Midnight in Everwood(39)
They drank cups of a pot of molten drinking chocolate, thick and creamy and layered with delicate spices, the chocolate rich as bottled poetry. Just as Marietta was debating a second cup, another server scurried in and placed a small box at her feet. It was filled with chocolates. Shaped like mice, each one held a different filling. Some were expected; berries and cream flavoured or caramel. Others were a fantasy she held no words for. ‘How generous of the king,’ Marietta said, offering them to Dellara.
She said nothing and Marietta excused herself to bathe.
The bathing pool was cut into the smooth stone floor on the other side of the gauzy drapes. Marietta shed her silk robe and descended the steps leading into its balmy water. Big enough to swim lengths in, one entire side bubbled like Hecate’s cauldron, releasing large, toffee-scented bubbles. Another side featured a waterfall, spooling out from the rocky wall in a rush of warm water and peppermint-green mist. Marietta swam a languid length in the pool before lying back and watching the obsidian ceiling that shimmered in unfamiliar constellations until she felt as if she were swimming in starlight.
After, she donned her robe and sauntered over to the armoires to dress for the day, luxuriating in the languorous pace her new life afforded. She supposed she would meet with the dressmaker soon and intended to borrow something beforehand. Yet digging through the armoires, she struggled to source anything similar to the dresses and gowns she was accustomed to wearing. There was an overwhelming array of colours, textures and designs that would put a couturier’s studio to shame, and the only corsets she uncovered seemed to be constructed as outerwear, which was most puzzling.
Dellara materialised behind her. ‘Nothing take your fancy?’
Marietta opened another armoire and peered inside. A dress comprised of nothing but iridescent peacock feathers gave her a silky wave. ‘I would not have thought my choice of wardrobe would be of the remotest interest to you.’
‘You’re entirely right; I’m buried under a veritable snowstorm of things to do today.’ Dellara’s voice was slow, indolent, her smile a deadly thing, better suited to creeping through forests, hunting across tundra. She waited. ‘I am rather gifted when it comes to fashion, I’ll have you know. If my life hadn’t set me on this path then I could have risen to prominence in the Silk Quarter.’
Though masked in her disdain, Marietta heard the note of truth shining through her words. ‘In that case, I concede.’ She stepped aside, letting Dellara feast her attention on the armoires. After a cursory glance, Dellara stared at Marietta’s face.
‘Is this necessary?’ Marietta asked coolly.
‘You have a similar build to another woman who was here not too many years ago. Her clothes ought to suit you fine until the dressmaker pays you a visit.’ Dellara tapped a magenta-polished nail on matching lips. ‘You have a regal face,’ she said; ‘perhaps we can work with that.’ She delved into the nearest armoire.
Marietta frowned. ‘You’re mistaken; queens are beautiful. I am not.’
Dellara looked back over her shoulder, the shadows darting round the edge of her irises thickening like smoke. ‘No, you’re mistaken. Queens are powerful.’ With a flourish, she extracted a gunmetal-grey gown that skimmed along the collarbone and bared shoulders, with glittering silver thorns dripping from the belted waist. It came to a finish in knee-length, jagged flutters.
Marietta considered it. In Nottingham, she had dressed for ballet or for society. Function or etiquette. The gown Dellara was proposing was for her own enticement only. ‘Will you and Pirlipata not mind lending me access to your wardrobe? I do apologise for intruding on your space; as I mentioned, I was unaware that this would be the situation.’
‘Yes, I realise that.’ Dellara gave her a searching look. ‘I have my own armoire that’s off limits to you.’ A wisp of sadness tugged the corner of her lips down. ‘And Pirlipata wears only gold.’
Marietta didn’t wish to probe that sadness. Dellara busied herself with fishing through a drawer with fresh determination. ‘Wear it with these,’ she added, passing Marietta a pair of thin, light trousers in a rich sapphire shade before flopping back onto a chaise as if the whole experience had been greatly taxing.
Her mother would have been scandalised at the form-fitting trousers that clung to her hips. To Marietta, they were as liberating as her ballet dresses. She pirouetted on the polished lilac stone floor, her skirts flaring out, emitting a scent of winter jasmine and snow.
When Marietta’s summons from the king came, she was prepared. Two faceless guards escorted her down the stairs. She marched ahead of them, down the candy-cane-striped steps, discomfited by their presence and their masked faces, blank as dolls. Perhaps the forest was more dangerous than anyone was letting on to necessitate them. Her view stretched to rows above and below, the central throne room the core of the palace. The single door was guarded by another pair of faceless guards. Next to it, remnants of a lost mosaic clung to the sugar wall.
Golden cage-lifts glided up and down, the glossy obsidian flooring now emptied from the grand ball she’d danced her way into the previous night, leaving the throne on prominent display. The king reclined there, outfitted in an icy blue creation beneath a shocking lime cape, shot through with gold. He was deep in conversation with the captain.
‘Ah, here is my enchanting dancer from a distant land.’ King Gelum broke off their exchange, absorbing Marietta’s presence. The faceless guards were dismissed as she curtsied.