T/W: sexual assault (tried to keep as non-explicit as possible)
Year 825
Four days after Katrine's fifth birthday, the man in the wool suit came to their street. He was tall, with a broad, genial face and crinkles at the corners of his eyes, and she peeked up at him behind her mother's back after he knocked at their door. There was no reason to be afraid, not when he smiled at her and held out a small sack of coins to her mother. The suit was a beautiful color, something between navy and violet, much too luxurious to belong in the Underground. Every scrap of clothing she owned was faded and dirty.
Her mother's voice was oddly clear, too bold for a small woman who normally passed the time sitting in their only chair staring at the stains in the wall. She'd run her hands through her long chestnut hair and whisper pleas and threats to the father Katrine never met, lost somewhere. He wasn't at the top of the clock tower frozen at half past seven, or under the crumbling archway where the rats congregated. Katrine was running out of places to look.
"Go find him," her mother said, cold fingers on the back of Katrine's neck as she pushed her out the door.
"Where?"
The faraway look in her mother's eyes returned, gray fogging over the moment of blue clarity. "In the snow."
The man in the suit gave one curt nod and motioned to Katrine to follow him. His expression had turned stony like he was already chiding her for rubbing her dirty fingers on him. She trailed behind him as he knocked on other doors, giving the same smile and practiced eye to other girls her age, and after he'd collected two more he led them to the crumbling stairwell that ended in a door that refused to open. Katrine knew her father wasn't there. She'd already checked.
The man withdrew a key from his pocket. "Close your eyes, it'll be bright." What did that mean? Katrine kept hers open.
The door swung open and a dazzling rush of light and sound smacked her in the face.
It was like someone had taken the view outside their cracked window and dropped it into a bucket of polish. This was the city that existed above them, the one she'd heard stories about but didn't quite believe, but it was real! It was shining, clean, a rush of colors so vibrant her eyes watered but she forced them open. The air was crisp and cold, fresh, and when she exhaled a tiny puff of air escaped her throat. She gasped, delighted, but the man cleared his throat and guided them past a group of frowning men in tan jackets. She followed him along towering brick buildings, pressing a hand to her mouth to stay silent. Where were the carriages pulled by spotless white horses, the castles with thousands of rooms? She could already see the great blue pane of glass above that her upstairs neighbor described, the one that along with the colossal stone walls protected the city from the giant rats that crawled outside them.
The man led them inside a brick building that proclaimed "Mitras Company" in gilded letters over the solid wooden doors. It was even more stunning inside. Paintings of women, lips and cheeks flushed red and clad in feathery white dresses, hung on spotless white walls lit by chandeliers dripping crystalized teardrops. She wanted to hold one of the crystals in her hand and touch it to her lips to see how it felt, but it was beyond her reach. Footsteps echoed from down the hallway and a man in a similar suit approached them, holding a leather notebook. After the two men exchanged a few words, the first man walked out the door and the other swiveled his gaze to them. His lips were taut.
"Names?"
The other girls kept their heads down, but Katrine stared right back at him. "Katrine."
He sighed. "Surname?"
Her mouth dried. She didn't know. No one had bothered to tell her.
"Hurry up, I don't care if you make it up."
"Casimir," she blurted. Casimir's going to come back once he finds where the snow never melts, her mother had muttered under her breath enough times that Katrine barely heard her anymore.
"Katrine Casimir." The man scrawled her name into his ledger. "Next!"
He then pointed them to a room not as opulent as the first but had the most wondrous thing she'd seen yet in a day full of wondrous things: a mirror that stretched from floor to ceiling, covering the entire wall. It was so clear it seemed like she could dip her hand in it and walk right through. The tiny mirror Katrine had at home was spotted and dull, with a deep scratch in the center that made her look like she'd been attacked by an alley cat.
Two young women approached them. One had shiny auburn hair wrapped in a chignon and a perfect oval face. The other was more angular, with high cheekbones and a small pointed chin, but she was so stunning that Katrine couldn't help staring at her. She'd never seen any women like them before. They were unreal.
"Look at her! Such beautiful hair. It's almost white," the auburn-haired woman said. She crouched down and stroked Katrine's head, smiling.
The other shook her head, golden locks spilling across her brow. "Her nose is too pointy."
"She'll grow into that. No need to be cruel, Cecily."
Cecily shrugged. "No use being nice, either." She sauntered off to the mirror and studied her reflection, seemingly irritated with an imperfection Katrine couldn't see.
The other woman's smile faltered, but it widened again as she turned to the girls. Strangely, it looked convincing but did not reach her eyes. "My name is Valeria," she said. "If you work hard and listen to your instructors, you'll all be wonderful ballerinas. Please find me if you need anything."
Ballerina. The word was foreign but lyrical and flowed out of her mouth like water when she whispered it to herself. Smiling, Katrine turned and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.
A tiny monster had infiltrated paradise. There was a smudge of grease on her cheek, and the three holes at the bottom of her dress were enormous. She was hideous! She didn't belong here, not next to these goddesses. They were going to realize their mistake and banish her back to where she belonged! But she couldn't go back, not to her leaky roof and broken mirror and her mother weeping for someone Katrine didn't know. She swiped at her face and clawed at her tangled hair, but a slim middle-aged woman swatted her hand away and motioned for the girls to follow her out of the room. She introduced herself as Mrs. Olson, an instructor. She was not stunning like Valeria and Cecily but smelled clean and faintly herbal.
The rest of the day passed in a blur, though Katrine tried to savor every moment. After a bath in steaming water and food that made everything she'd eaten before taste like sawdust, she joined the hoard of other girls in a cavernous room filled with beds fitted with stiff sheets. The girls appeared to be her age, all skinny and long-limbed. She wondered briefly if they'd come from the same place too, but dismissed the thought. Why think of that when this place was so perfect?
