The Everlasting Rose (The Belles, #2)(12)
The newsreel ends. The sound of its tail flapping cuts through the silent room. I hear my own heartbeat thrumming and each of the deep breaths Edel and Rémy take. I let out a guttural scream. Rémy rushes to me, clamping his hand over my mouth.
I snatch away from him. “Don’t.”
“People can hear—”
“I know... I know...”
“There’s more.” Rémy reads from one of the papers. “After the Coronation and Ascension ceremony, no sitting queen can be deposed or challenged according to imperial law.”
A tense bubble engulfs us, its edges charged, ready to smother all three of us.
He opens another paper, the Orléansian Times. A two-page spread showcases a massive structure floating in the middle of the Royal Harbor.
The headline reads: QUEEN SOPHIA’S NEWEST ENDEAVOR—THE EVERLASTING ROSE—HALF-COMPLETE.
The animated portrait of a circular building flickers like a chandelier-lantern the size of Trianon’s Coliseum. The picture flashes and takes onlookers on a tour. Outer window bars twist in the shape of Belle-roses. Our older sister, Ivy, stands on an enclosed lattice balcony spanning the structure’s entire circumference. Half her face is masked; the other battered. Pale pink sill-lanterns bathe her cheeks in soft light. Her falling tears glow; she looks trapped in the gilded filigree of a jewelry box. The portrait pans out, showing a thorny garden growing around a great tower in the center where Sophia waves and blows kisses.
“A cage for us. Like rabid animals,” Edel says.
My eyes scan the article:
The construction of the Everlasting Rose, affectionately named after the eternal “everlasting” roses that bloomed in the Goddess of Beauty’s garden, has been under way day and night, with labor teams toiling without pause. Located on the edge of the Isle of Chalmette, its glow can be spotted from the rooftops of Trianon’s limestone mansions. Newsboats sit in the Royal Harbor reporting on every moment of construction and every coming and going of visitors to the site. The newly titled Minister of Belles, Georgiana Fabry, said, “We’ll be opening the building soon. The citizens of Orléans will be able to enter the world of the Belles. No more secrecy. We’re starting new traditions.”
The Rose, as it’s been nicknamed, will replace Maison Rouge as the locale where all Belles will be trained to serve Orléans. Tours of the building are slated to begin after the Coronation and Ascension of Queen Sophia. Tickets will go on sale during the auspicious festivities. Citizens will be able to reach the structure via special rose-coaches and lavish wire carriages currently being built.
I shove the paper away. “This is where they’re going to take Amber. She’s going to be tortured. We have to help her.”
“And risk all of us getting locked in that prison?” Edel snaps. “No, I won’t do it.”
“Edel—”
“Stop arguing,” Rémy says. “And look at this last paper.”
It’s one I’ve never seen before. The pages are black as night and the ink white as clouds. The articles and headlines appear and disappear depending on where I touch it. The border contains webs holding beautiful seedlings, unfurling and blossoming into tiny teardrop leaves, curls of stems, and oval petals in soft lavenders and magentas and pinks. I remember these from the solarium at Maison Rouge.
Cleome flowers. Maman’s favorite.
I thumb the top.
“What is it?” Edel peers down over my shoulder.
“The Spider’s Web. An underground paper,” Rémy replies. “The publication the Minister of News doesn’t regulate because he doesn’t know it exists.”
“How’d you get it?” Edel’s eyes grow big.
“They circulate in this part of the city. I admit, I’ve never seen or read an issue before. I’ve only heard about it. I didn’t think they were real. The Minister of War taught us that people don’t resist.” Rémy removes the tea candle from the télétrope and waves it over the paper. “The newsie said to hold the light over it and the ink will settle and sharpen.”
The letters rise on the black parchment like drizzles of cream in steaming hot coffee. The headlines sparkle and snap like whips.
QUEEN SOPHIA IN TALKS TO START RANKING BEAUTY WORK KINGDOMWIDE, USING THE MEASURE TO ALLOCATE LAND, JOBS, TITLES, AND FAVOR WITH THE MONARCH
DON’T BELIEVE THE MORBID DEATH LIES! PRINCESS CHARLOTTE IN HIDING DESPITE FALSE REPORTS FROM PALACE OFFICIALS
DECEASED QUEEN’S PARTNER, LADY PELLETIER, SPOTTED IN VARIOUS APOTHECARIES. PERHAPS LOOKING FOR PRINCESS CHARLOTTE’S CURE?
AFTER UNFORTUNATE CAPTURE OF FIRST FAVORITE AMBROSIA BEAUREGARD, QUEEN’S GUARD CONFOUNDED ABOUT LOCATION OF OTHER FUGITIVE BELLES
IRON LADIES GATHER MORE NUMBERS AS THEY PLOT TO END QUEEN SOPHIA’S TYRANNICAL RULE
“Who are the Iron Ladies?” I demand, anticipation rising inside my chest.
“The Resistance,” Rémy replies.
Each time I close my eyes and try to sleep, Sophia lures me into a nightmare. She’s always in a long white nightgown like a spirit that’s escaped the Goddess of Death’s caves, and she leads me down a twisting corridor with no end in sight. She glances back with a sly smile that reveals a hint of teeth; her pupils dilate so big her eyes are two gigantic black pools.