“He’s going to be all right,” she says, stroking my back until I calm down.
“How do you know?”
“He’s Rémy.”
I chuckle a little and pull away. I wipe at my face, trying to erase the emotion. Of course he’ll be fine. He’s smart and strong and calculating.
“Do you love him?” Her blond eyebrow lifts.
I try to form a lie, but I can’t. “Yes.” The word tumbles out, feeling too little to encompass all of these emotions.
“When this is all over, will you be together?”
“Is it going to be over?” I pull on my coat. “And what would that look like?”
“I don’t know.”
A bell rings outside. Vendors start shouting, trying to lure customers to their lunch carts.
“We’ve got to get to the exhibition. We’re late,” I say.
We pack all of our things and adopt glamours. I deepen the brown of my skin so it matches the chocolate pies being sold right outside our window. I pull my hood tight around my face and tuck my tiny beauty caisse, the teacup dragons, and the maps into my fur waist-sash.
Edel resembles our maman Iris—Amber’s maman—with her hair thick, each strand a soft coil, and plaited in two fat twists that hit her waist like ropes of onyx. She packs our remaining Belle supplies into her pockets.
I use Rémy’s maps to navigate us back to the aristocratic Rose Quartier. The crowd stretches out as far as I can see, loud and excited, reminding me of the night of our Beauté Carnaval. They swell like a tide on the massive staircase leading into the Silk Hall. My stomach flutters, the energy of it all finding its way inside me as we fold into the rest of the bodies and make our way out of the cold.
The building is a gift box made of glass panels trimmed with ribbons of gold. Silkscreens of the Fashion Minister’s freckled face hang from the high ceiling interspersed with portraits of gowns displaying their various wonders. The room’s windowed walls give a full view of Carondelet from every vantage point. The blue domed buildings glimmer like cream tarts frosted with blueberry glaze. Day-lanterns zip overhead carrying voice-boxes, and heat-lanterns glow like newborn stars.
“Gather around, everyone. The presentation will start in a quarter of an hourglass,” a woman announces through the voice-boxes.
The crowd takes out ear-trumpets and eyescopes, anticipating the start of the show. Sweet-vendors slither through the masses wearing garments that display their treats. A woman dons a porcelain teapot-shaped hat and pours the steaming liquid through her spout into cups; another wears a dress that glows like an oven complete with spiced pies and bourbon tarts. A little boy pushes macarons from his top hat to be caught and consumed. A tall man has a billowing waistcoat from which he extracts peppermint bark, chocolate buttons, and caramel sticks. Peach post-balloons deliver glasses of champagne to eager, awaiting hands.
The teacup dragons squirm as the scents tickle their noses. I tighten my waist-sash, pulling them closer, hoping the warmth and heat of my body lulls them to sleep despite the chattering noises in the cavernous room.
The Fashion Minister’s well-dressed team of dandies march through side doors and yank thick red curtains along the walls and ceilings. The view of the city and the sky above disappears. Night-lanterns are extinguished, replaced by sparklers. Attendants ease the spectators away from the center of the room and form the crowd into a perfect circle.
“Gentleladies, gentlemen, and gentlefolk of the great Spice Isles, this is the first stop of this glorious world tour. Prepare yourself for the greatest Fashion Minister to ever serve the glorious kingdom of Orléans—the one and only Royal Minister Gustave du Polignac.”
The room bursts into cheers. At the center of the circle the floor opens, and a platform soars, carrying with it Gustave. He waves at the onlookers, his false hand now gold and studded with emeralds as plump as ripe grapes. His hair sits in a spectacular cone above his head, full of diamonds. I’m flooded with memories of him, of his kindess toward me. My heart lifts with a flutter like it’s taken off. He will help us. I know he will.
Beauty-lanterns rush throughout the room as cloaked bell jars descend from the ceiling.
He lifts a voice-trumpet to his smiling lips. “Are you ready?” he teases.
The crowd erupts.
“But are you?”
They clap and jump and whistle.
