The Everlasting Rose (The Belles, #2)(41)

I think about what we might find inside the teahouse. I think about seeing Valerie again, which calls back the pain of losing Amber.

“What’s our plan?” Edel asks me.

“We’ll go straight in and use our arcana to disarm anyone in our way.”

She nods in agreement.

“Don’t be so quick to be loud. Try being like a whisper first,” the Fashion Minister advises. “Valerie will most likely be very weak.”

“Why? What do you know?” Edel asks.

The carriage arrives at the pier before he can answer. Snow-lanterns dot its pathway to a series of lavish watercoaches, like beautiful jeweled swans ready to swim to the teahouse shore. Guards survey the pier, but not as many as when we first arrived. The woman still sits in the Silk Teahouse reception booth, a fire-lantern bobbing over her head and illuminating her face like a tiny sun.

“I’ve left instructions with my boatman to wait only an hourglass,” the minister whispers before tapping the glass with his cane.

The woman jumps, then slides open the window.

“Sir, Minister, what a great honor it is—”

“Prepare a watercoach. I need to see the house madam,” he orders.

She bows her head. “But of course. Would you like me to call ahead so she can—”

“All I’d like you to do is prepare the coach.”

“Yes, sir, Minister.” She scrambles out and to the pier.

We follow. This time, she doesn’t ask for identification. She barely even looks at us.

“I should call for a servant to assist with the pedaling. We are closed, so they’re all inside.”

“Yes, please. I do not want to arrive disheveled and out of breath,” he says.

She scrambles with the circuit-phone and requests a servant to come to the pier. After hanging up, she gazes at him lovingly. “I adore the new dresses—”

He raises a hand in the air, swatting away her enthusiasm like an annoying fly.

The servant arrives in a watercoach. We step onto it and sit beneath an ornate canopy. Heat-lanterns orbit us like bayou birds.

The woman pedals. A wobbly bow-lantern is a beacon as the snow rushes down from the sky. The teahouse is even more beautiful up close. Porcelain replicas of silkworms are curved into spirals and move as the wind hits the building. I glance back at the pier we’ve left. The small receiving house is blanched by the snow. My stomach dips and knots itself. Will the woman call the house madam and alert her? Will Valerie be removed in the few minutes it took for us to arrive? Will the guards be waiting to arrest us?

The teacup dragons wiggle in my waist-sash. Maybe they can sense growing fear. Maybe they can feel the worries I’ve been trying too hard to hide.

Edel opens and closes her fists like she always does when she’s mad or worried. The wind flaps the canopy, stretching its fabric with the threat of yanking it off, claiming it for its own.

The woman parks the boat and helps us out onto a small pier. Guards hug the teahouse, in perfect formation around its edges like petit plums bordering a sweet cake. Snow collects on their hats and shoulders yet they don’t flinch.

I try to count them. Twelve. No, thirteen. No, it could be more. I can’t see them all as the snow barrels down. It makes me wonder how many are inside. We would never be able to disarm them all. Are we walking into a trap? Should we have gone straight to the Gold Isles for Charlotte? Perhaps I was too rash in my planning.

The poison bottle in my pocket feels heavier now with the weight of what we are attempting to do.

The double doors of the teahouse open before we reach them. A woman greets us in a garish dress that reminds me of parrot feathers. A crown of black hair is braided on her head and interwoven with winter blossoms. “Sir, Minister, to what do I owe this great honor?”

“Madam Renault.” He leans forward and kisses both of her cheeks.

“As you know, we are closed at the moment.” She smiles and the rouge-stick on her mouth is painted to resemble a flower in bloom.

“Ah, yes, I was in the room when the very decree came down from our new majesty. However, I have an emergency.” We enter the foyer and gaze up into the house. The open levels reveal a guard on each floor. “Let me introduce you to Lena”—the minister motions at Edel, who curtsies—“and Noelle of the House of Rare Reptilians.”

I bow.

“They are dragon merchants and traders. I plan to present them to the queen as a surprise, but they need a quick beauty touch-up before going to visit with Her Majesty. It’s so close to her Coronation and Ascension ceremony—three days and counting,” he says, pressing his manicured hand to his chest. “I thought it was nothing you and your girls couldn’t handle.”

I pat my waist-sash and the teacup dragons peer out of it.

“How lovely,” she replies, then bows her head. “Thank you, Gustave. However, I must see their faces. On the new queen’s orders, anyone who enters this teahouse must be registered.” She snaps her fingers at a nearby servant. “Bring the ledger.”

I glance at Edel, catching the outline of her eyes. She nods.

“You would embarrass them by forcing them to show themselves looking not their best,” he replies.

“It’s fine,” I say.

The arcana send a shiver over my skin. As I undo the veil, I feel my hair and face change. Edel mimics me.