The Everlasting Rose (Belles, The)

by Dhonielle Clayton

  My nerves are on edge as I wait for Lady Arane, Surielle, Charlotte, and Auguste. I try not to fixate on the door for fear someone might ask me who I’m waiting for.

  Sophia sits on a throne at the top of the room. Her teacup pets each have their own matching chair. Her ladies-of-honor sit at her feet on bright cushions.

  An attendant announces me as I approach.

  “And where are my teacup dragons?” Sophia whines to me.

  “Resting. They don’t like parties. Too many people cause anxiety,” I improvise.

  “A pity. We will have to train them out of it, now won’t we?” She stares at me with a perfectly portioned smile on her face. “I don’t think I’ll be able to choose just one.”

  I bite down hard to avoid saying something nasty. When I look at her all I see are Remy’s bruises, Arabella’s dying breaths, a dagger in Valerie’s neck. I don’t know how long I can keep up this charade. Or this glamour.

  Her attention flitters away from me and to the crowd. “I’ve always loved a ball at this time of year,” Sophia says. “The cold weather is perfect for dancing.”

  “It’s incredible tonight,” Rachelle replies, gazing up at the snow-lanterns above her.

  “Do you like it, Corinne?” Sophia pats a cushion beside her throne for me to sit on.

  “Yes,” I answer, sinking down beside her, hoping I can swallow my rage. “I can’t wait to wander around and look at each snow-lantern. The newsies say each one is unique.”

  My body is alert with anticipation, hoping the Iron Ladies have come down into the palace. Any second now and the game will begin.

  “It’s a pity it’ll turn into a funeral tonight,” Rachelle says.

  Sophia tries to hide a chuckle. “With the sweet comes the bitter.”

  I steal glances at her, wondering if she did capture Charlotte. I search for a sign, anything to know if Charlotte is all right, if she will show today as planned.

  “We will dance and feast all day long, then you will say good-bye to your sister, and at midnight become queen,” Gabrielle says proudly. “As it should be.”

  I pretend to watch the dancing as I keep my eye on the doors. Graceful dress trains swish and slap the floor. Men hold women’s waists and turn them like pastel spinning toys.

  The music shifts.

  Sophia’s old suitor, Alexander Dubois from House Berry, strides up. His jacket is lined with the brilliant silvers and reds of his house emblem, and under all the lights, his bald head shines like a copper ball. “Happy snow, Your Majesty.”

  “And to you,” she says.

  “May I have the next dance?” He presents his hand.

  She glares at it.

  “No,” she says.

  His face crumples with disappointment.

  “I’ll send for you when I’m in the mood.”

  He bows low and retreats.

  “His hands used to get so wet they’d soak through my gloves,” she complains. “And he always smells of cheese.”

  Her ladies giggle.

  “And why is he bald at such a young age?” one asks.

  Sophia shrugs. “I’ll have my favorite Belle give him a tiny crop of hair.”

  Her words send a flicker up my spine.

  “You are about to be married, anyway. He shouldn’t ask you to dance anymore. You didn’t choose him. Where is Auguste?” Rachelle asks. “Shouldn’t he be here by now?”

  I was just wondering the same thing.

  Sophia stiffens. “My betrothed is on his way. I received his post-balloon not too long ago,” she snaps. “And how dare you question it?”

  Gabrielle glares at Rachelle. Anger stews inside me like a storm and triggers a headache to pulse in the back of my head. Pressure builds in my nose, signaling the start of another nosebleed. If I’m going to last all day, I need to take a break from holding the glamour.

  I stand.

  “Excuse me, Your Majesty. I am slipping off to the powder room,” I lie with a quick bow. “Be back momentarily.”

  I don’t wait for a response from Sophia or the others. My pulse flies as I weave in and out of the crowd. Before leaving the room, I stuff myself with tiny apple blossoms and fruit tarts and chocolate ganache from golden trays, hoping they will help reset my levels as I desperately hold on to this glamour.

  Women steal glances at me. Snippets of gossip escape their carefully cupped hands. I rush past the windows, heading for the door.

  A vendor hands me a cup with a hot sugared square of dough. “For you, my sweet.”

