“Yes,” she mumbles.
“I’m telling you right now that we will get out of here and we will get rid of Sophia, then we will get to work on the future. We won’t return to the teahouses. We won’t let that happen again—not to us, not to any of our sisters. But if we’re going to succeed, we need the Iron Ladies’ help.”
Edel’s brow furrows, and she shrugs. Her way of agreeing.
I go to the curtains and snatch them back.
“We’re in agreement,” I say to the crowd of waiting women.
Lady Arane smiles. She reaches her hand out. “May our threads remain strong and our webs serve us well.”
We clasp hands.
The bargain is sealed.
Lady Arane’s office glows like a sun trapped in a box. Night-lanterns and miniature sky candles warm the space amid the darkness of the caves. Tall bookshelves line three walls with frayed spines of old titles. Maps of the kingdom and its cities along with cameo portraits of Sophia’s cabinet and other unfamiliar faces cover the table.
A dozen or more women stand when we enter. They’re all various shades of gray, their straw-textured hair styled in different ways and full of multicolored powders, and their black eyes stare back at us with curiosity. They salute Lady Arane. Her presence sends a wave of serious energy through the space.
“Be at ease, everyone, and have a seat. Please welcome Camille and Edel,” she directs.
The women nod.
“Belles, these are more of my disciples,” she says to us.
The women introduce themselves in rapid succession, and I can’t hold on to all of their names. Two additional seats are brought for Edel and me.
Lady Arane removes her cloak, handing it to a nearby woman. A tiny gavel is placed in front of her. She taps it on a wooden pad. “I hereby call this official meeting in session. Thank you, loyal Iron Ladies. May your threads always remain strong,” she says.
“And may your web serve you well,” they chant back.
“First order of business is reviewing the modification boxes. Are they still on schedule to be distributed tonight?”
“Yes, Lady Arane,” one replies. I think her name is Liara.
“Let me see them. Our trip above was fruitful in many ways.” Lady Arane winks at me, then turns back to the woman. “I left more items to be given to all.”
One woman stands and returns with stacks of hat boxes. She unhooks their closures and exposes their contents—toilette box items and rudimentary beauty products.
“I thought you all embraced a life without beauty,” Edel sneers.
“These are for medicinal purposes. Choosing to live as a Gris person and embracing your natural template does have its challenges. We’re not ignorant or untruthful about it. These items help our residents cope with the pain of it all.” She lifts a vial. “This is eye serum.” She shakes a tub of crème. “This softens the hair to prevent it from falling out.” She closes the lid. “Get the point?”
Edel scowls and sits back in her chair.
Lady Arane returns her attention to her people. “Have the latest newspapers gone out?”
“Yes,” one answers. “Just an hourglass ago. We sent the newsies and transports. The Spider’s Web should reach major cities by the time the afternoon papers are distributed.”
“Good.” Lady Arane nods. “See, girls, what we’re doing here?” She turns to me, her dark eyes burning into mine. “Do you know what we really and truly want?”
“To get rid of Sophia,” I reply.
“Yes.” Lady Arane nods. “But I’m going to teach you three lessons while I have you. The first, when bargaining, never show your complete hand. Always keep the thing you want most tucked deep down.” She drums her fingers on the table. “The ultimate goal is to force the House of Orléans to fall. To trigger another Beauty Trial.”
“But I thought you wanted to teach the world of Orléans to embrace a life without beauty,” I say. “Not another Beauty Trial. Is that ritual even real?”
The women fixate on me. The heat of their glares sends a nervous ripple down my spine.
“And wouldn’t that be up to Princess Charlotte?” Edel adds.
“The people will have their say,” she replies. “Even if we do succeed in removing Sophia and Charlotte takes the throne, her newly appointed cabinet won’t solve the core issue—changing how beauty work affects this kingdom. We need an eradication of the old way, and new leadership as the first step.”
“I assume you mean you. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Your play for power,” Edel challenges.
The women gasp.
“Edel,” I say.
