murmurs of rebellious activity within these walls.’

  ‘And now you have found me. Kingsman Fin, return this woman to her suite so that she may prepare what we discussed for the king. I shall deal with this matter.’

  Fin jerked to attention, guiding Marietta up the staircase. ‘That was close,’ he murmured, swiping a hand at the back of his neck. As they continued ascending the stairs, Marietta glanced back to where Legat was standing on the swirl below and opposite them. The crafters were now descending in a golden cage, one of them staring at a small clock face he’d pulled from his collar, the other tapping a foot on the gilded floor. It appeared as if the captain had dismissed the guards, who were now marching onwards and upwards on the spiral. Legat threw a brief look up at Marietta. She wished she was close enough to read it. Instead, she continued with Fin, the spiral whisking them out of sight.

  The suite door was unlocked to reveal Pirlipata and Dellara poring over an armoire. The instance Marietta was locked in with them once more, they dismissed their conversation.

  ‘Well?’ Dellara demanded.

  Pirlipata examined her face. ‘Did something happen? You look whiter than a winter’s day.’

  ‘Nothing happened, I assure you I am fine,’ Marietta said. She pressed a hand to her stomach, forcing it to calm.

  ‘Never mind that now—’ Dellara flapped a hand at Pirlipata ‘—what do you have in there?’ She reached for the package.

  Marietta relinquished her hold on it. ‘We must hide it at once.’

  Dellara tore into it, shimmering lilac nails slashing the brown paper open. They all leant forward. A striped red and white fabric lay inside. Dellara’s teeth gleamed. ‘It looks as if the captain does possess a fondness for you after all,’ she said to Marietta, who was trying to regain her composure after her intimate moment with Legat. Even if their encounter had left her longing for him, it was too dangerous a notion to even consider. She could not call the faintest hint of suspicion on herself, not when it could jeopardise everything. A faint clunk froze the three of them into a tapestry.

  Someone was unlocking the door.

  In a heartbeat, Pirlipata snatched up the parcel and ran with it into the bathing chamber. After she’d whipped through the gauzy drapes, Marietta heard her bank right, into the private section of the bathroom. Dellara shoved Marietta onto a cushion, diving onto the carpet beside her and opening a nearby box of paints to the crimson shade she had slicked on Marietta’s lips, retouching them just as the door swung open.

  A server marched through, deposited an oversized silver tray on the carpet beside Dellara, who ignored her, and marched back out as Marietta’s lips gained a third coating. Dellara tossed the paints aside and called out to Pirlipata in a low voice. ‘You can come out now.’

  Pirlipata emerged, the opened package still in her hands. ‘Where shall we hide it?’

  ‘Is it possible to conceal it within a cushion or one of the chaises longues?’ Marietta considered the tight seams of the nearest one.

  ‘We’re lacking the necessary tools for that,’ Dellara said.

  Marietta glanced towards the armoires. ‘What about the cape you wore to the buttercream ball? The raspberry-pink shiny one you were so enamoured with?’

  ‘I am not sure I follow,’ Pirlipata said, exchanging a curious look with Dellara.

  ‘That night you spilt a snowberry crème on it but it did not stain despite your worry, the fabric repelled it …’ Marietta went to rummage in the armoire. After locating the cape in the glittering rainbow of Dellara’s wardrobe, she spread it out on the smooth, lilac stone floor and rolled the uniforms inside, forming a tight seamless bundle which she then stuffed inside a pair of glossy stockings and knotted shut. She strode through the drapes and dropped it into the bathing pool.

  Dellara watched it bob on the water. ‘Do I care to know?’

  Marietta dredged it out a few minutes later. ‘Look, it is perfectly dry inside,’ she said, marching into the private toilet and leaning against the cistern to slide the lid off.

  ‘Oh.’ Pirlipata’s confusion evaporated at once. ‘How ingenious.’

  Dellara’s grin revealed her sharpened teeth.

  Marietta popped the watertight bundle in and replaced the lid.

  They celebrated the successful procuring of their disguises with dinner. Bowls of rich stew, puffs of bread, light and airy as snowballs, and biscotti studded with flakes of nuts and bursts of berry that they dipped into white drinking chocolate.

  Marietta lay on the carpet between Pirlipata and Dellara, as they finalised their escape plan. They ran through it once, twice, smoothing out any worries that snagged at the fabric of their resolve. No ball had transpired that night; they had all dressed for comfort in woollen trousers and soft tops as they conversed through the deepening evening.

  Marietta glided her fingers through the indulgent carpet pile as the talk shifted to trading stories of books they’d read, people they admired and hopes they held dearest to their hearts. Until a low chanting seeped into her awareness.

  Pirlipata straightened. ‘No. No, no, no – not again.’

  Dellara’s eyes clouded into shadows thicker than night.

  Pirlipata turned to her. ‘I cannot watch another.’ Her voice broke. ‘Dellara—’

  ‘Hush.’ Dellara took her in her arms, stroking her hair. ‘You can and you will and I shall be with you the entire time.’ Her glance at Marietta was threaded with anxiety.