She was nearly unrecognizable to herself, and as the other girls chattered she admired her clean hair that slipped through her fingers. How could it have been the same ratted mess earlier? Maybe she would look like Valeria and Cecily, with luminescent skin and eyes that sparkled like that great expanse of blue.
The bed was heavenly, soft and clean with no errant straw poking into her back. And she had one to herself, big enough that she could roll over twice and not fall off the edge. Better yet, her mother wasn't there to awaken her in the middle of the night with her muttering and sobbing. Sighing, Katrine burrowed under the thick blanket and curled her knees to her chest. She was asleep in seconds, her mother and her demand far away.
Before, Katrine's purpose was to dig for coins that fell from the slits of light far above her head in the pools of foul water that collected beneath them. Now it was to dance, to embody a leaf fluttering in the wind and kick her leg above her head in a way that had been impossible only months earlier. Day after day she and the other young girls went to class, repeating the same exercises hundreds of times to understand the exact positions to hold their bodies, watching themselves in the massive mirror in the practice room. They were only apprentices, unsteady on their feet and dreaming of starring roles. One day, admirers would throw roses at their feet and the newspapers would write glowing accolades accompanying drawings of their beautiful faces.
While the other girls sniveled over sore legs or crumpled under Mrs. Olson's frown, Katrine found no reason to cry. Yes, her toes cracked and her overextended muscles ached, but it was more than worthwhile. Things happened up here. After lessons, she pressed her face against the window overlooking the busiest street and gaped at the people streaming below. Old and young, fat and skinny, tall and short, they all had a certain energy inside them that kept their faces bright and propelled them forward. She imagined lives for them filled with the new things she'd learned: the long-haired man in glasses must be a doctor on his way to a patient, the woman in the thick fur stole an opera singer. Where she was before, the unmentionable place she now understood was dirty and unnatural, faces were sunken and gray and no one moved much at all. It was stagnant.
Katrine did not cry until seven months after the day her mother handed her away, when it snowed for the first time.
Trips outside into Mitras were a rare treat; the Company preferred the younger girls stay inside, lest they frighten someone with their wide-eyed stares and probing hands. It was best to forget old habits and adapt. However, the shoemaker lived on the other side of the river, so Valeria and Cecily chaperoned the girls and shushed them when they got too noisy. Katrine kept her lips pressed together and admired the silver railing of the bridge shaped into crosses. But then a cold pinprick stung her nose and her mouth popped open.
"Snow!" Valeria held up her hands. Katrine and the other girls did the same, transfixed. She watched the tiny white flakes materialize out of nowhere and melt into droplets in her palms. It was magical.
"It's…" She didn't know what to ask, how to describe it. This wasn't noisy rain that sent everyone scattering when it poured. Instead, this was silent and everyone paused to look at the stone gray sky, even the carriages. The flurry intensified and soon everything was white: the cobblestone street, the manicured shrubs, the tops of their heads.
"Don't you know the sky's falling apart?" Cecily said while pointing upwards, a cruel sneer on her face. "These little flakes will get bigger and crush your bones." She snickered.
Katrine's ribs constricted. Snow meant that the sky was breaking? In her hand, little pieces of the sky were collecting and would soon grow so large it would swallow her?
He's in the snow, where it never melts.
She gasped and the harsh air tore at her lungs. Her father couldn't be alive if he went to a place where the snow never melted. He was dead, buried so deeply in pieces of broken sky that no one could find him, and now she was going to die too. Was that why her mother had sent her away, to die alone in the cold? Suddenly dizzy, Katrine fell to her knees. Violent sobs burst from her throat. Her tears soaked into the snow, dark droplets marring the soft white.
"Katrine! What's wrong?" Valeria knelt beside her, hand on her shoulder, but Katrine didn't know how to speak. Why would they want to keep her if her own mother hadn't wanted her? "That was heartless, Cecily, even for you." She tugged at the pendant dangling from her neck.
Cecily held up her hands. "I didn't think she'd freak out!"
Katrine coughed and a pathetic string of spittle hung from her mouth. She swiped it away and tried to hide her face from the other girls' curious stares.
"You need to get up, Katrine." Valeria's tone was soft but stern, and she held her hand up to her cheek. It was warm and Katrine concentrated on that warmth until her breathing slowed and her heart stopped pounding. She slowly rose to her feet, legs quivering.
"I'm taking her back," Valeria said, taking Katrine's hand.
Cecily rolled her eyes. "Don't make me deal with the shoemaker on my own."
"Poor Cecily!" There was a barb in Valeria's voice she'd never heard before.
Cecily glared at Katrine with enough venom to make her drop her gaze, and her cheeks burned despite the chill.
Valeria dragged Katrine back to the Company, walking at a quick pace Katrine could barely match. "What Cecily said isn't true. Snow's harmless and it's not the sky falling down. But you can't start sobbing whenever someone says something that hurts." Embarrassed, Katrine bit down hard on her lip until she tasted blood.
She followed Valeria down into the unfamiliar guts of the building, where the brightly lit hallways darkened and marble turned to chipped gray stone. They stopped at an unmarked door, one she'd never seen before but also wouldn't think to remember. Valeria knocked first, but when there was no response she opened the door. It was only a closet, bare except for a broom and someone's abandoned pointe shoes. There was a faintly damp smell to it, one that reminded her of home. No, what used to be home.
"You can't cry with other people around. You have to smile and hold it back. But here's where you can be alone," Valeria said.
Katrine felt the residual sting of her hot cheeks and those embarrassing stares. But Valeria was so poised, so calm; why would she need to know where to cry by herself?
"Do you need to stay there for a while?" Valeria asked.
Katrine looked at the frayed ribbon on one of the shoes. She shook her head.
"Good." Valeria squeezed her hand. Her smile still didn't reach her eyes.
Katrine heard Mr. Kaiser's name invoked and sworn and threatened daily, but did not see his face until two years later.
