Midnight in Everwood(34)
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.
‘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.