The Everlasting Rose (The Belles, #2)(64)

Lady Arane confirms his story with a nod.

“See?” he says, his eyes hooded and—I notice for the first time—ringed with bruises from lack of sleep. “I tried to fix what I’d done. I don’t expect you to forgive me. What I did was a betrayal, and trust is a thread between people. Once broken it’s hard to mend.” He sighs. “I know what I did. I know I couldn’t possibly make it up to you, or have a second chance.”

“No,” I spit.

“But I have your sister Padma with me. I hope you’ll talk to her and confirm that I’ve treated her with nothing but the utmost respect.”

I lose my concentration and the flower shrivels. Auguste falls forward, crashing to the stone ground with a thud.

“Padma? She’s here?” My vision blurs.

“I convinced Sophia to let me take her with me, so I could maintain myself for the papers. But in reality, I wanted to help her find you. And I knew you’d be upset, and I’d feel that wrath.” He rubs his rib cage. “Deservedly so.”

“Upset,” I say, my laugh sharpened by fury. “Take me to my sister.”





Auguste traverses the tunnels swiftly and silently as if the path is ingrained in his muscle memory. The shape of him is the same, long and lanky, and his stride is confident, his steps pounding like he owns the very ground he walks on.

I ball my hands into fists, trying to quiet every roiling part of me that wants to reach out and hurt him the way he hurt me.

Our footsteps reverberate down the long, winding hall. The cold of the mountain feels caught in the stone all around us, as if the smooth rocks could release snow and wind at any moment. I clench my teeth to keep them from chattering. The Iron Ladies follow behind us, their whispers crescendoing as we snake along.

He steals glances at me.

I glare back.

There’s no warmth for him left.

“Violetta first brought me here,” he says, taking a left turn. “She showed me the tunnel network. We started working together right after Claudine’s death.”

The sound of her name still takes the breath out of me.

“I feel horrible about what we did to Claudine,” I admit. I don’t know how to make it right. I don’t know if I can ever fix it.

“So do I,” he replies. “I want to fix so many things that have happened.”

“I should’ve stopped it. I should’ve refused to participate.”

“You couldn’t have. The rest of us in the room should’ve challenged Sophia. Stood together against her terrible game. We can’t expect one person—or even two—to take the entire burden of resisting on their shoulders. We all have to stand up and say no.”

I don’t know if I ever want to stand with him. Even if he’s done the right thing in our time apart. His betrayal is a wound—crusted over, perhaps, but infected and bruised.

“After you woke Charlotte, everything was in chaos. The queen’s body needed the ritual treatments to begin its journey to the afterlife, rumors about Charlotte spread everywhere, Claudine’s death became newsie fodder, and your escape hit the press like a storm. That, at least, provided the perfect distraction so that we could move Charlotte,” he says.

“Well, aren’t you a hero?” I snap, the anger inside me loose and ready to hit him once more.

“I’m not telling you this to make you feel differently about me. It’s probably too late for that. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t even know how to ask. But I wanted you to know what happened before you see Charlotte.” He nibbles his bottom lip.

I find a pinprick of light ahead to fixate on. I won’t look at him. I won’t give him any indication of how I feel about any of this.

We turn right. The tunnels smell of metal and iron and rust. Mining-lanterns hang from strings on the ceiling, casting sickly flickering light on the walls.

“Sophia has turned the palace and Trianon into her playground. Installing beauty checkpoints alongside security ones, so she can control everyone.”

The image of her shifting blood cameos comes to mind. Then, she was simply keeping tabs on her court. Now, she’s found a way to watch everyone, the entire world.

“She tortures those who she deems more beautiful than she. If they don’t comply, she locks them up until they relent. She’s created new starvation boxes that allow her to watch as their beauty drifts away.”

“Sounds like Sophia. She’s been given everything she’s ever wanted and now, she might be queen.” A cold, slippery sensation trickles through my gut. “Who is doing her beauty work?”

“I don’t know,” Auguste replies.

I think of Ivy and Amber. Of Edel. The things she could be forcing them to do.

The narrow passage opens into a large courtyard before a once decadent palace carved from the belly of the mountain. Gold-and-silver filigree crawls over tall towers. Heat-lanterns and night-lanterns dance around each other, becoming tiny suns warming and lighting the darkness.

“All the passages are plugged with blockades except for this one,” Auguste reports.

A set of guards acknowledge him with a nod. They step aside and allow us entry to climb the stairs behind them.

We mount the seemingly endless steps leading to the palace entrance far above. Gilded lifts sit in disrepair with rotten cables. I can imagine the once grand balconies overlooking lavish gardens of mountain flowers, the layers of luxurious private chambers, sumptuous feasts, and overflowing pitchers of champagne and wine, incandescent-lanterns made to capture the light of the outside.