  I take it from him and force a smile. At that moment, the doors to the veranda are thrown open to let out a bit of the heat, and there it is—the Everlasting Rose. The building is massive. Its exterior glows, a sea pearl on a dark watery cushion. I crush the square in my hand like the head of a flower. The crumbs litter the floor beside me. The faces of my sisters and the other Belles flutter through my mind like the shuffling of a deck of cards.

  Ivy

  Edel

  Hana

  Amber

  Delphine

  Ada

  Where are Charlotte and Padma and Auguste and the Iron Ladies? They should have been here by now. I duck through the crowds. I need to go back to the Observatory Deck. Maybe the woman woke up. Maybe she alerted other guards. Maybe they’ve all been taken.

  A trumpet blares.

  The room freezes.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please turn your attention to Her Majesty, Sophia, the next queen of Orléans,” an attendant says.

  Sophia stands. Everyone bows. I drop my head reluctantly.

  “My loyal court, as we begin my Coronation and Ascension ceremony, I’d like to introduce you to several loyal people who made this whole thing possible. First, the newly titled Minister of Belles, Georgiana Fabry, and my favorite Belle, who will help me usher in this new age of beauty,” she replies.

  A chill wraps its arms around me.

  The side doors burst open. Palace morning-lanterns rush in, scattering jewel-shaped shadows over the floor. Auguste’s glamorous mother, Georgiana Fabry, strides into the room. Tall and stately, she towers over most in the crowd. Her yellow dress shimmers around her like sunlight woven into silk, and behind her, a rolling platform holds a life-size bell jar. Inside the jar is Amber.

  The beat of my heart mirrors the rapid movement of the platform wheels. Amber’s hands press against the walls of the glass; she’s a trapped butterfly. Chains loop around her wrists like strands of golden pearls and her corseted dress holds her in place. Her pale and freckled arms wear jagged gashes.

  I jerk forward, almost forgetting my disguise. The cold pain of the glamour pools with my rage. I duck and move through the crowd of bodies, trying to get closer to my sister.

  Sophia springs up from her throne, her eyes wild as she gazes at Amber. “My favorite!” she taunts Amber, walking around the glass cage. “I have lots of new plans for the Belles, as evidenced.” She motions to the veranda and the view of the Everlasting Rose. “Now, my petite Amber, if I take you out of this jar, you must promise to behave.” Sophia traces her pointed nails along the glass, tapping it to make Amber flinch. “They’re slowly learning their place.”

  The crowd chuckles.

  Amber nods. “I promise.” Her eyes spill over with tears, and are ringed with bruises.

  A single guard removes the glass. Another hands Sophia a silver whip. She snaps it at the courtiers and several of them yelp. Sophia laughs, a deep belly laugh.

  Angry tremors work their way through every part of my body as acid rises up my throat.

  “Minister of Belles, tell this esteemed group of my most loyal courtiers some of the things they have to look forward to once my Coronation and Ascension are complete.”

  An attendant hands Georgiana a voice-box. “Good day to you all. I am so happy to join you on this auspicious occasion as we usher in this new age. Soon, I will set in place the Belle Codes, a new body of laws governing beauty work and—”

 
“Tell them about the facials,” Sophia interjects with a squeal.

  Georgiana purses her lips. “Yes, Your Majesty. We will offer Belle-blood facials as one of our newest treatments. We’re unlocking the science of their blood. If you inject Belle blood into the top layer of your skin, you can defeat the gray.”

  The crowd oohs and ahhs.

  My stomach dips and knots itself into a tangle. I must do something. I must help Amber. But what can I do? There are dozens of courtiers gathered about, and I can feel myself weakening after holding the glamour for so long.

  Another door flies open. My heart jumps with hope that it’s Padma and Auguste, Charlotte and Lady Pelletier, Lady Arane and her army of Iron Ladies.

  Instead, more courtiers flood inside.

  “Shall we demonstrate?” Sophia asks. “Wouldn’t you all like to see how Belle blood transforms the skin?”

  The crowd shouts with excitement.

  Sophia pivots back to Amber. “We’re going to show them our new trick.”

