The Everlasting Rose (The Belles, #2)(77)
“Time to rest.”
I am ushered into the foyer, where a kneeling servant awaits.
“Lady Corrine, I leave you here to become acquainted with your chambers and your appointed help while staying with us.” She turns on her heel before I can reply and leaves the room.
“Good evening,” the servant says while standing. “May your new year be sweet!”
Her voice sends a shiver across my skin and stirs up thoughts of Bree buried deep down inside. It feels like shaking a snow globe. “And also yours,” I reply. “What is your name?”
Her ponytail is a ribbon of honey down her back. I start to ask her if we’ve met before, but this is supposed to be my first time at court.
She looks up. Her eyes large and stretched, her skin dotted with star-shaped freckles. She looks like a doll from a shop window in Trianon.
She sets down a tray. A teapot, cup, and plate of sweets sits on top of a spread of newspapers and magazines. “I thought you might want something to read... and there’s a note.” Her voice drops an octave.
My heart knocks around in my chest.
“The queen’s rooms are nearby. Hopefully, close enough for the teacup dragons to familiarize themselves with her scent.” She launches into a detailed explanation of all the things I will find in these lavish apartments and shows me down familiar corridors. I don’t care about any of it anymore.
I nod at the eager woman, trying to pretend I care, trying to keep from running straight out of here to find Rémy. The scent of Charlotte lingers despite the perfume blimps drifting about. Just days ago, the ceiling was filled with cerulean healing-lanterns and a large four-poster bed containing her sleeping body.
“The bathing onsen is down the left corridor.” She points. “And a small library to the right.”
I gaze into the darkness of those halls, thinking of Rémy and Arabella, both tucked away somewhere in this expansive palace. Close yet so far away.
“Her Majesty has—”
Another trickle of blood escapes my nose. “Thank you. I must lie down and put my teacup dragons to bed,” I say, cutting her off.
“Oh, yes, of course. I’m sorry.” She bows. “Do you need additional help?”
“No,” I reply, more clipped than I intend. “I’m just so tired from the journey.”
“Understood.” She nods and slips out.
I let the glamour fade and unhook the teacup dragons’ cages from the dress. They eagerly stretch their wings, inspect the room, then settle on the perch of the bed canopy. Fant?me and Eau quickly fall asleep.
I push my hand into the dress pocket and remove the poison bottle, which I set on the vanity before removing the cumbersome dress. I unpack Arabella’s Belle-book, Rémy’s maps, the bottles of sangsues, and the case of eye-films.
Despite exhaustion, I rush to the room’s desk and find parchment and ink.
I write to Padma:
P,
She knows that Charlotte is alive. She has been spotted in the Gold Isles.
Get in the air as soon as possible.
Love,
C
I whistle to Poivre and feed him one of Padma’s leeches. “Find her. You’re the fastest.” I open a window and look out on the palace grounds. The Golden Palace River is filled with newsie boats and jovial courtiers singing and laughing and guzzling champagne.
I nudge the red teacup dragon out.
He disappears into the mass of wish-lanterns and post-balloons floating up to the sky. I turn to Rémy’s maps. They almost hiss as I flip the pages and wait for the ink to settle. I trace my fingers along the drawings as they reveal each wing and its various chambers. My eyes droop with sleepiness, but I try to focus and search for the Observatory Deck and the dungeons, my heart torn about what to do first. I need to figure out the best way to get to the deck tomorrow so I can make sure Charlotte and the others can enter through it. If my plan doesn’t work, there’s no way in. But Rémy is somewhere in this palace being tortured.
I pace around. My hands shake at my sides. The indecision is a landquake inside me. If I find Rémy first, he can help me make sure that the Iron Ladies can enter.
My heart squeezes, giving me the answer to my question.
I have to find him, then I’ll go to the deck.
I flip through the maps until the dungeons are shown beneath the receiving room.
I stir Or from her perch. “I need your help.” She yawns but perks up. I take the last of Rémy’s leeches and hold the writhing creature between my fingers. This is my last connection to locating him. “We need to find him, little friend. Don’t let this gamble be a waste.”
I pull on my cloak and the lace-skin again, and grab a night-lantern by the tails. I listen for the noise of servants before exiting the chambers. Adrenaline propels me, or maybe it’s delirium from exhaustion.
Or flies in a circle above my head.
“This way, girl.”
The teacup dragon hesitates.
“This way out.”
Her big eyes grow large as glass marbles.
“Why are you confused? I will get us to the dungeons, and then, you take it from there.” I whistle. She finally obeys, diving into the corridor.
I take out the map and navigate my way from the palace apartments to the receiving room. Jeweled chandelier lanterns hold frosted candles. Animated frescoes shift through the portraits of queens and kings, goddesses and gods. I used to love everything about this place—the bustling, beautiful bodies headed to the game rooms and tea salons, the scent of sweets escaping the golden carts of the royal vendors, lavish furniture spilling from every room.