We both gaze down into the darkness below, the expanse of it terrifying, a pit to swallow us whole. My mind fills with all the twisted and dangerous things that might await if we took that plunge.
“There’s nowhere to run but straight into the Goddess of Death’s teeth,” the woman threatens.
Edel jerks back, knocking into me. I tighten my grip around her waist. “Calm down. We’re going to get out of here,” I whisper to her. “We will find our way.”
“If you die down here, you become hers.” The woman opens a small door and invites us to board her dirigible. “Ready? Or do you still want to run?”
Edel and I lock eyes, gaining strength from each other, then we ease on board and lower ourselves into two makeshift seats.
“Where are my teacup dragons?” I ask.
“Safe.” The woman reaches up and closes the tiny fire hatch beneath the balloon. “For now.”
“Is that a threat?” I ask.
“It’s whatever you want it to be,” she replies.
My stomach swoops as we sink deep into the darkness, the cold wetness turning warmer, the hiss of steam growing louder. When we were little girls, we were told that the Goddess of Beauty hated the Goddess of Death. They’d been sisters who’d fought and fussed over all things until they could no longer exist in this world side by side. Unpopular with the other gods for her unpredictable temper, Death was cast into the depths of the world to hide and deal with the bodies and souls of the dead. The grottos are the entrance to her lair.
We reach a small platform and step off the dirigible. Three masked women approach, gripping burlap sacks, their movements languid like spirits.
My stomach tightens.
“Why is this necessary? It’s not like we can see anything down here,” Edel snaps.
“Edel,” I reply despite my fear. “We agreed.”
“Listen to your sister,” one of the women says, her voice raspy. “She is wise.”
“No one is to know the way in and out of the spiders’ lair,” another says.
I drop my head forward, submitting to the sack. She pulls it over my head. “Good girl,” she whispers.
The light is stamped out and my heart squeezes. Panic starts to overtake me but I try my best to fight it.
Another woman grabs my arm and shoves me forward. We walk along a rocky surface. The scent of water fills my nose, a mixture of the Rose Bayou from home and La Mer du Roi. The hiss of steam muffles our footsteps. Where are they taking us?
I take a deep breath and think of Rémy. He would say, “Pay attention. Be ready. You will be all right.”
Small freckles of light push through the fabric.
The woman’s grip tightens on my forearm, pinching the skin. “We agreed to go with you. No need to be so rough.”
“Oh, Princess, I’m so sorry,” she says sarcastically.
“We’re not princesses,” I hear Edel holler back.
“We’ve never been that,” I add.
“Settle, or I’ll break your arm,” she says, her voice grating against my skin like rough parchment. “And I should for what you did.”
My blood runs cold. What I did? How could I have done anything to offend this random person at the edge of the world? “Who are you?” I ask.
“You don’t remember?” she purrs in my ear.
“I wouldn’t be asking if I did.”
“We’re almost there,” another voice says.
We trample down winding stone stairs. The air around me warms as we venture deeper, like we’ve stepped into an onsen. A thick, heavy sweat coats my skin.
The sound of applause is so sudden it startles me.
“Our dearest lady, we caught something interesting in our web.” The woman elbows me forward, and I hit the warm stone ground with a thud. The sack is yanked off my head.
I look up.
A tall woman in an iron mask peers down at me. It hugs the contours of her face and neck, intricately etched with fine lines shaped into a severe expression. A ruby jewel nestles in the center like a terrifying and beautiful red-bodied spider. Gray robes kiss the tops of her bare feet.
I scramble up, struggling to lift myself upright with the cuffs around my wrists, and glance around. The massive cave is pocked with alcoves fashioned into homes with tiny doors and circular windows and ladders that lead down to long piers. Pavilions float on a blue-green lake, oscillating between small watercoaches. Oblong post-balloons zip around, changing from black to red and back again, their ribbons made of knitted silk to resemble spiders’ webs.
