The Belles (The Belles #1)(111)

“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.