The Belles (The Belles #1)(24)

The queen smiles at my sister. My heart shatters like a glass mirror, the tiny shards shooting out into every part of me, cutting at my insides, spreading pain. They will never be put back together.

Du Barry keeps her arms crossed over her ample chest. She gives me a satisfied look.

I am not the favorite.

The words smash into one another inside my head.

I am not the favorite.


Hands reach for me. Lips kiss my cheeks, leaving smudges of rouge-stick behind. People swarm in a thousand directions. Women squeeze my hands. They tell me how excited they are to book appointments with me at the Chrysanthemum Teahouse. People applaud, lights flash, arms pull me into hugs and twirls. Some whisper that they thought it should’ve been me. Newsies flock around, shoving voice-trumpets in my face and pestering me with questions about Amber and my opinion about the queen’s selection of the favorite.

I bite back tears. I push them down with too-sweet champagne.

Amber is surrounded, her ginger Belle-bun a tiny crest above the crowd. Du Barry gives an interview about what she was like as a child: studious, deferential, loving. The Beauty Minister tells royal listeners what criteria the ministers and the queen used to choose the favorite this season: disciplined, dutiful, responsible. My sisters bounce around in their beautiful dresses and speak to other courtiers and newsies.

The room swirls around me. The queen’s words ring out—Ambrosia is the favorite— alongside the racing thrum of my heart.





11


The evening whizzes by like the spinning of a newsreel. My sisters dance and laugh and give interviews and kiss cheeks and eat sweets. We have our portraits painted and talk to our big sisters—the previous generation of Belles. I hide in an adjacent tea salon to avoid the newsies until we return to the Belle apartments. Amber doesn’t come with us. She lingers in the Grand Imperial Ballroom surrounded by well-wishers and courtiers, who clamor for her attention.

I watch the doors. I wait for her to walk in.

Belle-trunks are lined up in the middle of the main salon like coffins. Servants fill them with beauty caisses, new dresses and shoes from the Fashion Minister, the latest Belle-products, and sangsue jars.

Hana peers into her trunk. “We’re not going to be together anymore.”

“Is it time already?” Padma whines. “I don’t want to go yet.”

I don’t either. The pinch of it comes sweeping back, and I’m near tears. I face the wall and pretend to admire the tapestry map of Orléans.

“The carriages will be here soon.” Valerie collapses into a nearby chaise. Her dress rips, but she’s too tired to look down at the fishtail train that’s threatening to fall off.

“And I saw our big sisters leave another apartment in traveling cloaks,” Hana says.

A pause settles over us. Tears well up in Padma’s and Hana’s eyes. Edel’s cheeks flush. Valerie sniffles. I look away. The uneasy silence feels suffocating.

“I’m ready to get this over with.” Edel throws her shoes into her Belle-trunk.

Servants present trays of fizzy water overflowing with raspberries, snowmelon slices, strawberries, and limes. Carts hold late-night treats: petit-waffles, sugary syrups, fried sweetbread and chicken, and luna pastries. Three télétropes project pictures on the walls. The magic of the night flashes all around us, but I feel only disappointment. A sad tremor lives inside my chest, and my arms and legs buzz with the memory of not being chosen.

“Where’s Amber?” Valerie asks.

The sound of her name feels like a sparkler explosion.

“Gloating somewhere, no doubt,” Edel says.

“I haven’t seen her since the dinner.” Hana opens the doors of the Belle apartments to peek out.

“She probably has a dozen things to do now,” I mumble.

“I didn’t want her to win,” Edel states.

“That’s terrible to say.” Padma gives her a playful shove.

“Why do you think the queen picked her?” Valerie asks.

“Because she’s always perfect.” The words slip out heavy and hard.

My sisters turn to me. I bite my bottom lip to keep it from quivering. A tiny hiccup works its way up my throat. I’m relieved when the servants take us to the dress salon.

Servants remove our gowns. We’re given soft traveling dresses made of cotton and chambray and voile and gauze. The sadness of leaving hits me in a wave. I’ve never not seen my sisters every day. Hana’s morning grumpiness, Edel always getting in trouble, Valerie’s tinkling laugh, walking the grounds with Padma, and sharing secrets with Amber. I didn’t think about how far away they’d be after we received our assignments. I didn’t think about how different things would be between us.

We pile back into the main salon and eat food from the carts.

“I think it’s time for a toast.” Padma grabs a glass from a tray. Bubbly green liquid spills on the front of her travel dress, and she curses.

“Should we wait for Amber?” Valerie asks.

“No,” the rest of us say.

Hana lays her head on my shoulder. “I thought it would be you.”

“Thanks,” I whisper. Me too.

“Quiet down and come on.” Padma tries to get everyone’s attention. “Get a drink. I don’t know how much longer we have together tonight.”