The ballet master appeared to be an utterly average man. He was not particularly tall, nor short; he looked well-fed but not fat; his hair was not blonde but also not quite brown. He had a cane, glossy and black with a brass handle carved into a swan's head, but he didn't have a pronounced limp. The instructors and older ballerinas in the practice room positioned themselves as far away from him as they could, never once crossing his line of sight.
Katrine stood before him with thirty other girls, facing the mirror. Some had arrived before her, some after, but they all stood silently, backs straight. The two she'd come up with were gone; one had broken an arm and the other was too slow to memorize steps. With that Katrine felt as if that place, and her mother, were some distant dream.
Mrs. Olson divided them into groups of three and the girls demonstrated what they'd labored over for the past two years, all compacted into a twenty-second series of steps. Mr. Kaiser observed their dancing, expressionless. His hand only moved from the top of his cane to point at one and send her to either his right or left. Occasionally he motioned one forward to repeat an exercise and then made his judgment.
Though unsure of what the division meant, Katrine knew his decision would be important. She'd memorized the steps and save a fall out of a pirouette or holding her arms in the wrong position, nothing bad would happen. Mrs. Olson always said her footwork was beautiful. Neck long, hands delicate, toes pointed.
When the pianist started the allegro Katrine slipped back into what she'd practiced until her toes bled. Feet beating together in the air, then prancing across the floor, then up in the air again landing in the fourth position. Each step precise, but not too practiced so that it looked artificial. Effortless, but not thoughtless.
Mr. Kaiser remained still, seemingly unimpressed, but then lifted a finger off the smooth brass of his cane to point at Katrine. "Forward."
She complied, tense.
"Again," he said, and when the pianist started she repeated the steps. He raised his chin, just a fraction. She did the same.
He appraised her for a moment, taking in her bruised legs and raised arms. But then his face twisted, suddenly violent like the sky when it turned to a thunderstorm, and his cane swung in a deadly arc to meet the back of her thigh. Pain exploded behind her eyes and she bit down her gasp. Don't cry, don't cry, don't you dare cry. She was so focused on holding back her tears she didn't flinch when he slammed his cane on the floor.
"You give me that look again and I'll throw you back in the gutter," he said. "To the left."
Silently Katrine joined the others, clenching her teeth to prevent herself from shuddering. She caught a glimpse of an older dancer in the corner biting the edge of her finger and immediately dropped her gaze. She kept her toes as the only thing in her line of sight, because if Mr. Kaiser saw her looking, she was sure he'd come back and hit her even harder.
Once every girl had danced, Mr. Kaiser announced the ones at his left were to stay and the ones at his right to go, and turned on his heel and was gone. Mrs. Olson gathered up the dismissed girls and guided them out the door. They were silent, lacking the energy or courage to protest. Katrine didn't know where they would go, to somewhere else in Mitras or back to the Underground, but wouldn't ask lest someone think she was ungrateful.
Cecily, standing with a few older ballerinas, shook her head. "Always a bloodbath," Katrine heard her mutter.
Mr. Kaiser hated them all, from the lowliest girls of the corps all the way to the soloists, for differing reasons but with equal intensity. Some tired too easily while others couldn't leap high enough. He even regarded Valeria with clear distaste, despite being the very best of them. She was weightless, dancing like the only thing inside her was the wind that carried her along with the music.
He hated Katrine for her refusal to break. Of course, she had to bend when he said so, replace a changement with an entrechat when he thought it went better with the music, and rise up on her toes when he clapped his hands. But she would not cry or let her face turn blotchy when he struck her like the others when they weren't light on their feet or quivered in their arabesques or fell out of pirouettes. It had taken her three years after that encounter to realize that she would have to be better than anyone else to never be touched again. She wasn't going to be led out of the practice room to be thrown back in the trash. So she spent herself every class, did ten fouettes while the others did eight, and ground herself into the hard wooden floors in pursuit of perfection. She stifled her anger, sharpening it into a knife when Mr. Kaiser touched her ankle with the tip of his cane to move her leg up or, failing that, guided it with his own hand. His face always screwed up like he was tasting something bitter, as if he could still smell the Underground on her. That anger propelled her, left her panting and barely able to walk, but she moved further and further ahead to the front of the line of girls at the barre, where the very best were on display to the entire class.
The first role came at the age of ten. It was minor, only strewing flower petals onstage in celebration of the Crane Queen's arrival, but it was an achievement. Katrine didn't even care that she shared it with another, Josephine, whom Mr. Kaiser loathed for her common face but her footwork was too swift and precise to ignore.
On the day of the premiere, the dancers flocked to the antechamber behind the stage, separated by a thick velvet curtain trimmed with gold tassels. Silver leaves and vines were carved into the walls, twisting around the barre and continuing up to the ceiling painted blue with puffs of clouds. It was much more ornate than the normal practice room; Katrine assumed it was because the beauty would distract the dancers. Valeria told her and Josephine to stay put in the corner behind the flimsy muslin curtain fashioned for changing and applying makeup, and flitted off to the barre where the older dancers stretched their legs. Momentarily annoyed, Katrine was soon distracted again by her fluffy white costume. She couldn't stop staring at herself in the mirror, twirling in her skirt and watching the light reflect off the silver threads woven into the fabric. She looked even prettier than the girls she saw outside, clad in velvet dresses trimmed with fur, holding their fathers' hands.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of blue from the crack in the muslin sheet. That was Valeria, the Crane Queen, today the most beautiful person in Mitras or even in all the Walls. Her dress was ethereal, cut to show her collarbones and the delicate line of her ankles. She'd just demonstrated an arabesque for Mr. Kaiser, and brought her leg down, giggling. Katrine's eyes narrowed. No, that was wrong, that wasn't Mr. Kaiser. It was an unfamiliar man dressed in black, mouth obscured by a thick mustache, his hand on Valeria's cheek. Who was that? Suddenly more appeared when the dancers shifted and moved, smudges of soot on white. Katrine turned to Josephine, absorbed in tying and re-tying her slippers. "Who're they?" she asked, and nudged her when she didn't respond.
