The Everlasting Rose (Belles, The)

by Dhonielle Clayton

  “I don’t think I can,” she moans. “All I can think about is vomiting. I shouldn’t have eaten all of that food.”

  “Port of Céline ahead. Ready the anchors!” a man’s voice drifts below deck.

  Surielle and the two others rush back to their coffins. “Everyone in.” She closes the lid over herself.

  I secure Edel’s lid, hoping it will muffle her moans and keep us from being discovered. The door cracks open and my pulse hitches. I whistle. The teacup dragons fly to me. I tuck them back inside my waist-sash, slip into my coffin, and slide the top over me. My rapid heartbeat makes my body tremble. Each time the teacup dragons squirm or burrow, it sends a nervous jolt through me.

  The noise of footsteps and scraping pushes through the coffin’s thin sides.

  “Cargo unloaded first,” a man shouts. “Start with the coffins.”

  I’m lifted in the air.

  “I didn’t realize dead bodies could be so heavy,” someone complains.

  “Hurry up! My maman said the heavier bodies carry their trapped souls.”

  I hear muffled stomping and grumbling and the call of early-morning vendors setting up their stalls for the day. I press my hands to the sides and hold my breath as I’m jostled off the ship. They set me on the ground. Sweat trickles across my forehead.

  “We will be all right. We will get out of here.” I whisper my mantra to the teacup dragons. “We will find Charlotte.”

  Outside, gulls caw. I can hear the lulling tempo of waves lapping the pier. Just as I’m feeling slightly calmer, a scream cuts through the air.

  Edel.

  I inch up the lid enough to see, but not enough to draw attention. The pier is a chaotic blur of bodies. Merchants toting their wares, lines of passengers headed to board ships and boats, the loading and unloading of parcels and people and boxes, and a network of fishmonger stalls. The energy of it all creates a nauseating hum of early-morning movement.

  “Found a stowaway,” a port guard says.

  I watch as the men drag Edel from the coffin kicking and screaming. The small crowd slows to a stop to watch. Nearby newsies swarm, sending navy blue story-balloons overhead to capture it all—the first potential headline of the day.

  I watch it unfold like a story on a télétrope reel, each picture clicking into its drum, spinning and whirling out of control, the scene growing more and more horrific.

  Edel’s arms thrash about. The guards struggle to hold on to her.

  “Keep a grip on her!” one shouts.

  She crashes to the ground and kicks at them. Her foot clobbers a guard in the head. He cowers, grabbing his eye. She tries to run.

  Another one grabs her by the waist, yanking her like a rag doll.

  “How much is the fine these days?” a port guard asks, taking out a ledger from his jacket pocket.

  “Twenty-five leas per mile traveled, plus the port taxes. Ten days in the Céline jail if you can’t pay,” another adds.

  A guard grips Edel’s arm. “Why were you on this ship? Who are you?”

  Edel vomits all over his clothes, then spits in his face. She’s picked up and thrown over one of the guard’s shoulders like she’s nothing more than a sack of snowmelons. Her wails pierce the air. Each one hits me like an icy wave. She punches his back and more vomit spews from her mouth.

  “I’m not paid enough for this,” he complains. “It’s too early. All these overnight ships are always trouble.”

  “Search all the coffins!” his cohort barks.

  They turn and head straight for me. A punch hits my heart. I want to climb out and follow Edel. I try to keep my eye on her, but they’re getting farther and farther away from my sight line. The men kick at the other coffins and bang their tops. They’re almost to mine.

  “Anyone in there?” one yells. “Might as well open up before we have to wrestle you out.”

  I close the lid and prepare myself. My hand falls to my dagger. My breath comes out rushed and in pants. The teacup dragons chirp with alarm. I unsheathe the dagger and hold it to my chest.

  A series of bells rings out.

  “Fire!” someone hollers. “The lighthouse.”

  “Get to the hoses!” the other one orders. “We’ll finish the search after.”

  The men abandon the coffins and race away.

  I push the lid off and it lands on the pier with a clatter. I can’t see Edel anymore—only a crowd of bodies buzzing about and headed away from the pier. I gaze out and see the top of the lighthouse in flames.

  One of the nearby coffins opens.

  I spot Surielle. She motions for me to get back inside and presses her finger to her mouth in a shush, then closes herself inside again. The noise of approaching footsteps reaches my ears, but there’s no way I’m getting back in that box. I have to go after my sister.

