The Belles (The Belles #1)(113)

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.