The Autumn Palace (29 page)

‘It seems so.'

Everyone in the ballroom stood and watched as the First Minister, dressed as a witch, made the Infanta, dressed as a silent film star, place her palm on a bound copy of the constitution and recite the
pledge of Brugel
.

The Infanta recited the oath word perfect, with a steady voice.

The First Minister shook the new Duchess's hand, then made a deep curtsey. ‘Thank you, Your Grace.'

A team of waiters appeared with flutes of champagne and began handing them out. Hamish grabbed two flutes and offered one to Ondine.

The First Minister held her glass aloft. ‘I propose a toast. To Her Lordship Duchess Anathea the First of Brugel.'

‘Anathea the First,' everyone said. Ondine and Hamish raised their glasses and took a sip.

The bubbles tickled Ondine's nose. Would anybody notice if she plonked in a sugar cube to improve the taste?

‘Your Grace,' Ondine said, performing a quick curtsey as Anathea turned to her.

The room fell silent again.

Anathea gave a nod and the briefest of smiles in return. ‘My brother's health is paramount. He is being well cared for, thanks in part to you. If anything is needed by you, you have only to ask.'

Ondine's heart leapt into her throat with gratitude. She seized her chance to repay a debt. ‘Actually, there is one thing. Could Draguta Matice have her job back, please? The previous duchess sacked her and . . .'

Murmurs rippled through the crowd as people said, ‘rude girl', ‘ungrateful' and ‘pushing her luck'.

Another small smile and Anathea nodded. ‘It will be done.' She stepped forward, the ruling Duchess of Brugel, and shook Ondine's hand to seal the deal. Then, in a low voice, she said to them, ‘You must be Hamish. When things calm down a bit, you must tell me exactly what kind of employment you performed for the Duke. Your skills will be in great demand in the coming months.'

‘Aye,' Hamish said.

Ondine reached for his hand, silently hoping he wasn't about to accept another position to keep them in this strange place during the winter.

The whole time, the First Minister hadn't taken her eyes off Ondine, making her feel under suspicion for something. ‘You are a very clever girl. I am going to invite you to lunch at the Dentate very soon.'

‘I would be honoured,' Ondine said hardly daring to believe it. The First Minister unnerved her, but maybe over lunch she might loosen up? Time would tell.

Displaying his knack for being in the right place at the right time once more, Pyotr approached and made a low bow. ‘My Lord Duchess, to you and your household, I offer my services.'

‘Oh yes,' Anathea said, sounding guarded. ‘And what services would they be?'

‘In whichever way you see fit, Your Grace. I served at Duke Pavla's pleasure. I now offer my services and loyalty to you.'

Ondine couldn't help thinking how quickly Pyotr had made his move. ‘I need some air,' she whispered to Hamish.

‘Aye, I could use a clear head meself,' he said, leading her to the rear gardens. They put their barely touched champagne glasses on a side table.

‘Where are you going?' A police officer approached. ‘We will need your statements.'

‘We're just going out to the bonfires,' Ondine said.

‘As long as you don't leave the grounds.' This was said in a tone that made Ondine feel like they were in trouble.

‘Aye, we'll not go anywhere,' Hamish said, putting a warm hand on Ondine's back as they walked outside.

The cool air helped clear Ondine's head. She pulled her coat collar up to protect her neck. Hamish draped a protective arm over her shoulder as they approached the bonfire. The full moon had been two nights ago. They would have had a fat orb in the sky tonight if not for the cloud cover.

There were several fires instead of one large one, spread over a vast area. People milled about each blaze, basking in the warmth of the orange and red glow. Those wearing especially flammable costumes stood back a little more.

As is the custom, people were writing their regrets on slips of paper and casting them into the flames, as a way of saying goodbye to the past and cleansing the future.

Ondine shook her head and said, ‘I think I've had about enough excitement for one night.'

‘Aye, lass, me too.' Hamish gave her a devastating smile that turned her legs to noodles.

‘I haven't written a note.' Ondine reached into her pockets for a scrap of paper and came up empty.

