The Everlasting Rose (The Belles, #2)(19)

He takes a tentative step forward. She bats her big green eyes at him. “The secret to an invisible post-balloon is the reactive parchment. Light a candle and wait for the parchment to awaken. You’ll be able to see its edges for thirty beats. Enough to run your fingers along its curves.” She runs her hand across his. He doesn’t move. “You already look like you’re good with your hands, so this shouldn’t be a problem.”

I make a noise, and he flinches.

“To put your note into the back, open this flap. See here?” She leans closer to him, and I swear she sniffs him.

My stomach flips, a riot of new emotions battling within it. “We know how to light post-balloons,” I grumble loud enough to be heard.

She pauses, and her heavy gaze lingers on me.

“Then, handsome, light this charcoal candle. The special oil allows it to smolder slowly and give the post-balloon enough air and energy to reach its destination, but without the brightness of a regular post-balloon candle. Add two if it’s going beyond the imperial island.” She hands him the parcel, but doesn’t let go when he takes it. “You were such a delight to talk to, despite your guard over there.” She nods in my direction. “I rarely get such interesting customers.”

“Thank you,” he says, tugging it out of her hands.

“No, thank you.” She laughs. “I don’t mean to be so forward, but are you married? I’m in need of a husband.”

“Yes,” I blurt out. A sharp warmth crawls up my chest, and my heart pounds against my rib cage. “Why else do you think I’m here?”

He glances at me, surprised. Not that I blame him. I’m shocked by what I’ve just said. But then Rémy jauntily opens the door for me. “Let’s go, Mrs. Chevalier.”

“Mrs. Chevalier?” I stammer out, my words in a tangle.

“It’s tradition for one of us to take the other’s last name. I guess I could be Mr. Beauregard. But everyone is looking for you. So, my name would probably be best.”

I chuckle. “They’re looking for you, too.”

We both laugh, then get quiet.

“Were you upset?” he asks, and I can feel the smile behind his mask.

“Uh, no... that’s not the right word. I was—”

“Jealous?”

I laugh. “No,” I lie. “She was strange.”

“She was flirting.”

I ease this question out: “Did you like her?”

“What do you mean? Her personality was—”

“No, did you think she was beautiful? Would you have taken her up on her offer? She said she needed a husband.”

“Soldiers don’t marry. We take one vow—to protect the kingdom.”

“And nothing else?”

“Above all else queen and country.”

I don’t know what I’m really asking. I don’t know how to form the question or pluck it from the depths of my heart and give it breath. The silence between us feels loud in contrast to the noise of the Market Quartier.

“I’m still a soldier even though I’m here with you,” he adds.

Night-lanterns are lit as the sun sets behind us. News blimps start to fill the sky, their silkscreens and sky candles scattering the first of the evening headlines around.

We turn right and Rémy stops. I crash into him.

He pulls me close to the side of a nearby building. I take a deep breath. My heart trembles. His bottom lip brushes my forehead. He looks down at me. An energy tethers us in place.

Is he going to kiss me? What would that be like?

Those questions simmer in my stomach. His eyes drop to my lips. I lean forward a little to close the gap. I let the desire and curiosity loose from the place I’d hidden it inside. I admit to myself—I want him to kiss me.

“Don’t move.” His words graze my skin.

The sound of heavy boots clomp behind us. I glance over my shoulder. Guards march up the stairs of the Red Velvet Salon.

Panic and worry weaken my legs. I almost fall forward. His hands grip tight around my waist.

“Edel,” I say.





We stand in the alley and watch the Red Velvet Salon until our fingernails turn blue and the teacup dragons in my waist-sash can’t keep me warm any longer. Rémy’s body is stiff behind me.

“What if we go into the card salon across the street? We can keep an eye out for Edel,” I say.

“We should go to another part of the city to be safe.” His eyes scan every person walking by.

“We can’t. What if Edel was taken?”

“We’d know. I’ve seen no movement in and out of the salon yet.”

I feel like I’ve fallen down several sets of stairs—the air in my chest too thin, my head spinning like a télétrope, and my legs shaking beneath me, threatening to buckle under my weight. “I can’t lose another sister.”

“You won’t.” He reaches for my hand, cupping it with his, and tries to warm it. “You’re freezing.” His brown eyes drift over my face. “Your nose is red as a cherry.”

“How are you not cold?” I push my other hand into his grasp. He lifts them to his mouth and blows warm air over them. It streams through my knit gloves, the sensation sending a rush of tingles into my limbs. The energy from before is back, the desire welling up once again.