  Amber almost shrinks into herself. She pulls her arms in tight and drops her gaze.

  Rage hums in my bones, urging me to help her. I step a little closer. Only a few paces more. Sophia motions for a nearby attendant, who steps up on the platform with my sister. Amber jerks away.

  “I thought we were going to be agreeable today.” Sophia twists the whip, then slaps it on the ground.

  The sound reverberates through the room, the noise cutting deep inside me. My eyes burn with tears, my throat tight with disgust.

  “I don’t want to have to use this,” Sophia says, but her anticipatory grin tells another story.

  “Don’t touch her,” I shout.

  The courtiers nearest me gasp and turn to stare.

  “Who said that?” Sophia spins around.

  I step out of the crowd.

  We glare at each other. A knot coils tighter and tighter, the unspoken words between us twisting inside me like a set of knives.

  “Corrine?” Her eyes flicker over me.

  “Let her go,” I demand.

  A dead, haunting silence stretches through the room.

  Amber stares at me.

  The cold pain of maintaining the glamour sends blood pouring from my nose. I release it. I’m tired of holding on to it, tired of hiding. I want Sophia to know it’s me. The disguise disappears.

  Gasps explode in the room. The whole world seems to still.

  “Camille?” Amber cries, that one word suffused with so much relief and anguish, hope and fear, it almost kills me.

  A grin slowly curves along Sophia’s mouth. “Dragon merchant.” She begins to clap slow at first, then descends into a fervor. “Well done. You tricked me. I didn’t know you could change yourselves.”

  “There’s a lot about our gifts that you don’t understand—will never understand and will never know!” I snap. “No matter how many of us you lock up or poke or prod.”

  I watch for the guards. They inch closer.

  “Give me my sister.”

  “She is not my prisoner,” Sophia replies, her eyes inspecting every inch of me.

  “She is chained.”

  “Only because she tried to break our deal.”

  “What deal?” I spit.

  Sophia jumps with glee. “Oh yes, oh yes. We have a deal, and deals are binding.” Her gaze cuts back at Amber, who begins to sob. “Should I tell her? Or do you want to?”

  She waits for an answer. Amber’s cries deepen and her whole body shakes. I want to go to her. I want to tell her that everything is going to be all right, that I will get us both out of here even if no one shows up to help. She swallows over and over again like she has something stuck in her throat. Beads of sweat race down her face.

  “This pretty little mouse sent me all sorts of messages about you,” Sophia reports. “As soon as she told me what I needed, I staged her capture.”

  My pulse throbs, counting down the moments. Hate simmers inside me, sharp, hot, and pricking.

  My fists ball. I clench my jaw.

  I glare at Amber. She won’t look at me. Edel’s suspicions of her lock into place. The betrayal is thick and painful. I don’t know why she would feed information to Sophia. Not even the hint of a reason can form in my head. It has to be something. Blackmail. Coercion.

  Sophia motions to the guards. They unlock Amber’s chains.

  “After I caught this pretty little mouse, she promised to be my personal Belle until my new generation had reached maturation. She even said she’d give them lessons. Teach them everything those wretched Du Barrys taught you.” Sophia’s eyes gleam in the snow-lantern light. “Oh, and there’s more.” She pirouettes, her ballgown billowing around her slender frame. “She knew you’d come for her. She agreed to lure you here.” She blows me a kiss. “Some sister that is.”

  “Amber, we’re leaving. Let’s go,” I shout, not believing a word coming out of Sophia’s lying mouth.

  Amber gazes down at the platform.

  “Amber?”

  Sophia watches like a cat ready to pounce on its prey. “Amber, please bring me one of your flowers.”

  Amber sobs and hands one to her.

  “Amber?” I say.

  “Amber, bow to me.”

  Amber drops to her knees.

  “Why would you do this?” I say, imploring her to look at me. The words taste sour as they leave my throat.

  “Will you be going anywhere?” Sophia asks Amber, cupping her chin. Tears rush down my sister’s reddened face. “So much for sisterly love.” Sophia blows another kiss at me.

  “I’ve seen your sister,” I hiss at Sophia.

  The crowd bursts again into a frenzy of whispers.

  She frowns. “My sister is dead.”

