Page 40 of A Slipper in the Smoke
Elena hadn’t thought that far ahead.
“Um, the galleries, maybe?”
It was as good a place as any—she could hardly tell him to get her to the Queen’s bedchamber and let her riffle through her things, trying to dislodge state secrets.
Pip beamed. “A good choice. This way.”
Elena had been here before, of course, but it was a long time ago, another life. She couldn’t help but stare as they walked, dazzled by the display of silver and gold, the ornate, painted ceilings, the stone turned to silk and gossamer under the majestic hand of a skilled sculptor. This was the only place in Petragrad where you couldn’t hear the roving gears.
The gallery was something else entirely, painting after painting of living canvases, of sparkling eyes blossoming under paintbrushes, of the green fields and ancient forests of yesteryear blooming before her eyes. Elena wanted to inhale that beauty, to swim in it.
“Magnificent, aren’t they?” said Pip, admiring one of the grand palace of Toulouse—a building of white stone and blue turrets, surrounded by fields of bluebells.
“Yes,” whispered Elena, quite forgetting what she came for. It took her more than a moment to remember. “Is it a fair likeness? The palace one?”
“Very much so,” said Pip, almost wistfully.
“It’s beautiful.”
If this were another time, a line in a fairytale, Pip would have told her she was beautiful too, or promised to take her there one day. But he did not. It would have been falsehoods and lies, anyway, and she did not want them.
“Come on,” he said, taking her hand again, “there is more to see.”
They headed to the library next, Pip pointing out other areas of interest as they went. “The guest rooms are down there, along with a rather opulent swimming pool. The more permanent residents are further down in the East Wing—”
“Permanent residents?” Elena frowned, trying to make her curiosity sound light rather than probing. “Who lives here, other than the Queen and her mountain of servants? I daresaythey’renot located in the East Wing.”
Pip laughed, light and musical. “No, alas. Would make more sense, wouldn’t it? Most of the bedrooms here are in complete disuse most of the time. But Prince Nero has a permanent room here, and a few other members of the Queen’s court. Ladies in waiting, General Bestiel too, I think…”
Elena nodded. That was information worth knowing. General Bestiel was Queen Mira’s right-hand man. His quarters might well contain important information if she was ever brave enough to go in search of it.
They lost far too much time in the library, admiring gold-leaf pages and stunning calligraphy, before challenging each other to silly games like going to the first book they could find, turning to a certain page, and reading out the first sentence to create answers to made-up questions.
“How will the ball go?” asked Pip, tossing a book in her direction. “Page 84.”
“Hmm. ‘A hectic flush passed her cheeks’.”
“That could be exciting.”
“You try. Page 213.” She passed him another volume.
Pip skipped to the correct place. “Oh dear,” he said, face whitening.
“What is it?”
“It just says…kabloom.”
Elena’s jaw tightened, remembering the last ball she’d attended. “Oh dear indeed,” she managed.
“Are you all right?”
No,she thought.Rarely. Never. But I won’t let another explosion wrack these halls. I won’t.
“I’m fine,” she lied. “Could we check out the ballroom next?”
That was probably not the best place to go, given the stark reminder flashing through her, but it had been a long time since then. She needed to see it again, get a proper look at its layout—build up a picture in her mind of where everything was. All information was good information.
Pip shifted uncomfortably from side-to-side. “The ballroom is in use at the moment,” he said. “We can watch from one of the balconies, maybe?”
