Rebel Rose, page 25
The two of them had nearly torn the room apart by the time Hercule returned with Marguerite, who looked shaken but determined.
“He’s told you everything?” asked Belle, and her friend nodded.
“Belle, I’m sorry I didn’t see Bastien’s deceit earlier. I know him; I should have suspected him, but I avoided him because of our history in Paris. Perhaps if I had been closer—”
Belle stopped her. “We’ve all been tricked by the duc, and the blame lies solely with him. The distance he placed between you was all a part of his plan; you couldn’t have changed it if you tried.” The search was proving fruitless, and Belle was beginning to panic. “I don’t know what to do. Without proof, Aurelian has no standing to accuse Bastien of anything. Maybe I should take the risk and go myself.”
Aurelian slammed his hands on the table in frustration. “There are guards posted at every entrance with very specific orders. If you walk in there, it’ll be a bloodbath.”
“There has to be another way,” Marguerite interjected.
“Time isn’t on our side.”
“Bastien’s men must have a sense of self-preservation. Surely they know that shooting the king of Aveyon can only result in their own deaths.”
Hercule shook his head. “Their desire to spread the revolution eclipses every other concern. They would die for the cause.”
After what she had witnessed in Paris, Belle believed him.
Aurelian moved toward the door. “I’ll go and confront him, try to talk him out of it.”
“And be killed yourself?” Marguerite protested, stepping in his path to stop him.
“Without proof, what choice do we have?”
Hercule looked to Belle, his eyes hopeful. “Why not use the mirror?”
“What?” asked Aurelian and Marguerite in unison.
Belle shook her head, ignoring their confusion. “The mirror has only ever shown me the person I most desire to see. I don’t think it will show me an object.” But even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t true. In Paris, she had asked the mirror to show her the future, and it had given her a vision of Aveyon burning. She had dismissed it for so long, unaware that Bastien would be the one fanning the flames.
Hercule continued. “You don’t think, but you don’t know. Surely it’s worth trying.”
He was right. A part of Orella was in the mirror, magicked to survive after the curse had been broken. She didn’t know what it was capable of. Belle pulled the mirror from the pocket of her skirts and held it up. She didn’t even wait for it to warm in her hands before she made her demand. “Show me how to stop Bastien.”
But the mirror didn’t flare to life as it had done before. It remained inert, the surface only reflecting her own face back at her. Belle was crushed.
“Did it…work?” asked Marguerite, clearly unsure of what Belle and Hercule were waiting for.
“No,” Belle replied bitterly, but as she spoke, a curious feeling took hold of her, like a thread tied around her heart, pulling her somewhere she didn’t know.
It was a great deal like the feeling that had propelled her to the mirror shop in Paris, only this time she knew not to fear it. Orella was aiding her, in whatever way she could. Belle understood that she needed to follow the feeling, the thread that tugged at her. It would lead her to an answer.
“I can’t explain it, but I know where to go,” she told them. “Hercule, can you go to the ballroom and scout how many armed men within are loyal to Bastien? I’ll need to know what I’m up against.” He nodded. “Aurelian, you should go to the ballroom and pretend like all is well. Try to stall Bastien if you sense he’s getting impatient. The ball is surely under way by now, so the room will be chaotic. Wait for me before you do anything reckless.” He nodded as well. “Marguerite—” she started.
“I’m coming with you.” It wasn’t a question.
Belle didn’t bother arguing. “If this…feeling is correct and I’m able to find proof of Bastien’s treachery, I’ll bring it to the ballroom. What happens after will have to be decided in the moment.” She took a deep breath, banishing the fear that threatened to drown her. She didn’t have time for it. “Let’s hope we can maintain the element of surprise.”
The blood in Belle’s veins was on fire. Everyone moved to the door, but just before they left the room, Marguerite spoke.
“Is no one going to tell me what that business with the mirror was about?”
Belle paused at the threshold. “Marguerite, I swear to you, if we survive the day, I’ll tell you everything.”
The mirror hadn’t shown Belle what to do, but Orella’s magic still guided her out of the castle and to the stables, which were just about the worst place to be for two people who didn’t want to be spotted.
Carriages and horses had arrived in high numbers all throughout the day, ferrying in guests for the welcome ball. Belle was in a daze and didn’t care who saw her. She was hell-bent on getting what she had come for. Marguerite was the more sensible of the two of them and forced Belle to move more methodically.
“This whole plan will be for naught if Bastien catches wind of it,” she hissed as she pulled Belle back from walking clear across the courtyard, driven by the certainty clenched tight around her heart that she would find what she was looking for in the stables. “You have to assume the duc has eyes everywhere, waiting to report to him.”
“You’re right.” Belle pulled her hood over her head, thankful for the chill in the air. The sun set early in Aveyon in October. “I’ll be careful.”
The two of them stuck to the shadows, making their way slowly to the stables. It was full of grooms and hostlers, but most were too attentive to their tasks to pay any mind to two maids hurrying through. Belle was so attuned to the feeling that urged her forward she hardly paused until they reached the back wall. There were no other people that deep in the stables, just some empty stalls reserved for the next day’s arrivals.