  “She is not. She’s alive and well, actually.”

  Sophia shrugs. “The gods will welcome her home soon, and I will be crowned queen.”

  “Whatever poor soul you’ll be presenting to these people, her identification mark will prove she is no princess.”

  Sophia paces around me, then leans in to whisper, “To whom? No one in my cabinet. No one in my guard. I am adored. Any challenger, any usurper will be put down.” She waves a hand in the air and turns back to the watching crowd.

  The arcana is a small throbbing hum inside me, a reluctant ribbon buried deep, one I wasn’t sure I wanted any longer, but I summon it to wake up again. The memory of what I did to the guards and the woman watching the gifts rushes back. I close my eyes and picture Sophia just as she is standing before me. My skin ignites, my limbs stretch, my curls straighten, and my dress changes to match hers.

  “What are you doing?” Sophia yells. “Guards! Guards!”

  We’re identical now. I take a breath and attack, leaping on her with every ounce of my rage coursing through me. We toss and turn, thrashing across the floor. I slap her and shake her, and she bites and kicks.

  The onlookers scatter to the edges of the room, cowering and screaming and trying to get away from us.

  She shoves me away.

  We scramble to our feet.

  “Arrest her,” Sophia orders, pointing at me.

  “Arrest her,” I parrot back, pointing at her. My first arcana—Manner—helps me perfect her pitchy voice.

  The guards stand stunned.

  “Did you hear me?” Sophia says, her voice now a shrill. “She’s the fugitive Belle. A traitor.”

  They move in my direction.

  I repeat her words.

  They freeze.

  Sophia’s jaw tenses. “Fine! You want to play this game?”

  I mimic her.

  We circle each other, ready to fight again. I focus on holding the glamour and don’t dare look away from my enemy. Her fingers twitch, and so do mine. I lick my lips, salivating to lash out, to end this once and for all.

  I realize a second too late that our circling has brought Sophia within inches of her whip. Before I can move, she scoops it up and, with a flick of her wrist, it curls a
round Amber’s neck, cuts a deep gash, and snaps it.

  Amber doesn’t even scream. Her eyes flutter, lashes batting like butterfly wings, and she tumbles forward.

  “No!” I scream, falling to my knees.

  The crowd erupts in horror.

  “I win. I win. I win,” Sophia says, parading around the now silent room.

  I rush to Amber, cradling her head in my lap. Her vacant eyes stare up at me. My heart is still. Frozen in my chest. Maybe never to beat again. The glamour slides right off me, and with it more blood pours out of my nose and down onto Amber’s forehead. I can’t loosen my arms around her to wipe it.

  “Now, take her, but don’t be too rough. She’s the one I really need,” Sophia says.

  The guards snatch me away from Amber. Her body slides off me and hits the floor again with a thud. A river of blood leaks from inside her. They loop chains around my wrists and lift me to my feet.

  I can’t fight them. My hands and arms are numb.

  Sophia does a lap around me. “Now, I’m going to take all those teacup dragons of yours and add them to my collection. I’m going to keep you in my prison, for you will be my true everlasting rose, and I’m going to kill that traitorous guard you love so much. What’s his name? Reim... no... Raine... no... Oh, Rémy. That’s right.”

  The sound of his name hits me.

  “You will learn to be loyal.” I jerk forward, but the guards pin me in place. The edges of the room lose focus. “One way or another.”

  She laughs and I shiver. A cold settles into my veins like I’m about to create another glamour. But instead, Sophia and each guard appear in my head. The erratic beat of their hearts floods my ears. Their pulses are racing melodies. My anger mingles with the arcana twisting their portraits into unrecognizable shapes.

  They all drop to their knees. Sophia screams. Her skin crinkles like parchment. Her eyes drift to the sides of her face like fish’s. Her mouth is an O shape of anguish. I can’t hear what she tries to say. I can’t stop.

  I focus on the hearts of everyone in the room. I slow them down, beat by beat, until there’s only a faint murmur. The guards turn pale, and Sophia grabs at her chest. Her eyes begin to roll back. Everyone drops. Hundreds of people. Their screams are a chorus, echoing off the ceiling.