A nested underground city. I’ve never seen anything like it. The strange beauty of it rattles all the things I thought I knew about what the edges and corners of Orléans might look like.
More women step forward, each wearing a mask with unique etchings.
“Who are you?” Edel shouts.
The women laugh, creating a sound ripple.
The tallest woman removes her mask—her skin is as gray as a teacup elephant, her eyes black as obsidian, and her hair white as snow. She almost resembles a wizened spider herself. “Edel Beauregard and favorite Camellia Beauregard, I am Lady Arane, leader of the Iron Ladies, editor of the Spider’s Web.”
Edel and I exchange a baffled look.
She’s the most striking woman I’ve ever seen.
“We are the Iron Ladies, the Spiders, the Resistance. Welcome to the Grottos!” She spreads her arms wide.
“What do you want from us?” I ask.
“You can’t hold us here,” Edel says.
“You’re free to go if you can navigate yourself out of the Goddess of Death’s Grottos. Only a few know the way. Many have tried to leave, and we don’t find them until they’re reduced to bones. It is a web of tunnels, hence our name.” She turns to the women flanking her. “How long would you wager they’d make it in the dark caves, my ladies?”
“Three hourglasses,” one says.
“They’re Belles, so I’d give them seven hourglasses,” another replies.
“Too small and frail. Half an hourglass,” a third yells.
Laughter fills the cave, the drone of it turning into a nauseating hum and stirring itself into my anger.
Lady Arane waves her hand to quiet them and smiles. “We don’t plan on hurting you, unless you hurt us.”
“You’re too kind,” I reply.
Her mouth flattens into a straight line. “You should be grateful to us. Lady Surielle saved you.” The woman who steered the dirigible steps forward and bows before Lady Arane.
“We don’t need rescuing,” Edel says.
“Oh, but you did. Had your ostentatious watercoach sailed ten more leagues north, it would’ve run right into a new imperial guard checkpoint at Crescent Hook Lighthouse. They were alerting all fleets for an escaped ship.”
Her words settle over me, and I remember the pattern of light hitting the water as we cruised along the edges of the imperial island.
“You would’ve fallen right into our newest queen’s trap before we had the opportunity of meeting and possibly working together.”
“Why would we want to work with you?” Edel says.
“Edel,” I say through clenched teeth.
She cackles, setting off another cascade of laughter. “It seems you don’t understand who we are.”
“And your sister owes me.” The woman who dragged me here steps forward and removes her mask.
It’s Violetta. The servant from the palace. Claudine’s lover. An anchor drops in my stomach.
“You killed someone who meant something to me.”
The sweaty heat of nausea washes over me. The feelings of responsibility and regret. “I’m s-sorry,” I stammer out.
Her face hardens as if we’ve both shifted back into that memory. Claudine’s dead eyes and slack mouth are all I can see. I repeat my apology, but she crosses her arms over her chest.
“Not now, Violetta.” Lady Arane nods at Violetta, who retreats, then turns back to us. “Many who resist t
he world’s constraints live down here with us. We’ve found ways to combat the discomfort that comes with our natural templates. We’ve learned to harness the madness. We’ve learned to live without your kind.” She paces in a circle around Edel and me.
The women smile at her and clap their hands, or stretch their arms in the air as she talks, waving them about with excitement.
“We are spiders,” she calls out.
“Whom others can’t see,” the women chant back.
“But they will feel our bite.”
“They will heed our lessons,” they all reply in unison, then assume a tight formation, arms at their sides.
“And experience our venom,” Lady Arane says with a smile. “We’ve been at this work for years, and both of you have just reluctantly woken up and discovered us. Lady Surielle?”
The woman from the dirigible steps forward and bows.
“Lady Surielle is my first disciple. The most agile. The one with the sharpest teeth.” Surielle bows farther with Lady Arane’s compliment. “Surielle, go and prepare my boat.”
Surielle stands, her expression surprised. “Perhaps they need more time in the dungeons, my lady?”
