The Ondine Collection

by Ebony McKenna

  “Not that bad? She could be the one behind the Duke’s troubles, and yer sticking up fer her! Ondi, love, ye have tae tell the Duke. If ye don’t give him something, he could send ye home.”

  “Shambles, maybe that would be for the best,” she said heavily. Sure her parents would ground her for the next month. Maybe the next year, but she knew where she stood with her family.

  “Aw nae, dinnae think like that. I need ye here with me, Ondi.”

  “But everything’s going wrong.”

  “Ye can’t go!” Shambles’s voice cracked. “Aw nae, ye look so sad, yer breaking my heart.”

  Ondine thought, And you’re breaking mine.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The next day, Ondine and Infanta Anathea made fresh pasta together and cooked it with parsley, basil and butter. Ondine felt they’d forged some kind of bond, which only made her feel more wretched at the thought of ratting on her.

  When they had finished eating, Pyotr came to the Infanta’s rooms. Ondine’s heart lurched behind her ribs.

  “The Duke will see you now,” he said to Ondine.

  “Oh yes, and what’s all that about?” the Infanta asked.

  “I don’t know,” Ondine said, although she had a fair idea as guilt churned in her tummy.

  When Ondine arrived at the Duke’s office, Hamish was already there. Back in handsome human form in smart, clean clothes. He looked so lovely, standing tall as she walked in, with a lock of hair flopping over his forehead. Her hands itched to brush it away. Circumstances prevented it.

  “Ondi, I’m a waiter again, I’ll be working at the Halloween Ball. I’ll be able to watch you in the play,” he said.

  Oh dear. “That’s . . . nice,” she replied.

  “I don’t have much time,” the Duke said, his forehead creased in pain. Something scrunched behind Ondine’s ribs at the sight of him – he should be getting better but instead he looked worse. This time, his office was freezing cold and she had to lock her jaw down to stop her teeth chattering.

  “I need to be in four places at once,” the Duke said. “Ondine, Hamish tells me you have some news?”

  A cannonball to the gut couldn’t have hurt more. Ondine looked at Hamish and couldn’t believe he’d dropped her right in it.

  A look of shame crossed Hamish’s face and he said in a low voice, “I wouldnae be doing me job if I didnae tell him what ye told me.”

  Her mouth dry, Ondine swallowed.

  “I’m waiting,” the Duke said, rising from his chair and packing papers into an attaché case. A couple of times he winced and touched his side. One of the kitchen staff came in and delivered the Duke’s elevenses – a tray of savoury pastries stuffed with spinach and feta. One of them was already cut in half. Old Col must have tasted it first.

  The room felt so cold it was difficult to talk, but Ondine gave a small cough and spoke: “The Infanta admitted to me she would like to push your wife down the stairs.” She wished the ground would open up and swallow her. “Actually, she didn’t say she’d do the pushing, just that, you know, she wished it would happen.”

  The Duke shook his head and frowned. He didn’t look cold. If anything, his cheeks were pink, as if he were hot. Annoyed, even. Did that mean he wasn’t happy with the information? In which case she should have lied and said she had no information. Sweat broke out on Pavla’s forehead and he breathed hard. Then he seemed to collect himself and gave Ondine a solemn look. “I am sorry you had to hear that. But I am grateful you told me. It’s important to tell me these things. You may have saved my wife’s life. Thank you, Ondine.”

  If it wasn’t so cold, her jaw would have fallen open in shock.

  THE NEXT DAY ONDINE went to the kitchen to collect ingredients for lunch. Just as she was about to leave with her basket of vegetables, herbs, milk and eggs, Duchess Kerala arrived. At close range, Ondine could see the dark line around her face where the mask of make-up ended and her neck began.

  “Where do you think you’re going with that?” The Duchess pointed at Ondine’s food with a plump finger. Her free hand held a glass of red wine, even though it was barely half-past breakfast.

  “It’s for the Infanta, Your Grace,” Ondine said, bobbing a quick curtsey.

  “Oh yesh, the woman who wants to push me down the shtairs! Well, she’ll not have that.” The Duchess pulled out the eggs. “Or that.” She took away the parsley. “Or that.” Removing the bottle of milk.