  Marietta was unsure if she wished to know the nature of the horror creeping towards them. Before she could voice this, the door thudded open. Three faceless guards filled the open doorway, their attention fixed on the women, cool and silent.

  Marietta stood as Dellara sauntered over to the guards. ‘King Gelum forces us to bear witness to his executions,’ Pirlipata whispered.

  They were escorted down the stairs. The rest of the palace-dwellers were congregating in the throne room. All the hidden cogs that kept everything running smoothly, the chefs and chocolatiers and pâtissiers, along with cleaners and maids, all forced to assemble. They outnumbered even the soldiers. King Gelum sat on his throne surrounded by the Faceless Guards, with the courtiers huddled around the edges of the room. Leaving the centre empty.

  Marietta reached for Pirlipata’s hand and held it tight, their breaths coming faster and shallower. Dellara stood before them both, though her shorter fra
me did nothing to obscure either of their views.

  ‘Lev has betrayed me,’ King Gelum announced, commanding the palace’s attention. Heads snapped to him. Whispers perished unspoken in throats. A soldier was dragged before the throne. Still in his garnet livery, he stood there, spine unyielding, face proud, despite being leached of colour. Nausea skulked in the pit of Marietta’s stomach. ‘My own soldier,’ the king continued, ‘caught colluding with the Crackatians, feeding them palace secrets. It seems even my own ranks of soldiers have been stained with the guilt of treason, harbouring a traitor in their midst.’

  Marietta’s heart thudded harder and she couldn’t help seeking out Captain Legat, who stood at the king’s side, his taut face betraying the inner tension warring within. So it had begun. He met her eyes across the crowd, concern flashing across his face before he ripped his gaze off her, cutting it back onto the accused soldier, his soldier, begging for his life at their feet.

  ‘I swear my innocence on the stars,’ Lev said, his voice low. Strong. ‘You’ve been searching for an excuse to cull our ranks and this upcoming investigation into our honour is merely a farce. A reason to replace us with these inhuman monstrosities.’ He jerked his head at the faceless guards securing him in place. ‘Be warned, the king does not deserve our service.’ He turned to address his fellow soldiers, stood in regimented lines of garnet. ‘He’s a liar and a coward and he doesn’t deserve the throne he cheated and murdered his way onto.’

  His proclamation was met with stalwart silence. Averted eyes. Pirlipata squeezed Marietta’s hand tighter.

  King Gelum’s smile was a thin, sadistic sliver of delight. ‘For your crimes, you are sentenced to an immediate execution.’

  The faceless guards to either side of him began marching him up the stairs. ‘Where are they taking him?’ Marietta asked Pirlipata under her breath. Perhaps she wouldn’t be forced to watch the man’s life be ripped away; perhaps they were merely there to witness the sentencing.

  ‘To the highest point of the staircase,’ Dellara said, bringing back Marietta’s dread tenfold. ‘Where sugar and sky meet.’

  Higher and higher Lev was escorted up the spiral, until he was but a tiny figure at the tip of the palace. For a moment she was certain she caught a splash of silver wending round the staircase but it vanished before she could blink.

  The chanting returned with a vengeance. With a prickle of fear, Marietta realised it was emitted from behind the faceless guards’ masks. Deep and toneless. She knew what was coming and ordered herself to look away. In a sound that Marietta knew would never cease to haunt her, she heard the final scream as Lev departed this world.

  They all required the enchanted blanket to sleep that night.

  ‘This changes nothing,’ Dellara had whispered as they’d spread it over themselves, seeking solace in its scented folds, in each other. ‘We cannot live another day with this ever-present violence hanging like a sharpened icicle above our heads. Tomorrow we execute our plan.’

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Blanketed in stars and snow flurries of powdered sugar, the Grand Confectioner’s Ball defied Marietta’s expectations. She paused on the staircase, surveying the throne room. It had been framed in thick, rounded glass, creating a multitude of snow globes with interlinking passages that guests ran through, goblets of ice wine in hand, trailing lovers and silk dresses. Marietta might have been tempted to join them, steal away an intimate moment with the captain, had her nerves not been so thickly knotted. Had Lev’s blood not still been visible, frozen into gruesome jewels on the ice.

  ‘And the heist is a-go,’ Dellara said, walking down the stairs, flanked by Marietta and Pirlipata. Their gowns were Ivana’s pièce de résistance. Matching iridescent satin with full skirts bearing transparent circles, each one of which was bewitched to offer the viewer a different scene. Marietta’s depicted tiny dancing princesses, tumbling snowflakes and endless fir forests. Dellara’s portrayed miniature chocolateries and patisseries, with cakes the size of fingernails gleaming with frosting. Each one of Pirlipata’s set her gown aflame with renditions of a golden sunset.

  As she cast her gaze around, Marietta grew unsettled, uneasiness digging into her bones. Snow globes recalled to life Drosselmeier’s Christmas gift and the visions it had granted her and Frederick, pilfered from their hearts’ wishes. She wondered anew at the silver-haired figure she’d glimpsed, stalking her dreams. Last night she had dreamt of sugarplums and nutcrackers bearing Drosselmeier’s icy stare, and awoken to an invisible touch and a haze of confusion. Could Drosselmeier truly be the creator responsible for all of this? She shivered at the thought.