“How dare you! Her web is the strongest!” one says.
“She catches every fly—and even lions—in her threads,” another barks.
“She is blessed,” a third adds.
Lady Arane lifts a hand, silencing the angry women. “I want Charlotte on the throne so she can call for a new Beauty Trial. That is all. I have no delusions of grandeur about her actually dissolving the monarchy of her own volition or deciding that beauty work is killing the world and she should abolish it out of the goodness of her heart. Not all those who demand a change of leadership want to take on the task for themselves. I want a citizen of Orléans to prove that they have what it takes to lead. If we succeed and there’s a Beauty Trial, let me enter and prove myself worthy. Let the gods choose me.”
“You would make a wonderful leader for Orléans,” one woman chimes in.
The others agree with applause.
Lady Arane taps the gavel. “Thank you for your support, but we all must be given a fair shot. The first step is to go see Princess Charlotte and petition her with our desires. See if she plans to challenge her sister’s coronation and ascension. We will go see her immediately. There are only two days left until the official ceremonies begin and Sophia reveals that body.”
“How will we get to Charlotte?” I ask.
“You will see.” She turns to Violetta and Liara. “Prepare our transports.”
Violetta and Liara rush out, and, after conferring with Surielle and giving some instructions, Lady Arane gestures at us to follow. We step outside and walk to the end of the pier, where eight wooden boxes sit in a row, their lids flapped open. Three are filled with all manner of goods. The others remain empty.
Edel speaks first. “Are those—”
“Coffins? Yes.” Lady Arane gestures to one that is filled with Belle-products. “These are headed to Céline in the Gold Isles. My associates will take them to a warehouse near the pier.”
“Why ship them in coffins?” I ask.
“Lesson number two, petite: Never do the expected,” she says with a wink. “Port guards don’t bother the dead. They’re superstitious. Before Sophia began monitoring post-balloons, we’d send the coffins that way—anchor a hundred post-balloons to carry a coffin across the sea—shipping ourselves and our papers throughout the kingdom.”
Three of her disciples climb into the coffins and place their masks over their faces. Edel and I exchange glances.
I take a deep breath. “How long is the journey?”
“Four hourglasses. Enough time to sleep, for the midnight star has just come and gone and it will be morning soon.”
Edel’s eyebrow lifts.
“Get in,” Lady Arane orders.
“I’m not going anywhere without my teacup dragons and my knife.” I cross my arms over my chest and plant my feet in place.
Lady Arane snaps her fingers.
A woman disappears and returns with a wooden cage. The dragons flit around inside, looking perfectly healthy. I poke my finger in, and they eagerly lick it.
“We did not harm them. They’re quite beautiful and rare,” Lady Arane says.
Another woman hands me my waist-sash. I quickly tie it. I open the cage. They climb all over me before settling into my waist-sash. Lady Surielle hands me my dagger. Rémy’s dagger.
“What about the money that was take
n from us?” Edel says.
“Give them back all of their belongings,” Lady Arane orders.
Surielle tosses a purse in Edel’s direction. It almost tumbles into the dark waters around us, but Edel catches it in time. I bend and rub my fingers across the plush pillows inside the coffin. Belle-products ring the perimeter. The familiar scent of perfumes and crème-cakes finds my nose.
I watch Edel climb into the coffin and the lid close over her. Cold flushes through me.
Lady Arane gestures at the box. “It won’t bite. There are no spiders inside.”
“How do you travel?” I ask, as all the other coffins are carried off to a boat and not one is left for her.
“I have my own way. Don’t worry. You’ll have Surielle, Liara, and Violetta, three of my most trusted. They know how to be in contact with me.” She winks. “Meet you in Céline. The Gold Isles truly are beautiful. I was born in a small mountain town there. It’ll be good to see it once more.”
I climb inside the coffin and lie across the pillows. My back presses into them, and they easily take my shape. I barely have time to take one last breath before the lid closes over me and darkness descends.
