The Belles

by Dhonielle Clayton

  I close my eyes and see Claudine there again. Amber’s beauty work zips over Claudine’s body like a télétrope reel. I try to counter it, to block her from making any more alterations. I feel Claudine’s heartbeat and it’s not normal. It’s so very far from anything I’ve ever heard before. I can’t let this happen. Not now.

  A loud cry pulls me out of my focus. I open my eyes to see Claudine topple to the ground like a branch that has fallen from a tree. Blood pools in her mouth, then drips down her chin. Her eyes bulge open, then dim. Her heartbeat, so frantic a moment ago, is gone.

  47

  Claudine’s attendant screams. The courtiers sit, eyes glassy, hands shaking. Auguste stares into his lap. His mother holds a handkerchief to her mouth.

  I sway with exhaustion, guilt, and regret. I drop to my knees and press my ear to Claudine’s chest. I search for a pulse, even the faint beat of her heart. I close my eyes; the arcana wake again. I try to find something inside her that is alive, but there is only emptiness.

  A palanquin is brought in, and her body is removed. Servants wheel in dessert carts spilling over with trays of luna pastries and snowmelon tarts and petit-cakes.

  “We will have dessert. It will rejuvenate us after such a competitive game,” Sophia announces, taking a sip of champagne.

  I’m frozen in the place where Claudine’s body was. Amber trembles beside me. Tears stream down her cheeks. She mutters the word sorry over and over again.

  “Have a seat,” Sophia orders. “Now!”

  “Don’t you care about what just happened?” I say to Sophia.

  “Dessert is here.” She sweeps away my concern.

  “She’s dead,” I say.

  “Come.” Sophia motions for me to return to my seat. “And I will tell you a story.”

  I hobble back to my chair; my legs are iron.

  The guests try to bite into their sugary treats. No one looks up.

  “There was this girl at court. She was one of the best liars. It was a practiced skill. She made me believe that she would help me. That she enjoyed our time together. That she would make me into the best queen I could be. All the while, she actually hated me. She even called me a monster.” She takes a sip of her champagne.

  Her eyes settle on me. My heart trips over the word.

  “Anyone here think I’m a monster? That’s such a strong word. Usually reserved for creatures in fairy tales. Not princesses. Not future queens.”

  I take deep breaths. I look forward, remaining expressionless.

  “Is that what you really think of me, Camellia?”

  “Excuse me, Your Highness?”

  “I’ve been told you think I’m a monster. That you called me that, in fact.”

  My eyes volley between Rémy and Auguste. Neither of them look at me.

  “I said—”

  “Do not lie to me.” Sophia pounds her fist on the table. The whole thing shakes. “You’ve been talking about me. And calling someone a monster isn’t very nice. It’s dangerous, actually. I cannot have anyone in the kingdom saying those types of things about me.” She drums her fingers on her plate.

  No one breathes.

  “I also can’t have you sneaking around with one of my suitors.”

  “I haven’t—”

  “Another lie.”

  Auguste’s face turns scarlet.

  “You insult me even further the longer you keep up this deception. You make it seem as if I’m unintelligent. As if I can’t see your affection for Auguste.” She leaves her chair and walks behind mine. Her perfume gets caught in my throat. “You thought, Oh, poor Sophia, she doesn’t know anything. She’s pitiful. Regent queen. Second best to her older sister. But I’ve gotten smarter. I’ve learned to pay attention to the little things—to who looks at whom when they enter a room, how one’s voice changes when they talk about a person, and more.” She cranes down, getting close to my ear. “You’ve been a naughty girl.”

  My hands curl into heavy fists, nails digging into the flesh of my palms. A rage simmers from my heels to my head, tinged with sour fear.

  “But I have something to tell you.” She cups her hand to my ear and lowers her voice. “Your lovely Auguste—well, my Auguste—was responsible for every bad thing that has happened to you. The dead roses in your bathing chamber when you first arrived, the fire in your bed, the poisoning of your food.”

  Her words are whisper-soft, but they hit me in my chest and in my heart like heavy punches.

  I gaze up at Auguste.

  “Did you tell her?” Lady Georgiana asks.

