The Everlasting Rose (The Belles, #2)(52)

The woman’s grip tightens on my forearm, pinching the skin. “We agreed to go with you. No need to be so rough.”

“Oh, Princess, I’m so sorry,” she says sarcastically.

“We’re not princesses,” I hear Edel holler back.

“We’ve never been that,” I add.

“Settle, or I’ll break your arm,” she says, her voice grating against my skin like rough parchment. “And I should for what you did.”

My blood runs cold. What I did? How could I have done anything to offend this random person at the edge of the world? “Who are you?” I ask.

“You don’t remember?” she purrs in my ear.

“I wouldn’t be asking if I did.”

“We’re almost there,” another voice says.

We trample down winding stone stairs. The air around me warms as we venture deeper, like we’ve stepped into an onsen. A thick, heavy sweat coats my skin.

The sound of applause is so sudden it startles me.

“Our dearest lady, we caught something interesting in our web.” The woman elbows me forward, and I hit the warm stone ground with a thud. The sack is yanked off my head.

I look up.

A tall woman in an iron mask peers down at me. It hugs the contours of her face and neck, intricately etched with fine lines shaped into a severe expression. A ruby jewel nestles in the center like a terrifying and beautiful red-bodied spider. Gray robes kiss the tops of her bare feet.

I scramble up, struggling to lift myself upright with the cuffs around my wrists, and glance around. The massive cave is pocked with alcoves fashioned into homes with tiny doors and circular windows and ladders that lead down to long piers. Pavilions float on a blue-green lake, oscillating between small watercoaches. Oblong post-balloons zip around, changing from black to red and back again, their ribbons made of knitted silk to resemble spiders’ webs.

A nested underground city. I’ve never seen anything like it. The strange beauty of it rattles all the things I thought I knew about what the edges and corners of Orléans might look like.

More women step forward, each wearing a mask with unique etchings.

“Who are you?” Edel shouts.

The women laugh, creating a sound ripple.

The tallest woman removes her mask—her skin is as gray as a teacup elephant, her eyes black as obsidian, and her hair white as snow. She almost resembles a wizened spider herself. “Edel Beauregard and favorite Camellia Beauregard, I am Lady Arane, leader of the Iron Ladies, editor of the Spider’s Web.”

Edel and I exchange a baffled look.

She’s the most striking woman I’ve ever seen.

“We are the Iron Ladies, the Spiders, the Resistance. Welcome to the Grottos!” She spreads her arms wide.

“What do you want from us?” I ask.

“You can’t hold us here,” Edel says.

“You’re free to go if you can navigate yourself out of the Goddess of Death’s Grottos. Only a few know the way. Many have tried to leave, and we don’t find them until they’re reduced to bones. It is a web of tunnels, hence our name.” She turns to the women flanking her. “How long would you wager they’d make it in the dark caves, my ladies?”

“Three hourglasses,” one says.

“They’re Belles, so I’d give them seven hourglasses,” another replies.

“Too small and frail. Half an hourglass,” a third yells.

Laughter fills the cave, the drone of it turning into a nauseating hum and stirring itself into my anger.

Lady Arane waves her hand to quiet them and smiles. “We don’t plan on hurting you, unless you hurt us.”

“You’re too kind,” I reply.

Her mouth flattens into a straight line. “You should be grateful to us. Lady Surielle saved you.” The woman who steered the dirigible steps forward and bows before Lady Arane.

“We don’t need rescuing,” Edel says.

“Oh, but you did. Had your ostentatious watercoach sailed ten more leagues north, it would’ve run right into a new imperial guard checkpoint at Crescent Hook Lighthouse. They were alerting all fleets for an escaped ship.”

Her words settle over me, and I remember the pattern of light hitting the water as we cruised along the edges of the imperial island.

“You would’ve fallen right into our newest queen’s trap before we had the opportunity of meeting and possibly working together.”

“Why would we want to work with you?” Edel says.

“Edel,” I say through clenched teeth.

She cackles, setting off another cascade of laughter. “It seems you don’t understand who we are.”

“And your sister owes me.” The woman who dragged me here steps forward and removes her mask.

It’s Violetta. The servant from the palace. Claudine’s lover. An anchor drops in my stomach.

“You killed someone who meant something to me.”

The sweaty heat of nausea washes over me. The feelings of responsibility and regret. “I’m s-sorry,” I stammer out.

Her face hardens as if we’ve both shifted back into that memory. Claudine’s dead eyes and slack mouth are all I can see. I repeat my apology, but she crosses her arms over her chest.

“Not now, Violetta.” Lady Arane nods at Violetta, who retreats, then turns back to us. “Many who resist the world’s constraints live down here with us. We’ve found ways to combat the discomfort that comes with our natural templates. We’ve learned to harness the madness. We’ve learned to live without your kind.” She paces in a circle around Edel and me.