Sweat soaks my back as my heartbeat picks up speed. I try to steady my breathing and calm the flutters in my stomach.
“You will be all right. You will be all right.” I whisper the mantra over and over again. “Try to sleep.”
The teacup dragons in my waist-sash squirm and adjust. I pat them until they settle. My brain is a tangle of worries: Did we make the right decision to trust them? Will they keep their word and help us find our sisters? What if they ship us straight to Sophia and collect their prize? What would Rémy think of what we’re doing?
My vessel is lifted and carried. My stomach flips. I clench my muscles until I feel myself set down. Snippets of Lady Arane’s instructions slip inside the box:
“Be gentle with these! We have first-timers.”
“Take the southern exit out of the caves.”
“Prepare my boat and I’ll leave to the east. If we’re being tracked, we’ll split their attention.”
After at least an hourglass’s worth of time, the voices quiet and I recognize the oscillating motion of a boat. I feel like a toy caught in the choppy waves my sisters and I used to create in the onsen tubs at home as little girls. Servants would march us into the bathing chambers and tell us to wait at the edge of the largest, bubbling pool, but Edel would leap in first before getting permission and usually pull me in with her. Amber would scowl, then inch her way in, letting her naked body adjust slowly to the temperature. Padma and Valerie would gather the bathing toys and drop them in for us. Hana always entered last, after her request for more bubbles was denied.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to remember those happier times, trying not to think about how we all won’t be together again. The space feels bigger as I sink into the darkness of the coffin. I fall in and out of sweaty hallucinations and tumultuous dreams—Sophia’s heckling me as we stand in front of her wall of cameos, the pained look on Auguste’s face when his true intentions were revealed at that dinner, Rémy waiting for me in Trianon, the dead, glassy eyes of both Claudine and Valerie.
Finally, the lid of my coffin lifts and I feel the relief of a deep breath.
“Is everyone all right?” Surielle asks.
“I am now, thank you.” My skin welcomes the cool air. She smiles down at me, her skin glistening like a gray pearl brought from the depths of the Cold Sea. I stretch and try to hold in a yawn. Sleep tugs at my eyelids.
“It’s all cargo down here, so you can come out while we travel. It’s about one hourglass until we reach Céline and the Gold Isles.”
“Where’s Edel?” I ask, just before her groan cuts through the space. I turn and find her open casket is behind mine. She’s sitting up, her face an awful shade of green. I climb out of my box and rush over to her, scaling over crates and barrels. Surielle follows and together we try to get Edel up, but she cowers.
“I wish we had some barley water,” I say, pushing Edel’s hair from her forehead.
Surielle rifles through cargo boxes only to discover bottles of wart tonics, cases of wine, and all types of new télétropes.
“What is this? One of your ships?” I ask her.
“No. An overnight cargo vessel from the port of Nouvelle-Lerec.”
I notice that Violetta and one other disciple are posted at the door, masks on and daggers in hand. I want to try to speak to Violetta about what happened with Claudine. I want to apologize and try to explain. But Edel moans again and burps up her sickness, and I can’t leave her.
“Try to sleep,” I tell Edel, helping her lie down again.
She rolls over, cradling her stomach. Surielle brings a cloak to prop her head up. I find a fan and flap a breeze over her until her eyes grow heavy and her breathing softens.
I find a place nearby to sit, a barrel nestled between two crates labeled BEAULIEU’S CHANDELIER-LANTERNS, and let the teacup dragons out of my pouch. They flutter about, stretching their wings while I keep a watch on Edel.
A silence settles over us, only interrupted by the squawk of a seabird or one of Edel’s moans or the clomp of a footstep on the deck above.
Surielle steals glances at me, her black eyes combing over my hair and face.
“Have you always been part of this group?” I ask her.
“I ran away from home at thirteen and joined. My mother was terrible about beauty management. She made us change weekly to keep up with the trends. I hated it,” she says. “I was in constant pain.”
“How did you learn about the Iron Ladies’ existence?”
