Midnight in Everwood(57)

‘I had a feeling you might be so inclined,’ Dellara said.

Marietta pressed Pirlipata’s hand. ‘What do you suggest we do?’

Dellara indulged in a languorous stretch. ‘I believe you were right last moontide. There is no sense in waiting for either our impending doom or the rebellion to take hold. We shall have to engender our own escape.’

When the guards unlocked the door to allow a server through, they were greeted with the women conversing on which scent best complemented which shade of tulle. The server kept his eyes averted as per custom and sat a heavy silver tray down on a cushion before scurrying back out. Marietta eyed the tray, waiting for the guards to leave. She’d risen early by habit to stretch her limbs and perform barre exercises using the curved headrest of a chaise longue. As she had performed sets of relevés, small, ankle-strengthening rises, some hidden emotion had soared up within, deep and unavoidable, until she had poured it out into dance. Gentle at first, testing her weakened ankle, then stronger, fiercer. Frustration at Captain Legat, veined with anger and something else, something unidentifiable and entirely new. She danced in silence, her sole witness the cold moon-soaked land beyond the sugar wall. She had not eaten after, both she and Pirlipata choosing to pass their share onto the ravenous Dellara. Now the scent of souffléd root vegetables, crispy, brown-sugar-glazed slices of cheese, bowls of frostberries, spiced apple cake and whorls of pastry dripping with salted caramel sauce summoned she hunger.

The faceless guards scanned the room, paying no heed to Dellara’s argument for vanilla-scented magenta against Marietta’s sudden predilection for praline-scented pearl. She suffered a bite of fear that they might decide to search the armoire where she’d hidden Legat’s notebook. But at last they retreated, locking the door once more. The talk turned fiercer, growing teeth and talons.

Diving into their dinner, Marietta now well accustomed to eating with her fingers from a shared tray, she and Pirlipata were reining in Dellara’s bloodthirsty imagination.

‘As I reiterated earlier,’ Marietta said, ‘the aim is to be discreet. The fewer witnessing our exit, the better. We must be intelligent, not cause carnage.’

Pirlipata looked nauseated. ‘I am in agreement.’

Dellara took delicate nibbles out of a pastry, sprawled over the carpet beside Pirlipata clad in nothing but a furred cape. ‘And if we’re attacked?’

‘Then we shall allow you to wreak your devastation upon them.’ Marietta was unable to quell her simmering hope. Her ankle healed, Dellara back to her usual spirits, they were stronger than ever. There was nothing Marietta wouldn’t do for these women and she knew they felt likewise. It reminded her of her bond with Frederick and how dearly she missed him, but they were bound together by blood and family. These women had chosen her.

Dellara’s grin displayed her sharpened teeth.

‘And you are certain we cannot obtain one of those golden keys?’ Marietta asked.

‘Too costly and rare,’ Pirlipata sighed.

‘Then according to what I have noted, there are three main problems to overcome,’ Marietta said. Dellara, licking salted caramel sauce off her fingers, motioned for her to continue. ‘First, there is the suite door. It is perennially locked and secured by a pair of faceless guards. Secondly, the staircase. As it is the main thoroughfare of the palace, we shall require a way to traverse it without being sighted. And finally, the door to the palace. Not only does the throne room reside before it, which is habitually filled with an assortment of soldiers and guests at any one time, the passageway is enchanted to return you to King Gelum.’

A silence fell. The barriers laid out before them, the impossibility of their task loomed. Yet Marietta refused to allow her hopes to diffuse. They had all suffered too greatly to not press on. She wished she could dispel the memory of Dellara’s blood-soaked appearance and subsequent ice fever. Dellara had dismissed it, instructed them not to pay it a second thought. Yet there was the occasional tremble in her fingers and the sudden, vehement dedication to escaping. Both whispered of more than an impending invasion fuelling her desire to tear her way free. Marietta forced her attention back to the matter at hand. The silence deepened.

Pirlipata lanced through it. ‘What about disguises?’

‘I’m sorry?’ Marietta asked.

‘Why do we not don disguises to traverse the stairs? No one would toss us a second glance if they believed we were soldiers.’

‘This king doesn’t believe in female soldiers.’ Dellara’s tone turned venomous. ‘He outlawed them.’

Pirlipata continued speaking before Dellara had the opportunity to descend into her darker thoughts. ‘Servers, then. Or apprentice confectioners or patissiers perhaps.’

Marietta tapped a finger against the tray, considering. ‘An excellent suggestion. Though where might we acquire the necessary clothing?’ It was a small piece of a much larger puzzle but it necessitated solving one piece at a time before the grander picture was revealed.

Dellara’s smile was caramel-slow. ‘The captain.’

Marietta came back to the conversation with a start. ‘Captain Legat?’

‘Oh, that is an inspired idea,’ Pirlipata said, selecting the ripest frostberries. Tiny gold rings stacked up her fingers twinkled in the glow from the frozen sugar wall.

‘I disagree.’ Marietta looked between them. ‘It would mean crossing the king and he would never do that.’ He wouldn’t risk drawing any attention his way, not when he had invested everything in the rebellion. Her face warmed upon remembering his accusation of her privilege. Worse, she held no arguments against it. He had been right. And she would not pitch herself against the greater good of his actions for Everwood.