Princess of Glass - Jessica Day George [68]
“We’ve already discussed it, my lord,” Roger said. “You were ensnared by her once before; you shouldn’t expose yourself again.”
Poppy felt the silver dagger beneath her gown. She could get off one shot with the pistol, drop it, and draw the dagger in less than thirty seconds.
She’d been practicing.
No one said anything as she stepped onto the hearth and over the grate, ducking her head even though the entranceway was high enough that even Roger wouldn’t have needed to stoop. Soot sifted down onto her hair and clothes, and Poppy reminded herself to apologize to Eleanora later. It seemed clear now that the other girl hadn’t put soot on Poppy’s linens deliberately.
“Good luck!” Marianne’s voice echoed and Poppy waved her left hand by way of acknowledgment, without turning around.
Once past the fireplace and into the hallways of the Corley’s palace, the soot and marble were replaced by tinkling glass ornaments and hard, slick floors. Delicate pillars, also made of glass, lined the passageway, and the light was provided by candles in round golden orbs.
“This is certainly more elegant than Under Stone’s palace,” Poppy said aloud. “Everything there was black or purple, and always seemed a bit tatty.” She ran a hand along the smooth walls. “The silver gilt was peeling from the furniture, I swear.”
She continued to drag her left hand along the smooth wall with a casual air. She was glad that the long stole around her shoulders hid the pistol from view. That way no one could see how white her knuckles were. A trickle of sweat ran down her back, and she was fighting the urge to turn and run back to the safety of Seadown House.
“But it isn’t safe there,” she murmured. “Nothing is safe.”
She turned down the corridor and entered the great hall. It was filled with people, silent, slick-skinned people, standing in ranks and staring at her. Poppy muttered a startled oath.
“I’m here,” she said a moment later, forcing herself to sound bright and innocuous. “Tonight is the masked ball! See, I already have a costume!”
She twirled so they could see the gown she wore. She was dressed as a Spanian dancer in a purple and scarlet gown with a black mask fitted over the upper half of her face. The Corley would have another costume prepared, of course, but Poppy hoped to keep the mask on, to keep up the ruse that she was Eleanora.
Without hurrying, without even making any noise, the silent servants surrounded Poppy. They didn’t touch her, much to her relief, she was afraid she would start screaming if they did, but they turned as one and quickstepped out of the great hall and down a long corridor, herding her along in their midst.
Sitting bolt upright on a bench in the enormous bath, Poppy suddenly wished she had brought someone with her. She had never faced this type of thing by herself before. The last time she had been trapped in an otherworldly palace—the Palace Under Stone—all her sisters had been with her.
Of course, she wasn’t exactly alone.
She was, in point of fact, surrounded.
A dozen or so of the Corley’s mute handmaidens were in the bathroom with her, lying in wait. As soon as she twitched a finger, they would leap forward to offer her a towel, scented soap, a glass of lemonade. Poppy had refused their offers to bathe her like a baby, and now she was at the far end of the tub, soap in one hand, eyes on the servants, wondering if they would try to scrub her back the moment she began to lather.
Finally she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and washed herself as quickly as she could. She scrubbed her hair and face so fast that she pulled several hairs out and nearly put a finger up her own nose, but at least she was out of the tub quickly. She grudgingly allowed the servants to wrap her in towels and help her onto a padded bench, where they greased her up with various lotions and combed out her wet hair. She kept her face pressed into the bench as much as she could, alert to every sound, in case the Corley should come to check on her beloved goddaughter, but she hadn’t so far.
Then the servants