Rebel Rose, page 18
They view my absence as a mark against me, and in all truthfulness, how could I blame them for thinking so? My explanation only goes so far in winning back their allegiance, and the threat of spreading revolution carries little meaning to these men, who consider themselves safe behind the walls of their impregnable estates.
I thought I’d easily sniff out which of my noblemen plot against me, but in truth, it could be any of them, such is their pessimism and suspicion in regard to my rule.
Reading the pain behind Lio’s words almost tore her apart. She knew that for however much he was willing to admit in a letter, the truth of the situation must be far worse. She thought back to Montarly’s assessment of Lio’s visit and hated the seigneur for it. Of course Montarly would hold no enmity toward her husband—he held a position of great power on Lio’s advisory. The same could not be said for the rest of Aveyon’s nobles.
She wanted to be by Lio’s side as he struggled with the realities of ruling a kingdom in order to protect it, not shut up in a castle far away from him, unable to do any good. She was powerless, impotent, and ineffectual. Belle wanted more than anything to know that Lio was not being tortured by nightmares without her there to help him through it. Not knowing ate away at her, breaking apart her resolve, bit by bit, until nothing remained but the sharp certainty that Lio was in pain.
And then she remembered the mirror.
Long before she had seen a stranger’s face staring out of it, Belle had used the mirror to see her father and again to see the Beast in a moment of great need. Surely after all she had been through with the curse and the magic following her to Paris, she deserved to use the mirror for something good? In her desperation, she thought it was worth trying. She left her chambers before good sense could convince her otherwise.
For once, the hearth was unlit, as if those who would normally tend to the fire were aware that she had been deliberately avoiding the library at night since her last encounter with the mirror. Belle was used to its liveliness in the daytime now, when she and Marguerite would work and talk and laugh for hours, their days punctuated by visits from Chip and Lumière. Now, however, it was as quiet as a tomb. She could sense the mirror that called to her like a beacon. A lump formed in her throat, and her palms were damp. She didn’t like the idea of inviting magic back into her life, but it was the only way to see if Lio was truly all right.
She wound her way to the shelf where she had hidden it and reached a tremulous hand behind the books. Her fingers touched the metal, and a shock of cold spiked up her arm. Instinct urged her to leave, but her feet were rooted in place. She needed to see for herself.
Belle pulled the mirror out and held it at eye level, but now that she studied it more closely, she could see cracks at the edges. Just like the very first time she held it, and when she had held its twin in the shop in Paris, the mirror began to glow with tendrils of rippling green light. It warmed her hands like the light was spreading to her skin. Every fiber of her being wanted to drop it to the floor and flee. But something stronger pressed her to stay, staring into the glowing green swirls in the glass.
Nothing happened, and Belle realized the mirror was waiting for her to speak the words that would give it a purpose. She stood on a precipice. On one side was her unwillingness to accept that the mirror had continued to work long after the curse had been purged from Aveyon, like poison drawn from a wound. On the other side was the peace of mind that would come from seeing her husband’s face, and knowing he was well. It felt like her decision carried weight far beyond that small moment. If she were to let the magic take hold, who knew how far it could go? She had spent so long keeping the secret of the curse. Accessing this strange magic felt like the start of a slippery slope to her secret—the castle’s secret—being revealed. Inviting in magic was a dangerous idea.
But still, as if compelled by some power outside herself, she spoke the words as though they were an incantation. Perhaps, she thought, they were.
“I wish to see Lio.”
The mirror came to life as Lio’s tortured face filled it. He was lying in a bed in an unfamiliar room, gripped by a nightmare like she had feared. She watched helplessly as the dream played her husband like a marionette in some twisted show. The vision pulled back, giving her a view of the room. She could see that Lio had barred the doors, perhaps in an effort to keep himself confined to the room should the nightmare spread to waking.
She pushed away tears as she watched her husband fight against invisible monsters. His body alternated between painful rigidity and tormented writhing. Belle’s heart pounded against her chest, but she couldn’t, she wouldn’t, look away.