"Ow! Who?"
"Those people out there. The show hasn't started yet."
Josephine shrugged. "Don't know. But I heard Eloise puking a few minutes ago!"
Katrine ignored her and stepped forward to see the man's face. Through the crack she watched him eye Valeria like the matted tomcat that prowled in the dark alleyways of the Underground, waking her with his yowling.
Suddenly someone tugged at her hair and she was yanked backward.
"Get your grubby little feet back in the corner," Cecily hissed. The magnificent headpiece that turned her into a malicious fox only enhanced her cruel beauty, her teeth glinting and lips stained red.
Katrine shrank. "But there's a bunch of people out there." She suddenly realized not people, but men - the only women in the antechamber were the ballerinas.
Cecily's face, already hard marble, turned even more brittle. "Patrons," she spat. "Ignore them."
"Why?"
"Don't talk back." Cecily pinched her cheek and the pain was sharp. She burst from behind the muslin sheet and strode to the velvet curtain. Multiple sets of eyes followed her. Katrine rubbed her face and tried to find the man again, but Valeria was instead speaking to Mr. Kaiser, his voice loud enough for her to hear.
"Did you tell them if they trip even once, they're gone?" He pointed in Katrine's direction but didn't break his gaze.
"Yes, Mr. Kaiser." But Valeria hadn't; the lie was smooth and natural.
He tapped his cane twice and all the dancers rushed forward, and a few minutes later the orchestra started.
Katrine spent all of twenty seconds onstage. The audience gave little reaction to the three grand jetés she'd spent the last month perfecting. They, and Katrine herself, were waiting for the star to arrive.
And then she did. Valeria materialized to a swell of gasps and whispers, and from her place behind the curtain, Katrine noticed the audience sitting up straighter in their seats. But then her eyes darted back to Valeria, absorbing every move. One moment she floated, perched on one toe, arms hovering above her; the next she flew, gossamer fabric trailing behind her. Thousands of eyes, Katrine's included, all transfixed by this woman who for five brief minutes ascended into another realm, transformed into an otherworldly spirit with a brilliant diamond crown nestled in her hair. She was perfect, magnificent, flawless. Katrine thought that Mr. Kaiser would fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness for all the times he called Valeria worthless and poked her stomach with his cane.
When Valeria slipped offstage and a quartet took her place, Katrine turned and continued to watch her. She kept the crown in her hair, but untied her skirt and handed it to another girl who draped it carefully over the barre. With only her bodice and a nude slip, Valeria was no longer ethereal, but decidedly human. There was a gleam of sweat on her bare legs that Katrine hadn't noticed on the stage and little strands of hair escaping her bun. The man from before approached her and said something to her. Why was he backstage? He should have been in the audience, watching her bloom into a creature that only existed in storybooks. Here, she was naked and vulnerable.
The man touched Valeria's neck and she laughed, fanning her flushed face. The magic was gone and Katrine felt disappointed for a reason she couldn't articulate.
Katrine constantly daydreamed about that night. In class, she imagined herself as the Crane Queen, all eyes on her and straining to capture her every move. She was going to be flawless too, and they would throw roses onstage and wax poetic about her grace and skill. Occasionally the strange incident backstage seeped into her fantasy and soured it, but she forced her mind back to that glittering diamond crown and how beautiful it would look on her head.
When she'd mastered difficult skills and Mr. Kaiser had fewer reasons to smack her thigh, he assigned harder ones, and that meant graduating to pointework. It required special shoes, ones reinforced so she could balance on the tips of her toes and appear weightless. He ordered Cecily to take her to the shoemaker's, to which she agreed with a quick nod, but when they walked outside she pinched Katrine's ear and grumbled that the entire thing was a waste of her time.
"Why does Mr. Kaiser teach us if he hates us so much?" Katrine asked.
Cecily scoffed. "He probably gets some kind of perverse pleasure out of it. He's been here for twenty years, that's the only explanation. All men do, Katrine, remember that." She bent over to shove her face in Katrine's, her grin wolfish. "Even the shoemaker! Be careful, don't let him touch your feet too much!"
Katrine gulped. "So those patrons, they have it too?"
Cecily tensed for a moment but then sighed. "I told you to ignore them."
"But they're always there."
"Better to not know."
"But why not?"
Cecily's hand lashed out and yanked Katrine's braid. "Shouldn't you know by now that girls who talk back get smacked?" Her tone was final and Katrine bit her tongue.
Before they made it to the shoemaker, Cecily stopped at a newsstand. Katrine didn't understand why she chose the crowded one when they'd passed two others, but squinted to read the tiny letters. Cecily nudged her and bent to whisper in her ear. "Keep an eye out."
Katrine looked up to ask why, but Cecily had already turned to a group of men in suits standing near them, huddled around a newspaper. They were completely absorbed and didn't turn when Cecily hovered near them. With a practiced hand, Cecily eyed the headlines while her arm inched toward one of them and slowly extracted a billfold from his back pocket. Katrine's gaze darted from her to the seller, anticipating him turning around and catching Cecily, but when he did she was standing with her arms folded, the picture of innocence.
Cecily held her newspaper to her face until they turned the corner, but then tucked it under her arm and counted the bills. She nodded in satisfaction and peeled out one and handed it to Katrine. "Here's your share. Don't spend it all at once."
"But why? Do you know him?"
"Because he deserved it. Quit it with the questions, you're giving me a headache. And if you tell anyone I'll chop your hair off."
"Okay." Katrine immediately thought of the puff pastries at the baker's down the street and licked her lips. As they continued to the shoemaker, she pointed at an older woman dressed in a burgundy silk dress, rubies sparkling at her neck. "She probably has even more!"
"No."