  No chance of an omelette now.

  “You may go.” The Duchess dismissed Ondine with a wave of her hand, and although her head moved, her brown helmet remained stiff as a lump of wood. “And tell that woman she’s lucky to have anything. All the support we give that freeloader and this is how she repaysh us.”

  Good thing the Duchess had not seen the rashers of bacon underneath the onions, otherwise she would have taken them too. Ondine got out of there as quickly as she could. When she reached the Infanta’s rooms, things rapidly deteriorated.

  The Infanta took one look in the basket and said, “Are you here to cook for me or poison me?”

  From one mad woman to the next. “This is all I could get.” The best way to deal with the Infanta’s bad mood would be to get on with the cooking. It would at least keep her hands and mind busy.

  “There are fifty dozen eggs produced in the chicken house each day. You are friends with the girl there. You’re telling me none could be had?”

  Ondine began slicing onions. “Your Lordship, I did get some, but Her Grace the Duchess took them from me. I was in no position to argue.” They weren’t even the nice red onions, which don’t make you cry as much. These were the extra-thrifty white onions that burned your irises with the first cut.

  “You seem to be on such good terms,” the Infanta raised her voice and added a layer of sarcasm. “Because I was accused of wanting to push her down the stairs!”

  The ground was never going to open up and swallow Ondine, so she should stop wishing for it. Her eyes burned and it wasn’t the onions’ fault. A horrible silence filled the kitchen. Ondine couldn’t find the strength to look at Anathea.

  “I am really, really sorry.” She put the pan on the heat and slapped in a dob of butter. Anything to keep busy. “I really am. Really.”

  “I thought you could be trusted!”

  The onions sizzled in the pan. Ondine wiped her eyes with her fingers, which only made her eyes sting more. “The Duke made me tell. He was going to send me home if I didn’t say something.” She made a start on the celery, stripping the string away as best she could.

  “I will have my tea made now,” the Infanta said, her voice cold and threatening.

  Ondine turned off the hob to stop the onions burning and reached for the kettle.

  “I am so disappointed in you,” the Infanta said.

  Something cracked in Ondine. “I said I was sorry!” She dropped to her knees and clasped her hands together in supplication as tears poured down her face. “Please find it in your heart to forgive me, Your Lordship. The Duke is paranoid, the Duchess is a drunk. They think you’ve got it in for them. I know that’s not true, but they’re crazy! I had to tell them something, because if they send me home, I’ll never see Hamish again.”

  The Infanta took a step back to stop Ondine crying on her shoes. “Pull yourself together. I can’t stand snivelling.”

  Ondine grabbed the edge of her apron and dried her face.

  “Hamish is so important that for him you’d betray my trust?”

  “I didn’t think of it like that,” Ondine said. “He works here in the palace, for the Duke. So if Pavla sends me home, I’ll hardly ever see him.” Would the Infanta notice Ondine was too much of a coward to answer her question?

  “Why would you be sent home?”

  Deep breath. “Because I was cheating on my school tests and Ms Kyryl told the Duke to expel me.”

  The Infanta shook her head. “You’re a smart girl. Why would cheating be needed?”

  “Becau
se my marks were so low Ms Kyryl was going to send me back to my parents. And she’s close to the Duchess and I think the Duchess hates me too. So Hamish got the answers for me but I did too well and she got suspicious.”

  A slow blink, as if the Infanta had to count to ten. “This Hamish thought he was helping, and instead you were let down. I told you. It is always the way with men. Hamish is just a man, and, as with all men, you will be let down by him.”

  Mind whirling, Ondine had no comeback. Because as much as she didn’t want to believe her, the Infanta was right.

  “He has already let you down. Trust me, he will again. I have been let down by all the men in my life. My daughters, too, were let down by the men in their lives. You will be let down by the men in yours.”

  No. Not Hamish. He’s not like that. All the while a horrible thought nagged at her. Hamish had blabbed to the Duke about the Infanta and that should have stayed private. If he’d kept his mouth shut, she wouldn’t be in this position. Oh, why did things have to get so messed up?