  I duck and weave between the cargo on the pier, trying to find the men who took Edel. The chaos of bodies blurs. Jackets, dresses, top hats, heat-lanterns, snow parasols, winter veils.

  A hand grabs the back of my cloak. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  I jerk around.

  It’s Lady Arane.

  “You’re supposed to be in your transport,” she barks.

  “They took Edel. We have to get her.”

  “We have to get to our safehouse.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll send one of my disciples out to track Edel. For now, hide. You’re about to ruin everything.” She points her fingers. “Look! More guards are headed this way. They won’t just ignore the fact that a live woman was found in a coffin. They will complete their search. My fire diversion won’t last long.”

  I spot a cluster of uniformed men and women running in our direction.

  Reluctantly, I return to my coffin. Lady Arane closes the lid over me, and I lie flat. I rub my waist-sash to calm the agitated teacup dragons. Tears burn behind my eyes. I can’t get Edel’s screams out of my head. I can’t believe this is happening again. I tremble with anger.

  “I’m here to collect these,” I hear Lady Arane state. “They’re headed for the warehouse to await transport to the crematory.”

  My coffin is placed inside something that feels like a carriage. All the light is stamped out as more boxes are loaded up beside me. The teacup dragons free themselves from my waist-sash and spread across my limbs. Their nervous hiccups warm the too-small space, and I feel like we’ll all run out of air. My chest is tight with worry.

  The carriage moves forward, bumbling over cobblestones, making several turns. I’m jerked back and forth with each one.

  I clobber my head on the side of the coffin. The teacup dragons protest as I knock into them. The Belle-product jars crack and spill all over. The perfume chokes us. My breath catches and burns like honey bees are trapped in my throat.

  Hot tears soak the pillow beneath my head.

  First, Amber.

  Then, Valerie.

  Now, Edel.

  And who knows the fates of my other sisters, Padma and Hana.

  Or Ivy even.

  It feels like hours have passed. My stomach twists with the reality that we’re probably very far from the port now, and from Edel.

  Maman’s mirror bounces on my chest, its grooves sharp and piercing. I wish for her to come back. I wish for her to help me fix all of this. I wish for her strength to help me come out of it alive. All the things I’d planned feel like they’ve turned to wisps of smoke, each tendril headed in opposite directions.

  The carriages stop.

  I hear Lady Arane’s voice again.

  Boxes shift around me.

  I am lifted and moved into a cavernous room filled with voices. I can tell how large it is by the way the voices echo. Boxes are set on top of mine. The thud of them makes the teacup dragons fuss.

  I shush them and clench my eyes shut. How long will we have to stay in here? Where are they taking Edel? Will I be able to find her? A headache thuds in my temples. The box feels like it’s vibrating and sp
inning beneath me.

  I bang on the wooden sides. I can’t stay cooped up in here any longer.

  “Camille,” I hear Surielle whisper.

  I knock on the wood. “I’m over here.”

  I try to push the lid again, but it’s too heavy.

  Slowly, Surielle and Violetta remove the boxes above me, then yank open the lid. Several morning-lanterns float through the warehouse, scattering strips of light over battered boxes.

  I sit up. The teacup dragons fly out, stretching their wings with glee. Stacks of coffins are lined up all around us. The air stinks of rotten flesh.

  Surielle helps me out. My arms are shaky.

  “Keep watch for our lady,” she orders Violetta and the other woman. They pivot and go to the warehouse door.

  “Where are we?” I ask.

  “A warehouse for the dead,” she reports.

  “How far are we from the port? We have to go back for Edel,” I say, but my voice breaks, and my legs buckle under me.

  I’m alone now.

  I’ve failed everyone.

  She catches me before I hit the floor. “I got you,” she whispers.

  “We have to go back to the pier,” I mutter, out of breath.

  “It’s too risky,” she replies.

  “I can’t leave her.”

  “If you chase her, they will take you—and us—and this whole thing will be over. Sophia will win. Do you want that?”

  Her words harden inside me.

  “Lady Arane is just outside. We are to wait for her. That’s the order.”

  “Edel would come for me. She wouldn’t just sit back and let them take me.” I collect the teacup dragons, tuck them into my waist-sash despite their protests, and drape my travel cloak and veil over me. “She wouldn’t do nothing. I need her. I won’t lose another sister.”

