“Elisabeth Du Barry, you haven’t been paying enough attention to the favorite. She’s been spending time with one of my suitors—breaking our fraternizing law. She ran away to the Chrysanthemum Teahouse under your watch. And worst of all, she called me a monster.”
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” she stammers out. “Won’t happen again.”
“You’re right, it won’t.” She stands again and reaches for a long golden staff. A fat glittering diamond the size of an ostrich egg sits atop it. She lets the bottom hit the ground several times, reveling in the echo it sends through the room. “Elisabeth, you’ll be jailed alongside Camellia.”
Elisabeth bursts into a sob.
“You will bleed her every day, collect every drop of her blood, and we will create an elixir from it. I will test it myself.”
“That will do nothing,” I shout.
“But didn’t you tell Auguste the arcana live in the blood?”
His face burns in my memory. Our conversations. The touch of his fingers.
A collar of fear tightens around my throat. Tremors work their way through every part of my body. The memory of him is like a poison masked in a beautiful glass.
“Did you think he liked you, or better yet, loved you? Did you think he’d keep your secrets?”
The words sting. A dead, haunting silence stretches. The word love bounces off the walls, only to slap me in the face and explode inside my chest.
Georgiana saunters forward with a perfectly proportioned smile on her face. “Out of my three sons, I made him the most handsome because, coupled with how naturally charming he is, I knew it would make him powerful. He cracked you open like an egg, and the secrets of your arcana poured out into trusted and loving hands.”
Sweat races down my face, like the rain across the glass above our heads.
“Anything to say, Camellia? You’re usually never at a loss for words,” Sophia taunts.
Duchesse Georgiana Fabry claps her hands. “With your blood, Camellia, we will usher in a new form of beauty work that will make the kingdom millions of leas and billions of spintria.”
“And the best part,” Sophia says, “is that Ambrosia will be our new favorite until I’m ready to reveal our newest and most potent Belle-product, the Beauty Elixir. Yes, that’s what I think I’ll call it.” She waves her staff in the air.
The guards start to drag Amber from the room.
She screams out.
“Didn’t you always want to be the favorite?” Sophia says before waving her good-bye.
A hard knot of anger churns in my stomach. My heart beats to the sound of the quickening lightning outside. The veins in my arms rise like angry snakes. I feel the pulse and blood flow of every person in the room. The rushing and churning and simmering grow louder, like a river swollen by a storm.
The arcana wake up inside me. I stretch the black roses from the pots behind the throne platform. I use their thorny stems like a set of chains. The vines grab the sleeping Princess Charlotte from her throne chair, lifting her high above us all. The thorns push into her unblemished skin. Rivulets of blood skate down her limbs.
Sophia screams. Her teacup pets scatter in all directions.
“Let Amber go, and you can have me. All my blood.”
“Put her down,” Sophia cries out.
The guards pin me to the floor. I curl a stem around Princess Charlotte’s throat. She starts to cough. Other guards hack at the vines with their swords, but it only makes them grow back thicker and bolder.
“Make her stop,” Sophia commands the guards.
The guards kick my sides and slam my head into the staircase, but I hold tight, pushing my arcana further. Blood trickles down my nose. I make the stems recede. Charlotte’s body plummets toward the ground like a star falling from the heavens.
Sophia hollers, “Charlotte!” She opens her arms to try to catch her.
The black calla lilies balloon to the size of a carriage and catch her limp body. I close the dark petals around her, squeezing her into a cocoon. Guards try to yank the calla lily down, but I push it to grow higher toward the glass ceiling.
“Give me Amber.”
“No,” Sophia yells.
“I can stop her heart, you know.”
“You let her out,” Sophia screams.
I collapse the calla lily petals more, shrinking the space inside.
Thunder clatters.
“I will suffocate her. You will be queen. Not just regent. Don’t you want that?” I shout.
“I want my sister. I get to decide her fate. Not you.”
“And I want mine.”
