The soft light of the day-lantern spreads.
A girl leans forward. She has one eye and half a nose. I startle and fall backward with a thud. Another girl reaches for me. The light hits her. Hair grows down the left side of her head—only the left side.
“Help us,” she says.
I scurry away from her as more voices join hers like a chorus.
42
The day-lantern illuminates the faces of the women. Broken. Disfigured. Injured. Silver chains loop around their wrists like bracelets, and jeweled collars tether them to high-backed chairs.
“Who are you?” I say.
A parade of names hits me: Kata, Noelle, Ava, Charlotte, Violaine, Larue, Elle, Daruma, Ena. And Delphine.
Her face is seared into my memory. That night she fixed the woman mauled by a teacup bear.
“We’re Belles, too,” Delphine says. “Madam keeps us locked up here.” She leans into the light; her eyes are lined with dark shadows.
“What happened to you? How did you get here? I don’t remember you at home—”
“She works us all night.”
“The crying,” I say.
“We cry because they force us to take appointments until it hurts to use the arcana.”
Delphine jerks forward. The chains clatter against the floor. “Help us.”
“Please,” another one says.
“Wait!” Delphine puts her hands up. “Shh.”
They all go quiet. The melody of their tense breaths echoes.
I release the day-lantern. It putters to the middle of the room. We all hear the approaching footsteps.
“Hide,” Delphine says.
I tuck myself behind one of the high-backed chairs and burrow inside thick drapes. I press my back against the wall, as flat as can be.
The door opens.
“My little darlings,” Madam Claire coos. Her heels click against the floor as she approaches the floating day-lantern. “Hmm.”
The girls start to whimper and cry.
“It’s time to work.” She walks a lap slowly around the room. “Larue, I think I need you today.” Madam Claire unhooks one of the women. Larue’s wails and protests bounce off the walls. “Please don’t ruin my day,” Madam Claire says impatiently. “Just come, will you?”
Larue digs her feet into the ground, but Madam Claire drags her like a stubborn teacup dog. The door opens and shuts.
I take five deep breaths, then leave my hiding space. “How many of you are here?”
“Thirteen, I think,” Delphine says. “But I can’t always be sure. The numbers change. Girls go missing.”
Where did these girls come from? How can I help them? Only one answer comes to mind.
“I have to get you out of here.” We can figure out the rest later.
“You’ll need to get the keys,” Delphine says. “From her waist-sash.”
“You won’t be getting anything.” Madam Claire’s voice booms through the room from another entrance. She releases four day-lanterns, the light so bright it’s blinding.
The girls scream, the sound cold and sharp.
Madam Claire tsks. “I knew something was wrong when I came in here. The day-lantern wasn’t tied to the hook, and I could smell you.”
Smell me?
“They always put lavender in your soap. It’s the queen’s preferred scent.”
“You must let these girls go,” I tell her. “You can’t keep them chained up like this.”
Madam Claire laughs. “Oh, but I can. They are in the employ of the Chrysanthemum Teahouse.” She turns her back to me. “Guards!”
Madam Claire’s guard tails me up each flight of palace steps. I wouldn’t be able to run again if I wanted to. The Belle apartments whirr with activity as palace guards swarm the halls, and post-balloons whiz in and out. Inside, Rémy is pacing. Du Barry is wringing her prayer beads, and Elisabeth has bitten her lips raw. The Beauty Minister is tapping her foot to an erratic beat but freezes when I enter.
“There you are!” Du Barry hollers.
Rémy lets out a deep sigh.
“I’ve returned her safely,” Madam Claire tells her sister.
Du Barry clutches my shoulders, her red-tipped nails digging into skin and bone. “Where have you been?”
“Are you all right, little darling?” The Beauty Minister rescues me from Du Barry’s grip and inspects me. “All in one piece?”
“Yes, I’m fine. I got lost in all the chaos after what happened with Sophia,” I lie. “How is she?” I add a thick layer of concern.
“She’s on the mend,” the Beauty Minister says. “Quite scary. You must be rattled.” She lays a hand on my cheek, then motions for a servant.
Rémy clears his throat. The rumble is deep and cuts through the room. “Madam Minister, let me express my sincerest apologies. Protecting Camellia is my responsibility. I failed you and my queen.” He bows.
The Beauty Minister puts a hand on his shoulder. “You secured the princess. You did what was needed. Plus, it seems our favorite knows just where to go when lost. She ended up in the right hands.” She smiles at Madam Claire. “Now that you’re home safe and sound, I take my leave. I need to report this to the queen and check on Sophia.” She kisses my forehead, leaving behind her deep plum rouge-stick color.
Once the doors close, Madam Claire says, “Ana, you’ve lost control of the favorite. She’s been snooping around in my teahouse. She found the others.”
Du Barry turns to me. “You saw them?”
“Yes, I saw them. The other Belles you keep in the attic.”
Du Barry flashes her sister a look of annoyance and purses her lips. With a tilt of her head, she dismisses Elisabeth, who for once goes without an argument.
“What’s wrong with them? Why does no one know about them?”
“You should be grateful to them, and to us for raising them, and to the other teahouse madams for caring for them,” Du Barry says.
“Grateful?”
She takes a slow sip of tea. “You’d all expire much sooner if it weren’t for those girls.”
Expire? “You lied to us.”
“Lie? No. I did not tell you things that aren’t your business. This is gardien territory. My duty. But yes, since you’ve seen them, I suppose there’s no use in trying to keep the secret any longer—there are more Belles in this world than you knew of. I didn’t want you to find out this way. Actually, I never wanted you to find out at all.” She glares at Madam Claire. “They aren’t as strong as you, but they are necessary to address the growing needs of the kingdom.”
“Why didn’t you tell us? What did you do to them?”
“Caring for Belles is an imprecise art, Camellia. You will one day see, when you return home and raise a daughter of your own. Some turn out whole, beautiful, and obedient. While others are broken and rebellious.”
“Were they born that way? Or did you work them so much that their arcana couldn’t function anymore?”
“Both,” she says.
The faces of those Belles flicker before my eyes. The faces of my sisters follow. We’re all going to wither like flowers on a vine if we work the way they want us to.
“She chains them.” I point at Madam Claire.
Madam Claire trembles. “Ana, you must understand—”
“Claire, you will not be entrusted with them if you cannot care for them properly,” Du Barry barks.