The Everlasting Rose (The Belles, #2)(39)

We are behind the Belles.

We stand in solidarity.

May our threads remain strong and our webs serve us well.

Lady Arane, Leader of the Iron Ladies My breathing rushes out so loud it feels like words. A surge of adrenaline accelerates my heart.

They support us.

They support me.

I read it once more, tracing my finger over the white letters full of hope and promise and confidence.

I rush to the bed, yank open the bed-curtains, and jostle Edel. “Wake up,” I whisper.

She grunts and rolls over.

My eyes cut to the door, and I wish Rémy were there, sitting in a chair beside it. It hasn’t been a full day since he left, but the hole he’s left behind is quickly becoming a gaping pit. I wish I could share this with him.

I gaze back down at the article, tracing my fingers over the white letters. I glance over Arabella’s diary entry again.

The palace checkpoints. Does he know? I think of Rémy trying all the various ways inside the palace and being foiled at every turn. Did he even make it there? What if he’s already been captured? I wish I could know if he was all right. I unpack one of the invisible post-balloons Rémy left for us. As the night-lantern light crests over me, the balloon’s outline appears and disappears.

I take out parchment, my quill, and an inkpot. After three false starts, I finally quiet my nerves and write to him. It’s not too early, I tell myself.

Rémy,

Sophia has closed all entrances and exits to the palace save one.

Be careful.

The quill falters before I finish. I think about how to close the letter. Writing the word love feels heavy and hard. What does it even mean? I know I care about him and don’t want him to be hurt. What if it makes him feel uncomfortable? What if it’s too strange a word and feeling to use now?

The hourglass on the table flips over, signaling another hour passed, inching closer to dawn. I scribble the word and fold the note before losing my nerve. I prepare the post-balloon with the charcoal. I pull one of the leeches I’ve just used from the porcelain jar and pin it inside the balloon.

“Or,” I whisper into the dragons’ cage. “Wake up, little girl.” Her golden scales resemble leas coins. I ease her from the pile of sleeping teacup dragons, hoping not to wake them all. “I need you to find Rémy, petite. I need you to make sure he’s safe.”

I fetch a piece of bacon from the food carts, then pluck one of Rémy’s leeches from my tiny set of labeled jars, and wrap it around the meat. She chomps it down, then coughs out a tiny tuft of fire.

“Not very tasty, I know, I know. Sorry.” I tie a silvery ribbon around her neck like a collar, then open the single window in the room. A dusting of snow has fallen, and fog hugs the buildings. The lack of visibility should bode well for little Or. She’ll look like nothing more than a fallen star, a tear of the God of the Sky, headed for the ground.

A good omen.

She flies off, and I watch her until she’s a pinprick of light in the distance.





We wake three hours after the morning star has risen. Edel is in a panic, snatching at the bedsheets and clawing her way out of the massive bed.

“We slept too late,” she complains.

I yawn and stretch.

“You needed your rest,” a voice calls from the doorway. The Fashion Minister hovers in a leather travel cloak. “It’s been so long since you’ve had such comforts, I thought I might as well let you enjoy them.”

“We did,” I reply, letting my legs linger in the softness of the sheets one moment longer.

“We don’t have time!” Edel yells.

“Please settle down with the theatrics. We aren’t in the Grand Opera House. That’s been closed for a week, honey. I didn’t wake you because I had things to put in place—to help you.” He dangles another fat leas purse in the air, then sets it on the table beside the dragons’ cage. “Get dressed and packed up, then meet me in the adjacent parlor for a late breakfast. You can’t do anything on an empty stomach.”

We bathe again, quickly this time, and dress in the new garments he’s left for us, including thick cold-season veils.

I tuck the remaining teacup dragons, Fant?me, Poivre, Feuille, Ryra, and Eau, into my new waist-sash that is expertly tailored to hold them and even has peepholes for them to gaze out, compartments for each to nuzzle in, and a side pocket that allows me to slip food in and out. I smile. There’s even a space for Rémy’s maps, and my beauty caisse. I’ll have to thank the Fashion Minister later.

“Where’s Or?” Edel asks, tying her hair up and away from her face.

“I sent her out last night to deliver a message to Rémy.” I fit the sangsues into new travel jars left for me by the Fashion Minister, and parcels of food into my satchel.

“Shouldn’t you have consulted with me first?” She flattens the dragons’ portable cage and puts it in her bag.

“You were snoring into your pillow,” I reply. “I did try to wake you up, I’ll have you know.”

“You could’ve waited until the morning to send her.” She swipes the second leas pouch from the table.

“And have that glittering little dragon flying about in daylight? No, I thought it better to do it at night.”