Hamish looked about and saw some more witches. Steam rose from their warm drinks. ‘Could I trouble ye fer a pen and paper?'

He must have given them one of his trademark smiles, because the three witches giggled and gave him a pen and a whole pad of paper.

‘Thanks,' he said, then turned to Ondine.

They found a quiet part of the garden, near one of the smaller fires, and sat down on the damp ground. Ondine pulled her coat around her tightly. The paper felt too small to fit all her regrets and bad habits.

She wrote, ‘I don't like telling lies.' Below that she wrote, ‘I don't like spying on people,' and, ‘I don't like getting other people into trouble.' No sooner had she written that than she had another regret: ‘I wish I'd stayed at home.'

When she read her note back, she squished her mouth up in thought. She and Hamish had just saved the Duke's life and prevented Kerala from poisoning her way into power. If they'd stayed at home, the Duke might be dead by now.

She crossed the last line out.

‘Ye writing an essay, lass?' Hamish said, resting his chin on her shoulder to see what she'd written.

The cold wind kissed Ondine's cheeks and she angled her body so that Hamish became a windbreak.

‘What did you write, Hamish?'

‘Not much.' He showed her the paper. On it he'd written, ‘I wish I'd spent more time with Ondine.'

‘Oh!' She choked back a sob, then grabbed her paper, turned it over and quickly wrote, ‘I wish I'd spent more time with Hamish.'

Hamish pulled Ondine into an embrace and kissed
her. It warmed her body from the inside, while the cold air settled around them and prickled her skin.

Ondine pulled away and breathed through her nose. ‘I think I can smell snow,' she said.

Hamish's eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘Ye can smell the weather? Ye sure yer not psychic?'

‘I'm sure.' Ondine grinned and said, ‘Close your eyes, breathe through your nose. Smell that clean, cold, ozone-y kind of smell.'

‘But it's only the last of October.'

‘You don't believe me?'

Hamish grinned, then shut his eyes and followed Ondine's example. His nostrils flared. He ducked his head and sneezed.

Ondine laughed and hugged Hamish again. ‘Come on, let's warm up.'

Hand in hand, they walked towards the edges of a fire. The cold air clung to their backs, the bonfire thawed out their faces. Ondine scrunched up her paper and threw it on to the burning heap. It dissolved in the flames, sending a plume of tiny sparks into the night sky.

Hamish fashioned his paper into a dart and threw it lower down. It turned black, held its shape for half a second then dissolved into flaming vapour.

It felt so lovely standing near the bonfire, Ondine didn't want to leave. They stood together for a good ten minutes, balanced between the cold air and the blasting furnace. A step closer and they'd burn, a step back and they'd catch a chill. Hamish put his arms across her shoulders. She snuggled into him, feeling protected.

‘Well, I'll be a –' Hamish nudged Ondine to look at the sky. ‘Look, Ondi, it really is snowing.'

Ondine blinked. Flurries of snow flitted through the sky, evaporating as they touched the bonfire. She looked back towards the palechia, to see soft flakes landing on windowsills and the tops of perfectly manicured hedges, dusting every surface like icing sugar.

Ondine smiled and said, ‘Told you I could smell snow.'

Hamish pulled Ondine into an embrace and kissed the tip of her cold nose. ‘I'm deeply sorry fer the trouble I put ye through. I should hae thought
of a better way tae help ye than cheating at yer school tests.'

Tears blurred her vision. ‘Oh, Hamish, I'm sorry for the way I reacted. I know you were only trying to find a way to help me stay here with you.'

He hugged her a little bit tighter. ‘Ye broke me heart every time I thought ye might be leaving.'

‘I didn't like fighting with you. I'm not cut out for it,' Ondine said. ‘Everyone here is so messed up it's contagious.'

‘Aye. Mebbe we should go back tae yer parents' pub.'

Lightness filled her. He wanted to go home? She wiped her eyes. ‘You'd do that for me?'

‘In a heartbeat.' He gave her one of those grins she'd come to love. The ones that made her feel all warm and melty inside. And a bit giddy in the head.

