Darkwood by M. E. Breen

Author:M. E. Breen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury USA Childrens
Published: 2009-08-28T04:00:00+00:00

Twenty minutes later, Annie descended the stairs for a second time to meet Page in the black and white tiled hall. She kept forgetting she didn’t have to sneak, and snuck. Not that it was easy to move unnoticed in this dress. It rustled. It pinched. It caught itself on everything. And the shoes: wobble, wobble, wobble down the stairs.

Page looked as small as a toy at the far end of hall. She led Annie along an arched corridor. The curved ceiling was painted gold. The walls were lined with portraits. On one side a row of dimpled ladies reclined against cushions; on the other a line of dark-haired men posed beside the bodies of dead kinderstalk.

Gilt-edged mirrors reaching to the floor hung between the portraits on Annie’s left, reflecting the sunlight that filtered through the colored windowpanes and washing the painted ladies in shades of mauve and indigo.

Page stopped in front of one of the mirrors and tapped on the glass. Instantly the mirror swung open like a door and revealed a small, warmly lit chamber. The king was sitting in an armchair by the window. He looked up when they entered.

The king was so handsome that Annie found it embarrassing to look at him. He had glossy black hair that waved over his forehead and a red mouth that pouted like a woman’s. But his hands, lightly gripping the arms of his chair, were as big as a laborer’s. Annie decided immediately that he was vain. She glanced at the mirror over the fireplace and met his eyes there. He had been studying her, studying him.

The king gestured to two chairs facing his own. Through the window, Annie could see the courtyard and the massive doors that had been shut against her the night she arrived. They were shut now.

A servant emerged through the mirrored door carrying a tray of tea and chocolate. Pastries fanned across a plate, each shaped like a different kind of leaf: oak, maple, bay. The king picked up a bay leaf and bit into it. Flakes of dough fell onto his lap, staining the gray silk with spots of oil. The servant used a little silver brush to sweep the crumbs into a napkin.

Annie ate five pastries. The first bite dissolved in her mouth in a rush of sugar and butter; after that, she hardly noticed the taste. She forgot to thank the servant when he poured her a second cup of chocolate. She set down her cup and found Page and the king both looking at her, the king with bemusement, Page with mortification and a hint of alarm.

“I trust you have found your accommodations satisfactory, Miss Trewitt?” the king said.

“Yes, Your Highness.” If he had not been so handsome, and not been the king, she might have told him he would be starving too if he’d had the doctor in charge of his meals.

“I am pleased to hear it.” He flicked his fingers at the servant, who disappeared through the mirrored door.

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