Midnight in Everwood(62)
‘How can she manage to sew three ballgowns in such a short timeframe? Surely that cannot be possible,’ Marietta said. She had been longing for her own enchanted gown since she’d been locked in the palace and was a little bereft that she hadn’t had a greater agency in the design process.
‘She presides over a team of seamstresses that have spent moontides deep in their craft, preparing for the winter ball season,’ Pirlipata said.
Dellara’s smile was glazed. ‘She’s magical with her craft,’ she said. ‘The queen of the Silk Quarter. You’ll see.’
Some hours later, Marietta scarcely recognised herself. A strapless golden bodice encased her like a second skin. Onyx silhouettes of fir trees glittered atop. The skirt was jet tulle, voluminous in its whispering mille-feuille layers. Black pointe shoes enveloped her feet, and when she peered in an armoire mirror, the Odile to her Odette looked back at her. Her eyes were darkened in smoky hues, her tinted eyebrows were branches from which tiny golden leaves trailed on vines down her cheekbones. She had painstakingly brushed her long hair with a butterscotch-scented oil that she realised as a blushing afterthought reminded her of the captain. It flowed down her back, entwined with golden swirls of silk that rippled when she danced.
‘I declare you perfect. The captain will have a hard time keeping his eyes off you now,’ Dellara said with satisfaction, examining Marietta’s face and laying down her brushes. Marietta’s cheeks warmed. ‘Even better.’ Dellara’s grin spread wider. ‘You look in need of a good ravishing.’ She winked at Marietta’s flushed face and pulled on a pair of black velvet boots that reached her thighs. Marietta averted her eyes, feeling as if she’d strayed into the unsavoury world of the Moulin Rouge. The feeling was not unfamiliar to her; during her stay in Everwood, she had already witnessed a lifetime’s worth of debauchery within these frozen sugar walls. Dellara laughed. ‘I knew it; you’re from one of those worlds.’
Marietta’s blush deepened as she gave Dellara a look of deep irritation. ‘And which worlds might you be referring to?’
‘The ones without any fun in them.’ Dellara arched an eyebrow, the filigreed black lace around her eyes lending her a devious look.
Ignoring her, Marietta turned to Pirlipata and helped her arrange the silken folds of her long golden dress. It slunk down to the floor, the sparkling colour punctuated with tiny black storm clouds that floated up and down the satin, occasionally pausing to puff out spurts of inky raindrops. Pirlipata had inked a matching raindrop on one cheek before painting her lips and the tips of her dark hair in gold lacquer.
Dellara eyed Pirlipata’s statement. ‘If you’re planning to get us all killed, I may as well enjoy myself tonight,’ she continued beneath her breath.
Ivana made the final adjustments to Dellara’s dress; a bauble of a gown in glistening, ruched golden satin. Strings of black gemstones wound round her neck and each arm, rendering her a dark, luminescent figure. ‘A light dusting of sugar to finish.’ Ivana approached Marietta, a golden pot in one hand revealing sparkling contents, a soft brush in her other hand.
‘Do not sugar her.’ Pirlipata’s voice carried the strength of her missing armour. Marietta glanced up in surprise. The dressmaker’s fingers twitched.
‘Remember what we discussed.’ Dellara’s drawl was honey poured atop the significant look she gave Pirlipata. ‘We need her to sparkle so she can charm the captain,’ she whispered and Marietta frowned. ‘Do continue.’ Dellara waved a hand at Ivana. ‘Sugar her.’
Pirlipata glared at Dellara, the air between them crackling with tension Marietta had never felt resonate through the bonds of their friendship before.
Ivana dipped the brush into the pot and applied the sugar to Marietta’s bare shoulders, arms, neck and in a path down through her cleavage in a manner that Marietta considered most affronting, but the matter-of-fact dressmaker ignored her intake of breath and ploughed on. When she’d finished, she plucked her bag from the side table and left, her heels clacking. Every inch of Marietta glittered sweetly.
Dellara swept a shadowed paint over her lips and blotted them with tissue paper before meeting their eyes in the mirror. ‘We’ve set our plan into motion. May the stars shine brightly over us. Executing the next part is in your dominion, Marietta. Do not disappoint us.’
The throne room sparkled like the inside of a champagne flute. Gold and black were the reigning colours. Tiny golden bows had been affixed round the frostpeckers’ necks, initiating them into the colour scheme as they meandered around the iced streams and fountains. The igloos had been replaced with bubbles suspended on thin golden chains, large enough for a couple to steal away into. Shimmering icing had been poured atop them, rendering them private.
Marietta danced, her thousand-layered dress diaphanous as a Renaissance gown. As she danced, she observed the scene. Looking for the right opportunity. Servers wearing nothing but golden paint whirled around, their onyx slabs stacked with small gingerbread cakes, each topped with golden caramel buttercream and a tiny gingerbread man in a black bow tie that sang and spouted edible glitter. She spotted Fin and Danyon standing by the main door, deep in conversation, wearing black and gold livery. Then the back of Claren as he climbed up into one of the bubbles, pulling a woman in a black and gold striped suit in after him. The king, wearing a golden suit dusted with crushed golden jewels, danced with Pirlipata, whose serene smile failed to fool Marietta. Pirouetting, Marietta watched their faces blend into one brilliant melee. She had yet to glimpse the captain. It occurred to her that he may not attend; he surely held responsibilities that took precedence over a ball. Even so, she couldn’t prevent herself from searching through the crowds for him. Her mission notwithstanding, the words he’d written echoed through her dreams at night. Some she’d committed to memory, familiar and soul-stained. Look to the stars.