The Everlasting Rose (The Belles, #2)(36)

“Why did you do that?” Edel whispers. “Now we have nothing.” Her anger makes her glamour waver.

“He’ll give it back to me, and more. I promise.”

“But if he doesn’t, we can’t pay to stay at the boardinghouse tonight.”

The gamble burns in my stomach.

“Then it’s good we packed our things and brought them with us.” I try to sound more confident than I feel. I try to maintain a haughty smile. I try to be the old me, who wasn’t afraid to take any risk no matter the cost.

The Fashion Minister won’t let me down.

The man taps his cane on the ground as he strides forward, the crowd parting for him, and he turns down one of the endless ornate hallways. Portraits dot the walls—depictions of royal families and famed courtiers enjoying all the Silk Isles have to offer. They sit in plantation carriages overseeing Gris workers or strolling through silk farms with lily-white parasols drifting over their heads like warm-season clouds.

He escorts us into a tea room. The walls soar in stripes of the Silk Isles’ signature colors—ocean blue, cream, and gold. Day-lanterns and beauty-lanterns chase each other overhead like celestial bodies. Servants push carts replete with teapots and sweets. The Fashion Minister sits on a raised chaise surrounded by people—courtiers, attendants.

“Wait here,” the dandy orders.

My hands tremble. “Breathe. Hold it,” I whisper to myself, and hope the words sink inside me because a quiver vibrates down my spine as it gets harder and harder to hold the glamour. A headache erupts in my temples. The silvery taste of blood coats my tongue. I’m moments from another nosebleed.

“Just a few more minutes,” Edel says.

The dandy leans down and whispers into the Fashion Minister’s ear. The Fashion Minister’s eyebrows raise, and his gaze finds me.

“Clear the room,” the Fashion Minister orders. “Everyone. Servants, too.” His command bounces off the walls.

The room empties in less time than it takes for a single grain of sand to fall from one side of an hourglass to the other. As the door clicks shut, the Fashion Minister rushes over to us. I almost collapse into his arms from fatigue.

He holds me up. “Little doll?” His eyes scan over me.

I let the glamour drift away.

He leans back in awe as my skin returns to its regular shade of brown and my hair frizzes, each strand tightening into a curl. Blood streams from my nose.

He hands me a handkerchief, and I nod with gratitude.

“It is you.” He wraps me up in his arms like I’m a lost child he’s just found. The teacup dragons squeal, causing him to pull back. They peek their heads out of my waist-sash and glare at him, aiming tiny streams of fire at his face, which flame out before they can do harm.

“How adorable,” he says, unperturbed.

Edel’s glamour disappears.

“Ah, the troublemaking one that Madam Alieas always complained about.”

“Alieas was the annoying one,” Edel snaps. “And hello to you, too.”

“Greetings, troublemaker.” He puts a hand on his chest. “How were you able to disguise yourselves like that?”

“Our gifts,” I reply with utter exhaustion. He takes my arm.

After settling us onto chaise lounges, he dashes to one of the drink carts and brings us two cups of hot tea. I sip eagerly, the warm liquid restoring strength in my muscles. I have never been so glad not to support my own weight. I let the teacup dragons roam around the room. Three pick at towers of macarons in search of something more savory, and the other three chase the day-lanterns through the cavernous space, tangling themselves in their silk ribbons.

The Fashion Minister stares up at them in awe. “There’s a shortage of those. Our newest lady on the throne would be quite eager to get her hands on them.”

“Soph—”

He puts his hand in the air, pointing at nearby beauty-lanterns. “Don’t say her name. Similar to her blood jewelry, she’s using enigmatics, fashioning them to resemble almost anything—fans, keys, royal emblems, even dresses themselves. Rumor has it, she’s attached the tiny record-boxes to lanterns throughout the kingdom to be collected by her loyal followers. They target specific words and record gossip. Do you understand?”

We nod.

“Now that I’ve had a closer look at you both, I can tell you’re run-down,” he says.

“We need your help with two things—money, if you can spare it, and a way to get into the Silk Teahouse.”

Without hesitation, he removes a leas pouch from his inner pocket and hands it to me. The weight of it is a comfort. “The teahouses are locked up tighter than a starvation box until she declares them open again. No one other than guards—and servants tending to the Belles—goes in or out.”

“We know,” Edel replies, then sips her tea. “That’s why we’re here.”

“So, what’s your plan?” he asks. “I mean, assuming the teahouse isn’t your endgame.”

Edel stops mid-sip, her strong gaze darting between me and the Fashion Minister. Her brow furrows with suspicion.

“If I wanted to capture you, you’d already be in chains and headed to that fancy cattle-pen prison,” he snaps, before grabbing a macaron from a tiered tray and dipping it into his rose-pink teacup.