  “I did. I did.” Sophia jumps up and down and claps wildly.

  Lady Georgiana sighs. “It’s all my fault, really, Camellia. And I’m so sorry to tell you all of this the first time we’re meeting. I will be replacing the Beauty Minister when Sophia is queen. And I sent my very handsome and charming son to ascertain the secrets of the Belles. The Du Barrys have had a monopoly on the trade for too long. Change is coming.”

  The betrayal feels thick and hot in my chest. Like my heart is on fire. My stomach roils with shame and embarrassment.

  Sophia snaps her fingers. An adjoining room opens. Servants wheel in a contraption. Clear vats shaped like cradles hold floating babies. Golden tubes connect them to arcana meters and large vessels filled with blood.

  Amber gasps.

  Sophia stands beside it proudly. “Isn’t it beautiful?” She kisses one of the glass cradles, then wipes away the smudge left behind by her rouge-stick. “You really are the roses of our kingdom. And you can be grown like them. Planted like flower bulbs to germinate in the blood of dead Belles. Then you just spring up.”

  The meager food I’ve eaten rises in my throat.

  “Your blood truly is divine,” Sophia continues. “And now, I’ll be able to grow as many of you as I wish. I could even sell you. Build a golden auction block in Trianon—or better yet, in the Royal Square in front of the Orléans hourglass.”

  “You can’t do this,” I say, shaking.

  Sophia laughs.

  “The things you told Auguste made it possible. He got more out of you than we’ve ever been able to get out of the Du Barry family. They’re quite loyal to your kind. Taking the whole divine-appointment thing very seriously.”

  Amber dissolves into tears.

  “I will stop you.” I rise to my feet.

  “I’m not sure how that will be possible, since you will be rotting in jail for the rest of your days.” Sophia’s eyes are like pinpricks of ice as she addresses the guards.

  “Arrest both of them for the death of Lady Claudine, Duchesse de Bissay, beloved lady-of-honor to the princess.”

  48

  Rémy and three other guards cart Amber and me through halls thick with courtiers. Whispers explode. Many pull monocles and eyescopes from their pockets. Others lift ear-trumpets. Newsies sketch pictures. Gossip post-balloons swarm over me like dark storm clouds.

  I fight against Rémy’s grip. I thought I could trust him. Angry tears rush down my cheeks. I trip over my dress skirts as he drags me forward. He shoves me down a long and narrow staircase. I push back, jerking against his hold, wishing I could claw his face. My shoulder shifts in and out of place, dislocating each time I jerk and try to free myself. The pain rushes through me.

  “Where are you taking me?” I shout.

  He doesn’t answer.

  “Let me go.” Amber tussles with the guard restraining her.

  I try to run. Rémy grabs my waist and tightens cuffs around my wrists. A dark bag is put over my head, stamping out the light. Then he flings me over his shoulder like a potato sack. I’m carried for a long distance. Every time I squirm or fight, his grip tightens.

  He walks down another set of stairs. My injured shoulder hits a cold wall. The click and clack of metal sliding on metal echoes. Cries and moans pierce through the space.

  The bag is snatched off of my head. I’m tossed on the ground. The hard surface knocks the air out of my lungs. The floor is
gritty and wet under my hands. My eyes adjust, and bars sharpen into view in the dim light. The ceiling hangs heavy and low, and drips with foul water. Amber curls into a ball at my side.

  Rémy closes and locks the gate.

  “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “I do what I’m told,” he finally says before stomping off.

  I run to the bars and shake them. They rattle but don’t give. I trace my fingers over their cool surface. I push my finger in the lock over and over again, thinking I can somehow get it to open.

  Amber bursts into a thousand sobs. “What are we going to do?”

  “Maybe we can use the arcana?” I pound the bars again, even though I know that force won’t help. All of the air shoots out of me, and I’m dizzy. I sink to the floor, weary with defeat.

  Sophia tricked us.

  She forced us to murder Claudine in front of everyone. She could leave us locked down here forever.

  My head spins like a top. I close my eyes. The cold in the stone floor seeps through my gown. I rest my head on my knees and concentrate on the arcana.