  Surielle steps in my path, blocking my attempt to leave. “You can’t. I won’t allow it.” She snatches a dagger from a black sheath. “I’m in charge when Lady Arane isn’t present.”

  Violetta leaves her post and rushes to Surielle’s side. She reveals a matching blade. Both catch the light from the floating lanterns overhead. The steel twinkles and shines with the promise of drawing blood.

  I put my hand on the knife Rémy gave me. A hot, seething ball of anger amasses in my stomach. The arcana awaken and linger beneath my skin.

  Violetta flinches. “She’s killed people with her arcana.”

  “And we’ve killed people with our daggers.” Surielle’s eyes blaze with intensity. “We have the authority to cuff you again if you don’t cooperate. Bargain or no bargain. But I don’t want to have to do that.” She flicks her knife at me.

  We don’t move, each of us as still as a statue.

  Newsies rush the streets outside the windows hollering about their midday papers.

  My heart races alongside the shouting.

  “Get them here. The Glass Post, just in. The National, arriving soon!” one shouts.

  “The Regent Queen reopens the skies to receive coronation gifts. Read about the items she desires in the Trianon Tribune. We’ve got the official list. Be sure to address the post-balloons and set them to land on the Observatory Deck, says newly appointed Minister of Royal Gifts.”

  “Famed courtiers and kingdom celebrities already headed to the imperial island. Check out our limited edition column for a glimpse of the best dressed and best looks.”

  “Commemorative beauty-scopes to be sold during the coronation hosted by the Orléansian Times. Be sure to get one. They’re going to be a collector’s item.”

  The shouting subsides.

  “Let me out of here,” I almost growl.

  The Iron Ladies don’t move.

  A blimp flies past the dirty window featuring the latest imperial headlines.

  We all flinch.

  NO MORE SECRECY—WE’RE IN THIS TOGETHER, SAYS NEW QUEEN!

  THE ROSE PRISON TO REPLACE MAISON ROUGE AS PRIMARY RESIDENCE FOR BELLES—TO ALLOW THE PUBLIC TO SEE THE INNER WORKINGS OF BELLE TALENTS

  LEARN HOW TO GROW YOUR OWN BELLE-GARDEN! YEP—THEY’RE GROWN LIKE ROSES! READ ALL ABOUT IT

  ROYAL WEDDING POST-BALLOON INVITES SENT OUT TODAY IN TIME FOR AN AUSPICIOUS NEW YEAR! HOPE YOU ARE LUCKY ENOUGH TO GET ONE!

  TWO NEW TEAHOUSES BUILT IN SILK ISLES TO REPLACE THE ONE LOST DUE TO FIRE

  BEAUTY FOR ALL—QUEEN TO PASS OUT NEW PETIT-ROSE BEAUTY TOKENS TO THOSE WHO EARN HER LOVE

  “What’s going on here?” a voice calls out from behind us.

  We pivot and find Lady Arane standing at the back doorway. She holds her mask in her hands, her gray skin severe in the light.

  “She threatened to leave,” Surielle reports without moving her dagger.

  “Surielle, stand down. All of you,” she orders.

  “But...”

  Lady Arane puts a hand in the air. “I’ve sent two ladies to track Edel. We should have more news soon.”

  “I’m going after her.” My fingers have grown slippery around Rémy’s dagger, but I grip the handle more tightly.

  Lady Arane’s eyebrow lifts.

  “We had a bargain,” I seethe. “We help you, and you help me. Now your ridiculous travel arrangements have gotten my sister taken, and I’m supposed to wait patiently?” The teacup dragons circle overhead hissing and hiccuping fire, mirroring my agitation.

  She moves closer.

  My arcana hum beneath my skin.

  “Be careful, my lady,” Violetta says. “I’ve seen what she can do.”

  “You should listen to her,” I say, filling with rage.

  “Lesson number three has come faster than I hoped—resisting has a price. And this is the cost. You lose people you love for the greater good of others.”

  “I need my sister. I’ve already lost two. I want Edel back.”

