The courtiers at the table ooh and ahh.
Amber wipes a pecan-brown paste over Claudine’s skin in quick strokes. Claudine’s face comes out a little darker than the rest of her. But I don’t point that out. Amber changes Claudine’s eyes back to hazel.
“Lovely,” I say. Amber’s mouth tightens.
Claudine’s knees buckle. Sophia’s attendant sweeps in behind her before she falls.
“We should stop,” I say.
“Not yet,” Sophia replies. “Look how beautiful she’s turning out. She’ll be fine. Right, Claudine? You’re just fine.”
“I . . .” Her voice trails off. Her eyes flutter and fight to stay open.
“More tea,” Amber says.
I gaze up at Amber and wonder if this is really just a ploy to help get us out of here. If she’s just playing along, or taking this seriously. Her eyes are steely and cold. “Let’s stop now, and the table can be the judge of it,” I suggest.
“No,” Amber and Sophia say in unison.
“It’s your turn,” Amber states.
I close my eyes and think through what to do next. I don’t touch Claudine this time. I let my mind randomly fill in the details. The corkscrews Amber placed in her hair shrivel down into a thick fish-tail braid dangling below her waist. Her hair color darkens to a pale gold the color of spintria coins. I reshape her body again, stretching her limbs like sugar-sticks, cinching her waist, and making her a whole four inches taller.
Her skin lightens to the color of whipped butter and cream. I use her dress to create a new one, stretching it over her frame and letting it bell out at her waist like a parasol.
Amber scoffs.
I open my eyes and admire Claudine. She could sit atop a royal wedding pastry.
Claudine gasps for breath and bites down on her bottom lip. Her head bobs toward her shoulders. “I didn’t know it would hurt so bad,” she mumbles.
“We need to stop,” I say.
“Not before I get a second chance. You’re trying to cheat me,” Amber says.
“Can’t you see she’s hurting?” I yell.
“Just give her some tea. She’ll be fine.” Sophia snatches the teacup from the tray and forces Claudine to drink it all. The scalding liquid dribbles down her chin, leaving two pink burns behind. Claudine cries out.
The room sits in stunned silence.
Auguste stands. “I’ve had enough.” He strides toward the door. Sophia motions to her guards. They step into his path. He tries to move around them.
“Have a seat, Auguste, or the guards will force you to sit, like a baby.”
“Sophia, this is ridiculous,” he protests, and my heart swells. At least he is on my side.
“The show has just begun. Enjoy it.” She winks at him.
His mother leaves her seat and leads him back to the table. Each breath I take catches in my throat as I watch.
Amber steps forward. “My turn!”
Guards hold Claudine up. Amber draws black kohl lines over Claudine’s chest and arms and face, making a beauty road map. She changes the contours of Claudine’s body, shrinking her down and erasing the height I’d given her but making her round as a ripe apple. She uses a kohl pencil to mark Claudine’s face. Amber chisels out higher cheekbones and a more pronounced forehead.
Claudine puts her hands to her cheeks. She flushes crimson. The blood inside her is aggravated, trying to get out.
I reach for Amber to stop her.
Amber moves away and paints a sapphire-blue smudge on Claudine’s gown. It changes to match the color of Auguste’s mother’s gown. Claudine’s limbs whiten like rice grains, and her hair explodes out from the braid I put in, hitting the floor in one cascading wave. Amber uses a hot iron to start straightening it, then changes her mind and grabs a steam-roller for curls.
Claudine jerks forward.
“Amber, stop,” I yell.
“No, you won’t win.” Amber continues to work. “I’m not done yet. I’m not done.”
Claudine’s body morphs so quickly I can’t identify all the changes. Her skin shifts into a mosaic of colors. Mahogany brown. Sandy brown. Midnight black. Creamy white. Her hair alternates its texture and length. Her breasts balloon and shrink and balloon again.
“Amber!” I grab her arm.
“Get off me, Camille. You’re not going to cheat. I’m going to beat you.” She clamps her eyes shut and pushes forward. Makeup races over Claudine’s face.
I close my eyes and see Claudine there again. Amber’s beauty work zips over Claudine’s body like a télétrope reel. I try to counter it, to block her from making any more alterations. I feel Claudine’s heartbeat and it’s not normal. It’s so very far from anything I’ve ever heard before. I can’t let this happen. Not now.
A loud cry pulls me out of my focus. I open my eyes to see Claudine topple to the ground like a branch that has fallen from a tree. Blood pools in her mouth, then drips down her chin. Her eyes bulge open, then dim. Her heartbeat, so frantic a moment ago, is gone.
47
Claudine’s attendant screams. The courtiers sit, eyes glassy, hands shaking. Auguste stares into his lap. His mother holds a handkerchief to her mouth.
I sway with exhaustion, guilt, and regret. I drop to my knees and press my ear to Claudine’s chest. I search for a pulse, even the faint beat of her heart. I close my eyes; the arcana wake again. I try to find something inside her that is alive, but there is only emptiness.
A palanquin is brought in, and her body is removed. Servants wheel in dessert carts spilling over with trays of luna pastries and snowmelon tarts and petit-cakes.
“We will have dessert. It will rejuvenate us after such a competitive game,” Sophia announces, taking a sip of champagne.
I’m frozen in the place where Claudine’s body was. Amber trembles beside me. Tears stream down her cheeks. She mutters the word sorry over and over again.
“Have a seat,” Sophia orders. “Now!”
“Don’t you care about what just happened?” I say to Sophia.
“Dessert is here.” She sweeps away my concern.
“She’s dead,” I say.
“Come.” Sophia motions for me to return to my seat. “And I will tell you a story.”
I hobble back to my chair; my legs are iron.
The guests try to bite into their sugary treats. No one looks up.
“There was this girl at court. She was one of the best liars. It was a practiced skill. She made me believe that she would help me. That she enjoyed our time together. That she would make me into the best queen I could be. All the while, she actually hated me. She even called me a monster.” She takes a sip of her champagne.
Her eyes settle on me. My heart trips over the word.
“Anyone here think I’m a monster? That’s such a strong word. Usually reserved for creatures in fairy tales. Not princesses. Not future queens.”
I take deep breaths. I look forward, remaining expressionless.
“Is that what you really think of me, Camellia?”
“Excuse me, Your Highness?”
“I’ve been told you think I’m a monster. That you called me that, in fact.”
My eyes volley between Rémy and Auguste. Neither of them look at me.