"Why?"
"What did I just say about the questions? Give it back," she snapped, grabbing at the money in Katrine's hands.
"No!" Katrine shoved it in her pocket and scowled.
Cecily raised an eyebrow. "Forgot you had some fire in you. Don't let it burn you."
They went to the shoemaker who had kind eyes though Katrine flinched every time he touched her feet with his clammy hands. Cecily lounged in the corner, reading her newspaper and making faces at Katrine every time the shoemaker looked away.
When they returned Cecily let Katrine take her newspaper to look at the pictures, which was unusually kind, but Katrine didn't want to press her luck by pointing it out. Afterward, when she wandered down the hallway to return it, she wondered if Cecily was so pleased with her assistance today that she'd congratulate her on figuring out what the word "expedition" meant instead of shrugging in annoyance. That might be wishful thinking, though.
"I have citizenship. I can go wherever I want, and I don't want to be here anymore." Cecily's shrill tone sent a metallic chill down her back. Katrine flattened herself against the wall, exhaling slowly.
"There's still time. They'd find you a doctor. It's not worth it." Valeria's voice was lower, barely audible from behind the closed door. Katrine pressed her ear against it.
"She, not it."
"How do you know? You're not showing."
"Don't you think I'd know?"
"That's not the point!" Valeria's voice rose, desperate. "This place has guaranteed food and a roof over your head. Remember when you didn't have that?"
"This place is nowhere near guaranteed. And I found that."
"Where?"
"The Church has housing. For unwed mothers."
An exasperated sigh. "So you want to become one of them? Next time I see you, you're going to be shouting that if you touch the Walls, it'll cure illnesses? And what am I going to tell everyone?"
"I don't know. But I can't let them see me like this." A chair scraped and Katrine darted away. If Cecily found her eavesdropping, she would get much worse than a pinch of the cheek. She ran back to the girls' bedroom and planted herself in the corner, rereading every page of the newspaper and muttering the unfamiliar words to herself.
The next day Cecily was gone. With audible disgust, Mr. Kaiser announced that any woman could be a mother but only a select few could be dancers, and with that, it was as if she had never existed. Later when Josephine needled Valeria for details, she was met with a thunderous glare, and no one spoke of it again until six months later when a letter arrived for Valeria.
"Katrine, do you have anything you can spare? The corps' allowance is paltry, I know, but it's very important." Valeria's voice was light, but her fingers clenched the letter so tightly deep creases appeared. Two older dancers observed the proceedings, arms folded. Their expressions were unsympathetic.
"I don't know why she'd keep it. There are doctors for that," one said.
The other shook her head. "She's unlucky. Lord Charles certainly won't pay for it."
Katrine frowned. She'd been looking forward to that monthly allowance; it meant a new hair ribbon or a pastry. But Valeria's smile was beginning to tremble so she pulled out the three coins in her little brown pouch and handed them over. At the same time, she tried to make out the words scrawled in Cecily's messy script. Wall Sina? Liars?
"Thank you," Valeria said, and wrapped her arms around her. A few wet drops fell on her shoulder, but she hadn't seen the tears in Valeria's eyes.
Three weeks later someone found Cecily's brief obituary in the newspaper, her death evidently from childbirth. Irene declared that her patron told her a woman matching Cecily's description was seen running through Stohess, blood pouring from her womb. Eva said that the baby had come out deformed and shaped like a lizard, apt for someone who spoke such bitter words. Valeria said nothing, but in the weeks following her plump, rosy cheeks slowly flattened and shadows stained the hollows beneath her eyes.
Katrine wondered if Cecily had made it to practice on time and tried harder to be perfect, maybe this wouldn't have happened. She started going to classes a half-hour earlier.
Katrine sat with her knees pulled to her chest in the closet, pressing her aching feet to the cold stone floor and fruitlessly attempting to stifle her panic.
The ballet for this season was Scenes of Pastoral Life, a series of vignettes depicting a village by a river outside Wall Rose. It was all very romantic and gallant, and when she'd cast her eyes out to the audience there were few dry eyes, but there was a sense of falseness she couldn't shake off. Nobody was going to choreograph a ballet about the Underground.
Though Katrine had danced the ballet before, it was only in a group. This time when the list of roles was posted she was surprised to find her name listed beside the part of Giselle. Giselle was a peasant girl whose heroic lover insisted on venturing into the woods to defeat the Titan that roamed the forests, but was mortally wounded. Though Giselle ran after him and stumbled upon the dying man, the Titan, deeply moved by their love, left the village alone. Katrine wasn't certain if Titans really did that. All she knew came from the garish drawings in the newspapers and the scary stories Cecily had told them when they were too noisy after bedtime.
This was a major role, one she'd watched Valeria perform, and many of the older dancers whispered that she was too young. But her legs were strong and she'd taken well to pointe work. The choreography came to her easily and she leaped higher and faster.
But it was all wrong, Mr. Kaiser said while his little mustache quivered, a signal his cane was going to hit a limb instead of the floor. She looked emotionless, unfeeling, and her face made him want to slap something. He said nothing about her technique, so that wasn't the problem. "I don't feel anything!" he complained.
So first she asked Valeria, who told her to make her steps lighter and act like she'd just lost her favorite ribbon, which Mr. Kaiser immediately deemed too girlish. Since Cecily was not there, Katrine had to imagine her advice and thought to narrow her eyes and pout. Mr. Kaiser said that the two cats yowling outside were more believable as lovers than her and Abraham, her wiry male partner. Abraham inspired more jealousy in her than great passion. Mr. Kaiser never thwacked him with his cane and he didn't have to press all his weight on the tips of his toes or worry about being dropped when lifted in the air.
Then she remembered Valeria backstage after The Crane Queen, fluttering her eyelashes to that man whom she now knew was an advisor to the king. She twirled and flounced her skirt, and then brought a hand to her mouth like she was hiding some great secret.
