Upon a Frosted Star by M.A. Kuzniar

Author:M.A. Kuzniar [Kuzniar, M.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollinsPublishers
Published: 2023-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

Towards the end of spring, I was meandering up the corridor for my final ballet class of the day, flanked by Ada and Daisy, when a single word ruptured our easy conversation.

‘No.’

It was laced with panic and enough fear to still my feet.

‘That sounded as if it came from his office.’ Ada glanced at Daisy, whose expressive face might have been carved from ice.

‘There’s nothing we can do.’ Daisy’s throat bobbed up and down as she swallowed. ‘It would be better to ignore it.’

But I could not ignore it. There was no nightmare I would not have plunged into to drag my sister free from its grasping claws. I marched over to Rothbart’s door.

Ada snatched my arm. ‘Please, Detta, think,’ she warned. ‘It would be better not to draw his attention onto you.’

Daisy lingered in the corridor, cast into misery. I knew she wanted to help but her fear of Rothbart’s wrath was overpowering her, leaving her helpless.

Pulling my arm free, I threw the door open. It was lighter than I’d anticipated and thudded into a bookcase. Penelope was standing inside, lines etched down her cheeks where the path of her tears had eroded her face powder. Rothbart reclined on a Chesterfield, one leg casually slung over the other in a pin-striped suit. ‘Ah, Detta,’ he said, his voice silken as one of his enchantments. ‘What a pleasant surprise. Though I do not recall summoning you.’ His smile was cheerful with a touch of condescension. At once I disliked what I witnessed in his eyes. Something animalistic that gave me shivers.

‘Deeply sorry to intrude like this—’ I feigned a pretty smile, conjuring an air of confusion and general helplessness ‘—but I’m afraid I require Penelope’s assistance with, ah, a small matter. At once.’

Penelope looked to Rothbart. I bit the inside of my cheek in an effort to maintain my calm. I sensed the only way to face Rothbart would be to quietly manipulate him and so I played the girl he expected me to be. I stole a wide-eyed glance at his office, pretending to be impressed. Mahogany bookcases were stocked with leather-bound tomes and curios collected from Rothbart’s travels: an ivory carving, a marble statuette of Hecate, an ornate box that once appeared to have framed two golden keys yet now held just the one. And photographs: Rothbart standing outside the theatre as his gilded sign was winched into position, staring straight down the lens of the camera; a crumbling castle cradled by jagged mountains; standing beside a man with bright silver hair and unusually pale eyes.

‘Why, whatever could be wrong, mon petit cygne?’ Rothbart said amiably. His hand, stretched out along the back of the settee, was rigid.

Penelope’s smile wavered. She looked strangely vulnerable, her hair loosened from its bun and escaping onto her face. Seeing her like this had my warning bells clamouring. Because I had never seen Penelope look small before. She was strong, strong enough to jeté clear across a stage, to execute as many

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