  Anathea looked down at Ondine. “When will my cup of tea be made?”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The morning of Halloween felt so cold Ondine could see her breath as she got out of bed. Tonight she would be a cabbage on the stage. The thought should have filled her with dread and embarrassment, but she had far bigger things to worry about. Vincent had threatened to evict them tomorrow, which meant she and Hamish and Col had to find out who was making the Duke so sick, and how. They needed solid evidence. Today.

  If they failed, Pavla might become so sick he could die. Then Vincent would step in and take over. They couldn’t let that happen.

  Pyotr knocked on her door. “Your great aunt needs you.”

  “What is it this time?”

  “She is dying.”

  Bang! Ondine sat bolt upright. “What?” Immediately her mind returned to their journey on the train, when Old Col had spotted the shape of a coffin in the tealeaves. Had her great aunt seen her own death coming?

  “Apparently,” Pyotr said. “The doctor is with her now.”

  That’s strange, Ondine thought. Pyotr seemed to answer the question she didn’t even ask out loud. That might explain how he was always in the right place at the right time. Lord Vincent’s accusations played in her head – maybe she was responsible for spreading bad magic? But for that to be true, she had to be a bit magic herself, and she didn’t have a magic bone in her body. If she did, for starters she’d magic herself a nice warm coat.

  Heart hammering with fear, Ondine followed Pyotr to Old Col’s room and found her in bed. Her skin had a grey pallor. Beads of sweat gathered on her brow.

  The doctor looked up, holding Old Col’s wrist, and acknowledged Ondine and Pyotr as they walked in. “It’s most likely kidney stones. They are very painful. It may also be some food poisoning at the same time,” she said. “I will have to run some tests.”

  “Must be something I ate in Norange,” Col whispered.

  Ondine’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ve been to Slaegal?”

  “Yes. Nipped over for twenty-four hours but had to come straight back. I’m trying to help them organise the next CovenCon. They should bring it back here. There is some strange magic about.” Col seemed exhausted by saying these few words. “A bunch of monkeys couldn’t be less competent.” Blurgle went her stomach.

  The doctor interrupted them. “You need to stay hydrated and flush it out of your system. I’m recommending you drink a litre of cranberry juice per day. You’ll also need to take charcoal pellets to help get the toxins out of your system.”

  Old Col’s stomach made the strangest noises.

  Ondine shared her worries with the doctor. “The Duke didn’t look very well last time I saw him either. Like he was in pain. Do you think he might have kidney stones too?”

  Shock played over the doctor’s face. “Has he been eating foods rich in oxalic acid?”

  “Ah . . . like what?” Ondine asked.

  The doctor listed the ingredients, “Spinach, too much salt, too much meat?”

  Pyotr nodded. “I will take you to him directly,” he said.

  “Good.” The doctor picked up her bag.

  “Wait.” Old Col coughed and tried to sit up. “Stay, I need a witness.” The effort of sitting wiped her out. She closed her eyes as more sweat gathered on her brow.

  Pyotr retrieved some papers from the nearby table. “Your great-aunt has made her will, she needs two non-beneficiaries to witness her signature.” Pyotr then picked up a pen and placed it in Old Col’s clammy palm. He grabbed a book off the side table to support the paper. Old Col opened her heavy eyelids and made a spidery signature on both papers.

  Panic ate through Ondine. “But . . . Aunt Col, you’re not dying. You just . . . probably feel like you are.”

  Pyotr handed the papers to Ondine. She couldn’t help smiling when she saw Hamish would inherit everything.

  “Um, I’m not eighteen. Am I even allowed to sign?”

  “Good point.” Pyotr gave the papers to the doctor instead.

  A doctor in the midst of drawing up a needle full of clear liquid.

  “What’s that?” Ondine asked.

  “Are you allergic to anything?” the doctor asked Col.

  “Nothing gets to me, usually,” Col said, beads of sweat growing over her top lip.

  “Good,” the doctor said. “This is a strong analgesic, which will treat the pain and give you some rest for a while. Now, I really must be attending the Duke.”

