Princess of the Midnight Ball (17 page)

They passed through a long hall and into a ballroom where amethyst chandeliers hung over a floor inlaid with silver and lapis lazuli. Musicians played in a gallery so high above their heads that Galen could barely make out their forms, and servants in black livery passed among the guests with trays bearing silver goblets of wine. When the princesses arrived, the guests all stopped dancing and talking and applauded them. The grim suitors bowed, the princesses curtsied, and the musicians struck up a lively tune. Rose and her sisters were whirled away, leaving Galen alone and unseen to watch.

Glad that no one could see him gaping like a half-wit, Galen wandered through the ballroom. It was a wonder that the sisters had seemed so reluctant to come here, their faces strained and Pansy frankly in tears. What young girl wouldn’t love to dance away her nights in this splendid castle, in the arms of a handsome suitor?

But as he roamed the edge of the dance floor, Galen started to think that it was not as beautiful here as he had first thought. The other people at the ball all smiled and sipped their wine and danced, but their smiles were not… quite … right. Their lips stretched too wide, and they seemed to have too many teeth. Their eyes glittered like the jewels they wore, and their skin was too white and smooth.

And then still there were the princesses. They danced. They ate delicate pastries and strange fruits.

But they did not smile.

Hyacinth wept, the tears running silently down her cheeks as she whirled around the floor in the arms of her tall partner. Pansy sobbed noisily, and occasionally stopped dancing to stomp on her partner’s feet. He wore a look of long-suffering, and after a few dances he simply picked her up and carried her around the floor, swaying in time to the music.

“Do they
have
to dance?” Galen said aloud without thinking. The white-faced woman standing near him narrowed her eyes and stared right at the spot where Galen stood. Holding his breath, he backed away.

Galen remembered how Pansy had burst into tears earlier when he had offered her a “ball.” He thought about Rose’s illness, and how it had continued for months while her slippers were worn out night after night. Surely she would not have come here to dance in the extremity of her illness unless she had no other choice. The one night they hadn’t danced, Rionin and his brethren had invaded the garden.

But why? Who was forcing them to come here?

An hour later, this question was answered. The music stopped, and the dancers all turned to look expectantly at a tall door at the far end of the room. The musicians played a long fanfare, and the door opened to reveal a tall man wearing a long black robe and a crown tarnished blue-black.

“All hail the King Under Stone,” one of the footmen
shouted. He banged a silver staff on the floor three times. “All hail the king!”

“All hail the king!” the guests chanted in reply.

As the man stepped into the room, Galen swallowed thickly. If the smiles and eyes of the courtiers had made Galen nervous, the appearance of their king made him break out in a cold sweat.

Skin as white as paper, taller and thinner than anyone Galen had ever seen, the king of the underground palace surveyed his court with eyes like chips of obsidian. His thin lips peeled back from sharp white teeth in a hideous parody of a smile.

“So nice to see that my sons’ brides-to-be have at last recovered their strength,” the king said in a wintry voice. “It is always so refreshing to see our royal flowers in bloom.” His cold eyes rested on Rose. “Our dear Rose, especially.”

Without thinking, Galen’s hand went to his hip where once he had worn a pistol. He bit his tongue, though, and forced himself to relax so that he would not give away his presence.

The King Under Stone. Rose and her sisters were prisoners of the King Under Stone. Galen’s knees almost buckled. There wasn’t a mother in Ionia who hadn’t frightened her children into obedience by using that name, or who hadn’t prayed over the same child so they might never encounter that evil being.

He was the stuff of nightmares, the stuff of campfire tales. A magician so steeped in evil that he had ceased to be human, transforming himself and his most devout followers into something
other
: immortal and monstrous. According to legend, centuries ago every country on the continent of Ionia had risen up against him and cast him into an underground prison. He
was too powerful to be destroyed completely, and trapping him in a sunless realm with only his followers to rule over had been the only solution. An army of white witches had been gathered to do the deed, and the effort had cost many of them their lives. It was a legend everyone knew.

And now it appeared that the legend was true.

The King Under Stone glided across the floor to the dais and sat on his tall throne. “Please, continue dancing. You know how much I enjoy the dancing.”

The court tittered at this, and the king clapped his long, thin hands. The musicians began a jig, and Under Stone sat, immobile, his long silver hair hanging down either side of his skeletal face, and watched the princesses.

Pansy’s partner had at last given in and allowed her to sit in a chair to one side of the room, asking one of the hard-faced court women to dance instead. Galen sidled across the room and sat in the empty chair beside the young princess.

“Paaaaansy,” he whispered in a hollow voice. “Don’t moooove. I am a goooood spirit!”

Pansy sat up straight and whimpered, her eyes flickering around as she searched for the source of the voice. “Who’s there?”

“I’m a good spirit,” Galen repeated. “I want to help yooooou.”

She bit her lip, tears leaking from the corners of her reddened eyes. Galen’s heart went out to her. This poor child was clearly beyond the edge of her endurance, but he didn’t dare to put his arm around her. For one thing, good spirits did not
wear heavy wool suits, and for another, he didn’t want anyone to see Pansy’s shoulders turn invisible.

“Why do you come here?” Galen asked.

Pansy wrinkled her nose. “We have to,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice. She blinked, looking around again for the good spirit.

“But why?”

“Because of Mother, I guess.”

“What did your mother dooooo?” Galen pressed.

“Pansy, get up!” Poppy had appeared in front of them. She had an anxious look on her face. She grabbed her little sister’s hands and pulled Pansy off the chair. Poppy glanced nervously over her shoulder to where her partner stood in conversation with Pansy’s. “You have to dance again!”

