The Everlasting Rose (The Belles, #2)(78)

But now, I see it for what it really is—a beautiful shell masking rottenness.

I skulk through the halls, hiding as guards patrol and courtiers stumble about looking for the exits to the Palace River piers or the carriage-house. Or drifts ahead, sometimes circling back as if she wants to return from where we came. I direct her to move forward.

Cold-season chrysanthemum trees grow up from the belly of the palace wing, their branches almost finding me as I race over the gilded walkways from one side of the palace to another. Empty chariots glide along the lattice cables. I race down a massive set of stairs and make a left at the entry fountain. Gleaming leas coins litter the bottom like drowned stars. It would almost be peaceful and settle the erratic beat of my heart, if I wasn’t so terrified.

Footsteps invade the quiet. The doors of the receiving room swing open as I pass by.

I panic and find a dark corner to hide.

Servants carry a palanquin with a sleeping Sophia sprawled over the cushions. Her hair hangs in a tangled nest; her rouge-stick is smudged all around her mouth. Her teacup monkey, Singe, rubs her cheek. The heady scents of too much champagne and perfume linger as she passes.

Zo trots behind the small procession, trying to catch up with the palanquin. The miniature animal pauses, spots me, and cranes her neck. I duck deeper into my hiding place, but she trundles over and puts her little feet up on my nightdress. She wears a tiny jeweled crown that matches Sophia’s. Her toenails are painted a bright mulberry. She sniffs my dress with her tiny gray trunk. I feel her fluttering heartbeat on my leg as she tries to climb it.

I try to shove her away. “Go on, now.”

Or hisses at Zo, but she doesn’t back off. Instead, she traces her slimy trunk along my wrist, sniffing the perfume ointment wiped there.

I push her away and lose the tail ribbons of my night-lantern. It drifts off.

One of the imperial guards yells, “Who is there?”

I turn back to the map and dart down the nearest corridor. Zo marches behind me making a tiny trumpet noise like an alert.

The guards pause, Sophia’s palanquin perched on their shoulders.

This is it. I’ll be caught, and all because of Sophia’s ridiculous pet obsession.

“Shh. Go.”

Zo’s trumpeting grows louder, threatening to bring the entire imperial guard my way.

“Fetch me my beloved,” Sophia shouts, her voice thick and heavy with champagne. “Do it now!”

I glance back down the hall. Sophia slaps the nearest guard across the face, then spits on top of his head. Revulsion pools in my stomach. The desire to hurt Sophia bursts inside me. Her evil, sadistic face flashes in my head like a télétrope reel.

Her laugh.

Her smile.

Her voice.

I think about squeezing her skull until it collapses, her hand until it breaks, her heart until it stops.

I see nothing but her.

I hear nothing but her laugh.

I feel nothing but the pain of her breaking my hand.

Rage churns in my heart.

Angry tears storm down my cheeks.

My vision blurs. My skin warms. My body prepares to use the arcana. I can’t make it stop. I fumble with Rémy’s maps, my tears soaking the parchment as I try to see the ink-drawn diagrams. I scramble to find one of the entries into the dungeons as I dart ahead.

Zo runs at my heels, chasing me like this is a game.

Sophia’s high-pitched shouts hit me in waves as she barks at the guards. Zo’s tiny heartbeat fills my ears like the flutter of a hummingbird’s wings, followed by the noise of the blood rushing through her small body. I sink to the floor at the dungeon’s entrance. The heat in my hands, the drum of my heart, and the movement of my blood create chaos in my stomach.

Zo climbs into my lap.

“Go away. Go away. I beg you.” My refrain coils around me like a vise. I clamp my eyes shut. A headache throbs in my temples. My cheeks burn.

I slow Zo’s heart.

I can’t stop. I collapse forward, out of breath.

Zo lies on her back, eyes open, heart still.

A hand jostles my shoulder. The servant from earlier gazes down at me. “My lady...” A pair of familiar eyes stare back, but I still can’t place them.

The woman removes the tiny elephant from my lap and places her aside, then helps me to my feet. “What are you doing here? I came to your chambers to make sure you didn’t need anything before bed. I followed you.”

“It was an accident,” I pant. The truth tumbles out: “I was looking for my friend and the elephant—”

“The queen doesn’t keep her most important possessions in the dungeons. Too easy to be plucked.”

I search her eyes. “Who are you?”

“Trust your dragon. He’s been moved.” She lifts Zo’s tiny lifeless body, tucks it under her arm, and leaves me where I stand.





I watch Or as she flutters overhead, dodging coral and butterscotch coronation post-balloons. We head back in the direction we came—to the royal apartments. I run behind her, my hand on Rémy’s dagger, the arcana hissing just beneath my skin, and my nerves ready to help me do whatever it takes to find him. What did she mean when she said he would be too easy to pluck from the dungeon? Is it really so simple to get into this fortress? If he’s not there, then where is he?

The questions pound inside me, in time with my footsteps.