Elvire arched a silver brow. “Didn’t you, Your Highness?” When he didn’t answer—merely stared at her in confusion and dismay—she chuckled softly. “Never fear. You shall not go mad from it. You entered the waters under the Oracle’s invitation, and she will protect your mind for the duration of your stay.”
My own frown deepened as more guards lowered a rotten gangway for us to board the ship. “The only human entrance into Le Palais de Cristal,” Aurélien explained, prodding us forward. Tentatively, we followed the others atop the soft wood. It bowed beneath our weight.
A buxom melusine waited for us above, her silver hair elaborately coiffed and her gray eyes clouded with age. Fine smile lines crinkled the corners of her mouth. “Bonsoir,” she greeted us with a deep curtsy, her train sparkling behind her on the deck. She wore no forks or monocles, instead looking every inch the consummate human aristocrat. Even the color and fabric of her gown—aubergine silk embellished with golden thread—would’ve been the height of fashion in Cesarine. “Welcome to Le Palais de Cristal. I am Eglantine, the Oracle’s personal handmaid and lady of this palace. I shall be attending you during your stay in our home.”
With the same impeccable grace and innate confidence as Angelica, she turned toward the colossal doors to our left. By some miracle, water hadn’t eroded the structure beyond—perhaps the captain’s quarters?—as it had much of the quarterdeck. Some boards had splintered or rotted completely, leaving gaping holes through which candlelight flickered from below. Music too. I strained to hear fragments of the haunting melody, but Aurélien prodded me forward once more, through the doors and onto a grand staircase. Covered in moldy carpet and lit by gilded candelabra, the stairs seemed to descend into the belly of the ship.
I glanced at the crystal spires above our head. “Are we not going up?”
“Guests are not permitted in the towers.” Aurélien poked me more insistently now. “Only the Oracle and her court inhabit them.”
“Are you part of her court, then?”
He puffed out his muscled chest, a peculiar shade between white and gray. Like fog. “I am.”
I patted his trident. “Of course you are.”
Reluctantly fascinated, I followed Beau down the stairs. The walls had once been papered, but time and water had disintegrated all but scraps of the striped design. The carpet squelched softly underfoot. “When will we meet with Isla?” I asked, grinning as Leopoldine trailed a long finger through the candle flame. She drew it back sharply a second later, examining the fresh burn there with a frown. “Will there be food?”
Though the guards stiffened as if insulted by the question, Eglantine chuckled. “Of course there shall be food. As much as you could possibly eat.” My stomach rumbled its appreciation. “A special banquet has been prepared just for you. After you wash, we shall join Isla to dine.”
“Just her?” Coco asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
A knowing gleam entered Eglantine’s eyes. “Well, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention how eager the entire court is to meet all of you. Especially you, Cosette.” She winked at Coco in a conspiratorial fashion, and I decided instantly that I liked her. “Look how you’ve grown! You’ve always been beautiful, chérie, but I must say your breasts are an exquisite addition.”
I definitely liked her.
Coco straightened her shoulders in pride—or defiance—pushing said additions front and center as the guards prepared to leave us. To Célie, Elvire asked, “Won’t you sit with us at tonight’s feast, Mademoiselle Célie? We would so enjoy your company.”
Célie blinked once, glancing between each of their hopeful faces, before smiling wide. “I would love that.”
“Excellent.” Olympienne flashed her diamond teeth while Leopoldine unclasped a golden chain from between her breasts, refastening it around Célie’s waist. Sabatay tucked a strand of seaweed into her chignon, and Beau, Coco, and I—well, we all watched Célie become a bird’s nest in unabashed bewilderment. “Until later, mon trésor.”
They left us under Eglantine’s watchful gaze. “Your chambers are just around the hall—one for each of you, of course. Unless you and the human prince would like to share, Cosette?”
Beau smirked as tension bolted down Coco’s spine. “That won’t be necessary,” she said tersely. Angelica turned away to hide her smile behind her hand. “Thank you.”
“Very well. I shall leave you here.” Eglantine halted outside another decaying door. A burgundy curtain had been draped over the threshold, shielding the room from the hall. “This entire wing is completely your own.” She nodded to the other doors lining the way. “Ring the bells when you’ve finished with your wash, and I shall collect you. Might I bring anything else to make you more comfortable?”