Mercifully, as time went on, the nightmare left him. Lio’s muscles went limp, his face softened, and his hands released the blanket he had been tearing at. He didn’t wake, but it was a gift to watch him sink slowly back into restful slumber.
She watched him sleep peacefully until she was sure the last of the darkness had left him for good, and then she pulled herself from the mirror with great effort. The green tendrils of magic stuck to her skin like honey even after she had put the mirror down, fading slowly. She stepped back from the shelf and looked up. It took a moment for the dark library to come back into focus, and even longer for Belle to feel present in the space. Watching Lio through the mirror had transported her, like she had been there with him, a ghost hovering over his bed. To find herself back in the library was disorienting.
She found her way to the nearest chair and sat down, hoping the feeling of nausea would leave her quickly. She thought of Lio, who had felt so close to her but was in reality hundreds of miles away. It was a curious thing, to see him right in front of her yet to be separated by an impossible distance. Belle had banished the magic from her mind as soon as the curse was destroyed, but it had emerged in Paris, and again in Aveyon, like it was haunting her. When the Beast gave the mirror to her so she could see her father again, she had perceived it as a gift, and when she used it out of desperation to prove to the villagers of Plesance that the Beast was no monster, it had felt like a weapon against their hate. But when she beheld the vision in Paris of Aveyon burning, when the woman who knew too much spoke to her through it, and when she used it to see Lio, the magic had not been a gift or a weapon. It was a curse, as it always had been. The vision was a trick, the woman was a charlatan, and Lio was too far away to be helped, so the knowledge that he suffered was not useful to her.
The only thing she had to cling to while watching him struggle was that she was working hard to make sure Aveyon changed for the better. With that change, stability would come and Lio would sleep peacefully for the rest of his life. She would make sure of it.
By the time she got back to her room, Belle was close to collapse. She tucked herself in and pulled Lio’s pillow to her chest, breathing in the now-fading scent of him.
She thought of Sidonie and her friends at the tavern in the village and what they had said about Lio. She thought of the nobles who didn’t trust him. Surely there was a way to show them how Lio was different than King Louis. Surely there was a way to unite the commoners and the nobility, to make everyone’s lives better, including her husband’s.
But Belle could hardly keep her eyes open; she would have to sleep on it.
Belle awoke with a kernel of an idea and a heart full of hope. The problem of uniting the disparate groups of Aveyon had come to her overnight, perhaps in a dream she had now forgotten. It almost made her grateful for the mirror that had shown her Lio at his worst. Perhaps that had spurred her subconscious mind to action.
She dressed quickly and raced all the way down to the library, hoping her instincts were correct and that Marguerite was already getting to work.
She pulled the great doors open and saw that she was right. Marguerite was hunched over the ledger they had been using to record the many thousands of book titles they had been cataloging. A pile of books towered over her. She held up a finger, not wanting to look up from her work.
“Whatever it is, it’s going to have to wait. We’re almost done with this section, and I simply will not abide any distractions until I can cross it off my list.”
Belle deflated. “You’re beginning to sound a lot like Cogsworth.”
“I will take that as the compliment you surely meant it to be.” She patted the spot next to her. “Now come, read aloud to me so I don’t strain my poor eyes.”
Belle hurried over and took the book from the top of the pile. The leather was worn smooth where hands would have held it, marking it as a favorite of someone who lived in the castle before Belle did.
“The History of Rasselas, Prince of Abissinia, by Samuel Johnson,” she read out to Marguerite. She pictured Lio’s mother, Delphine, reading it by the fire, utterly engrossed. Lio was always telling her how well the two of them would have gotten along. His mother was a voracious reader and had spent a great deal of time filling the library shelves.
Marguerite dipped her quill in the inkpot and bent over the ledger. “These long titles will be the death of me, or at least my eyesight.”
“Would you like to switch?”
