The Everlasting Rose (The Belles, #2)(24)

“I wonder why no one has broken in here yet,” Edel says.

“They will if the teahouses don’t reopen. It’s only been a few days since the queen died,” I say, though it feels like a lifetime.

“Desperation will set in soon,” Rémy adds.

“You get the bei-powder bundles and as many skin-paste pots and complexion-crèmes as you can carry for us to sell them, Rémy,” Edel orders. “And, Camille, you get the Belle-rose leaves and some soap. I’ll search for the sangsues and see if they also have Belle-rose elixir. That’s all we really need.”

Edel and I dig through drawers and cabinets, filling our dress pockets and satchels with the supplies. My mind unravels a series of memories—the glorious treatment rooms in the palace Belle-apartments, making women and men and children feel beautiful and their best, the clients I loved to work with the most, Queen Celeste trusting me to help Charlotte. Regret grips me. If only I’d healed Charlotte sooner, she might be on the throne right now. We might not be in this mess. Why did I resist for so long?

I hold a skin-paste pot in my hands and think of Bree. I glance out the window overlooking the Bay of Croix. Bodies are bent over like question marks in the fields. Their gray hands pluck leaves and carry baskets. Wide-brimmed fur hats crest their heads and heat-lanterns nip at their backs as they navigate the rows. I wonder how late into the night they are forced to work. I wonder how much their lives mirror ours.

“Camille, focus! Your glamour is wearing off,” Edel warns. “Your hair is frizzing.”

I move away from the window and try to grasp the image of Maman once more. The cold pain cuts through me as the glamour resettles itself.

A rush of footsteps echoes through the teahouse.

We freeze.

Rémy puts a hand up and motions for us to duck out of view. I press myself flat to the floor.

A lady stalks past the room, seemingly frustrated, her long dress swishing back and forth like a pavilion bell. She’s hunched at the shoulders and ghastly white. Her black hair is swept into a bun similar to the one Du Barry always wore, and her mouth is painted so red you’d think her lips were coated with blood.

“The new queen wants this place up and running again,” she yells at someone I can’t see. “There will be more Belles than ever before. All rooms will be occupied like in the olden days, she said. As if she has any idea what the olden days were really like. As if any of us do. Complete incompetence.”

Anxiety thrums through me.

I exchange tense glances with Edel and Rémy. My stomach becomes a storm of nausea. A thin trickle of blood escapes my nose. I grab a handkerchief and wipe it away.

“She’s already trying to decide which of the newest generation of Belles will be favored and placed at the teahouses. They’re still young girls. I went to have a look at them. They barely know how to do anything with Du Barry gone. But either way, I want top pick, so this place has to be in the best shape. I’m learning our new queen likes to be impressed, and I want to show her that this will be the premier teahouse in all of Orléans. Maybe she’ll even let me open up a secondary one to complement it. Now is the time to expand the teahouses. It’ll allow us to serve more people.” The woman’s voice trails off and she disappears from view.

“Your glamour is gone,” Edel whispers. “You have to focus.”

“I can’t,” I reply. “My nose keeps bleeding.”

“Try again,” she says.

“We don’t have time,” Rémy whispers. “We have to go.”

“I’ll lead the way out,” Edel says.

“No, I will,” Rémy replies. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

Edel scoffs and jams the remaining vials of Belle-rose elixir into her already full dress pockets.

Rémy slips into the hall. I hold my breath until he returns. He waves for us to follow. Night-lanterns coast through the halls now, and the sounds of tinkling glass and running water reverberate within the house.

We navigate the corridors as quick and light as mice. The servant door is propped open and the moonlight is a beacon ahead.

We run.

A man steps out of a nearby room. He wears an imperial guard uniform like the one Rémy used to wear. “Hold it right there! No one is supposed to be in here,” he shouts. “Just who are—”

Rémy slams right through him. The impact sends the man flying into a banister, and he passes out from the fall.

“Maybe Rémy’s good to have around after all,” Edel says.

“Keep going,” Rémy shouts.

We tumble down the servant staircase and back outside. Guards stand in the center of the square. They whip around and march in our direction.

“We have to split up to throw them off. Edel, go back to our room and get the teacup dragons and anything else you can’t spare. Camille, go into a shop and wait until they start hollering about the curfew,” Rémy says. “Once you see them harassing people about getting home, the chaos will afford you some cover. Then meet me at the docks. Pier seven. Ship doesn’t leave until midnight, so we have time.”

“But—” Edel argues.

“Listen to him,” I snap.

Edel’s mouth drops open to protest, but she nods.

Rémy squeezes my arm before ducking into the alley. Edel bolts in the opposite direction. I glance around. Many shopkeepers blow out their window-lanterns and close for the night. A chilling panic fills me as I search for somewhere to hide.