She stopped and studied the stones of the wall, waiting for Orella’s magic to give her the answer she sought, but nothing came.
“What are we looking for?” asked Marguerite.
“I’m waiting to feel something.” Mercifully, Marguerite didn’t call her mad for that. Belle stepped closer, reaching a hand out to touch the worn stones. She ran her fingertips over them, seeking some sort of confirmation.
“Well, hurry,” whispered Marguerite.
And then Belle’s finger caught a sharp corner. The stone beneath was loose, but you wouldn’t know just from looking at it. Belle’s blood warmed as she pulled it from the wall and handed it to her friend, who winced at the weight. The dark gap in the wall revealed nothing, but Belle stretched her hand into it without hesitation, procuring a leather satchel from within. Satisfaction filled her as she unwrapped it, finding envelopes inside.
“What is it?”
Belle rifled through the first. “It’s…information,” she replied.
She pulled an envelope labeled MONTARLY to the top of the pile and rummaged through it. Inside was written testimony from a maid in the seigneur’s household swearing that he had fathered her illegitimate children. Other envelopes were labeled with the names of Lio’s other advisers and high-ranking Aveyonian officials. The satchel was full of proof that Bastien was gathering information in order to extort them. It dawned on Belle in that moment that there was likely never any truth to the report of noblemen planning a revolt. The duc knew how bad it would look to have Lio’s first act as king be placating his nobles. The advisers went along with it because Bastien had compromising information on them. Their corruption ran deeper than she thought.
“What else?” prompted Marguerite. Belle dug through the rest of the contents until she found unlabeled envelopes. She pulled out a folded piece of parchment and scanned the contents.
Do plans in Aveyon remain the same? Does L still trust you?
I’ve sent replica guard uniforms; the tailor insists they are as near to perfect as can be.
Is B still proving difficult to manage? Get rid of her if you must.
Belle’s heartbeat quickened. “The proof we need.”
It was a curious thing, she thought, to read what amounted to her own death warrant and feel relief. It was proof that Bastien had been acting against them from the start. Orella’s magic had given Belle what she needed to take down the duc. For the first time since leaving the dark cellar, she felt like it might be possible to stop him.
Marguerite straightened and looked back at the castle. “Then let’s go put an end to this.”
• • •
They decided to approach the ballroom from the balcony, hoping to catch Bastien unawares, but climbing the trellis was not an easy feat for either of them, especially not in skirts. When they reached the top, they hid themselves among the potted shrubs that lined the edge and tried to see what they could through the window.
“You trust Aurelian?” asked Belle, straining to see through branches and leaves.
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
“It’s just…”
“I know. He came out of nowhere to help us. Seems a little too convenient. But I spoke with him for hours yesterday, Belle. He was heartsick over our parting. He couldn’t have faked it, not my brother, I know him too well.”
The people milling about inside were dressed impeccably. Belle wasn’t sure she recognized anyone, but Marguerite had been the architect of that part of the guest list. They were not Belle’s guests; these guests were chosen to add to the pedigree of the salon itself.
“Surely the scene inside would be a tad more chaotic if someone had shot the king of Aveyon,” Marguerite offered.
“What a comforting thought. I shall cherish it as we work to prevent my husband’s assassination.”
“I’m sorry. I say stupid things when I’m nervous.” She squeezed Belle’s shoulder. “I’ll go see if I can spot Aurelian. No use going in if he’s not in there.”
She left Belle in her hiding place alone with her thoughts. Now that she was still, all her fears came crashing down at once. She was one misstep away from losing Lio, and she didn’t know if she’d be able to prevent it. Saving him would not come down to her knowledge or cleverness, but rather chance. If she provoked Bastien too early, if she placed her trust in the wrong people, even if she did everything right, she could still lose him. Her dark thoughts coalesced into one realization: She would have been able to protect Lio and her kingdom better if she had accepted the title of queen. By not doing so, Belle had left room for people to question her, to doubt her devotion to Aveyon. Marguerite was wrong when she said that Belle was a queen in all but name. By not taking the title, Belle ensured that her authority would always be questioned. She had not thought herself worthy of that authority, but what she had not understood was that in her absence, someone else would swoop in to take it.
Bastien had been successful in Aveyon because of Belle’s fears. But now she understood what she feared the most was letting her kingdom be overrun by people who did not care for Aveyon. And the only way to combat that particular fear would be with strength. Belle would have to be strong enough for her kingdom, and despite her fears, she felt for the first time that she was.
Marguerite poked her head back in. “He’s there and keeping close to Bastien. Lio is across the room with a group of old Paris favorites. Can’t wait for them to witness another entirely overdramatic display from me. They’re surrounded by guards.” She reached for Belle’s hand and pulled her up. “But I don’t think we’ll have a better opportunity.”
“I’m ready.” It felt like the truest thing Belle could have said. She was ready, and she prayed Bastien was not.
They walked as confidently as they could through the glass balcony doors, emerging into a room that buzzed with chatter and lively music. Marguerite and Belle were hardly noticed, their plain gowns lost in a sea of finery. Most who eyed them likely thought they were errant servants absconding from their duties. Despite how eager Belle was to expose Bastien, she couldn’t stop herself from shaking as they walked deeper into the room.