Célie reluctantly glanced at her ruined trousers. “Perhaps a clean nightgown?”
“Oh! How silly of me.” Eglantine brushed the burgundy curtain aside, pointing to the tarnished armoire beside a hammock of nets. “Each room has been stocked with clothing of all shapes and sizes, hand selected by the Oracle herself. Consider each piece yours.”
The Green Ribbon
Lou
Coco followed me into the curtained room while Beau and Célie wandered down the corridor in search of privacy. Already, steam curled from a golden tub in the corner. What had probably once been a silk dressing screen stood furled beside it, but the fabric had decomposed long ago. They’d woven seaweed into the panels instead.
Yawning, Coco unlaced her blouse before stripping it overhead. Though I moved to Reid’s side, I didn’t bother shielding his eyes. He hadn’t so much as stirred since we’d entered Le Présage, and if the sight of even Coco’s exquisite assets couldn’t tempt him to wake, we might’ve been in more trouble than I thought.
I snatched a bowl from the dressing table, filling it with bathwater.
Then again, this was Reid. If he’d opened his eyes just now, he would’ve fainted all over again.
He was going to be fine.
Coco eyed the bowl as she shimmied from her pants and plucked a scarf from the armoire, wrapping it around her hair. “Are you bathing him?”
“Nope.” Thrusting my shoulder into his, I rolled him onto the hammock, and his magical bed burst beneath us, soaking the carpet once more. “Not yet anyway.” She arched a brow and slipped into the tub, scooping sea salt from the pot beside it and scrubbing the gritty substance onto her skin. When I lifted Reid’s wrist to submerge his hand in the bowl, she shook her head and sighed.
“Tell me you aren’t doing what I think you’re doing.”
I shrugged. “Your mom said he would wake. I’m just helping him along.”
“She said he would wake when he’s ready.”
“And?” I watched his pants intently, settling into the hammock beside him, my back against the musty wall. My magic wouldn’t work, but . . . “Perhaps he’s ready.”
Her lips twitched slightly as she followed my gaze. His chest still rose and fell rhythmically, but otherwise, he didn’t move. “Perhaps he’s not,” she said.
“Well, we’ll know in a few minutes, won’t we?”
“I expected you to be more worried about this.”
“I’ve spent the entirety of my life worried, Coco. Nothing has changed.”
Except it had. Everything had changed. I’d made a promise to Ansel—to myself—when I’d left him in those waters. I wouldn’t allow fear to control me for another moment. No. Not even for another second.
Coco’s lips twitched harder as she scrubbed her skin. “He’ll be furious when he wakes.”
When he wakes.
I arched a devilish brow. “Dare I say he’ll be . . . pissed?”
She cackled outright now, leaning over the tub to better see the proceedings. “Oh my god. That was terrible.”
“That was brilliant, and you know it.” Absurdly pleased with myself, I pushed to my feet just as a veritable army of maids bustled through the curtain. Each carried pitchers of fresh, scalding water in tow.
“Are you finished, milady?” one of them asked Coco. When she nodded, the maid held out a silk robe, and Coco—shooting a quick, dubious glance in my direction—hesitated before stepping into it. I hid a smile behind my hand. I couldn’t speak for Coco, but I hadn’t been waited on since I’d left the Chateau at sixteen. Had anyone ever pampered her? My grin spread as another maid presented her with bottles of perfumed oils for her skin and hair. The others set about emptying the tub and refilling it with fresh water.
“From the geysers below the palace,” one explained through the steam. She selected a gown for Coco, draping it across the ornate—albeit mildewed—chair in the corner. “We often visit them to bathe ourselves, yet this is our first opportunity to use their waters in such a fashion. How did you find your bath?” she asked Coco. “Was it pleasant?”
“Very.” Slowly, Coco trailed her fingers along the lace of her nightgown. “Thank you.”
The maid smiled. “Very good. Is there anything else you require?”
Coco touched a tentative hand to her stomach. “I’m actually feeling a little sick.”
“We shall send for some ginger tea. Just harvested from a ship on route to Amandine. It will settle your stomach.”
