The Everlasting Rose (The Belles, #2)(82)

Bree claps her hand over my mouth and her other arm around my waist. “We have to go. Someone has probably already heard you.” She tugs me away from Arabella. “Sophia will discover you’re here.”

“But I can’t leave her.” The sight of her body—another dead Belle body—sends another scream reverberating inside me. She is me. I am her. The aether. And now she’s dead and the poison—my only chance to save us all—gone. The empty poison bottle falls from my hand. The glass shatters, each jagged shard a realization of how careless and reckless this whole thing has

become.

“You have to. Someone is going to come check on her soon if they haven’t been alerted by your screams already. You can’t be here when they do.” She pries me away, almost having to carry me, my limbs heavy with regret and anger and sadness and frustration and most of all, exhaustion.

Hope sputters out of me like the air of a dying post-balloon. First, it was Valerie, and now, Arabella.

How can I ever fix this?

How can I ever make things right?

She hustles me into the apartments. Rémy’s gentle snores alternate with the hiss of the fireplace.

“Sleep,” Bree whispers.

“How can I possibly sleep now?” My breath catches in my throat and my heart races. I put my hands on my head, trying to make everything slow down. I’m caught in a whirlpool. Even too tired to cry. “How could she do that? What was she thinking? I needed her help.”

Bree tries to console me with tea.

I shove the pot away but burn my hand. The pain sears and I ball my fist and bite back another scream.

“You need to sit, Camille. So you can focus.” She forces me into the chair beside the fireplace. “Let me look at your hand.”

“It will—”

“Let me see it,” she urges.

I flash her my palm.

“It will need a little ointment.”

“It’s fine,” I say, even as it throbs.

“You will have to dance tomorrow at Sophia’s ball.” She goes to a recently delivered service tray and begins mixing honey with ice. “The invitation balloon is on the door hook.”

I look over and spot it bobbing—its golden edges glittering in the subtle darkness. The sight of the pretty bauble, after what I’ve just witnessed, is absurd.

“I need to get to the Observatory Deck. I should’ve already gone. They will be arriving in the morning.”

Bree kneels before me and gently coats my palm with her poultice. “You will. You will,” she replies, her voice softening to barely a whisper. “I’ll be sure to wake you, and help you get there. I promise.”

Her vow is a temporary comfort. “Is it true that Amber is here at the palace? Can you get a message to her that I’m here?”

Bree’s face twists. She tears a bit of fabric from a bedsheet and wraps it around my hand. “You rest first.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Have you seen my sister?”

“Nothing is wrong.” Bree stands and backs up.

“Please just tell me. Is she all right? I can’t bear to lose another person I love.” My heart lodges in my throat. “I need to see her.”

“I’ll find out where she’s being held and get her a message,” Bree assures me. “But only if you go to bed.”

There’s no way I can possibly sleep. I open my mouth to argue. Her eyebrows lift.

I stand. My skin buzzes, but the pain in my hand is already beginning to calm. I climb into the bed beside Rémy and lay my head on the pillow next to him without hesitation. The perfume of his skin has seeped into the fabric.

Bree ties a night-lantern to the bedpost hook and draws the curtains around us. “See you in the morning. I’ll be in the servants’ quarters just near the apartment’s tea salon. I’ll keep watch.”

I nod at her, then turn my attention to Rémy. I study him in the soft dark. I run my fingers over his bandages and check them for blood. His cuts are crusting over.

He grunts and lifts his hand to touch mine. “Stop fussing over me. I’ll be all right.”

“Those wounds were deep.”

“I know. I feel the bruises down to my bones,” he says with a grimace as he tries to turn to his side.

“Don’t move.”

“You’re very pushy.”

“Yes, and you must listen to me.”

He smiles weakly, then takes my hand, letting the pad of his thumb trace my palm. “I’m already feeling stronger. I promise.” He stares at me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I want to tell him everything, but it’s too much, and I don’t want to burden him. Not while he’s still weak.

“I thought we established that you can’t hide the things on your face.” His brown eyes are full of concern.

“Please sleep. I’ll tell you when you wake.”

His eyelids flutter, heavy with sickness and pain. He outstretches his arm, offering me his shoulder to lie on. I nestle against him and find a spot on the bed canopy to stare at, knowing I won’t sleep much tonight.





Bells chime through the belly of the palace, snatching us awake. My head pounds after getting only tiny bits of troubled sleep. A voice-box on the side table announces, “Palace on heighted alert! All apartments, chambers, rooms, and persons will be searched before the ceremonies commence. Security measures in place!”