I gaze around wondering how they can all be so deliriously happy and unaffected by what’s happening in the world outside this room.
The velvet cloaks drop away from the bell jars, and the dresses are revealed.
The crowd gasps.
“Behold, little darlings of the Silk Isles, my latest creations,” Gustave announces.
The jars swivel and move like post-balloons without a precise destination.
“I’ll tell you a little about my favorites. Well, I love them all, but there are a few that hold a deep place in my heart.” One of the dresses shifts right over him. The bell jar pivots left and right to show off all angles of the gown. “This one is called the Phoenix. Didn’t the story go that the God of Fortune’s phoenix changed his feathers when the Goddess of Death lured him away every month?”
The crowd hollers in agreement.
“Pay close attention.”
The feathered gown shimmers in oranges and reds, then the feathers change to molten gold, then midnight plums and blues.
Everyone cheers.
“Save some excitement,” he replies, “for the Jeweled Worm.”
Another dress moves overhead, cylindrical and writhing like a silkworm. Layers unfurl, first exposing a tier of white diamonds and glass pearls, then shifting to shades of crimson studded with rubies.
The crowd drums their feet.
“The Striped Sensation is next.” The Fashion Minister bows as a three-piece suit appears in the nearest bell jar. The black and white stripes change to gold and silver, then plum and turquoise, while its matching top hat mirrors the colors.
“Bravo!” someone yells.
“Chic!” another hollers.
The Fashion Minister accepts the praise with a slight smile. “In collaboration with our new queen, Her Majesty Sophia Celeste the Second, by the Grace of the Gods of the Kingdom of Orléans and Her Other Realms and Territories, Defender of Beauty and Borders, wants all citizens of this great world to feel deeply connected to her. By wearing these original dresses, you will indeed be closer to the queen and her brilliance.”
His forced smile is unrecognizable to onlookers, but I’ve seen it before. He doesn’t believe a word he’s saying.
“My beautiful dandies will take care of you. Place your orders. Dress with purpose. Show the world who you are. May you always find beauty!” He flourishes his cape, then the platform lowers him back down and he disappears beneath the floor.
His dandies saunter through the eager masses with pen and parchment, noting orders and requests. One approaches us. “Care to put in an early order?”
“A very large order,” Edel replies.
“How many?” he asks.
I clear my throat. His eyes flit over me. “One hundred of the the Phoenix, and fifty of the Jeweled Worm.”
His delicately drawn eyebrows lift with curiosity. “Do you oversee a harem?”
I don’t laugh. Sweat inches down my back as I try to hold on to the glamour, appear confident, and keep the teacup dragons still in my waist-sash.
“We run a very prestigious school,” I say. “We want to meet with the Fashion Minister himself to tell him more of our needs.”
“Many want to meet with him. He’s quite a busy man,” the dandy replies.
Panic wraps its fingers around my heart like a fist, squeezing so hard, it might burst. I take out our leas pouch, fish out the remaining coins, and press them into his hand. It’s the last of our stash. It’s not much. But hopefully garish enough to make him think there’s more. “We know him very well.”
Edel’s eyes burn into my cheek, but I don
’t dare look at her for fear I’ll lose my nerve. “Tell him his little doll has many leas to spend.” I try to keep the desperation out of my voice.
He pockets the coins and motions for us to follow him. We zigzag between groups of excited courtiers bidding on the displayed dresses and placing orders for additional ones.
“Why did you do that?” Edel whispers. “Now we have nothing.” Her anger makes her glamour waver.
“He’ll give it back to me, and more. I promise.”
“But if he doesn’t, we can’t pay to stay at the boardinghouse tonight.”
The gamble burns in my stomach.
“Then it’s good we packed our things and brought them with us.” I try to sound more confident than I feel. I try to maintain a haughty smile. I try to be the old me, who wasn’t afraid to take any risk no matter the cost.
The Fashion Minister won’t let me down.