I waited until they’d left before shucking off my bloody chemise and sinking into the tub. The water nearly scalded me, but I relished the heat of it, the catharsis. Dipping my head back, I scrubbed at my scalp, loosening the sand and dirt there. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been truly clean.
I glanced again at Reid, who hadn’t wet himself and hadn’t woken.
Coco removed his hand from the bowl. “We need to get creative. You could—”
A light knock sounded from the threshold, and we both turned. “It’s me,” Célie said softly. “May I come in?”
At the sound of her voice, Coco and I both froze, exchanging a panicked look. It wasn’t as if we disliked Célie. Indeed, we’d risked life and limb to save her, but we hadn’t . . . spent time with her. Not really. We hadn’t bonded outside of La Mascarade des Crânes. We weren’t friends.
Coco gestured toward the curtain. Go on, she mouthed. Answer her.
I waved an agitated hand down my naked body.
Coco shrugged, the corners of her mouth lifting. Who cares? You’re hot as f—
“Come in!” I called, flinging wet sea salt at Coco’s smug face. It landed with a splat, soaking her robe, just as Célie poked her head into the room. “Hi, Célie. Is something wrong?”
A pretty pink blush spread across her cheeks at the question. She too had bathed, and she wore her own dressing robe, ruffles rising to her chin. “No.” Moving the curtain aside tentatively, she stepped forward without looking at either of us, concentrating on the ostentatious gold-and-glass serving tray in her hands. A chipped china set perched atop it. “I just . . . heard you talking. Here”—she thrust the tray toward us abruptly—“I passed a maid in the hall. She ground ginger for your stomach pains, and I—I offered to bring it to you.”
Coco cut her gaze to me, clearly waiting to follow my lead. I scowled at her. It made sense, of course, as Célie wasn’t Beau’s clinging ex-paramour, but still . . . how did one react in this situation? Célie had nowhere to go. She had no friends to speak of, and the horrors she’d endured . . . I sighed. The last time I’d spoken to her, she’d loathed my very name, accusing me of stealing Reid away from her with magic. That same night, she’d fled into my arms.
No. Realization twisted my already knotted stomach. Into Reid’s.
She’d fled into Reid’s arms, not mine. She probably still thought me a whore. She’d said as much once, right before kissing my husband at the Saint Nicolas Day ball. The knot in my stomach tangled further, and the silence lengthened as I stared at her, as she stared at anything but me.
Right. I sat forward in the tub, loathing the awkwardness between us. There was nothing for it. I’d have to ask her.
Coco sighed hard through her nose before I could speak. Flicking an impatient look in my direction, she started to say, “Thank you,” at precisely the same moment I said, “Are you still in love with Reid?”
Startled, Célie finally looked up, and the blush on her cheeks fanned to an open flame upon seeing me naked. She stumbled back a step, and the tray slipped from one hand. Though she did her best to right herself, one hand still flailed wildly, finding purchase against Reid’s—
Oh shit.
My eyes flew wide. With a small cry, she snatched her hand away from him, and the tray went flying, china shattering against the wall, the carpets, while tea sprayed in every direction. It dripped from her beautiful dressing robe as she dropped to her knees, trying and failing to fix it. “I—I’m so s-sorry. How terribly clumsy—”
Guilt reared her ugly head like a bitch, and I swung my legs over the tub, searching for something with which to cover myself. Coco threw another robe my way. I hurried to tie it as Célie continued spluttering on the sodden carpet, collecting the shards of china in vain. “I didn’t mean—oh, the maids will be so upset. And your poor stomachs—”
I knelt beside her, stilling her hand before she cut herself. Her gaze swung upward and locked on mine. Tears welled in her eyes.
“Our stomachs will be fine, Célie.” Gently, I took the shards from her and deposited them back on the floor. “We’ll all be fine.”
She said nothing for a long moment, simply staring at me. I looked back at her with feigned calm and waited, though I longed to rise, to seek the ease and familiarity of Coco’s presence amidst this painfully awkward situation. Célie had no such person to comfort her. She had no familiarity here. And though we weren’t friends, we weren’t enemies either. We never had been.