It was as lavishly decorated as Belle had ever seen it, and it was hardly a space that required much effort. Belle had seen the chandelier lit a few times by then, but the sight of hundreds of candles shining through thousands of fine crystals still took her breath away. She distantly thought that if it weren’t for Bastien, the night would have been an immense success.
A group of people broke apart in the center of the room, and Belle saw the duc de Vincennes for the first time. He didn’t notice them. Aurelian had done a good job of keeping Bastien calm and unaware of the fact that his plot against the king was going amiss. She studied Bastien at a distance, noting the return to his powdered bone-white skin, the manicured wig, fingers dripping with jewels, and the finely tailored clothing, all of it a part of his mask.
Marguerite nudged her. “I’ve counted about forty guardsmen, and surely at least some of those are actual guardsmen and not infiltrators.”
Belle looked up to the top of the grand twin staircases and spotted Hercule, but only because she was looking for him. She didn’t think anyone else would have noticed him there. He held up his fists and opened them twice. She nodded, and he moved back down the stairs, hopefully to tail the men he had just informed on.
“At least twenty are loyal to Bastien.”
“It’s a risk,” Marguerite conceded. “Sacré, can’t we just pull Lio away from this? Worry about the consequences later?”
“We don’t know how many men loyal to Bastien remain in the rest of the castle, or how far those we are aware of will go to achieve their goals. I won’t put everyone in this room at risk.” Belle stood straighter. “The only way to stop Bastien is to take away every inch of his control. I’m going to walk right up to him as if nothing is amiss. Go find your brother, and keep Lio away from the fray. He’s going to be very confused.”
She walked away from Marguerite before her friend could stop her, each step ratcheting up her heartbeat until she felt certain it would burst out of her chest. Just the sight of Bastien filled her with rage, but rage wouldn’t help her now. He seemed to sense something was coming for him, and when he turned and saw it was Belle, the look on his face almost made everything worth it.
The duc de Vincennes was very rarely surprised. He thought Belle was tied up in a forgotten cellar, hidden away until he could achieve what he had come to Aveyon to do. For once, Belle had been the one to trick him.
Still, he managed to recover quickly.
“Belle, what an interesting outfit choice for a ball.” He reached for the easy teasing that existed between them, as if he could force her into submission by charm alone. She was tired of him thinking he was in charge.
Belle couldn’t speak lest she ignite the nerves that threatened to burn right through her skin. So many things could go wrong, and she had put her friends in danger to boot. She couldn’t give in to the anger that coursed through her. She had to be smarter than that.
He gave her an evaluating look, still underestimating her. “Come, dance with me.” He pulled her tightly by the wrist to an open space. No one else was dancing—it was early yet—but Belle let him, if only to lull him into a sense of control.
He raised her hand in his high in the air. “Surely you know how to dance a minuet?”
She curtsied diminutively, holding her skirt out. “Of course.”
They began the courtly dance that Lumière had endeavored to teach her before her wedding. Belle was rusty; the duc, graceful, having spent most of his life dancing in the French court.
The steps kept them apart for a time, and Belle knew that Bastien was calculating with every move. When they stepped close together once more, he whispered in her ear, “What has Aurelian told you? You know he’s as unstable as his sister.”
She gave him a playful look. “Oh, Bastien, I would hardly think myself a good judge of someone’s apparent instability.”
She spun away from him before he could reply. By now, a crowd had formed. A few couples had joined nearby, but mostly, Belle’s guests seemed content to watch the situation play out, not understanding what was actually at stake. It was not a mark in her favor that Bastien looked as polished as ever while she wore an absurdly plain gown to a ball, her hair a mess, an unwashed cut on her neck, and rope burns on her wrists. She knew Lio hadn’t seen her yet. He would have wanted to know what was wrong right away. The fact that Bastien didn’t even mention her wounds spoke to his desperation.
They danced close again. She let Bastien dig the hole deeper. “You cannot believe a thing he told you. Did you know he’s a revolutionary? He lived most recently in Philippe Égalité’s palais in Paris, plotting the spread of the bloody movement. It’s why he came here. I never should have let him pass through the castle gates.”
Belle gave him a curious look. “But who passes through the castle gates is not within your purview, Bastien.”
He blushed for the first time that she could recall. It took her a moment to understand that it wasn’t shame that reddened his cheeks but rather anger. He seemed to understand that Belle was not going to fall for his trickery any longer. He was a wounded animal caught in a trap, reaching desperately for something to hold on to. He glanced at her bloodied neck and gasped in mock surprise. “Belle, what happened? You’re hurt.” He spoke loudly, hoping others would hear him.
She stopped their dance and had to silently commend him for his acting skills. Bastien had not captured Belle and taken her to the cellar, he had not tied her wrists or gagged her, and truth be told, she never once saw him throughout the whole ordeal. Bastien kept his hands clean, if not his conscience. Had Orella’s magic not led her to proof of the duc’s treason, Belle would have nothing to back up her accusation.
