“None of it is my business,” he says, escorting me at the tail end of the group.
In the Receiving Hall, Sophia marches Astrid up and down the long entryway from the door to the throne platform and back. She commands the musicians to play and that Geneviève Gareau, the most beloved opera singer in the kingdom, be brought in to sing. Geneviève is taken from bed, and shows up in her nightgown. Misen players pluck their instruments, and Astrid is forced to perform peasant dances. Sophia drags in Astrid’s two sisters to watch. After three hourglasses pass, Sophia’s ladies-of-honor are splayed out on plush kneeling-pillows at the base of the throne, and their snores add to the misen players’ song. My stomach is twisted into a knot that might never uncoil.
Can this be real? Is this how Sophia treats people? Is this how she will lead? Will she force me to torture her people for the rest of my life?
The queen’s words echo in my head again—Sophia cannot be queen.
I have to stop her.
35
Rémy deposits me in my apartments and takes his nightly seat outside the door. He doesn’t say good night. He doesn’t offer to have tea with me, which I was hoping would become a habit. He won’t even look at me. I pace the perimeter, circling all six apartments at least twelve times with my hands on my head, squashing the top of my Belle-bun. Flower petals and jewels tumble out. I yank the ornamental combs from the top and unpin the curls. The nest of hair grows around me like a frizzy cloud.
I step out on the windy terrace. The cold nips at my shoulders. The scent of snow is in the air.
Bree pokes her head out. “It is time for bed, my lady.”
“In a few minutes.” I slip past her, down the hall to the very last apartment. I knock on Ivy’s door. I wiggle the door handle. It’s locked. I knock again.
“Ivy,” I whisper hard, hoping it will somehow travel all the way inside. There is no reply.
I go back to my room to a waiting Bree. “Can you wake Ivy?”
Bree looks startled. “But it’s time—”
“Please,” I say softly.
“Wait in your room, and at least dress for bed. Also, there’s a post-balloon hooked to your vanity.”
“Thank you.” I undress and put on my sleeping gown. An orange post-balloon floats above my caisse like a flame. It’s from the Fire Teahouse.
Edel.
I rip the back open and grab the note.
Dear favorite, Lady Camellia Beauregard,
Your sister Edel Beauregard is not presently at the Fire Teahouse. If you have any knowledge of where she might be, please send me a personal correspondence. I have been able to keep the ledgers full and the customers happy, but if Edel doesn’t return soon, I’m afraid everything will unravel.
If you hear from her, tell her she should return to the teahouse immediately; otherwise, she will be treated as a fugitive, subject to punishment in accordance with the laws of our great queen and country, and held in contempt by the Minister of Law.
I do not want this to happen. I just want her back.
A Goddess-of-Beauty blessing to you. May you always find beauty.
Sincerely,
Madam Alieas Saint Georges, House Maille, Mistress of the Fire Teahouse My heartbeat quickens.
How is Madam Alieas keeping the newsies from finding out? How is she keeping business going?
Where are you, Edel?
I write Amber a letter. My handwriting is a frantic scribble across the page: Amber,
I need to talk to you. It’s about Edel and something Sophia made me do. Can you come to the palace? Or I’ll try to come to the Chrysanthemum Teahouse.
Edel’s in trouble. I think I might be in trouble, too.
Camille
I send the post-balloon off my balcony edge.
“Camille.” Ivy stands in the doorway. Her voice is thick with sleep.
I rush to her. “Sophia made me do the most awful thing, and I . . .” My voice trails off.
Ivy closes the bedroom doors and sends the servants away, suddenly alert.
“What happened?”
“She made me give a courtier a pig nose! In front of everyone in the game room.” I can’t stop pacing.
Ivy gasps. “It’s starting all over again. She did this with Amber, too. Oh, this is all my fault.”
“Did what?” I ask. “What’s your fault?”
“I told Ambrosia to do everything Sophia said,” Ivy says. “I told her it was her job to please Sophia. And Sophia began asking her to do unreasonable and ridiculous things.”
I remember what Elisabeth said—that Amber gave one of Sophia’s ladies-of-honor translucent skin, covered another in feathers, and gave Sophia the smallest waist possible. I hadn’t believed it at the time—couldn’t believe Amber would do such things. And now I had ruined a girl’s face.
“It’s going to get worse. She’s going to ask you to do more. She’s testing your loyalty.” She takes my hand. “I already tried to tell you. Nothing will stop this. It’s just the beginning. We have to go.”
“If we run, Sophia will just drag Valerie, Hana, Padma, or even Edel here to be the favorite. It will never end.”
“None of this is supposed to end. We are supposed to do as we’re told and go along with it. I can’t any longer.”
“We have to do something.”
“There’s nothing—”
“I’m going to help the queen,” I almost shout.
“But you could die.”
“Yes, but maybe I won’t.” I take a deep breath. “And we don’t have any other choice.”
36
The next morning, I pack a small satchel with bei powder, two smoothing instruments, and a few color pots. I tuck it into my fur waist-sash, then go to treatment room four.
Servants are tidying the room. I pay them each a pouch of spintria and leas coins and ask them to help me mess up the room. I put leeches into the Belle-products. They stare at me with puzzled expressions, but aid in the destruction. I add one beauty token to each palm, with an instruction to keep their mouths shut.
I hustle back to the main salon and knock so hard on Elisabeth’s door that it rattles.
She snatches it open. “Who the—” She swallows the curse on the other side of her sentence. “What is it? I’m busy. The phones won’t give me a moment’s rest since the card party.”
“Leeches got into the Belle-products in the fourth treatment salon, and the room is in shambles. Maybe someone broke in?”
“What? How?”
“I don’t know. You need to hurry. It’s a mess,” I say. “I would hate for word to get to Madam Du Barry. We’ll both be in trouble.”
Her mouth goes slack and her face pales. She races off, leaving her office door ajar.