The Everlasting Rose (The Belles, #2)(68)

The table stares at me, waiting, anticipating. I will my thoughts to settle into coherent shapes. I take a deep breath and continue. “I will make sure the doors from the Observatory Deck to the inside of the palace are open so you can come down into the palace. And that whoever watches over the gifts... cannot effectively do so anymore.” The words are thick on my tongue. My willingness to harm a stranger feels so easy and wrong, and not a choice.

“The Ascension Ball starts after the midmorning star in two days. It’s an all-day affair according to the latest papers,” Surielle says. “If we arrived that morning, we’d be able to infiltrate easily. The palace will be in the chaos of preparation.”

“We will forge special masks for the occasion and join them only to...” Lady Arane rubs her fingers under her gray chin, considering my proposal. “Yes, yes, I think I like this.”

“But the question is...” Surielle perks up. “How will you just march into the palace without being recognized? Your face is plastered all over the kingdom.”

I close my eyes.

The arcana are a small throbbing tendril under my skin, a reluctant thread buried deep that I pull to the surface with an angry tug. A cold prickle crawls up my spine.

I hold a portrait of Maman in my head.

My body changes.

Everyone gasps.

I hold a portrait of Lady Arane in my head.

My body changes.

I hold a portrait of Surielle in my head.

My body changes.

A headache pulses in my temples. Blood trickles down my nose.

“What... how... ?” several voices say.

Padma stands, slipping her hand in mine. “How did you do that?”

I lose the glamour. She gazes at me, her eyes brimming with questions. “I’ll teach you. Edel taught me.”

I wipe my nose, then turn to the table. “I know Sophia. I have experienced her torture. I know what to do.” I clasp my hands together. “Your Majesty, Padma and I will work together, if you feel well enough, to make sure you look strong and beautiful to face her and the people of Orléans.”

“I will stay and help Charlotte travel,” Padma offers.

A hush comes over the room. Lady Arane cups a hand over her mouth. Excitement thrums in their veins—I can feel it.

“Are we all in agreement?” I ask, the power of the bargain swelling around me.

“Yes.” Auguste stands.

“Yes,” Charlotte replies. “That is what we must do. We will plan to arrive by sundown before the ceremonies begin. We will meet you on the Observatory Deck.”

“I’ll leave in two hourglasses. Prepare a transport,” I order.

“May our threads remain strong and our webs serve us well,” Lady Arane says. “And may you, Camille, trap our enemy.”

The treatment rooms in the subterranean palace resemble a painting plucked straight from the Belle history books in the Imperial Library. Grand pools stretch out in each direction, water ravines sloping through the mouths of massive fireplaces. A constellation of cracks decorate each empty hearth—mosaic images of the gods fractured. Candelabras clutch half-burnt candles bearded with rotten drippings.

Lady Pelletier pushes Charlotte into the first private chamber. She unties three night-lanterns from the back of Charlotte’s wheeling chair, and sets them afloat. They drift about, their pleats of light revealing a long table covered in a blanket of dust. Moth-eaten pillows cling weakly to the remains of their intricate embroidery. Cabinets contain decayed Belle-products.

“Your Majesty,” I say, and turn to her, “maybe we should do your beauty work in the receiving room where your bed lies.”

“I couldn’t bear to do it out in the open with all those people,” she replies.

“We could clear the room,” Lady Pelletier adds.

“No.” Charlotte raises a weak hand. “I can handle a little dust.”

Lady Pelletier starts clearing the table. She coughs as dust clouds explode around her. One of her attendants helps Charlotte from her chair. She wobbles before taking her first step toward the bed.

“Should we lift you, Your Majesty?” the woman asks.

“No.” Charlotte straightens her back and takes a second step.

Padma and I exchange glances.

How will she be ready to face Sophia?

How will the kingdom support her claim to the throne?

I take a deep breath and point to the cabinets. “There’s probably nothing we can use here.”

Lady Pelletier produces a few of the Belle-products Edel, Rémy, and I had stolen from the Spice Teahouse.

“Glad to see those haven’t gone missing,” I reply.

“We don’t like these circulating in our dwellings for fear of triggering old habits and stoking old impulses from our followers.”

Padma takes them from Surielle. She sets out the few Belle-rose elixir vials, four miniature skin-paste pots, and one small bei-powder bundle. “It’ll have to do.”

We unbutton the thin gown Charlotte wears. Gray rises from beneath the brown of her skin, swallowing it. Her bones protrude, and I resist the urge to count her ribs.

Padma and I nod at each other. She coats the princess in white bei powder.

Lady Pelletier tips the vial of Belle-rose elixir to Charlotte’s mouth, easing the liquid down her throat.