Entwined(4)

She grinned inside every time a gentleman took her into dance position and his eyebrows rose, and rose even farther as he would lead her about the ballroom. They swept past ladies in chiffon and lace, their hoopskirts swaying with her breeze. She danced lightly, followed at even the slightest of touches, had a firm frame and strong form, and never forgot a step. By the time the gentlemen escorted her to a velvet chair at the ballroom’s side, they beamed and complimented her on her grace. Azalea returned the compliment with a sleek, deep curtsy that made her green skirts swath the floor in a silky puddle, and giggled inside when their mouths dropped. One day, she was determined, she would be quite as graceful as Mother. Mother didn’t walk. She glided.

Peals rumbled the floor as the tower chimed ten, and the guests began a bouncy polka. Azalea, who did not like the hard, breathless dance, slipped past the blur of dancers to the corner where the glimmering Christmas trees stood, hoping to spend a few moments out of sight. The ball had gone perfectly so far. If only Mother and her sisters were here, it would complete everything.

Azalea considered nipping upstairs to check on them. She imagined the girls, caged up in their room, music drifting through the floor. They would be sitting at the round table, staring at the picture pieces with glazed eyes. Azalea sighed. She poked one of the ornaments on the ribbon-and-silver decked tree.

The ornaments clinked. A hand shot out from the boughs, a handkerchief between its fingers. Azalea leaped back.

“Dry your tears,” said the tree, “young peep.”

“Great scott!” said Azalea, taking the handkerchief from the disembodied hand, which slipped back into the tree with a rustle. The handkerchief had sloppily embroidered letters in the corner. B.E.W.

“Only, you looked a nudge away from bursting into tears,” said the tree.

“Bramble!”

Behind branches dripping with silver-and-glass ornaments, a pair of yellow-green eyes winked at Azalea. Azalea bit back a delighted cry.

“Hulloa, Az!”

The trees, arranged around the corner of the ballroom, had left an empty pie-bit sort of space, now filled with sisters. All ten of them crowded about together on the floor, hidden, pressed between the trees and the wall.

“Looks…comfortable,” said Azalea.

“It’s not so bad now that we can’t feel our legs.” Bramble grinned, her thin lips turning up into a wry smile. “It’s a bit squashy, but it’s worth it.”

Azalea peered through the branches. Clover cradled both Jessamine and Kale, who slept soundly. Eve pressed next to her, clutching a book. A pine branch was in her face.

“All right there, Eve?” said Azalea.

Eve turned a page of her book. “The light is bad,” she said.

Azalea cast a glance back at the blur of guests, still engrossed in their dance. “The King’s going to be dreadfully cross,” she said. “Didn’t he make you promise to stay inside?”

“We are inside!” said Bramble. “Da-dum! Next time the King will have to rethink his wording. Are you glad we’re here?”

Delight bubbled through Azalea, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “Beyond words!”

The girls burst into a chatter.

“The ball is absolutely marvelous this year!”

“I can’t wait until I’m of age!”

“The food looks corking!”

“All the gentlemen are mad after you!”

“Just remember, don’t get attached to any of them,” said Delphinium, who thought herself an expert in matters of love, now she was twelve. “They’re not dancing with you because you’re you. They’re only dancing with you because if they marry you, they get to be King.”

Azalea’s smile faded. She took a step away from the Christmas trees, feeling as though a hand wrung her stomach.

“Oh…stuff it, Delphinium,” said Bramble.

“I just think she shouldn’t fall in love, that’s all,” said Delphinium. “Since parliament will choose the next king, she—”

“Yes, thank you.” Bramble pushed Delphinium back, which made the entire mass of pine trees rustle. Ornaments tinkled. Bramble turned back to Azalea, and her wry grin reappeared.

“I hope you’re grateful,” she said. “Our Great Christmas Tree Scandal took a lot of time. We told the King we’d be in our room all day—sulking, you know—and then slipped behind here after tea.”

“You’ve been here since tea?” said Azalea. “You must be hungry!”

“Hungry?” said Bramble. “We’re starving!”

“Oh, yes!” piped the other girls. “We haven’t had a crumb to eat, not a crumb crumb crumb!”

The mass of trees shook.

Azalea pulled back, laughing.

“I can fix that!” she said, and she swept to the dessert table.

She filled her plate with every sort of sweet—candied raspberries, rosemary tarts, iced walnuts, sticky sweet rolls—things they had only once a year, since parliament funded the Yuletide ball and could afford it. Their own rather poor household lived on porridge and potatoes. Back at the trees, as the polka wound to an end and a mazurka began, Azalea leaned down, as though to inspect her worn slippers, and shoved the plate beneath the branches. Several pairs of eager hands pulled it in, and the trees burst into delighted squeals.