The Belles (The Belles #1)(18)
“Disrespect will not be tolerated,” she says. “Rule-breaking will be punished.”
The teacup in my hand wobbles. I drop my gaze. “I wasn’t trying to—”
“This isn’t a game to be won,” Du Barry says. “These traditions have been in place for hundreds of years. Time-honored and tested—they keep us all safe. You think you showed the world what you can do? You think they were amused? Really, what you did was let the queen know that you can’t follow directions. That you’re more interested in what you want than what your client might want.”
The possibility of being the favorite shrivels like a dying flower. Du Barry’s words dry out each and every petal, and snap the stem.
“You showed Her Majesty that you may not be trusted to carry on the work of the Belles in the way it should be carried out—that although you’re talented enough to be the favorite, maybe you’re not disciplined enough for such a grand title. Too risky to be picked. Too wild to take over such a hallowed responsibility. And all that pomp and circumstance lowered your Aura arcana level significantly.”
Her words link together into a chain that digs its way under my skin, all the way to my heart. I think of the little girl, Holly, standing on the platform. I think of the flower chrysalis and the banners flashing her new face. I think of the grinning crowd and remember the chants. The cleverness of that moment drains away. The stupidity of my feat replaces it all.
“Using your powers to manipulate fabric and plants pushes the arcana outside of its intended use. It weakens it.” She releases her deepest and longest sigh yet. “You’ve always had an excessive appetite—an ambitious soul.” She spits each word out at me. “But, Camellia, ambition leads to insanity. The God of Madness feeds on it.”
“I thought I was supposed to show them all what I could do. Isn’t that the point of the carnaval?” I say with caution.
Du Barry snaps back in her chair. “Have you been paying attention during your studies? Has all this been lost on you?”
“Of course not.” I ball up my fists. “I just don’t under—”
“That’s right. You don’t understand. Because if you did, you wouldn’t have done something so foolish. The point is to show them that you’re strong enough to complete your role. That you’re capable, confident, and proficient in the arcana. That you can serve this great world.” Du Barry sets her teacup down. “Your little exhibition could’ve set us back. There was a time when everyone wanted to be the same. Remember your history lessons? The reign of Queen Ann-Marie II of the Verdun Dynasty. People were indistinguishable from one another. Imagine if everyone went around wanting to look like you. What if they’d only pay if they could have your features? There’d be millions of your lookalikes walking around. We’d be better off being gray again. Beauty is variety. Beauty is change.”
I wouldn’t want the world to look like me. I wouldn’t want everyone to look the same. Shame and embarrassment ripple through my core, and my stomach threatens to empty. I avoid my reflection in the mirror over the fireplace mantel.
“We will not have any more displays like these again. You are to follow the rules and stay on the path. Understood?”
I nod.
“And if you can’t, we will be forced to take more drastic measures. Simply because you’re born a Belle doesn’t mean you’re entitled to be one,” Du Barry says.
Her words slam into me. I drop the teacup. Bree rushes to help me. We wipe at the streaks of brown on my day dress. My wrist is puffy and red from the burn of hot liquid. But nothing shocks me more than Du Barry’s words. What does she mean, I’m not entitled to be a Belle? I’m one of only six. What else could I be? Where would I live? What would I do? Would the Goddess of Beauty take away her blessing, my arcana? Would I become a Gris? The questions knock around in my head.
“I bet, in all your vigorous plotting, you didn’t learn about Heather Beauregard.”
“I tried to tell her about that Belle once, but Camellia never likes to listen, Mother.” Elisabeth smiles at me.
I remain expressionless, even though I’d love to slap the smug grin off her face. I don’t want Du Barry to know the worries and questions humming inside me. I don’t want Elisabeth to see that she’s gotten to me.
“She was three generations before your mother. A very talented Belle, named the favorite. But she didn’t follow my instructions, or respect the honor that the Goddess of Beauty bestowed upon me. So I took her from court and kept her at La Maison Rouge. I never let her return to court. I will do that again if you can’t fall in line. There’s far too much passion in your blood, Camellia.”
She waves to Bree, and I’m dismissed. I stand and walk to the door with the servant at my side. Each beat of my heart echoes in my ears.
“Whether you’re chosen to be here or are assigned to one of the teahouses, I can bring you home at any time,” Du Barry says. “Elisabeth will be watching. I will be watching. Now, fetch Edel.”
The doors close behind me.
9
Through breakfast and then bathing in the onsen, Du Barry’s words drum through me like a vibration whose ripple won’t stop. I’m floating outside of everything around me, unable to stay anchored. After lunch, I stand on a seamstress block in a slip and hooped petticoat in the Royal Dress Salon. Servants drape tape-ribbons along our waists and arms and legs, and scribble numbers on parchment pages.