  Captain Legat approached Marietta, interrupting her reflections. ‘You look enchanting,’ he said in a hushed tone, his gaze lingering on her, drinking her in as if he wanted to devour her. It took an effort to dispel the thought of his arms wrapped around her, his lips almost meeting hers. ‘I wish I could steal you away and never let you out of my sight.’ His fingers twitched at his side. She brushed her hand against his. His pupils dilated. He cleared his throat. ‘Perhaps—’

  Skirting along the periphery of Marietta’s vision, Dellara was nearing the king in small, deliberate steps. It was time.

  ‘I’m afraid you must excuse me,’ Marietta said a little breathlessly.

  His eyes took in her face. His garnet jacket shone with epaulettes and buttons, his livery too reminiscent of the blood frozen on the ice, the rebellion he was courting such a fate to enact. ‘May the stars shine ever brightly on you,’ he said before stepping closer and whispering into her ear, ‘Be careful, wanderer.’

  Marietta danced away from his concern and towards the king. She twirled a finger in his direction, pleading with the fates that the impish smile she dangled from her lips would tempt him out of offence at her audacity. King Gelum’s lips thinned upon noticing her. Marietta feigned a pout and pirouetted, raising her eyebrows in a suggestive manner, even as the air thickened in her lungs. The king rose from his throne and strode towards her. Marietta’s heart gave an irregular pulse. It was pivotal that King Gelum dance with her. Dellara was relying on her to occupy him so she might purloin the mechanism. If they succeeded in taking it, Pirlipata was awaiting their signal to unleash a great distraction, masking Marietta and Dellara’s absence and allowing the two women to descend beneath the throne together.

  As the king walked towards her, his ivory cape unfolded in an icy shimmer, bewitched to enact scenes of balls and dancers and mice armed with swords battling little doll kings. Marietta rested a hand on his chest, edging her smile with mischief, a sugar-sweet charm of her own. Her mother may have oft reminded her that she lacked beauty, but the extensive lessons in etiquette bestowed upon her had lent her a catalogue of enchantments that owed no thanks to magic.

  Remaining nearby, the captain folded his arms across his chest, watching them. Danyon materialised at his side to speak into his ear. Marietta hadn’t seen him about the palace in an age; Claren was a ubiquitous presence, easy to locate in the centre of a comedic exchange or deep in a goblet, but his rigid older brother was much scarcer. Marietta ignored them, disregarding everyone that wasn’t the king, locking eyes with him alone and rising up on en pointe for one crisp double pirouette that culminated in eye contact.

  She swept back into an arched bend, her arms flowing overhead, forcing the king to step forward to hold her waist, to support her. Recalling how King Gelum had witnessed her and the captain locked in an intimate dance, his jealousy sufficient to have Legat dispatched on a trifling errand, Marietta had bet upon the odds that the king had learnt that move. She had been right. Until the floor slipped away from her pointe shoes as the king took it upon himself to lift her.

  Approximating a pas de deux, Marietta raised her pointed toes behind her in an attitude, her arms fluttering in port de bras, holding her muscles taut as they spun, the king’s fingers biting into her like frost, the throne room shattering into noise. As King Gelum lowered her back onto her toes, Mariett
a saw that the crowd was tapping their left feet onto the floor, the connecting snow globes erupting in appreciation. She would have been interested to learn how much of their regard for him was a sparkling veneer pasted over the truth.

  ‘You are aware you were meant to distract the king, not draw the entire throne room’s attention onto him, right?’ Dellara’s voice attacked Marietta the moment she receded to the shadows.

  Marietta winced. ‘That went vastly differently to how I had intended.’

  ‘You’re fortunate that I’m magical in many many ways.’ Dellara patted her plunging neckline with a wink.

  Marietta averted her eyes from Dellara’s cleavage. ‘You managed to retrieve it?’

  ‘Someday you and I are going to have a talk about fashion—’ Dellara eyed the delicate neckline of Marietta’s dress ‘—especially since you purloined my red velvet so as to rush off and seduce the captain. That was telling. I know there’s a daring woman inside all of those ivory nightgowns and demure blushes, screaming to be liberated.’

  ‘Did you retrieve the mechanism?’ Marietta repeated through gritted teeth.

  Dellara’s smile cut wider. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then let us not stand here quibbling over gowns. Time is wasting.’ Marietta walked into an adjoining snow globe. The glass distorted their view of the throne room as if they were peering into an antique mirror. Snow nestled in the corners and a snowman guarded the centre, each of his outstretched hands bearing a huge snowflake, upon which were perched white chocolate globes, their hollow centres filled with an edible surprise. Marietta took two and handed one to Dellara. They clinked them together.

  ‘To the end of winter,’ Dellara said, biting into it.

  ‘To the Grand Confectioner’s Ball,’ Marietta said, looking at the praline reindeer hers had revealed.

  Dellara’s forehead rumpled. ‘What’s the matter with you? You look as if you’ve been caught out in an ice storm.’ She decapitated her chocolate snowman with relish.