The Everlasting Rose (The Belles, #2)(17)

“What if she isn’t? Arabella would know if this was one of Sophia’s lies. We can ask her.”

“And how long will that take? Waiting around for another three days for a reply?” Edel says. “Sending messages and charting winds isn’t getting us anywhere.” She throws her hands in the air. “It’s taking more time that we don’t have. The closer we get to the Coronation and Ascension, the less opportunity to challenge Sophia. She’s rushing a ceremony that should take months of planning. Tradition and rules will allow her to—”

“We can’t just storm into the palace, Edel. We have to have a precise plan. Every move of it certain and calculated. I want to take Sophia down as much as you do. Maybe even more so. I want to get our sisters. But we can’t afford to make any mistakes.” I pull out the night-edition newspaper clipping to show Edel the headline about the Fashion Minister. I feel the heat of Rémy’s gaze, but don’t look at him. “I have an idea. I want to go—”

“No!” Edel strides angrily between us. Her dress, now tattered at the bottom, catches the splinters in the wooden planks. Her anger is loose like the snap of a newsreel spinning out of control. “While you two are playing with compasses and writing letters, I’m going to do something about it.”

Rémy clears his throat. “Edel, if you would simply—”

“Don’t tell me what to do. Go back to staring at Camille and watching for guards!” she barks.

He flinches.

“That’s unfair and rude,” I say, reaching for her.

She snatches away and stalks to the door.

“Wait! Edel!” I shout. “What are you going to do?”

“Not sit around and wait for a pretty post-balloon.”

She stomps out and doesn’t look back.





Rémy and I walk through the crowded stalls near the salon in search of a vendor who sells invisible post-balloons. Two of the teacup dragons—Fant?me and Poivre—squirm in my waist-sash, attempting to peek their heads out and sniff the air; the scent of roasting meat and mulled cider mingle in this section of the Market Quartier.

“Are they still restless?” Rémy asks.

I lift my mask a little to answer him. “Yes. It’s probably because I fed Fant?me the leech Arabella sent. She and Poivre seem close. Connected. They affect each other.”

“Like you and Amber?”

I shrug, thinking of what might be happening to her right now. If she’s all right. If she’s surviving Sophia’s torture. If she will ever forgive me for not coming to her rescue.

“Your mask is loose,” he says, reaching around the back of my head to tighten the top ribbons. “I saw a headline about how they’re going to ban these soon, force people to take them off, and check identification marks.”

His fingers flick my hair, and it sends a rush along my scalp.

“Then I should change your skin color and facial features.”

He scowls as he ties the bottom ribbon. “Maybe. Soon. I am getting tired of the mask. Too hot.”

“But you need to protect your makeup and make sure you don’t get caught in the scandal sheets without maintaining your beauty.”

A small chuckle escapes his mouth.

“Also, I’m sorry about what Edel said.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“But it is. She’s taking out her frustrations with me on you. She’s just...”

“A lot.”

“Always has been.”

He finishes knotting the ribbon and shifts back to my side. “You know that I don’t stare at you. I’m not—”

“I know.” My cheeks heat up beneath my mask. I want to tell him that I look at him, too. That I love it when he looks at me, his eyes carrying an energy I don’t fully comprehend, one I’m not sure I want to, one I enjoy. “Let’s get these post-balloons and hurry back so I can deal with her.”

He turns into a narrow alley. “What’s your concern with Arabella?”

“It’s complicated.”

“So, tell me what you’re thinking. It might help you work through it.”

I shoot him a skeptical look.

“Truly. It’s something I used to do with my closest friend at the academy. We’d discuss our plans when the Minister of War would give us challenges. Sometimes, it helped me see ways forward that I hadn’t before.”

Snow begins to fall. Delicate white flakes crest the market lanterns with tiny coats and collect on windowsills and inside garden boxes full of cold-season flowers.

“That was definitely Arabella’s voice, but I need to know if she sent it on her own or if it’s one of Sophia’s sick games. Arabella could’ve been threatened—forced to say what she said.”

Rémy nods. “Smart.”

“Indeed, I am,” I spit back.

“No one is questioning that. Least of all me.”

“Edel is. She doesn’t agree with my plans.”

“I get the sense that she wouldn’t agree with anyone’s plans.”

I let out a laugh.

“Where do you think she went?” Rémy asks.

“Wherever it is, I hope she doesn’t get herself caught.” The worry of losing another sister sits like a limestone brick in my stomach.