  “That’s not true,” she says. “You also want revenge. You want Sophia to pay. You want Sophia off the throne like the rest of us. You know that she’s poison for this kingdom. You know many more will die if we don’t remove her. Once we meet with Charlotte and challenge Sophia, this will all be over. We can free Amber. The guards will release Edel. We will get all of your remaining sisters. None of that can happen if we deviate right now. Some things must wait, however painful. My ladies will track her.” She holds her hand up as if swearing an oath.

  My promise to Edel drums inside me. That we would get out of this. That we would succeed.

  This journey has made me into a liar.

  Lady Arane takes another step toward me. My arm quivers, wanting to strike.

  “We must go. The longer we delay, the more likely we will be tracked. Our guide awaits.” She hands me an iron mask. “You’re one of us now.”

  Mountains stretch as far as the eye can see, their snow-capped peaks disappearing into the clouds. They hold layers of gilded mansions, shops and pavilions pressed into their facades, and a bustling port at their feet, as if the God of the Ground poured golden liquid down the sides of these great summits, and it assembled itself into a vertical city. Carriages suspended on glittering cables lift into the air like gold blimps headed for the God of the Sky’s lair. They empty beautiful passengers on promenades that circle the mountain like a set of rings stacked on a plump finger. Jewel-box-colored city-lanterns illuminate Céline’s vertical quartiers.

  The world is bigger and vaster than I could’ve ever imagined, bigger than Du Barry could’ve ever described, more wondrous than any depiction in any of the thousands of books in the library at Maison Rouge.

  Snow trickles down on us, soft and light, stamping out the sun and collecting on the heat-lanterns drifting behind their owners. Many of the people around us laugh and giggle and hold hands. My heart pinches thinking of my sisters. The memory of Edel’s screams cuts through me. She rarely cried. She was never afraid. She was our troublemaker. She was always the strongest of us.

  I swallow angry tears. I remember when Edel and I got scolded for going too far into the forest b
ehind our home. Maman secretly called her the bat of our generation, always drawn to darkness and mischief. Edel had lost a bet, and the consequence was venturing beyond the graveyard’s edge. I’d gone with her while our sisters watched from our shared seventh-floor balcony. The endless shadows swallowed us whole as we tiptoed beyond the thumb-shaped tombstones pushing from the dirt at its edge. Du Barry had told us a monster lived in that forest and protected it from unwanted visitors, especially children. We made it ten steps in before Du Barry came running after us like we were headed over a cliff. She toted us back by the elbows like buckets from a well, and we had to write five hundred lines each about why we would never go into the woods again.

  “This way,” Lady Arane orders.

  I snake behind her, flanked by Surielle and Violetta, Liara bringing up the rear. Their faces are covered completely. The light catches glimpses of their masks, but an onlooker might confuse them for silver makeup or a new beauty trend.

  Newsies race past us shouting the afternoon headlines:

  DEAD PRINCESS CHARLOTTE’S BODY IN TRANSIT TO TRIANON TO SIT IN MEMORIAM

  TWO DAYS UNTIL CORONATION AND ASCENSION CEREMONY! GET YOUR TICKETS TO IMPERIAL ISLAND, BOATS FILLING UP!

  QUEEN’S COUSINS ANOUK AND ANASTASIA UNINVITED TO CEREMONIES AND FINED FOR THEIR BEAUTY WORK... DEEMED TOO PRETTY!

  TAUPE, MAUVE, AND PLUM TO BE QUEEN’S CORONATION AND ASCENSION COLORS

  We cut through the pier crowds and join snaking lines of people waiting to board carriages headed to the city layers. My limbs burn with nervous energy. My thoughts are an overfilled teacup, drowning its saucer. The piercing pitch of Edel’s screams ruptures through me. The memory hits me over and over again, then begins to blend with Amber’s shrieks from the boardinghouse.

  “I will get them back,” I whisper to myself.

  “What was that?” Lady Arane asks.

  “Nothing,” I reply.

  “Last car on the right,” Lady Arane orders. “Get in and spread out. No eye contact.”

  A carriage porter corrals the line. “Seventh layer. Keep the line tidy. Have your leas ready or you can’t board. I’ll have no foolishness in my section. Follow directions or be left behind.”

  We shuffle into the plush carriage behind a couple who can’t keep their hands off each other. The woman presses her cold brown cheeks against her companion, who retaliates by pressing his pale white fingers to the crook of her neck. Their infectious giggles fill the quiet space.