Lady Arane pats Surielle’s shoulder, while she holds my gaze. “I think after a tour of our humble abode, they may be ready. We’ll dine on board. They will need further sustenance to ask all the questions they will need to have answered before they join our cause.”
Surielle nods and leaves Violetta to watch over us, her gaze a hot poker fresh from tending a roaring fire.
I turn my back to her, unable to withstand her glare, and wish there was a way to explain what happened that night. Or better yet, a way to erase what happened.
“This is a bad idea,” Edel whispers to me.
“What choice do we have?” I reply. “We must hear them out.”
“What if they aren’t who they say they are?” Her white cheeks hold a deep pink flush.
“Then we’ll try our luck with the Goddess of Death’s caves.”
Edel holds my gaze. “We can do it.”
“I know. We can do anything together.” We nod at each other, then turn to watch as a sleek boat slices through the blue-green waters like a black fish. It reminds me of one of the Palace River canal boats but is large enough for a full staff.
“Come,” Violetta orders.
We walk down the pier and step into the boat.
Under a dark canopy, modest cushions rim a decorated table. Sea-lanterns and fire-lanterns knock into one another. A staff of women sets out plates of food—a rainbow medley of sliced vegetables and fresh fruit, a few wedges of cheese, and a small basket of steaming shrimp.
“How did you get all this food down here?” I ask.
“We have figured out ways to survive. With a little hard work things grow in the darkness and the fruit of the sea can be lured into these waters and caught in traps,” Lady Arane replies. “With limited resources, the most interesting things can be born.”
We all settle at a low table, sitting on plush cushions.
“If I remove the cuffs around your wrists, will you promise to behave?” Lady Arane asks. “I doubt you’d want one of my ladies to hand-feed you.”
I nod.
“The question was mostly for the blond one,” she says with a wink.
Edel grunts. “Fine!” Her face seems paler, her lips reddened from biting them with hunger and anxiety.
Lady Arane orders the cuffs to be removed. My wrists are grateful to be released. Bruises ring them, dark as the sangsues. Edel and I immediately start to eat.
The boat snakes along the cave river. The rock ceiling crests over us, boasting bright renderings of a night sky. The paintings of all the stars twinkle as if they’re actually there. To the left and right, homes are carved into the sides of the grotto; tiny pinpricks of light escape small windows. Women wave and salute at our boat as we pass.
“Everyone who lives in the Grottos takes a vow of simplicity,” Arane tells us, sitting back with a cup of tea. “No lavish clothes, shoes, or homes. No decadence, luxury, or excess. We only have what we need. We share most items as a community. We work hard to ensure all are taken care of.”
“How long have you been here?” I ask.
“Since I was a young woman. I wanted to be the Minister of War, but was passed over for the position. I fell out of love with the world above and found this community—”
“So, you don’t change yourself? Ever?” Edel interrupts.
“We have developed ways to cope. Eye drops to dull the redness. Powders to soften the hair so it’s manageable and able to hold on to dye. But we remain gray and proud. We want to reset the world. Change how it deals with the realities.”
I hear Maman’s words: “The favorite shows the world what is beautiful. She reminds them of what is essential.”
“With Queen Sophia the usurper in power, we will never stand a chance at this. We’re using the Spider’s Web to influence popular opinion and seed the idea that we don’t need to be so intent on escaping our natural forms.”
The boat pauses at a pier.
“Come and see.”
We leave the boat. Lady Arane leads us along a small incline. It empties at a set of dark curtains embroidered with spiders. She pulls them back to reveal a small room of silkscreens and strange, hulking apparatuses made of wood and brass and bolts.
“What is this?” I ask, gazing all around, my heart lifting with unexpected awe. House-lanterns sail about, illuminating all sorts of instruments—stamps, quills, calligraphy brushes, tiny letter blocks, wooden frames, and color vials. A wall of glass inkpots shimmers, the animated liquid glowing and clawing at their sides, desperate to escape.