  “Is Aunt Col going to be OK?” Ondine asked, all the while wondering why Col and the Duke were sick but Hamish wasn’t. At least, not last time she checked. Then it hit her – Hamish didn’t eat green leafy things so he’d probably missed out on whatever was making Col and the Duke sick. Then she remembered something else – when Hamish transformed, he left his illnesses and injuries behind. Thank heavens he could change into a ferret, it had probably saved his life!

  The doctor turned. “I expect your great-aunt will make a good recovery. But it depends on what she’s ingested. Now, this is very important. If you hear of anything strange going on in the kitchens, you tell me, all right?”

  “Oh yeah, sure.” Great. Someone else who wants information. Just Ondine’s luck. She really sucked at being a spy, because she knew nothing.

  The moment the doctor and Pyotr left, Col murmured something. Ondine stepped closer.

  “Sorry, Ondi,” Col said, “This has all become very serious.”

  “You’re telling me!”

  “Must be Duchess doing . . . this.”

  “Now, Col, I don’t want to stress you out, but we do need to get a move on.” Ondine said. “If we don’t get something on the Duchess or the Infanta tonight – and the way I see it, it has to be one of them – then Vincent’s going to evict us tomorrow.”

  The doctor’s needle was doing its work, because her great-aunt slumped back against her cushions and could barely put two words together.

  Ondine said, “OK, don’t talk, just two blinks for yes, one for no, OK?”

  Two blinks.

  “Right. So we know the Duchess is siphoning money into a secret account.”

  Two blinks.

  “And we know the Duke probably doesn’t suspect a thing.”

  Two blinks.

  “And people are sick, including the Duke. So it’s the Duchess slipping poison into the food?”

  Two blinks.

  “But what good would it do her to kill her husband? I thought they were in love? If she doesn’t love him, why not get a divorce?” The twig snapped. “Ah, but if she got divorced, she’d be out of the palace and she’d have no money. But . . . Aunt Col, I’m really no good at this. If the Duke dies, it all goes to Vincent. But he’s too young to – Mercury’s wings, the Duchess would rule on his behalf, wouldn’t she?”

  Two blinks.

  “So.” Ondine sighed and felt a headache coming on. “How do we tell the Duke?”

  T
hree blinks.

  “What does three blinks mean?”

  “Means . . . I don’t know.”

  WHEN ONDINE RETURNED to her room, she found a furious Draguta cursing her name and the Duchess’s under her breath.

  “You!” Draguta made a spitting sound, her face full of fury. “Thought were friends, but friend stabbed me in back!”

  “I haven’t done anything!” Ondine splayed her palms out in surrender.

  Draguta snatched her teddy and stuffed him inside a jumper, then squashed the jumper into her small suitcase. “Duchess seek me out. Makes example of me in front of whole staff! Call me snoop! Says I go through her things! I never touch her things. Everything fine until you come . . .” The rest of her words made no sense, as Draguta reverted to her mother tongue.

  “But I didn’t say anything! I even stuck my neck out with Duke Pavla so I could protect you!”

  “Protect? Ptah!”

  “I’m sorry.” It came out as a squeak. Guilt turned Ondine’s stomach into cement and her voice sounded thin and wobbly. “Why did she call you a snoop?”

  “Something about wine glass and book few weeks ago. Said she waited to now so that all linen clean for Harvest Ball! Ptah! Not matter, Kerala never make sense at best of times. She want me gone, I gone.”

  It was Ondine’s fault. And a bit of Hamish’s as well. She played dumb but knew exactly what Draguta was talking about. The glass of wine they’d left when they first found the ledger, to confuse the Duchess into thinking she’d left it there herself. Clearly, it hadn’t worked. Heart thumping, eyes misting, hands shaking, Ondine slumped on to her bed. Nasty, clanging clunks echoed around the room as Draguta snapped the locks on her case.

  Silently, Ondine cursed her decision to follow Hamish to the palechia. Everything had gone so badly wrong, right from the start. Nothing in her life had ever been so messed up. She couldn’t help thinking the entire palechia had to be cursed.

  And then a horrible little voice in her head said it wasn’t the palechia’s fault, it was hers.