Page 28 of A Slipper in the Smoke
“Whatever you want,” Elena insisted. “Whatever you need me to do. I’ll do it. I swear.”
“Go back to the palace,” Snowdrop said. “Carry on as usual. Keep your ears open, but don’t do anything stupid. Show them how good an engineer you are.”
“Show them…” The words spun round Elena’s head, and her eyes widened, imagining what the Crown might use her talents for. “No. No, I couldn’t—”
“It may not come to that, but it never hurts—”
“If I go back in that room again, I’m going to vomit.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t,” Snowdrop returned, as if impressed by her resolve. “Just go back, then. Keep going as you are now.”
“All right,” said Elena. “I’ll do it.”
“Good.” Snowdrop folded her arms. “We’ll be in touch.”
Elena managed to keep it together all the way back to the Baroness’ apartment, managed to keep her emotions at bay all the way through the narrow, blackened streets and up to the stuffy top floor. She couldn’t bear the thought of crying where anyone could see her. If she could hold them in just a little longer, maybe she wouldn’t cry at all. Maybe her tears would dissolve, or transform into steel.
Maybe, maybe, maybe…
She turned the handle into the apartment. She’d just go splash her face in the bathroom, and then climb into bed. Just a few more actions, a few more steps, and she’d be safe.
But she lost it when she turned into the main room, and the first thing she saw was her father’s ashes.
She was never going to take him home.
He would never rest beside her Mama beneath the tree, never drift in the wheat fields, never return to Navarra.
Never mind wherever his soul was; there was nothing she could cling to. Nothing to hold.
And there hadn’t been for years.
Something deep cracked in her chest, like glass in a vice.Papa, Papa…and a string of shapeless words she could not give voice to.
“Elena?” said a quiet voice behind her. “Are you all right?”
Elena couldn’t turn, couldn’t move, couldn’t explain, couldn’t do anything, not even when her youngest stepsister reached out to touch her shoulder and she crumpled against her, sinking like a paper boat.
Her father used to make little boats, setting them adrift on the pond outside their house.
They would never go back.
She was losing him all over again.
Another door creaked open. “Gears, what’s wrong with her?”
Mariah shrugged. Ivanka groaned. “Get her into her room. If Maman sees her…”
Elena knew she should be more afraid. The Baroness would not take kindly to this display. But how could anything she would do be worse than what Elena had just discovered?
Her stepsisters pulled her from the floor and tugged her into her bedroom. The three of them barely fit, so Ivanka dumped her on the bed and left her, muttering under her breath. Mariah stayed, unlacing her bodice, peeling her out of her clothes, tucking away her boots and sliding her into bed. She stroked her hair, like Elena was a child. Perhaps she was. She could hardly breathe for sobbing, and clutched at her singular, flat pillow like a child might a toy.
“It’s all right,” Mariah whispered. “I think. I don’t know. What’s wrong?”
Elena wanted to tell her. Not everything, just that her father’s ashes weren’t real, but she couldn’t tell her the truth, knowing it would likely get back to the Baroness and she’d have to explain how she knew. She had no choice but to circle the drain of grief, alone again, knowing that she could never risk pulling another person in with her.
Piptriednottobe disappointed about not being able to speak to Elena properly the night before. He tried, and failed. He knew he was being foolish. Doubtless, given how ill she’d looked, the night had been far worse for her.
Unless she was faking it because she didn’t want to speak to him.