Marguerite cast Belle a sidelong glance. “No offense, but your penmanship is genuinely atrocious.”
“You know, not all of us were taught by strict Swiss governesses.”
“Yes, well, we can thank Madame Pierrefeu for her rigid instruction at a later date.” Marguerite paused, nibbling on the end of her quill. “You know, she might genuinely expect a thank-you letter. I cannot be certain; etiquette was not my strongest subject. Next.”
They continued on that way until Belle reached for the last book in the pile.
“Evelina, or the History of a Young Lady’s Entrance into the World, by Anonymous.” Belle turned the book over, noting that it was in near-perfect condition. “This book was written by Frances Burney, only that wasn’t revealed until just after it had been published.”
“So shall I write the real author?”
Belle opened the book to find the date of publication. “Published in 1778,” she remarked, realizing that the book may have been one of the last that Delphine bought for her library.
“An auspicious year, to be sure. Good old King Louis signed the Treaty of Alliance with America and declared war on Britain. Also the Battle of Monmouth took place.”
Belle gave her a look. “You were what, seven years old while all of that was going on?”
Marguerite grinned. “What I lacked as a student of etiquette I more than made up for as a student of politics. Now tell me, am I to record dear Fanny as the true author?”
“Yes, to do otherwise would only bother me.”
Marguerite scratched the last entry into the ledger and drew a line in the row below it. “Done.” She leaned back in her chair and let out a breath. “Well, that section. Lord knows we have many thousands of books left.”
“Still, it’s nice to have made progress.”
“What should we do to celebrate? Or—Wait…” Marguerite looked at Belle with renewed interest. “You came in here like there was a fire in you. What was that about?”
Belle had almost forgotten. “I’ve had an idea.”
Marguerite leaned forward. “Let’s hear it, then.”
Belle rested her palms on the table. “I know the planning is well under way, and invitations have already been extended to our guests, but what if the salon wasn’t just for intellectuals and scientists and economists? What if it was for Aveyon’s commoners too?”
Marguerite looked at her thoughtfully. “That way they could take an active role in deciding the best way forward.” She stood and started pacing as she thought. “We could even have them submit proposals to weed out the serious ideas from the more…shall we say, esoteric ones.”
Belle’s heartbeat had quickened at the thought of a more democratic salon, an event not just for intellectual posturing or debates for the sake of debating, but one that could craft a way forward for a kingdom in flux. If everyone in Aveyon felt represented, then the ideas born at the salon could be implemented with the express consent of the governed. It was the goal of the revolution in France, but perhaps in Aveyon the outcome could be achieved without bloodshed.
It could be what the États généraux had tried to be and failed.
“Can you see to the proposals? I imagine we’d have to act quickly.”
Marguerite nodded. “Of course. Has anyone ever told you how brilliant you are?”
Belle thought back to her childhood, when she was known as an odd girl more than anything else. “Not in so many words,” she replied.
Marguerite grinned. “Well, I’m telling you you’re brilliant.”
Belle smiled too, relishing the feeling of having an idea to present not just to Lio, but to Aveyon’s commoners as well. She imagined that Sidonie and the others she had met in the tavern might even attend and have their voices heard.
“Do you think the advisers will have any qualms?”
Belle shook her head. “No, they were very enthusiastically on board with the salon once Bastien said it was a good idea. I can’t imagine that this will be reason enough for any of them to protest. Even with the inclusion of commoners, all the things they liked about it remain. The economy is still bolstered, the prestige of the kingdom will still increase, they’ll still get to lord around the castle feeling very important.”
“Well, what are you waiting for? Call a meeting.”
• • •
Entering Cogsworth’s office was like glimpsing the depths of the majordomo’s mind. It was a spartan room, so neurotically organized that it made Belle wary of touching even a quill lest she invite his wrath down upon her.
“What is it you need?” he asked, not bothering to look up from what he was reading.
“Could you please call a meeting of the advisers?”