  I picture the bars like a body or a canvas or a candle. My fingers tingle as the arcana wake up inside me again. They’re dull and weak from overuse on Claudine. Sweat skates down my back, and a headache floods my temples. I shake and tremble.

  “It’s solid metal, Camille. We can’t manipulate it.” Amber’s cries turn to hiccups.

  I sigh and crumple forward. If the bars were made of wood, the planks would soften and become malleable; when I opened my eyes, the wood would be nothing but chips in a pile, to be used for kindling. Your gifts are useless when it comes to metals and gemstones, Du Barry had told us. Punishment because the Goddess of Beauty chose the God of the Sky to love over the God of the Ground.

  “Take a pin from your hair,” Amber says, ruining her Belle-bun as she extracts her own. I fish one out of my curls, my hand trembling. “Help me.”

  “It’s no use,” I say.

  “We have to try.”

  We twist our hands through the bars and jam the pins into the lock.

  “Try pushing to the right.”

  She grunts and twists hers.

  “Harder.”

  “It won’t give. The bolt’s too thick.”

  I push harder. My hand grows fatigued, my fingers slippery with sweat, and I drop the pin. It flies out of reach.

  She slumps back with her head in her hands. “Pointless.”

  I run my fingers through her hair. It used to shine the color of rich autumn leaves, but now it is dull. Her eyes are ringed with yellow. Her skin is paler than a white privacy screen. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “For everything.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” she says. “I was so stupid. I walked right into her trap.”

  I wrap my arms around her and we’re little girls again, two spoons side by side in a drawer. I feel her breathing, her heart beating.

  “What happened when you were the favorite?”

  Amber gazes up. Kohl lines streak her pale cheeks. She wipes her nose. “She made me do horrible things.”

  “Elisabeth told me some of it.”

  “She fired me after I refused to kill Lady Ophelia Thomas of House Merania.”

  “Kill?”

  “She wanted me to age her. Reverse the arcana. She said she read somewhere that we could do that. Make her so old she’d die quickly.”

  “But why?”

  “Because Ophelia was too beautiful, she claimed.” Amber begins to cry again, softly this time. “I wouldn’t do it. So she threw me out.”

  I hug her tighter.

  “Did she make you do that, too?” she asks.

  “She would have if we’d had the time.”

  “How . . . are we going . . . to get out of here?” Her head sinks into my shoulder. “How . . . will we reset our levels?”

  “She’s not going to win. We won’t let her. We need a plan.”

  “Might as well go on to sleep, little ladies,” someone calls out from a cell. “’Cause there isn’t a way out of here. The dungeon bars never break.”

  Amber and I curl up even closer. Tears stream down my cheeks, and my shoulders shake as we sob. I cry for all our sisters. Padma, Hana, Edel, and Valerie. I couldn’t save any one of them. I can’t even save myself.

  49

  It’s impossible to tell how many hourglasses have passed. A girl with a bucket, a ladle, and water comes five times a day. Guards walk the perimeter of the space twice a day.

  The queen should be looking for me. What happened to her? Why hasn’t she come? Doesn’t she know?

  A guard passes a bowl through the metal bars. The meat is rotten and the vegetables moldy, but they haven’t fed us since we got thrown in here. I take the bowl to Amber.

  “What is it?” she asks.

  “I don’t know. We have to eat it to balance our levels. We have to get our strength back.”

  She takes a bite, then spits it out and coughs. “It’s disgusting.”

  I swallow some of it. The flavors are rancid on my tongue, but the sustenance is welcome in my stomach. More hours pass and it feels like we’ve been down here for an eternity.

  “Well, aren’t you two pretty?” Sophia presses her powdered face against the bars.

  I rush at her. “Let us out of here.”

  “All right,” she says with a smile.

  My heart flutters as the guards unlock the gate. What is happening?

  I step out, then Amber follows.

  “Oh, not without chains.”

  Guards clasp metal cuffs around our wrists and tug us forward.

  “Make them tight, so she can’t try anything.”

  One guard drags me forward. His thick hands squeeze my arms and leave behind more bruises. A second guard grabs Amber.