“Pearl! Sapphire! Jet!” Sophia hollers. Her teacup dragons flutter over her head. “Burn her. Eat her flesh.” They elongate their wings, hiss and hiccup, then fly toward me. Tiny fireballs ignite my clothes.
“No, stop!” I scream as the burns scorch my arms. The scent of my burning flesh chokes me. The black calla lily starts to shrink. I can’t focus on two things at once.
“Put her down,” a voice commands. A deep stab pierces my side. Rémy holds a bloody knife. My blood.
My strength fades. I lower the cocoon in front of Sophia. I peel back the petals to reveal her unharmed sister. Sophia touches Charlotte’s sleeping face.
“Dragons!” she calls out. They turn their attention to her. “Enough. No need to waste her.” She calls for a palanquin to take Charlotte back to her chambers.
I stare at Rémy. “How could you?”
He snatches me from the other guard. “I’ll take her.”
50
Rémy drags me down the hall. My wound leaks, but slowly my arcana start to heal it.
“You’re a liar,” I say, and spit at him.
He tightens his hold.
I pummel him with insults:
“I hate you.”
“I wish I never met you.”
“Your sisters would be ashamed of you.”
He shoves me through dank passageways and down slippery staircases. His hands blend into the darkness. We pass dungeon cells and watchful guards. He tells one, “I need the keys. I got orders to lock this one up again.”
The man grumbles and hands him the key ring. He knocks me forward. This tunnel is darker than the others. My pounding heartbeat stamps out the noise of our footsteps and the hiss of the dungeon-lanterns.
I’ll never be found down here. I’ll never get out. I’ll never find my sisters again.
“Was anything you ever told me true? Were we ever friends?” I say.
“I don’t have friends,” he says, and his voice is a firecracker in the underground corridors.
I fight with the cuffs again. I fight with the memory of the times we talked, the times that I actually liked him and wanted his advice.
The passageway opens up into a trio of cages. Amber lies in one. “Camille,” she says, her voice rough as sandcloth. She reaches her hands out and presses her dirty face to the bars.
“You’re all right.”
“I’m in one piece,” she replies.
“When are you going to learn to shut your mouth?” Rémy says, turning me around to face him.
The keys jingle in his hand. Then, a click. And my wrists are free. Rémy glares at me. “Help Amber out of the cell.” He tosses another key at me.
I’m frozen. “Rémy.”
“Hurry up.” He startles me out of it. “You can thank me later.”
Rémy leads Amber and me down a dark passage. He makes a series of sharp turns. Amber trips over the cobblestones.
“I’m sorry I stabbed you,” he says.
“I might be able to forgive you.”
“Where are we going?” Amber asks.
“For days, I’ve been testing this path out of the palace. It’ll lead us to the eastern gate—the quietest pier—so we’ll easily be able to take a boat. I’ll navigate it out to the harbor instead of going into Trianon.”
His plan fills my weak muscles with strength they don’t have.
&nbs
p; “The Golden Palace River empties into the harbor. We can escape that way.”
I stop. “Wait! We can’t leave.”
Amber crashes into me.
“We have to go,” Rémy urges.
“We can’t. I need to help Charlotte,” I say.
“This is our chance to get out,” Amber says.
“I made a promise. I have a duty.”
Rémy’s eyes widen and he smiles. “You can’t even follow my directions after I save you,” he says.
“No. And we can’t let Sophia remain in power.” I look Amber in the eye. “Not if there’s something we can do.”
Rémy considers this, then nods. “We can take the queen’s passage.”
The queen’s private passageways snake from the piers back into her chambers, which are connected to Charlotte’s room. Medicinal pastilles burn on chafing dishes surrounding Charlotte’s bed. Healing-lanterns drift over her like sun-filled clouds. The fireplace roars and hisses. Nurses move in and out of the room with trays of vials and powders. Arabella stands at Charlotte’s side, veiled, shoulders slumped, holding and stroking her frail hand.
The princess lies there, hands crossed over her chest. There is no sign of my earlier attempt to smother her.