“You have to know where to look. They leave clues. Spider-webs and cleome flowers—”
“On buildings.” I remember the cobwebs and flowers in the shop windows in Metairie. Makes me wonder how many small signs I missed. How much I hadn’t been paying attention.
“What happened to you at the palace?” Surielle asks. “We’ve heard about this new queen for so long and read about some of her antics, but I don’t know what is true and what isn’t. I want to hear from someone who was there.”
“So many things,” I reply. “Sophia wants to be the most beautiful woman in the whole world and she will do anything to achieve it.”
“But that is impossible. And frivolous.”
“That is what she wants.” The anger inside me ties itself into a heavy knot. “I thought she’d kill me with beauty work.” I close my eyes for a moment. Sophia’s wild gaze greets me, glaring. I shudder.
“She will be stopped,” Surielle replies. “All of this nonsense will come to an end.”
Her words sink down inside me, mingling with the rage simmering. “I know.”
Our eyes meet and hold the same purpose.
“Surielle, Liara and I wish to speak with you,” Violetta barks. Surielle joins the others at the door.
I take Arabella’s Belle-book from my satchel and trace my fingers over the cover until my heart slows. It makes me miss Maman’s Belle-book. I open it and begin to read, hoping it’ll make me sleepy enough to rest.
Date: Day 4,128 at court
Sophia carted me to her prison. The last wing is almost complete as she works the builders to the very edge.
Elisabeth Du Barry has been forced to live at the Everlasting Rose prison now. She tried to grow a dozen Belles and many of them were born too damaged to survive. Sophia gave her a guideline for the unfavored class of Belles. The only principle was that they needed to be suitable for beauty work but didn’t have to be beautiful themselves. Many were born with too many eyes or without skin, and a few missing their faces.
So many of the babies haven’t made it a full day.
My stomach swells with sickness, disgust sending bile up my throat.
“Camille,” Surielle says.
I look up.
“Trouble.”
She hands me a newspaper, the animated ink racing. An image of the Ros
e prison twirls like a carousel beneath the headline: CONSTRUCTION COMPLETE IN TIME FOR NEW CORONATION CEREMONY—AND ITS NEW GUESTS! The Fashion Minister’s freckled face is pressed up against its pink bars, the iron warped into the shape of roses. His tears glisten as they fall down his cheeks.
My heart slams into my rib cage.
The portrait flickers.
Another face consumes the frame.
Dread fills my insides as the animated ink fills in.
The Beauty Minister. Rose Bertain. Her fingers curls around the bars, and she gives them a purposeless shake. My eyes race over the article below. The words trip over themselves as I read with desperation.
Gustave du Polignac, famed Fashion Minister, and Rose Bertain, the longest appointed Beauty Minister in Orléansian history, have been detained and are being held at the Rose until further notice. Regent Queen Sophia has announced that both individuals have failed her loyalty test and must be tried before her court to determine if they can remain in her cabinet for the coming year.
“Her Majesty will tolerate nothing but loyalty,” the queen’s most trusted advisor reported to newsies. “This quality will be the heartstone of her reign. A test of mettle will be administered often and without notice, including time spent in the Rose. These two ministers have been rumored to be disloyal to the crown, and we will get to the truth.”
A list of the queen’s grievances against the accused will be published after the Coronation and Ascension ceremonies as the queen institutes the building of her cabinet.
My insides are a riot of emotion—rage, sadness, horror, shock, and regret. All the things the Fashion Minister did to help us landed him in a torture chamber.
I did this.
I asked this of him.
And now, he won’t get to be with his husband again, and he won’t be alive if I don’t get Charlotte back on the throne.
The sound of a port bell rings out above us.
“It’s time.” She shoos me back in the coffin.
Ceiling floorboards creak overhead.
Edel hiccups, then dry heaves. Spit dribbles down her chin. “We’re almost there,” I tell her. “Just hang on a little bit longer.”
The Everlasting Rose (Belles, The) Page 17