The Everlasting Rose (The Belles, #2)(18)

“It doesn’t matter what she thinks. Or even what I think. I always trust my instincts. Soldiers are trained that way. And if you need to have the information verified, then we’ll do it. But invisible post-balloons aren’t perfect and can often be intercepted.” He points at a shop called Ombre and a window sign boasting the best invisible post-balloons for sale.

“But it’s all we have. Hopefully, Fant?me will deliver it safely and bring back a reply.”

The shop looks nearly desolate—only a worktable littered with post-balloon wire nets, ribbons, parchment, a series of empty shelves, and a single dusk-lantern whizzing around a beautiful woman.

“There’s nothing here,” I say to Rémy.

“Ah, don’t be so hasty,” the woman replies, popping up from a high-backed chair. Half her head is shaved close to her scalp, but on the other side, her hair falls over her shoulder like a river of fire. Her smile is crooked in the best way possible, intentional and making her look clever, and her skin is a soft shade of beige—like honey and caramel swirled together in steaming milk.

“Wait here,” Rémy whispers, leaving me at the shop door.

I turn my back to the shop, pretending to watch skittish people who don’t want to be spotted in this part of the city move through the narrow market alleys.

“Come in. Don’t be afraid,” she says to Rémy, almost purring. “Our post-balloons are the best. We truly have the highest success rate.”

I steal glances over my shoulder at the woman. Her eyes are filled with light and excitement as she takes Rémy in, a smile curving across her lips.

Rémy steps inside the shop and jumps as if he’s been touched.

The proprietor chuckles. “Be careful, the post-balloons are everywhere. I should’ve warned you, handsome,” she says. “So, how can I help you? What exactly are you looking for? With some blessing from the God of Luck himself, it’ll be a wife.”

Rémy’s shoulders stiffen and he clears his throat. “I don’t see any post-balloons for sale.”

“I can’t hear you very well. Mind removing your mask? Or does your makeup need protecting at this hour?”

My panicked thoughts trip over one another.

He flips up the bottom of it. “I’m ill and contagious.”

She leans back. “Oh.”

A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.

“Where are your post-balloons for sale? Since you say you have the best,” he says.

“You felt them when you first walked in. Let me show you.” She unhooks the tail ribbons of her dusk-lantern, drags it forward, and closes the shop’s drapes.

I yank the curtains back open.

She eyes me. “Can I help you?”

“She’s with me,” Rémy blurts out.

“Well, then, come in. You’re messing up my show.” Her eyes flicker over me, assessing every inch of my body, tallying and deciding if I might be beautiful under my layered winter dress and cloak and mask. I’ve watched the women do this at court.

Seemingly unimpressed, she turns back to Remy. “Watch.”

As the dusk-lantern circles the woman, it reveals the outlines of dozens of post-balloons.

I gasp.

Rémy tries to catch one, but it disappears again.

“Impressed?” she says.

He huffs. “How much?”

“By the looks of you, I’d say you have leas to spend. But maybe if you let me see your face or throw in a kiss, I’ll give you a discount.” She sidles closer to him.

An unfamiliar feeling crops up inside me. My fists ball and my feet itch to wedge myself between them. Does he think she’s beautiful? Does he like the look she’s chosen for herself? Is this how people interact with each other outside of court?

Those questions grate across my skin. She winks at him, and he smiles.

“Are you all done?” I ask, and Rémy’s mouth resumes its usual frown.

The woman’s eyes are fixed on Rémy. “We’ve just started negotiations. And he looks like he’s a wealthy guy.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” he replies.

“Oh yes, in this world.” She clucks her tongue. “Forty-two leas for one.”

“I’ll give you seventy-five for two,” he replies.

Her eyebrows lift with surprise, and she licks her lips. “You’re very clever.” She runs a painted fingernail over his jacket lapel.

He steps back. “Flattery will get you nowhere with me. Seventy-seven,” he replies. “Final offer.”

“Offers are never final unless you’re dead,” she quips.

He fusses with the leas in his pocket, then glances over at me, catching my grimace. Our eyes meet. I turn away, pretending to stare out at the bustling crowd.

“Seventy-eight,” I hear Rémy say.

“If you buy five, I’ll give them to you for one ninety.”

“I’ll give you three hundred fifty leas for ten.”

“Done. And only because I feel like you might be handsome under that mask, and I’m a sucker for pretty men,” she replies. “Have you ever bought one of these before?”

“No,” he replies.

“Let me show you how it works. If you don’t follow directions, you are at risk of your messages being intercepted, so pay attention.”