The man taps his cane on the ground as he strides forward, the crowd parting for him, and he turns down one of the endless ornate hallways. Portraits dot the walls—depictions of royal families and famed courtiers enjoying all the Silk Isles have to offer. They sit in plantation carriages overseeing Gris workers or strolling through silk farms with lily-white parasols drifting over their heads like warm-season clouds.
He escorts us into a tea room. The walls soar in stripes of the Silk Isles’ signature colors—ocean blue, cream, and gold. Day-lanterns and beauty-lanterns chase each other overhead like celestial bodies. Servants push carts replete with teapots and sweets. The Fashion Minister sits on a raised chaise surrounded by people—courtiers, attendants.
“Wait here,” the dandy orders.
My hands tremble. “Breathe. Hold it,” I whisper to myself, and hope the words sink inside me because a quiver vibrates down my spine as it gets harder and harder to hold the glamour. A headache erupts in my temples. The silvery taste of blood coats my tongue. I’m moments from another nosebleed.
“Just a few more minutes,” Edel says.
The dandy leans down and whispers into the Fashion Minister’s ear. The Fashion Minister’s eyebrows raise, and his gaze finds me.
“Clear the room,” the Fashion Minister orders. “Everyone. Servants, too.” His command bounces off the walls.
The room empties in less time than it takes for a single grain of sand to fall from one side of an hourglass to the other. As the door clicks shut, the Fashion Minister rushes over to us. I almost collapse into his arms from fatigue.
He holds me up. “Little doll?” His eyes scan over me.
I let the glamour drift away.
He leans back in awe as my skin returns to its regular shade of brown and my hair frizzes, each strand tightening into a curl. Blood streams from my nose.
He hands me a handkerchief, and I nod with gratitude.
“It is you.” He wraps me up in his arms like I’m a lost child he’s just found. The teacup dragons squeal, causing him to pull back. They peek their heads out of my waist-sash and glare at him, aiming tiny streams of fire at his face, which flame out before they can do harm.
“How adorable,” he says, unperturbed.
Edel’s glamour disappears.
“Ah, the troublemaking one that Madam Alieas always complained about.”
“Alieas was the annoying one,” Edel snaps. “And hello to you, too.”
“Greetings, troublemaker.” He puts a hand on his chest. “How were you able to disguise yourselves like that?”
“Our gifts,” I reply with utter exhaustion. He takes my arm.
After settling us onto chaise lounges, he dashes to one of the drink carts and brings us two cups of hot tea. I sip eagerly, the warm liquid restoring strength in my muscles. I have never been so glad not to support my own weight. I let the teacup dragons roam around the room. Three pick at towers of macarons in search of something more savory, and the other three chase the day-lanterns through the cavernous space, tangling themselves in their silk ribbons.
The Fashion Minister stares up at them in awe. “There’s a shortage of those. Our newest lady on the throne would be quite eager to get her hands on them.”
“Soph—”
He puts his hand in the air, pointing at nearby beauty-lanterns. “Don’t say her name. Similar to her blood jewelry, she’s using enigmatics, fashioning them to resemble almost anything—fans, keys, royal emblems, even dresses themselves. Rumor has it, she’s attached the tiny record-boxes to lanterns throughout the kingdom to be collected by her loyal followers. They target specific words and record gossip. Do you understand?”
We nod.
“Now that I’ve had a closer look at you both, I can tell you’re run-down,” he says.
“We need your help with two things—money, if you can spare it, and a way to get into the Silk Teahouse.”
Without hesitation, he removes a leas pouch from his inner pocket and hands it to me. The weight of it is a comfort. “The teahouses are locked up tighter than a starvation box until she declares them open again. No one other than guards—and servants tending to the Belles—goes in or out.”
“We know,” Edel replies, then sips her tea. “That’s why we’re here.”
“So, what’s your plan?” he asks. “I mean, assuming the teahouse isn’t your endgame.”
Edel stops mid-sip, her strong gaze darting between me and the Fashion Minister. Her brow furrows with suspicion.
“If I wanted to capture you, you’d already be in chains and headed to that fancy cattle-pen prison,” he snaps, before grabbing a macaron from a tiered tray and dipping it into his rose-pink teacup.
