The Belles (The Belles #1)(62)

“What else is there?” I say.

“Ordinary life.”

“What is that?” I say with a laugh. “And who would want that?”

“You could be a famed courtier. Only having to worry about dresses and gossip and landing in the scopes and papers.”

“I’d rather have the responsibilities that I have,” I say. “The duty.”

“What if someone found a way to cure us?” he asked. “An elixir that could be bottled and could make everyone beautiful. Wouldn’t your life be easier?”

A searing anger fills every part of me. “What I do—what my sisters do—could never be bottled!”

“I didn’t mean to offend. It’s just, I like to lead a carefree life. I suppose being on the water fosters that sort of temperament. The God of the Sea has no allegiances.”

“You shouldn’t assume everyone wants that,” I snap.

“You’re right.”

Then his eyes narrow and he leans toward me. “There’s something on your neck.” Auguste touches a forgotten leech. He jumps back with a shout. “What is that disgusting thing?”

“Hah. It’s just a leech. Are you afraid?” I tuck it back into its hiding place beneath a neck ruffle on my dress.

“Why do you have that?” He looks a tad green.

“Another secret of the Belles.”

“A horrifying secret.”

“They help reset our arcana and purify our blood. And don’t insult the sangsues.”

His eyebrows lift with curiosity. I realize I’ve said too much. Du Barry’s voice thunders inside me: Don’t reveal the secrets of the Belles. The heat of my mistake lingers in my stomach.

“Clear the way,” an attendant calls out. Four imperial servants carry a windowed palanquin. Its golden edges shine like a trapped sun in the early evening darkness. Inside rests the sleeping Princess Charlotte on an embroidered pillow. A veiled woman wearing a crown walks alongside the palanquin with her hand resting on the glass. A group of newsies trails closely behind.

“Where are they taking her?” I ask. “And who is that woman with her?”

“The princess is—” Auguste starts to say.

“Princess Charlotte takes the air every evening around this time. That’s her Belle, Arabella,” Rémy interrupts. “We should be going, Lady Camellia. I’ve received word that dinner has been served in your apartments, and Madam Du Barry awaits.”

Reality crashes back in like a heavy ocean wave.

“Thank you for the walk,” I say to Auguste.

“I’m sad it’s over so soon.” He smiles handsomely.

My cheeks flame again. “Good night.”

“Good night,” he says, “and don’t forget to write me back. I’m waiting. I expect a response.”

“Yes, all right.”

I follow Rémy back inside. His footsteps clomp. I start to thank him for not insisting I return immediately to the Belle apartments. I know it can’t be exciting to follow me around all day. Not when you’re used to defending a kingdom or training for battles. But the words get stuck, and by the time we’re back and he’s taken his stance outside the doors, the moment seems lost.

Dinner carts sit in the main salon, chock-full of steaming hot food.

Bree greets me. “Where have you been?”

“I went for a walk.” She removes the leech from my neck and helps undo my waist-sash.

“You’re blushing, and your skin is all warm.” She smiles. “Also, a post-balloon arrived for you several hours ago from the Chrysanthemum Teahouse. I tied it to your desk.”

I leap toward my bedroom.

“Your dress is half unbuttoned,” she yells out with a laugh.

A magenta post-balloon floats over my desk. The Chrysanthemum Teahouse emblem glimmers on its side. I open the back and fish for the letter inside the compartments. My fingers fuss with the fold. My heart thuds. I drop the note, then scoop it back up.


Camille,

I’m sorry, too. And I’m all right.

I miss you.

Be careful.

Amber


I turn the letter over. Pastel colors make a series of lines.

Another message reads:

I THINK EDEL HAS ESCAPED. AN IMPERIAL INVESTIGATOR CAME TO THE TEAHOUSE LOOKING FOR HER. BUT SOME OF MY CLIENTS TOLD ME THAT BEAUTY WORK CONTINUES THERE. DO YOU KNOW WHAT IS HAPPENING?





27


The bedcurtains snap open. Night-lanterns float in, their light glaring down on me. I cover my face. After tossing and turning, worrying about Edel, I feel as though I’ve just now fallen asleep and it couldn’t possibly be morning.

“What is it?”

A sleepy-eyed Bree stares back. “You’ve been summoned.”

“By whom?” I rub my eyes. “What time is it?”

“Her Highness, Princess Sophia.” She pulls back the blankets. “And it’s two hours after the midnight star.”

“Why?”

“Her first servant, Cherise, didn’t say.” Bree drapes a fur-lined robe over my shoulders, and I step into slippers. “She said the princess wants you to come as you are.”

I fuss with my hair, removing the silk scarf and trying to pull the mess of frizzy curls up into a Belle-bun.