She kissed him with all her heart. The kind of kiss that told him how much she wanted to put all this craziness behind them. He returned her ardour tenfold, making her wonder how she'd ever doubted his love in the first place.

When they pulled apart, he brushed away a fresh
tear from her cheek. ‘Then why are ye still crying?'

‘Because I feel so guilty for doubting you. The Infanta . . . I mean, I guess she's the Duchess now. Anyway, she filled my head with doubts and I was silly and tired and stressed enough to believe her. She said you'd let me down. Her words were like poison and –'

He silenced her with a kiss that sent firecrackers off in her head. When he eventually broke away, he looked short of breath.

Snowflakes fell on their hair and shoulders, but Ondine felt warm right through. ‘I wish we could stay like this,' she said.

‘Aye, me too.'

The sounds of the orchestra inside the banquet hall drifted outside. Hamish took Ondine's hand, bowed over it and said, ‘May I have this dance?'

Ondine giggled and put her hand on his shoulder, ready for a Brugelish three-step. They took a few steps this way and that, before the snow and cold wind made her hands freeze. She pressed her arms around him, under his coat.

‘What kind of dance is this?' he asked.

‘It's called a snow-shuffle.'

Hamish chuckled. ‘Aye, I like this dance.'

They shuffled and snuggled, in that thin zone between the bonfire and the cold air, as snow swirled around them, heralding the onset of winter.

‘I love ye, Ondine.'

She held herself against his warm chest and said, ‘And I love you right back.'

 

92
   The Dentate is Brugel's equivalent of Parliament. ‘Dentate' means ‘the place with teeth'
.

T
hank you to my readers. I hope the past few hours between the pages have been great fun.

Monumental thanks to my husband, for challenging me to come up with bigger and better ideas.

To my clever agent Suzy Jenvey and the talented team at Egmont, especially Leah Thaxton, Philippa Donovan and Rachel Boden. Thank you for sharing my imaginary friends with the world. Thank you for pushing me to work harder. But mostly, thank you for making this writer's dreams come true.

ONDINE

The Autumn Palace

Praise for
Ondine
:

‘A wonderfully imaginative debut novel . . . the author's unique blend of the magical and romantic elements of the romantic fairytale gives new life to this long established mode of storytelling.'
Inis

‘. . . on sheer charm alone,
Ondine
is hard to resist. This whimsical romantic fantasy for girls 12-plus simply oozes romantic longing. If you swooned over Edward, you'll likely go gaga for Hamish and Lord Vincent.'
Bookseller
+
Publisher

‘A debut novel that mixes romance and magic and, for the first time ever, witches turning gorgeous boys into ferrets.'
Bookseller

‘Ebony is an absolute marvel when it comes to humour.'
Bookwitch

‘I can't remember where I first heard about
Ondine
, but I'm certainly very glad that I did.'
Poisoned Rationality

‘I had a hard time putting it down. It was sweet, funny, charming and yet again funny.'
We Adore a Happy Ending

‘I absolutely enjoyed reading
Ondine
. . . Shambles sold the whole story with his wit and charm.'
The Bookette

‘This is a fun, romantic, well written read which would appeal to young girls aged 12+.'
Lovely Treez Reads

‘
Ondine
was an absolute pleasure to read.'
Brizmus Books Blogs

‘Oh man, this book was so absolutely quirkily and wittily fantastic.' Audrey,
Good Reads

‘Don't be a bampot, give this absolutely fantastic book a read, you won't regret it.' Leanne,
Good Reads

‘. . . original and quirky – wonderful use of witty footnotes throughout . . .'
Me and My Big Mouth

E
BONY
M
C
K
ENNA

The decision to leave a career in journalism was a logical choice for Ebony. There wasn't enough time in the day to write the fictional stories she wanted to tell, against the factual that she had to tell. She followed her heart towards writing science fiction, romance and young adult adventures. Ebony now writes full time and lives in Melbourne, Australia, with her husband and young son. She loves trivia nights, train sets and the Eurovision Song Contest. Her first teenage novel was
Ondine
.

www.ebonymckenna.com