“I’m tired,” Pansy whined.

“We’re all tired,” Poppy snapped. “But we still have to dance.”

“But Telinros said—”

“Telinros doesn’t matter,” Poppy said. “Look at the king!” She jerked her head at the king, who was frowning in their direction. “You’ve sat out one dance; that’s the most any of us get. Come along.” And she led the drooping Pansy back to her partner.

From his chair, Galen watched Poppy and Pansy enter the dance once more. Rose whirled by with her suitor, and Galen briefly considered sticking out one of his boots and tripping the dark prince. He decided against it, though, since Rose might fall and hurt herself.

Galen sat back and observed. As the glittering court went around and around the dance floor, his eyes were drawn to the king. The King Under Stone sat even straighter on his throne. His eyes were shining and his white hair and skin had become silvery. As his courtiers and the princesses faded with exhaustion, the king appeared to become stronger, his skin almost glowing.

“He’s feeding off their energy,” Galen murmured, sickened. How had Queen Maude become embroiled in this? Had she been one of the courtiers? And why had her daughters become enslaved to the King Under Stone?

He found that he couldn’t watch the king, or even the dancers, too closely. The whole spectacle sickened him. He let his eyelids slip halfway down and watched the feet of the dancers as they whirled by.

The striking of a great gong woke Galen some time later, and he realized that he had dozed off. Looking around frantically, he spotted Rose, and then quickly counted to make sure that the other princesses were there as well. The king had risen from his throne, rejuvenated, and the courtiers were assembling before him. The princesses with their partners came to stand in a space cleared for them in front of the dais.

“Another night has passed away,” the pale king intoned. “Far above us in the mortal world dawn arrives in the kingdom of Westfalin. Two favors did I grant Queen Maude in return for four and twenty years dancing in my court. She gave me fourteen years before her death, five years and fiftythree days of payment remain. And then, my sons, you shall
wed your princesses and keep them here to delight us forever.”

The court clapped their pale hands and laughed their shivery laughs. The king’s dark sons smiled down at the princesses with a proprietary air, but the princesses merely stood, exhausted and silent. Galen edged around the crowd and stood behind Rose. Her head turned slightly, as though she heard him approach, but she said nothing.

The dark suitors led the princesses away then, through the long hallway and out the tall doors, to crunch down the black sand to the golden boats. Once more Galen hopped into the boat after Rose, and once more her suitor lagged behind the others, a disgruntled expression on his face.

At the far shore of the lake, the suitors helped the princesses out of the rowboats but would not take one step farther toward the forest. The princesses continued on alone, without looking back, into the silver trees.

Trailing behind Rose, Galen thought about what he would tell King Gregor. How to explain where the princesses went every night? How to tell the king that his late, lamented wife had made some sort of bargain with the strange, cold king of this underground realm? The princesses could not speak to support his story, and it was very likely that the king would not believe him.

As they passed beneath the gleaming, otherworldly trees, Galen reached up and snapped off a pair of twigs. The sharp cracking noise made Rose stop dead in her tracks, and she turned around, wildly searching for whatever had made the sound.

“What was that?”

“Rose?” Up ahead, lamp once more in hand, Lily turned and looked down the line of girls. “Are you all right?”

Galen stood very still, holding the twigs beneath his cape. They were cold, and very slick and hard. If he didn’t know better, he would say that they really
were
silver, and not the product of a tree at all.

“Didn’t you hear it?” Rose squinted at the trees. “There was a loud cracking sound!”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Lily said, her usually gentle voice impatient. “Let’s go! The maids and your gardener will wake soon.”

“I heard it too,” Orchid said. She was standing just in front of Rose. “Maybe one of the branches broke.”

The sisters all looked at the black ground around the trees, but no glint of silver from a broken branch or even a fallen leaf could be seen. Petunia got down on her hands and knees and crawled around the base of the nearest tree.

“Petunia, stop that!” Iris hauled the youngest sister to her feet. “You’re getting filthy!”

Black mud that sparkled faintly in the light from Lily’s lamp covered Petunia’s skirt and the toes of her ruined dancing slippers.

Daisy was hopping from foot to foot. “We have to go,” she said. “We’ve never been this late: the staircase is already there. What if it goes away again before we set home?”

Slipping the twigs into the pouch hanging from his belt, Galen strode after the princesses as they trotted through the
woods and passed under the pearl-studded arch. Rose shut the gates behind them, nearly catching the tail of Galen’s cape as he slid through. With a jolt Galen realized that they would expect to see him sleeping in the chair before the fire when they came up through the floor. He sprinted past the princesses, making Lily’s lamp flicker as he passed, and took the golden stairs two at a time, trying his best not to make too much noise even as he raced ahead of them.

“What was that?” he heard one of them cry out as he passed.

Galen yanked off the cape and shoved it into his satchel as he dropped into the chair. He fought to turn his panting breath into snores even as, from beneath his lashes, he saw Lily’s head rise up out of the black square in the floor. She came at once to his side and peered down at him, checking to see if he was still asleep. As the lamplight fell on his face, he snorted and shifted in his chair but didn’t open his eyes.

“Is he still asleep?” Rose whispered.

“Yes,” Lily whispered back.

Galen listened as they rustled about, helping each other undress and go into their separate bedrooms to catch a few precious hours of sleep. When they had left the sitting room, he took out his cape and refolded it so that it fit into the satchel better. Then he stretched and found a more comfortable position in the chair, to sleep a little bit himself. He had a lot to think about, but he was far too tired to reason it out now.

“I don’t know how they can do it night after night,” he mumbled as he drifted off. “Poor Rose….”