Princess of Glass - Jessica Day George [23]
But at last she had a merry little blaze, which she promptly poured a glass of water over. Cringing, Ellen stuck her face into the smoke that roiled up and said, as instructed, “Cinders, cinders, smoke and water, take me to visit my dear godmother!”
The fireplace expanded, stretching like a waking cat until it was a tall doorway. Ellen scrambled to her feet and hiked her skirts high to step over the fender, into the mucky remains of her fire, and then on into the dark corridor beyond.
Her heart was hammering loudly in her throat, but more with excitement than fear. At the end of the corridor was a bright light, and she could hear music.
After eight years of neglect, she had finally found someone who wanted her.
Nightmare
Running down endless hallways carved of black stone, Poppy gasped and lifted her long trailing skirts higher. She couldn’t remember how she got here, but she knew precisely where she was: the King Under Stone’s palace of black rock and despair. Dressed in one of the bruise-colored Under Stone court gowns, she raced down corridor after corridor. None of the doors would open to her frantic tugging, but even if one of them did it wouldn’t help her escape. There was only one door out of the Palace Under Stone, and she could not find it.
She turned a corner, and there before her was the silver gilt arch that led into the ballroom. The tall candles within were brightly lit, and she could hear shrill music and sharp laughter. She whirled around, wanting to avoid the attention of Under Stone and his sons, but the corridor behind her had closed off, and now there was nowhere else to go but forward.
She made herself breathe deeply, in and out, and compose her features. Perhaps they wouldn’t notice she was here …
And then she corrected herself. The Under Stone she remembered was gone, killed by Galen with a silver knitting needle inscribed with the king’s long-forgotten name. One of his sons was king now, and Poppy didn’t know which one. That meant there were fewer princes to worry about as well. None of them had been as bright as their father, either, so it was very possible that she would escape detection.
She slipped into the ballroom and started to skirt around the edges of the floor. A tall and skeletally thin man grabbed her arms and swung her into the figures of a dance. She stumbled and would have fallen, but the other dancers pushed her back to her feet. They were laughing, their raucous voices slicing through her ears. They tossed her from partner to partner, their too-wide smiles and too-sharp teeth filling her vision.
“Stop!”
All eyes went to the dais.
Atop it a lean figure reclined on a black throne strewn with cushions that his father would have sneered at. The King Under Stone, who had once been Prince Rionin, looked down at Poppy with heavy-lidded eyes. He had been paired with Poppy’s sister Jonquil, and was particularly cruel. Poppy’s blood curdled at the thought of him possessing his father’s power, and she hoped that Galen’s chain was still holding the gate shut. But if it was, how had she gotten here?
Far more terrifying, at least from Poppy’s point of view, was the young man standing to the left of the throne. It was her onetime suitor Blathen, and he was looking at Poppy as though she were a roast pheasant and he were starving.
“My dear brother pines for his lost bride,” King Rionin said, putting a hand on Blathen’s sleeve.
Poppy pulled the long hairpins out of her coiffure, and clutched one in each hand. “I’ll kill you all first—I’ll kill myself first!”
The figures on the dais just laughed at her.
“So dramatic,” Blathen said, his voice caressing.
Turning her face away lest she be sick, Poppy saw the doorway that led out of the ballroom and to the entrance of the palace. She tried to get to it, but