"Stop, stop!" Mr. Kaiser raised his cane and Katrine immediately stepped back. "You will not be a whore on my stage!" She'd never heard that word before. It sounded foul and horrible.
Mr. Kaiser barked at Katrine to take a half-hour break, then muttered to another instructor that he may have made a giant mistake, that she wasn't ready and might never be, and thank the heavens above he hadn't wasted citizenship papers on her. She rushed down the stairs and through the corridor and burst into the closet as her throat swelled shut and the tears streamed down her face.
Though Mr. Kaiser warned of sending girls back to the Underground, and more than a few were at class one day and gone the next, he'd rarely turned his threats to Katrine since that first day. She thought she'd made herself perfect enough to avoid his insults and his cane, but this clearly wasn't. What if this was it, the moment of failure that meant all her time in Mitras was worthless, and she'd go back to the Underground to scrounge for food that would no longer be waiting for her in the morning? Would her mother turn those dull eyes to her, or even recognize her? Was she even alive at all?
She hadn't thought much of her mother. All she'd done was wilt in her chair, twisting her fingers together until they were raw, repeating her father's name over and over. Katrine studied her own hand, letting it hover and sink. She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and drew out every feature of her mother's face buried in dust in the back of her mind.
When Katrine returned to the practice room she held her tears just behind her eyes and let her fingers tremble with barely-contained panic. Rising to her toes she forgot her timing, forgot to count the steps and the seconds like she always did, and kept a tenuous hold on the pattern of the music coming from the pianist. Not seeing Abraham but only a gauzy figure receding into the snow, Katrine extended her hand to him, needing and desperate, and when he circled her just out of reach she brought her tense, clawed hands to her bun and tore at the strands.
"Yes! He's leaving you, Katrine, he doesn't want you!" Mr. Kaiser's voice ripped through her trance, leaving a trail of hatred in its wake. But he was right. Her father hadn't wanted her mother, and her mother hadn't wanted her. She spun faster, frantically, and leaped higher in hopes she might float down like the falling snow. But she wasn't that, not what her father wanted.
The music stopped and when silence settled over the room, Katrine realized she had finished without any criticism. She dropped to her heels, panting and drained, fearful she didn't have enough energy to swallow back the sob clawing at her lungs. If this was the pain her mother felt every day, so severe it left her despondent and mute, then she'd have to get even better, so perfect that Mr. Kaiser wouldn't even consider dismissing her. She was not going back there to drown.
Her eyes met Mr. Kaiser's and she was shocked to find them gleaming above a wolfish smile. She'd never seen him smile before. It was grotesque, like one of the gargoyles sitting atop the military tribunal that she scurried past.
"Beautiful," one of the instructors said, not to her but to Mr. Kaiser.
"A genius," another said.
"Yes, yes," Mr. Kaiser said, breath thick in his mouth like he'd been the one dancing. "Another gutter rat turned into a rose."
The night of the premiere, Katrine sat before the mirror behind the muslin curtain, pleased with herself. She was a magnificent peasant girl, no matter that she'd never seen one. She was not nervous. She was ready to dazzle them all. Behind her, Valeria knotted Katrine's hair into a chignon that was easy to tear out in a fit of despair. Katrine dabbed rouge from a little golden pot onto her cheeks and her lips. She looked fresh and dewy, like she hadn't ground her feet into the floor for hours the day before.
Valeria sat on the bench next to her and gazed at the curtain separating them from the antechamber, where the other dancers stretched their legs and the ever-present onlookers watched them. She picked at her nails and bounced her knee, odd for someone who'd danced onstage more times than Katrine could count. But right as Katrine moved to set down the rouge Valeria swiveled and clamped an icy hand on her knee, causing the pot to clatter to the floor.
"You have to remember that the person on stage isn't you. And neither is the person that those men see, or Mr. Kaiser sees, or even I see."
"Right," Katrine said, admiring the way the blue ribbon at her neck accentuated her eyes.
"Katrine! Listen to me." There was more force in her hand than anything she'd done in class that month. She pointed at Katrine's reflection in the mirror and Katrine looked at her eyes, green and resolute. "That person, the performer, let everyone look at and fawn over her. But keep her separate from here." She tapped Katrine's chest, her fingernail scraping her exposed skin like a knife. "You keep her safe, and don't show her to anyone."
Katrine watched her own eyes narrow in the mirror. "What do you mean?"
Mr. Kaiser's cane rapped against the floor and Valeria stood. "I hope you're ready," she said, and her lip quivered. But then her face was calm and pleasant again, and she walked out into the antechamber. She greeted one of the men, posing a question to him in a coquettish tone, and deep laughter followed. Katrine frowned as she picked up the rouge. Of course she was ready. Valeria had seen her practice.
Katrine was to dance in the third scene, but she wanted to peek behind the velvet curtain to see the first two. She was old enough to do that now, no longer a little girl banished to the corner until it was her turn. She stood and straightened, elongating her neck like Mr. Kaiser said, and after admiring her reflection one last time, she swept the muslin curtain aside and stepped into the light.
The antechamber was crowded with dancers and their admirers gulping wine but they all took notice of her entrance. A few conversations lulled. Trying to look mature, she pursed her lips to hide her triumph. Perfect! They were going to gape at her like they did for Valeria, as if she were air brought to life.
But while the dancers shrugged and returned to their stretching, the men's surprise curdled into indulgent smiles, the ones given to amusing little dogs yipping for treats. They weren't supposed to do that. They were supposed to be in awe of her like she could burn them if they got too close. Her shoulders curled forward and the hair on her arms stood straight up.
"A new face," one said. His companion responded in a tone too deep for her to hear and they chuckled. What could be so funny? Katrine quickened her steps. They were grinning at her the same way Cecily did when she caught her doing something bad. Their eyes scraped across her skin while their fingers clasped cigars and other dancer's arms. Josephine's gossip echoed in her head. Cassandra said she gets paid to let them look at her bare feet!