“Arabella,” I whisper.
She swivels around. “Oh, Camellia.” She rushes to me.
Rémy and Amber step out of the passageway behind me.
“I heard what Sophia did. I couldn’t get to you. I’m sorry.” Arabella hugs me.
“It’s all right. We’re all right,” I say.
“Where’s the queen?” Amber asks.
“She’s very ill,” Arabella reports.
“You have to tell her what’s going on. You have to wake her,” I say.
Arabella nods, motions to a servant, then says to me, “Hurry. Sophia probably knows you’ve left the dungeons.”
I look at Amber, my eyes saying: Can you do this? Are you strong enough? Are we strong enough?
She nods.
“We need leeches, and a needle,” I say.
Servants disappear and return quickly with a cart of supplies.
“What’s wrong with her?” Amber asks.
“I’m not sure, but I have a theory.”
A side door opens, and in hobbles the queen with Lady Zurie at her side. She uses a cane, and her back curves into a question mark. Gray hair falls down it in a large wave. Her once-brown skin is now almost completely gray. “Camellia, you came.” She barely makes it into a nearby chair. “Help my sweet girl.”
“We will,” I say.
Arabella hands me a needle herself. I pull the mirror from beneath my dress.
“What’s that?” Amber asks.
“A miroir métaphysique,” Arabella says. “It only shows the truth.”
“My mother left it to me.” I prick my finger and let the blood race up the little handle. The roses and stems uncoil, and the message appears: BLOOD FOR TRUTH. I gaze at the glass, waiting for the fog to clear, and to see Charlotte’s reflection. Her eyes fight to open. I feel her will to live and her anger. A red glow circles her image.
“See?” I show Amber.
Amber leans in to look, and gasps. “I don’t understand,” she says.
“She’s trying to wake up.”
I study Charlotte’s reflection. What are you trying to tell us?
I glance up at the queen. She’s rocking in her chair, hands pressed together, prayer beads looped around her palms.
“Take Charlotte out of these garments,” I say.
The servants remove her dress, the corset and crinoline, and stockings and gloves. She’s stripped down to her dressing gown, which makes her seem even more frail.
“The jewelry, too.”
Rings are pulled from her fingers, bracelets unclasped from her wrists. Her royal emblem is taken from her neck, exposing her identification ink.
She looks ordinary. Like a woman from Trianon’s market, or the Achillean Alps.
“And the hair ornaments.”
A servant reaches to remove the comb from the crown of Charlotte’s head.
“Wait,” the queen says. “She’s never without her favorite comb. Her grandmother gave it to her a year before she grew ill. She wore it everywhere. Even in the bathing tubs.” Her tired mouth lifts in a half smile. “I never let them take it off. I feel like it gives her strength. And Sophia adds flowers to it weekly.”
“We must, Your Majesty. I want her as bare as possible.”
“I just”—she starts to cry—“hate to see her like this.” She totters over to the bed, touches the comb, then pulls it from Charlotte’s hair and squeezes it. She waves to a nearby servant, who steps forward to remove large sections of Charlotte’s hair. The pieces of wig are set on the nightstand. The princess is almost bald, with only a few tendrils growing limply from her scalp. Lady Zurie starts to sob.
“The hair wouldn’t grow back. No matter how many times I tried,” Arabella says.
Amber and I climb onto opposite sides of Charlotte’s bed.
Servants return with the porcelain jug of leeches. I dig my fingers in the damp jar, retrieving two—one for me and one for Amber. I loop the creature around my wrist. Amber mimics me. The leech’s tiny teeth bite into the vein, and its secretions start to flow.
“We have to work together.” I reach my hands over Charlotte’s body. Amber holds them tight.
“The last time we did this, we killed someone,” she whispers.
“We won’t change her at the same time. We just need to see her natural template and find out what’s wrong.”
Amber gulps, then nods. “But neither of our arcana are balanced.”
I squeeze her hand. “As long as we stay connected, we’ll be all right,” I say, even though it feels like a lie.
