Midnight in Everwood(74)
‘This changes nothing,’ Dellara had whispered as they’d spread it over themselves, seeking solace in its scented folds, in each other. ‘We cannot live another day with this ever-present violence hanging like a sharpened icicle above our heads. Tomorrow we execute our plan.’
Chapter Thirty-Six
Blanketed in stars and snow flurries of powdered sugar, the Grand Confectioner’s Ball defied Marietta’s expectations. She paused on the staircase, surveying the throne room. It had been framed in thick, rounded glass, creating a multitude of snow globes with interlinking passages that guests ran through, goblets of ice wine in hand, trailing lovers and silk dresses. Marietta might have been tempted to join them, steal away an intimate moment with the captain, had her nerves not been so thickly knotted. Had Lev’s blood not still been visible, frozen into gruesome jewels on the ice.
‘And the heist is a-go,’ Dellara said, walking down the stairs, flanked by Marietta and Pirlipata. Their gowns were Ivana’s pièce de résistance. Matching iridescent satin with full skirts bearing transparent circles, each one of which was bewitched to offer the viewer a different scene. Marietta’s depicted tiny dancing princesses, tumbling snowflakes and endless fir forests. Dellara’s portrayed miniature chocolateries and patisseries, with cakes the size of fingernails gleaming with frosting. Each one of Pirlipata’s set her gown aflame with renditions of a golden sunset.
As she cast her gaze around, Marietta grew unsettled, uneasiness digging into her bones. Snow globes recalled to life Drosselmeier’s Christmas gift and the visions it had granted her and Frederick, pilfered from their hearts’ wishes. She wondered anew at the silver-haired figure she’d glimpsed, stalking her dreams. Last night she had dreamt of sugarplums and nutcrackers bearing Drosselmeier’s icy stare, and awoken to an invisible touch and a haze of confusion. Could Drosselmeier truly be the creator responsible for all of this? She shivered at the thought.
Captain Legat approached Marietta, interrupting her reflections. ‘You look enchanting,’ he said in a hushed tone, his gaze lingering on her, drinking her in as if he wanted to devour her. It took an effort to dispel the thought of his arms wrapped around her, his lips almost meeting hers. ‘I wish I could steal you away and never let you out of my sight.’ His fingers twitched at his side. She brushed her hand against his. His pupils dilated. He cleared his throat. ‘Perhaps—’
Skirting along the periphery of Marietta’s vision, Dellara was nearing the king in small, deliberate steps. It was time.
‘I’m afraid you must excuse me,’ Marietta said a little breathlessly.
His eyes took in her face. His garnet jacket shone with epaulettes and buttons, his livery too reminiscent of the blood frozen on the ice, the rebellion he was courting such a fate to enact. ‘May the stars shine ever brightly on you,’ he said before stepping closer and whispering into her ear, ‘Be careful, wanderer.’
Marietta danced away from his concern and towards the king. She twirled a finger in his direction, pleading with the fates that the impish smile she dangled from her lips would tempt him out of offence at her audacity. King Gelum’s lips thinned upon noticing her. Marietta feigned a pout and pirouetted, raising her eyebrows in a suggestive manner, even as the air thickened in her lungs. The king rose from his throne and strode towards her. Marietta’s heart gave an irregular pulse. It was pivotal that King Gelum dance with her. Dellara was relying on her to occupy him so she might purloin the mechanism. If they succeeded in taking it, Pirlipata was awaiting their signal to unleash a great distraction, masking Marietta and Dellara’s absence and allowing the two women to descend beneath the throne together.
As the king walked towards her, his ivory cape unfolded in an icy shimmer, bewitched to enact scenes of balls and dancers and mice armed with swords battling little doll kings. Marietta rested a hand on his chest, edging her smile with mischief, a sugar-sweet charm of her own. Her mother may have oft reminded her that she lacked beauty, but the extensive lessons in etiquette bestowed upon her had lent her a catalogue of enchantments that owed no thanks to magic.
Remaining nearby, the captain folded his arms across his chest, watching them. Danyon materialised at his side to speak into his ear. Marietta hadn’t seen him about the palace in an age; Claren was a ubiquitous presence, easy to locate in the centre of a comedic exchange or deep in a goblet, but his rigid older brother was much scarcer. Marietta ignored them, disregarding everyone that wasn’t the king, locking eyes with him alone and rising up on en pointe for one crisp double pirouette that culminated in eye contact.
She swept back into an arched bend, her arms flowing overhead, forcing the king to step forward to hold her waist, to support her. Recalling how King Gelum had witnessed her and the captain locked in an intimate dance, his jealousy sufficient to have Legat dispatched on a trifling errand, Marietta had bet upon the odds that the king had learnt that move. She had been right. Until the floor slipped away from her pointe shoes as the king took it upon himself to lift her.
Approximating a pas de deux, Marietta raised her pointed toes behind her in an attitude, her arms fluttering in port de bras, holding her muscles taut as they spun, the king’s fingers biting into her like frost, the throne room shattering into noise. As King Gelum lowered her back onto her toes, Marietta saw that the crowd was tapping their left feet onto the floor, the connecting snow globes erupting in appreciation. She would have been interested to learn how much of their regard for him was a sparkling veneer pasted over the truth.