Someone cleared his throat behind her, and Katrine felt the ribbon around her neck suddenly tighten.
"So you're our new Giselle! So skilled for only fourteen." The man towered over her, his head bald and shiny like a new coin, but his beard was overgrown in comparison. It looked like someone had put his head on wrong. The question of how he knew that bubbled up her throat, but her lips refused to open.
"I apologize, I'm distracting you. But I promise I'll see you afterward," he said, resting a hand on her shoulder. Even though it was covered by fabric, she thought she could feel every bone in his hand. Forcing herself to smile, she nodded and rushed away to hide behind the velvet curtain. She caught a glimpse of her pointe shoes and imagined the man handing her a coin so she would untie them, and quickly shoved that thought away, replacing it with the steps and the things she'd done to make Mr. Kaiser nod in satisfaction instead of bellow with rage.
The tempo of the orchestra shifted and the stage was hers. She twirled out from behind the curtain, six entrechats all in perfect timing to the center stage, and extended her arm to Abraham but really to the audience, ready to amaze them with her skill—
There was nothing, only a cavernous well of black.
How was that possible, when she had seen them from behind the curtain? Where were the thousands of eyes glued to her and her alone? They'd all left because she wasn't worth watching! All her muscles melted and her toe skidded across the overbuffed wooden floor, too far to the left. The music refused to reach inside her to lift her up and let her float across the stage. She forced her leaden arms upwards and focused on Abraham, hoping to tether herself to something real, but his normally brown eyes were scorched black and unfeeling, too. He knew that she was failing, knew that Mr. Kaiser was going to thwack her in the face with his cane and banish her to the Underground and forget that she'd ever existed. And when another dancer barged onstage dressed in that horrifying Titan costume, sharp fangs protruding from his mask, he seemed so real and ready to eat her that a deep shudder nearly knocked her off her pirouette.
The rest of the act continued in a blur, shifting back and forth from hazy to sharp blinding focus, and the music sped up and slowed down so that she was never on tempo, bewildered by the screech of violins and stuffy, foggy air and the makeup turning to liquid on her sweaty face. When the act was finished and she careened off the stage and behind the curtain, she was shocked that the entire auditorium hadn't crashed to a pile of rubble to bury her alive, because it was so horrible and that was what she deserved.
A hand rested on her shoulder, pressing the damp cold fabric of her dress to her skin, and goosebumps erupted. There was a ring on his little finger, dull gold with a blood-red ruby at the center, gazing at her like an unblinking eye.
"Enchanting, utterly enchanting! I could see the pain written so clearly on your face!" It was the man from before. Somehow he'd grown even taller since then, taller than the Titan prowling onstage. "Forgive me, I never told you my name," he continued. "I'm Julian. I'd hoped for years you'd make it to the stage as a soloist, but I shouldn't have worried! I should have never doubted Emile. Come, come, my carriage is outside."
The ballet wasn't over, she couldn't just leave; she'd wanted to watch Valeria. Mr. Kaiser would kill her if she left. And who was Emile? "But Mr. Kaiser—"
Julian laughed. "Oh, no need to worry!" He beckoned her toward the stairs that she'd seen the black-suited men lumber up and down, the gem on his ring winking at her. Katrine's eyes darted around the antechamber, desperate for anyone to tell her what to do, but the dancers were either engaged in their own conversations or pressing their limbs to the floor. None of them looked at her.
She let him lead her down the stairwell to his carriage. It was enormous, three times as big as her bed, and she made herself small on the cushioned seat. While he prattled on about the weather and how the cold snap had ruined his apple orchard, Katrine watched his shiny lips move and wondered dimly how she was supposed to get back. Valeria was going to be cross with her for not changing out of her costume.
By the time they reached Julian's mansion, the sky had turned black and she could see glittering chandeliers and marble columns through its lit windows, but the house itself was a looming shadow and the dense hedges great walls ready to trap her. Julian strode inside, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it on the back of a chair where a servant waited to pick it up. He too refused to meet her watering eyes and vanished. Julian took Katrine's hand, his clammy palm swallowing hers, and led her further into the guts of the house where she instinctively knew it was improper for guests to go. His steps sent vibrations through the floorboards that shot up her own legs and deep into the marrow of her bones. Her feet, which she loved for moving so effortlessly when she demanded them, refused to listen to her silent pleas to flee.
They stopped at a bedroom draped in velvet, the same bloody red as his ring, with a bed so large Katrine was certain every Mitras Company ballerina could fit on it. But as soon as that thought left her head he pushed her toward it, pinning her against it. A tiny yelp squeaked out her mouth.
"I only wanted to look at you," he said in a soothing voice that didn't match the toothy smile cracking open his face. His finger trailed across her collarbone, the same place Valeria had touched a lifetime ago, and in a swift motion yanked at the tie holding the dress around her neck. It floated to the floor and landed in a puddle at her feet, leaving her naked and shivering.
"You're so beautiful, it drives me absolutely mad." He pressed a thumb to her lips, and then pushed her on the bed, flat on her back.
Afterward, he rolled over and promptly fell asleep. Without ever taking her eyes off him, Katrine leaned over the side of the bed and fumbled for her dress, and when she found it yanked it on so quickly she popped a stitch in the side. Then she hugged her knees to her chest, trying to squeeze her lungs shut so the heaving scream thrashing inside her wouldn't escape.
Everything hurt, everything, from her shaking hands to her feet and then back again to the agony burrowing itself deep in her core. She pressed her face to her knees and bit down hard on her lip to stop the raging panic, pain that was even worse than the paralyzing fear she felt while crushed under his weight. In flashes, her skin turned from blistering to freezing, like the time she got sick and Valeria was there to press cold rags to her forehead and whisper soothing words in her ear. But no one was here to do that.