He paused and looked at her over his spectacles. “Would you consider this to be an emergency?”
“Of a sort,” she offered.
He sighed a predictable sigh. “Well, luckily for you the duc de Vincennes has organized a hunt and most of the advisers are currently present. I’ll have to call them back perhaps sooner than they would have liked, but if you insist…”
“A hunt? Since when do we host hunts at the castle?” It had never been discussed outright, but all residents of the castle knew that Lio felt the same way about hunting as he did about roses.
“I am not given to questioning the motives or habits of the duc. Should he wish to host a hunt, I am duty-bound to make it happen. I am similarly duty-bound to call together last-minute meetings of the advisers should someone decide matters simply cannot wait another few days.”
She did not give in to his chastising. “Well, thank you very much, Cogsworth. I know you’re a very busy man.”
“Indeed I am, madame,” he continued on in his nasal tone, not realizing Belle was being facetious and that she had already left his office.
• • •
The meeting was not off to a great start. The advisers were unhappy to have been called away from the hunt, even though Belle assured them it would only take a few moments of their time. She wanted to inform them of the changes to her salon to get it out of the way of her planning. She would have happily kept the details from them if she thought they wouldn’t perceive it as a slight against them.
“Where is the duc de Vincennes?” she asked them.
Montarly shuffled, incensed to find that the duty to respond had fallen to him. “We lost track of the duc at some point during the hunt.”
“How do you lose track of someone? Isn’t the point to stay together while you chase your quarry?”
Gamaches frowned. “And what would a woman know of the hunt?”
She opened her mouth to reply, but the door swung open and Bastien strode in, his cheeks red and his hair in disarray. He glanced around the room. It was the most unkempt Belle had ever seen him. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Belle stood. “Gentlemen, I am sorry to have taken you from the hunt for even a short time, but I assure you this meeting will be a quick one.”
Bastien interrupted. “Actually, your meeting comes at a good time. I have an update about the goings-on in Paris, if you don’t mind?”
Belle normally would have minded an interruption, but an update from Paris was not something she wished to push aside. “Of course not.”
He stood and pulled a parchment from the inner pocket of his hunting jacket. “The National Assembly has voted against the two-chamber system put forth by the Monarchiens, and they have rejected the motion to allow Louis any veto power. It would seem that they thought the king would meet them halfway, but he refused to ratify either decision and has recalled the Regiment of Flanders to Versailles, which was, perhaps, not the best move. The people of Paris are on the verge of civil war due to the increase in unemployment and the subsequent food shortage. New voices are emerging in the public sphere. A barrister by the name of Camille Desmoulins is going around, stirring up the crowds of Parisians, writing incendiary pamphlets. A lawyer by the name of Maximilien Robespierre wrote a scathing rejection of the king’s reply to the National Assembly; basically the chaos is such that new leaders are emerging from the unlikeliest places.” He cleared his throat, allowing the rest of the advisers a moment to react to the idea of a simple lawyer having the gall to criticize the king of France. “The people of Paris do not trust King Louis. Rumors are spreading that he plans to use force against the National Assembly or flee Versailles altogether. His silence speaks volumes.”
He sat back down and looked to Belle expectantly. “Is that all you have to report?” she asked.
“Indeed. The situation is fraught in France. It will be interesting to see how it all plays out. But please, continue with what you wished to talk about.”
She felt flattened by his report. Belle had woken up with a heart full of hope, but news of the continued unrest in Paris only made her fear that all her efforts would be for naught. Despite her attempts to banish the false vision she had seen in the mirror in Paris of her kingdom burning, set aflame by its own people, in that moment she wondered if it could come true. Could the people of Aveyon be as driven to revolution as their neighbors in France? Belle had tried to gauge their anger and their thirst for change, but what if it didn’t matter? What if revolution was an inevitable part of Aveyon’s trajectory? She looked around at the table of privileged men and decided they could not dictate the future of her kingdom. She had to do what she could for Aveyon. There had to be a way out.
