The Everlasting Rose (The Belles, #2)(21)

The white teacup dragon trundles across the folds of my dress, then leans down to sniff the wound with her hot nose.

“Go on,” I urge her.

She licks the blood from my hand until the cut seals itself shut, my arcana proteins stitching me back together without hesitation.

“And you’re sure she’ll go to Arabella?” Rémy asks.

“They’re instinctual. They’ll find the person whose blood they’ve ingested first, then return to me once that’s passed. I fed her one of Arabella’s leeches earlier.”

“And you trust it?” His eyes hold doubt.

“I have to. I have to trust her.”

He runs his dark brown fingers across her scales, and she nuzzles and licks his hand.

“Can you prepare the invisible post-balloon since that woman gave you such specific instructions?” I look away from his penetrating gaze.

He stands and unpacks the parcel on the small side table. “She told us both,” he says with his back turned.

“She only wanted to talk to you. She liked you.”

His shoulders tense.

I bite my bottom lip, regretting saying that as the silence thickens around us.

“I didn’t like her,” he replies.

It makes me wonder if he could like me.

“You ready?” He turns back around.

I hand him the letter. He slides a charcoal candle inside the post-balloon. It flares briefly as it fills with air, floats up like a tiny cloud, then disappears.

I wave a hand and graze its invisible form, then run my fingers down its base to discover its translucent ribbons. Once I have a grip on the balloon, I grab the night-lantern from the wall hook and hand it to Rémy, who holds it over me and Fant?me, so I can see where to tie the ribbons along the teacup dragon’s neck.

Rémy opens the window.

I set the dragon on the iron railing. “Little Fant?me, go straight to Arabella, then come to me in the Silk Isles.” I kiss her nose and inch her off the perch. “Be careful.”

My heart squeezes as I watch her disappear in the thick snowy clouds.





The street outside the Queen of Spades empties as the kingdom-wide curfew sets in. We have watched out the window for Edel all afternoon. Guards disperse in all directions, their coats shining beneath the night-lanterns like beetle shells. The laughter in the game rooms grows louder, pushing through the thin walls of our room.

Rémy closes the window drapes. “We can go back now, check on Edel and the dragons, and pack to leave for the Silk Isles. Then I’ll go to the docks and see if they’re still scheduling the midnight ships. Many people are already making their way to the imperial island for the Coronation and Ascension. They’ve allowed a certain number of ships to continue to sail despite the curfew.”

I nod and tuck Poivre into my waist-sash despite his protests, and pack the remaining invisible post-balloons. We dash across the street and into the salon. The house is a chaos of flipped-over furniture, shattered teacups, and crushed lanterns. Mud stains crisscross the plush carpets. The women cry as they clean, attempting to put everything back together again.

Rémy and I try to remain calm as we walk upstairs.

I slowly open the door. My heart thuds. I hold my breath and clench my body, bracing for the worst possible outcome.

“Edel...” I say in a whisper.

She is on her knees lifting the bedskirts.

I dart over to her and hug her as tight as I can.

“All right... all right,” she complains.

“What happened?” I ask.

“I’ll tell you when you stop choking me. But first, help me get the four dragons from under the bed.”

I crouch down and spot the rest of the teacup dragons curled up, shivering in fear. I release Poivre from my waist-sash.

“Come out from under there,” I call out. “All is well now.”

They bat their eyes, then shuffle forward, stretching out their wings. Edel sighs with exhaustion. She plops herself in the nearest chair.

“Tell me,” I say.

“I used a glamour to throw the guards off,” Edel says.

“A glamour?” Rémy replies with confusion.

Edel grins like a cat who’s just caught a fish. Her hair changes from pale blond to cherry red, the straight strands twisting around each other in a storm as they turn into a mess of corkscrew curls.

Rémy stumbles backward, knocking into a chair. “How... what...” he stammers out.

Edel curtsies and her hair returns to its previous color and texture.

He turns to me. “Can you do that?”

“Barely,” I answer.

“Is it dangerous?” Rémy asks.

“I haven’t experienced any issues so far,” Edel says.

“It doesn’t mean there won’t be,” he says.

Edel levels him with a glare.

“Where did you go earlier?” I ask.

“I went to check on the Spice Teahouse.”

“What? Why would you do that?” I almost yell, anger slipping into every syllable.

“All the teahouses are closed.” Rémy strides to the table and holds up one of the afternoon papers. The headlines of the National and the Orléans Globe scramble as he shakes it.

SPICE ISLES TEAHOUSE CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE