Page 75 of A Slipper in the Smoke
She handed Snowdrop a short list. Most of the things she already had—apart from the smoking function itself. That she could not get hold of by herself.
Snowdrop pocketed the letter. “We’ll have everything by tonight.”
The downside of having the shoes to work on meant that Elena had to go straight home after finishing at the palace, leaving no time for her usual rendez-vous with Pip. She left him a note at her desk explaining that she had an urgent commitment, but her heart still ached as she made a swift exit, as if she was leaving half of it behind. She supposed she should get used to the feeling.
Not yet,she begged time.Not yet, not yet, not yet.
She flew down to the outer ring with a strange kind of eagerness, hoping to get the shoes done as soon as possible and return to her usual evening’s activities. She already knew roughly how long they should take. She could finish them in three days.
Snowdrop was waiting for her at the door, together with a large bag. “Supplies,” she explained. “And… something else. You’ll see.”
Elena opened up the door and hastened inside, shutting it behind them. Snowdrop began to take out the equipment inside her bag, laying out everything over the workbench before removing a frothy monstrosity.
Elena froze. “Please tell me that is not my dress.”
Snowdrop laughed. “Just the undergarments. Buttercup wants to make sure they fit. Also, you need to practise dancing with the hoop skirt.”
Elena groaned, but didn’t argue. She seized the half-dress and marched into the corner to pull it on. Snowdrop cleared some space to dance, trying not to laugh as Elena emerged, feeling like a less attractive version of a frosted cupcake.
“I look ridiculous.”
“You lookadorable.” Snowdrop stepped towards her, slipping an arm around her waist, fulfilling the role usually occupied by a man although she was shorter than her by a head. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get any music.”
“I have a metronome I was fixing for someone,” Elena said, slipping away to fetch it. “It’s better than nothing.”
“Good call. We’ll try theBrandy Marefirst, shall we? That’s always a popular one.”
Elena eyed the equipment on her workbench. She wanted to get started on the shoes.
“The shoes won’t matter if you can’t last at the ball long enough to locate the prince,” Snowdrop told her. “We won’t spend too long. Promise.”
Elena nodded. “All right.”
Although her only experience dancing in the last four years had been the single night with Pip—where they had been largely distracted—Elena surprised herself by how easy it was to slip back into rhythm. She remembered most of the dances near-perfectly. If she was a little rusty, it didn’t take long to oil her.
Dancing was possibly the one part of the plan she was confident about. Well, that and her ability to create the smoke-grenade slippers. Everything else… she didn’t even want to think about it.
“You’re distracted,” Snowdrop remarked, as she twirled her awkwardly under her arm.
“I have a lot on my mind.”
“Are any of those thingsPip?”
Elena stumbled, missing the step and almost tumbling into a nearby pile of broken tools.
“Try not to be distracted in your actions,” Snowdrop instructed, sweeping her into the next step. She was good, Elena realised. More than good, even. Confident, elegant. Skills she hadn’t likely picked up in the rebellion.
“Snowdrop?” Elena asked, not breaking the dance, “Who were you? Before you were… you?”
She wanted to ask her her real name, but that felt like too much of an imposition, too much of a thing to know.
Snowdrop paused, wearing the same sad smile Elena thought that she might wear herself whenever she thought of home. “Another time, perhaps,” she said, and drew away from her at last. “I’ll let you get started on the shoes now, and get the dress back to Buttercup. Miracles take a bit of time, you know.”
The following morning, Elena arrived at her desk at the palace to find a note in an elegant hand, together with a tiny wrapped parcel. The supervisor saw her pick it up, and quickly averted her eyes, smiling like she knew something Elena didn’t. Trying to avoid the feeling she had become the subject of gossip, Elena opened the note.
Lunch, one o’clock, the maze?
Yours, most ardently,
