The Belles (The Belles #1)(97)
“Why didn’t you tell us? What did you do to them?”
“Caring for Belles is an imprecise art, Camellia. You will one day see, when you return home and raise a daughter of your own. Some turn out whole, beautiful, and obedient. While others are broken and rebellious.”
“Were they born that way? Or did you work them so much that their arcana couldn’t function anymore?”
“Both,” she says.
The faces of those Belles flicker before my eyes. The faces of my sisters follow. We’re all going to wither like flowers on a vine if we work the way they want us to.
“She chains them.” I point at Madam Claire.
Madam Claire trembles. “Ana, you must understand—”
“Claire, you will not be entrusted with them if you cannot care for them properly,” Du Barry barks.
“But they get unruly.”
“Find a better way to maintain control and order. Otherwise, I will replace you at that teahouse and appoint another. Mother always said you didn’t have what it takes.” Du Barry wags a finger at Madam Claire, then sighs. “I’m sorry you saw that, Camille. It’s not customary. But you must understand—”
“I will never understand,” I spit.
“One day, with wisdom and age, you’ll see that I’ve done what was necessary for the survival of the art form. For the goddess. For all of us.”
I let out a guttural scream.
Du Barry laughs. She snaps an order at a servant, who produces a stack of newspapers. Du Barry reads aloud:
PRINCESS SOPHIA ALMOST KILLED WITH A POISONED GOWN
BEAUTY WORK SURGING TO A NEW HIGH—RUMORED TO
BE A BIGGER EXPENSE FOR HOUSEHOLDS THAN FOOD
OWNER OF GERALD’S GOWNS NOT COOPERATING
WITH THE QUEEN’S GUARD
A PLOT AGAINST THE PRINCESS FOILED—
THE REGENT HEIR STILL LIVES
THE FAVORITE CHOOSES A NEW WEDDING
LOOK FOR THE PRINCESS
“Do you know which of these headlines I care about? Rumored to be a bigger expense for households than food! Can you imagine?” She tosses the papers aside. “Spintria and leas and the longevity of Maison Rouge de la Beauté and Orléans. That is what I care about. To do my mothers’ and grandmothers’ and great-grandmothers’ work. The teahouses will continue to run as they always have: with order, grace, and dignity. There will be a favored set of Belles, and a secondary set to ensure that the needs of the kingdom are met. Basic supply and demand. That is the way it’s always been. And I hope I will be able to have even more Belles. In my mother’s time, there were a hundred per generation. I haven’t gotten as lucky, but I will change that soon. The God of Luck will bless me as I do this divine work.”
I seethe with anger.
“And if you or anyone else gets in the way of that, you will be repurposed,” she threatens haughtily. “Now, go to your bedroom. The nurses are waiting with the leeches. You’ve had enough excitement for a week. The toxins in your blood must be high. It’s what makes you behave this way.”
And with that, I am dismissed with the wave of a hand.
43
The next morning, I dress to see the queen. There are no beauty appointments this week. The Declaration festivities start today, and I sent word to Her Majesty that I’ve made my decision two days early.
The queen’s gold-and-white post-balloon sits tied to my vanity. The note is pressed flat on the lid of my beauty caisse.
Dearest Camellia,
I look forward to your decision.
Sincerely,
HRM
Fireworks illuminate the snowy clouds outside the windows. The kingdom of Orléans will learn of the queen’s illness and will have an heir announced this week, either Sophia or an awakened Charlotte. My stomach erupts just like the sparklers in the skies. My angry thoughts hiss and pop like lightning. My heart thunders in my chest. My hands tremble with rage. Every thought of Du Barry and Madam Claire and the other Belles and my mother’s Belle-book sends another surge through me.
“Tighter,” I tell Bree as she ties my waist-sash. I have to keep it all in.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Elisabeth strides through my bedroom entry with her arms crossed and her signature pinched expression.
“Ivy and I have an important meeting with the queen.”
“Ivy has been sent home.”
My heart plummets. “Why?”
“My mother doesn’t like the influence she has over you. And I agree. I never really liked Ivy either. She wasn’t very nice.”
“Where is she?” I rush out to the hall and head off in the direction of Ivy’s bedroom.
“She’s already gone.”
I pivot to face her. Elisabeth has a smug grin on her face.
“Why wouldn’t you let me say good-bye to her?”
“So she can tell you to escape again? Or so you two can attempt to go together? Oh, yes, my mother knows Ivy told you to run, and the fact that you did—to the Chrysanthemum Teahouse—disappointed her even more. She thought you wanted to be the favorite so badly.”
I open my mouth to lie. The sense of dread wraps itself around me. There isn’t a private place in these apartments. They could know everything I’ve ever discussed with Ivy or Bree.