When she spoke again, her voice was a whisper. Barely discernible. “No. I am not in love with him. Not anymore.” Some of the tension left my shoulders. She spoke truth. The waters wouldn’t have allowed the words otherwise. “And I’m sorry.” Her voice fell quieter still, but she didn’t lower her gaze. Her cheeks shone brilliant scarlet. “You aren’t a whore.”
Coco knelt beside us now, a clean robe in hand. She snorted, puncturing the unexpected sincerity of the moment. “Oh, she is, and I am too. You don’t know us well enough”—she extended the robe, arching a meaningful brow—“yet.”
Célie glanced down at herself, as if just realizing she’d been doused with tea.
“Take it.” Coco pressed it into her hands before motioning toward the dressing screen.
Célie blushed again, looking between us. “You probably think I’m a prude.”
“So?” I waved a hand over the broken china set, and the golden pattern connecting each shard dissipated. Sharpness pierced my chest as the pieces knit themselves back together. I lifted a hand to rub the spot, torn between sighing and wincing. Forgiveness was a painful thing. A sacrifice in itself. “You shouldn’t care what we think, Célie—or anyone else, for that matter. Don’t forfeit your power like that.”
“Because who cares if you’re a prude?” Coco pulled Célie to her feet with both hands. She gestured to me. “Who cares if we’re whores? They’re just words.”
“And we can’t get it right no matter what we do.” Winking, I slipped a satin ribbon from the armoire, tying it around my throat before falling into the hammock once more. Reid swayed beside me. I ignored the knot of panic in my chest. He hadn’t so much as stirred. Instead, I flicked his boot and added, “We might as well do it our own way. Being a prude or being a whore are both better than being what they want us to be.”
Célie blinked between us, eyes huge, and whispered, “What do they want us to be?”
Coco and I exchanged a long-suffering look before she said simply, “Theirs.”
“Be prudish and proud, Célie.” I shrugged, my hand curling instinctively around Reid’s ankle. “We’ll be whorish and happy.” He would wake soon, surely. And if not, Isla—the Oracle, Claud’s sister, a goddess—would help us fix everything. We just needed to dine with
her first. I glared at the brush on the dressing table. Following my gaze, Coco seized it before I could melt its golden handle into ore.
Planting one hand on her hip and grinning in challenge, she said, “It’s time, Lou.”
I glared at her now. “Everyone knows not to brush wet hair. The strands are weaker. They could break.”
“Shall we summon a maid for a fire, then?” When I didn’t answer, she waved the brush under my nose. “That’s what I thought. Up.”
Rolling my eyes, I slid from the hammock and stalked toward the mildewed chair. It sat before a full-length, gilded vanity mirror that had clouded with age. Golden serpents twined together to form its frame. I stared peevishly at my reflection within it: cheeks gaunt, freckles stark, hair long and tangled. Water still dripped from its ends, permeating the thin silk of my robe. I didn’t shiver, however; the melusines had cast some sort of magic to keep the air balmy and comfortable.
Before Coco could lift the brush—I suspected she secretly enjoyed tormenting me—Célie stepped forward tentatively, hand extended. “May I?”
“Er—” Coco flicked her gaze to mine in the mirror, uncertain. When I nodded once, part curious—mostly curious—she handed Célie the brush and stepped aside. “The ends tangle,” she warned.
Célie smiled. “So do mine.”
“I can brush my own hair, you know,” I muttered, but I didn’t stop her as she lifted a small section and began working the brush through the ends. Though she held the hair firm, she moved with surprising gentleness.
“I do not mind.” With the patience of a saint, she set about untangling two gnarled locks. “Pip and I once brushed each other’s hair every night.” If she felt me still, she didn’t comment. “We dismissed our maid when I was ten. Evangeline was her name. I couldn’t understand where she’d gone, but Pippa—Pippa was old enough to realize what had happened. We often snuck into our father’s safe as children, you see. Pippa liked to steal his ledger, sit at his desk, and add his sums, pretending to smoke his cigars, while I played with our mother’s jewels. She knew our parents had lost everything in a bad investment. I didn’t know until all of Maman’s diamonds disappeared.”
Gods & Monsters Page 22