“The heart of our web. Our printing press.” Lady Arane enters with a flourish and runs her fingers over everything in her path. She points up. Above our heads hang drying newspapers with animated ink racing across the parchment. “This is where my ladies—and a few gentlemen—make our greatest weapon.”
“How does it work?” I ask, following Edel as she examines the odd items in the space.
“Violetta,” Lady Arane says.
She walks forward, mouth in a grimace. “We create our own parchment and animated ink, catching low-dwelling squids.” She takes a piece of parchment from a stack and places it on a long table. “We write our articles and place it in our press.” She points at the apparatus. “Just like the ones built by the Minister of News, these produce up to a hundred papers every turn of the hourglass. We’ve gotten many new followers and lots of support through the circulation of the papers.”
Lady Arane touches one of the presses. “I plan to start releasing tattlers to get to those who avoid newspapers, so I can publish works that explore the greatest challenges facing us and make sure the people see the situation as it is, whether they want to or not. Real leaders tell their people the truth, setting the tone for their subjects. Without open leadership and a benevolent queen, Orléans will not survive.”
“Princess Charlotte,” I say.
“Yes, if she will listen to us, then there’s a start. My healers have been visiting her. She’s still weak but recovering slowly.”
Her words send hope through me that we can remove Sophia from power. “That’s such great news.”
“You’ve seen her?” Edel asks.
“Yes, her and Lady Pelletier,” Lady Arane answers.
“Where is she? If we can get Charlotte to the palace safely before Sophia’s coronation, she can claim the throne and throw Sophia into the dungeon where she belongs,” I say.
Lady Arane’s mouth breaks into a smile and she nods. Our desires line up like two puzzle pieces locking into one another.
“Why haven’t you done that already?” Edel says.
Lady Arane turns to her. “She’s not well enough and we don’t want to risk being caught before we had a chance to lay our trap. We thought you could help her with your arcana.”
“The arcana can’t heal,”
Edel replies.
“You woke her.” Lady Arane turns to me.
“We cleaned her blood. Refreshed it, so to speak,” I clarify.
“You could make her appear strong enough to face Sophia. She just has to make a legitimate claim to the throne. Sophia thinks she can lie to the world about her sister being dead. There’s no telling who she killed and will put on display to get away with this. So, the question is... will you help us?”
“Can you also help us?” I ask.
“What do you want?”
“My sisters.”
Lady Arane purses her lips. “Yes. We can assist with that. So, do we have a deal?”
“I need to talk to my sister in private first,” I say.
Lady Arane nods. She motions for everyone to vacate the room. “We’ll be outside.”
Once the curtains drop, Edel rushes to me. “I don’t think we should do it. Let’s just find our sisters ourselves.”
“But she knows where Charlotte is! And how will we get out of here if we refuse? I don’t think they’re going to let us march out and go on our way.”
Edel drums her fingers on the table. “But what does she think is going to happen? The whole world will be all right with living the way they do? Gray and without beauty work? What if some people don’t want to? They’re all going to fight. We’ve seen how they act at the teahouses. What happens to us? Are we going to be free? Are they going to let us do whatever we want? Or let us do anything other than beauty work? There’s no way they’re going to just let us go.”
I touch her, startling her out of the rant. “I don’t know. All I do know is that we don’t get rid of Sophia, we will be in chains. We will have to worry about the rest later.”
Angry tears well in her eyes and she works hard to hide them from me.
“We will be all right. I promise.”
“I don’t believe in promises,” she replies.
I slip my shaky hand in hers, reaching deep down to stir any bravery hidden there. “When we were little girls and you set off on your wild adventures—like swimming to the bottom of Rose Bayou to find the octopus creature or sneaking out into the dark forest behind our house—I always went with you. No one else would. I told you I would, and I did. Right?”
The Everlasting Rose (Belles, The) Page 16