We close our eyes.
A knock rattles the door. “Your Majesty,” a guard calls out.
Amber jumps.
“Go on,” the queen says. “Ignore it.”
Arabella takes a sharp breath. I shake Amber’s hands. She closes her eyes again. In the darkness, I see Charlotte’s body. She’s thin, down to her bones. Almost a skeleton. I find every imperfection: her wispy hair, her hollow cheeks, her sallow skin, the too-slow beat of her heart. Her veins have a yellow tint beneath her skin. Her blood pressure is low. It reminds me of how I felt after being poisoned.
My eyes snap open. “Your Majesty, can I see the hair comb again?”
She hands it to me.
I turn it over and examine it, then wrench it open. The comb breaks. The queen gasps. The comb’s teeth release a clear liquid. The scent is familiar. “It’s poison. Just like the one that was used on me. It’s made from the pollen of bloodroot flowers.”
“We had her blood tasted.” The queen rushes to my side. “When she first became ill.”
The door vibrates again.
“Your Majesty!” the guards shout. “We will take down these doors.”
Lady Zurie rushes to press her back against them.
“Yes, but this poison smells and tastes like flowers,” I say to the queen. “I didn’t recognize it either.”
“How did the doctors not catch this?”
“It’s untraceable,” I say. “I overheard the nurses saying my blood was clean as well. But I know this smell now. I will never forget it.”
Amber touches Charlotte’s head. “It’s coming from her scalp. Look where the bald patches are. They’re oozing. The comb’s been piercing her.”
The queen rubs her fingers over Charlotte’s scalp. She sinks back. Arabella leads her to the chair, then scoops up the broken comb and holds it under a night-lantern. She sniffs. “There’s definitely something on the teeth.”
The door jolts forward.
“I don’t know how long I can hold them,” Lady Zurie calls out.
“She needs to have her blood cleaned.” I remove the leeches from my wrist and Amber’s, and pluck out the others in the jar. I hand a few to Amber. We
lay them on Charlotte: on her wrists, beneath her neck, and on the top of her head near the small wound. The leeches turn a fiery red as they fill with her blood.
“Now, Amber, focus on her blood. Refresh the proteins, like we would someone’s skin or hair.”
“I’ve never done this before.”
“Me either.”
She looks at the queen.
“You have to try,” she cries.
Amber nods, a bead of sweat swooping down her nose.
The door starts to crack. The wood is being chipped away. The queen hollers. Lady Zurie beats back against it.
“I’m afraid,” Amber whispers. “And I’m so tired. I can’t feel the arcana anymore.”
“I’m tired, too.” I turn her wrist over and trace the veins. “It’s still there. It has to be.”
Her eyes are heavy with exhaustion. I lean over Charlotte and hug Amber. I fall neatly into the crook of Amber’s neck. The scent of orange blossom is still faint in her hair, even underneath the stench of the dungeons. “We can do this.” I hope my words burrow down inside her. “We’re strong together.”
Arabella’s hand squeezes my shoulder. “I’ll help, too.”
A door panel breaks. Sophia demands to be let in to see her sister. Amber, Arabella, and I clamp our eyes shut.
The arcana hiss underneath my skin.
The rhythm of Charlotte’s heart beats alongside mine. I see the pulsating organ—fleshy, red, thumping. Blood rushes through it and sluggishly moves through her veins. I push the arcana to reset the proteins, as I would her bones for beauty work. Amber and Arabella’s arcana combine with mine; it all showers through me like a hot rainstorm in the warm season.
Charlotte’s body jerks.
The queen screams.
Amber topples forward, crashing into me.
“Amber!” I shake her and hold her up.
Charlotte coughs and moans.
“Oh, my little girl.” The queen rushes to her side. “Wake up, please open your eyes.”
“You must go,” Arabella says to me.
Rémy helps me lift Amber’s body from the bed.
“Use the passages. I’ve left trunks for you that contain all you need.”
The Belles Page 34