  “Where’s the queen? Where’s Du Barry? I demand to speak with them.”

  “You don’t get to make demands. You are a criminal now.” Her golden dress makes a tiny tinkling melody when she moves.

  “The queen wouldn’t allow this,” Amber yells. “Nor the king.”

  “How nice of you to ask about my mother. She’s grown even more ill. I’ve stepped in to help while she rests. I have been named regent queen by her cabinet, as I was supposed to be at the Declaration. She will make it official any day now, when she has an upsurge of strength. And my father is in the south at the winter palace, his favorite retreat after the first snows.” She motions the guards forward, and we’re marched through the dungeon.

  I push and pull and kick, but my strength is no match for theirs.

  “Still fighting?” Sophia laughs. “I thought we’d starved that out of you.”

  They cart us upstairs and through cold hallways. My weak legs can’t keep up with the guard’s pace. I trip and stumble.

  The doors of the Receiving Hall open. Obsidian mourning-lanterns leave their sad and solemn light throughout. Wellness candles burn. Black calla lilies and roses burst from pots and line trellises that ring the room. The queen’s cameo is prominently displayed, along with messages wishing her good health.

  A sleeping Princess Charlotte sits on her throne. Sophia strides up the staircase to sit beside her. Auguste’s mother, Duchesse Georgiana, readjusts the crown on Charlotte’s head and admires the glittering scepter in her lap. Sophia’s teacup pets parade up and down—Singe and Zo are leading her new giraffe and three teacup dragons.

  “Bring them here,” Sophia yells out.

  The guards slam me to my knees on the stairs leading up to the thrones. Amber is deposited beside me. Sweat drips down her ruddy cheeks. She pants and can’t catch her breath.

  I reach for her. The guard steps on my hand.

  It feels like my heart is threatening to jump through my mouth, along with everything else inside me.

  Sophia slowly descends, letting her little heels click against the floor. “You’ve never been that pretty, Camellia, not without help. And certainly not after a few days without bathing.” She
leans down and sniffs me. “You smell revolting.” She waves a hand before her nose. “Stand her up,” she tells the guards.

  She circles me, then cups her hand around my ear. “I win. I win. You should’ve just been loyal to me. You could’ve been by my side.”

  I jump at her. Guards catch my hands before I can wrap them around her throat.

  Sophia scoots back, turning to inspect Amber. She lifts Amber’s chin and tsk-tsks. “So weak. The lesser Belle.”

  Amber bares her teeth.

  Sophia slaps her. “I don’t want to hear it.” She goes back to her throne, sinking into the plush red high-backed chair.

  Lightning crashes overhead, followed by claps of thunder that vibrate through the room. Rain beats against the glass ceiling.

  “Don’t you just love storms? Especially ones with snow? The God of the Sky helps us cleanse the land. Rid the kingdom of things we don’t need. It’s fitting for tonight.” She claps her hands together.

  “I have to make my first hard decision as regent queen. My first trial. You’re going to be tried and imprisoned for the murder of my beloved lady-of-honor, Claudine.”

  I fight against the guard’s grip. He holds me firmly in place.

  “That’s the only way House Maille will forgive you. The city of Bissay, her hometown, is very upset. Justice must be served. But instead of sentencing you to the starvation box, or death by hanging in the Royal Square, or throwing you off one of our great rock barriers in the southern part of the kingdom, I’ll spare your life. Isn’t that kind of me?”

  I glare at her.

  “Show me your gratitude.”

  My guard forces Amber and me down in a bow. “Thank Her Majesty,” he orders. I say nothing. Amber refuses, too. He jerks my arm. Sharp, hot pain blasts through me. “I’ll snap it clean off.”

  Another guard kicks Amber in the side. She coughs and cries out.

  “Thank you,” I mumble. Amber parrots me.

  “What was that?”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” I yell.

  “Oh, but maybe you shouldn’t thank me yet.” She motions at a nearby attendant. “Bring me little Du Barry.”

  A side door opens. A red-faced and sniffing Elisabeth is dragged out. She stands beside me. Her eyes spill over with tears, her fear palpable.