Unblinking, she eyed him splayed across the bed, snoring. She searched his face for signs that revealed his malice, a scar or ugly mole that hinted at his wickedness, any way that she could have known because she should have known! How could she be so stupid to follow him out the door and right into his bed? Memories of Cecily shoving her behind that muslin curtain and Valeria's odd words flooded back to her. It was so obvious! She and the rest of the ballerinas were on display, waiting like the little sugared macaroons at the baker's to be plucked up and savored in someone's mouth before dissolving and disappearing into his gut, obliterated.
Her stinging eyes watered and she swiped at them, refusing to cry. What was she supposed to do now? Sleep? How could she sleep with this monster next to her, able to drag her out of her dreams if he chose?
Wrapping a blanket around her bare shoulders, Katrine slipped off the bed and padded to the large blue chair by the window, needing a perch to watch him from afar. But in the faint light, she noticed a doorway leading into another room, and she tiptoed inside, wondering what else this man had in his enormous house. Best to be prepared for whatever it was.
It was an alcove filled with books, stuffing the shelves that towered all the way to the ceiling, so many books it would be impossible to read them all in a lifetime. Relief washed over her and her tears finally fell. She'd prepared herself to find a room full of canes, ones with spikes and blades to pierce her skin and break her bones. She pulled a book at random, thin and unintimidating with a dark blue cover, and brought it over to the chair. She tucked her feet under her and methodically absorbed the words, looking up to check on Julian every time she turned a page. He didn't stir until sunlight flooded the room, and then she shoved the book under the chair and dashed back to the bed, pretending she'd been there the whole time.
Julian turned to her and smiled. "I've awoken to find the most beautiful peasant girl in my bed! My Katrine," he said, extending one hand to her.
She hated the way his mouth formed her name, hated that he addressed her like a pet dog, and only that thought of hatred let her endure the heat of his fingers without flinching.
"Did you sleep well?"
Her throat constricted. She nodded.
He only chuckled. "You're so shy. I left you a trinket in the dish on the fireplace, let me see it on you before you go."
Katrine slid off the bed and found the ceramic dish. It held a necklace, a tear-shaped sapphire, similar to ones she'd seen in shop windows but could only dream of affording. But now it looked dull and tarnished in the dim morning light.
"I wanted it to go with your lovely blue eyes. Promise me you'll wear it next time," he said.
How had he known the color of her eyes? And that there'd be a next time?
He raised his eyebrows, expecting a reply, so Katrine smiled. "Yes, Lord Julian," she said sweetly as she clasped it around her neck, remembering how she'd heard the other girls address the patrons. Satisfied, he called for a servant, and the leathery old man from before wordlessly led her to the carriage. During the ride home, she glared at the back of the driver's head and recited the unfamiliar words from the book, flowers and plants she'd never seen before. Chrysanthemum, aster, sedum, edelweiss...
When she spotted the familiar brick facade, she slammed the door open and rolled out of the still-moving carriage, scraping her knee and tearing her dress, and sprinted toward the building, ignoring the angry shouts from the driver. Someone was sitting on the stairs, and when Katrine saw auburn hair, rage bubbled up and she skidded to a halt.
"You knew!"
Valeria stood, knitting her fingers together. "I did, and I'm sorry, but—"
"You knew and you said nothing! None of you did! I asked Cecily and she brushed me off, and then you were right there and all you did was speak in riddles! You let me—" Her throat constricted painfully, like Julian's hands were on her again and strangling her.
"I'm sorry," Valeria whispered.
"No, you're not! At least Mr. Kaiser warns us before he's going to hit us! And this was worse!"
Valeria's arm shot forward, snatching her wrist, and Katrine flinched. Her teeth flashed behind pale lips. "Do you know what would happen if we told you? You'd get nervous. You wouldn't be able to concentrate. And then your stumbles turn into falls and you're out the door. Do you think we're letting you go back down there?" She jabbed a finger at the ground. "Those patrons, they pay for all this. They pay for lessons, for our shoes and our costumes, for our food and beds. And that doesn't come out of the goodness of their hearts. They want an exchange, a distraction from their wives and businesses and a bit of pleasure. It's worth it. To me, at least." She sighed and shook her head. "For some people, it's not."
Katrine's hatred dried up and all that was left was a gaping wound inside her that she didn't know how to fill. But it wasn't like hunger. Down there she'd been hungry and dirty; now she was just dirty.
"I've been waiting for you. To give you this." She handed Katrine a yellow piece of paper folded into quarters. Katrine unfolded it and scanned through the dense lines. Her name was written in clear letters at the top. "It's your citizenship papers."
"What's that mean?"
"It means he can't send you back."
Her fingers slackened and the paper nearly slipped out her hands. She wasn't going back, wasn't going to sit in garbage staring at the wall waiting for someone to come home whose face she'd never seen. The ragged hole in her gut softened a bit. But then guilt and rage roared back up and tore it wider.
"You did very well. They all said they'd never seen anyone dance Giselle with such passion," Valeria said.
Katrine didn't believe her. If she'd been as good as she said, then Julian wouldn't have dared to touch her. None of them would.
"Please know, there was nothing you could do." There was that false smile on her lips again; her eyes were too melancholy. "Practice starts at noon," she said, despite the fact that Katrine had never been late for practice, and walked back up the steps.
But there was something she could do. There had to be. She should have bit his thumb, shoved him off her, screamed until her lungs burst. She'd work harder in classes, be so perfect that her mere presence would terrify them. And what an ugly necklace! Why would she ever want to wear something shaped like a tear, to remind her of the ones she'd cried? She yanked at the stone, snapping the fragile silver chain, and threw it at a grate to drown in the filth.
A/N: I loosely based Katrine's backstory on French ballet in the 1800s - here's a good article if you're interested in learning more (replace comma with period): history,com/news/sexual-exploitation-was-the-norm-for-19th-century-ballerinas