“But why should we trust you?” Edel says. “Why are you willing to help?”
He turns to me and blows me a kiss. “I’ve always had a soft spot for this one.”
Edel’s eyes blaze. “That doesn’t mean you’re not an ally of the monster who—”
“Be quiet!” His voice blasts through the room like a trumpet.
Edel blanches. My heart pounds.
“I am no friend of hers. She took my husband.” His eyes sheen over with tears. “Under the guise of a job as a milliner, she is holding him against his will. Using him as a way to control me. I need her gone, too.”
Edel opens and closes her mouth a few times, but nothing comes out. I glare at her and will an apology to come from her mouth.
“I’m sorry,” I reply.
He reaches for my hand and holds it with a squeeze. “It’s fine, my poppet. I am used to being questioned like this. I can prove my mettle and worth.” He cranes forward. “Our sleeping beauty is in the Gold Isles and is growing stronger, trying to get well before the ceremonies begin. I can’t believe that’s coming in four days’ time.”
My heart jumps. “How do you know?”
“I’m very close with our departed leader’s beloved partner.” He leans in, waiting for the lantern overhead to drift past, and whispers, “Lady Pelletier.”
The pieces of this puzzle begin to shift into place. I glare at Edel, satisfied that this visit has paid off.
“Know our beauty is tucked away like a jewel deep in a mountain.”
“Can you help us get to her?” Edel asks.
“And to our sister at the Silk Teahouse?” I add.
A knock pounds the door. “Royal Minister?” a voice calls.
“Yes, to both, but we have no more time for catch-up,” he replies. “My duties call and anything that continues to deviate from them will garner curiosity and inspire reporting.” He taps my nose. “You must rest overnight. Tomorrow, I’ll get you where you need to go. But first, I must rescue your bodies and outfit you in something that won’t raise such alarm. Come.”
The mirrored walls around us fog with steam as we soak in natural hot-spring baths, the water heated from the very heart of the Goddess of Death’s caves. We learned in our lessons that her bargain with the God of the Sea required her to allow for heat from her eternal fires to warm these waters.
Skylight windows reveal the midn
ight stars as they rise. Smooth white stone slopes along my back and bubbles remove the tension in my limbs. Edel only dangles her feet in as her eyes dart back and forth between me and the stone doors behind us.
“We shouldn’t have stayed,” she says. “We could’ve gotten Valerie tonight and set off for the Gold Isles. Now, we only have four days until the ceremony.”
“Try to relax,” I say.
“I still don’t trust him,” she replies.
“We’re in his private chambers. He’s sent all his servants and attendants away for the night. If he were going to trap us, he would have already had the guard take us away. It would probably make her love him more, and release his husband or make her imprison him. He’s taking a risk to help us.”
“You trust too easily,” she replies. “They wrote about you in the papers, you know. You and her fiancé, Auguste.”
A bleeding gash opens on my heart. “What?”
“There were reports in the tattlers about how she was angered by your daliance with him. Is it true?”
My relationship with Auguste replays in my head. His gaze heavy, his eyes with their ability to make me feel as if I were the only person in the room, the only person in the world. The sound of his name stirs painful memories I’ve worked hard to bury deep inside me, rattling and shaking them like snow in a flipped snowglobe.
“So, is it?” she presses.
“I made a grave error.” The admission leaves behind an ache in my heart like the deep prick of a needle. All the secrets spilled between kisses; secrets that allowed his mother to discover sacred truths about the Belles and feed them to Sophia. I’m not ready to face that yet.
“You kissed him?”
“Yes.”
“What was it like?” She eases deeper into the water.
“Fine.”
She arches an eyebrow. “That’s it?”
“I don’t want to talk about him.” I clamp my eyes shut, trying to erase Auguste, wishing I could remove all the memories of him that I carry.
“Did you love him?”
The question burns. She jostles my shoulder. My eyes snap open.
“What about Rémy? You said you loved him.”
The Everlasting Rose (Belles, The) Page 11