Rebel Rose, page 8
“Belle.” He sat up, breathing in great gusts of air like a man pulled from a fearsome current.
She held her hand out to him. “It’s okay. It’s over.”
He lay back down slowly, still breathing heavily. It took time to reacquaint himself with the world, to shake off the clutches of the nightmare he had left behind.
She could tell a part of him was still dreaming, so she nudged closer until he wrapped her in his arms. His skin felt feverish against her cheek. “I’m here, I’m here.”
“I always dream of losing you, but this time I dreamed I lost Aveyon too.” His teeth were clenched together. She listened as his heartbeat slowed over time. His hands twined through her hair. “If Louis cannot hold on to his kingdom, how is a beast to lead his people?”
The Third Estate rising up and storming the Bastille, and King Louis’s subsequent weakness, had awoken Lio’s old fears. “Shhh, you’re not a beast anymore. And you’re not going to lose either.”
“I’m sorry you have to see me like this.”
She sat up on her elbows and looked at him. It was dark, but there was moonlight reflected in his eyes. “I loved you then, and I love you now. In fact, there isn’t a single part of you I don’t love completely, so don’t say you’re sorry to me.”
He tugged her back down to lie beside him. “Let’s just go back to sleep.”
She hesitated. “We should talk about this, Lio.”
“It was a nightmare, nothing more. We have a big journey tomorrow.”
Belle had been there for some of the darkness that haunted him still, but she knew that didn’t compare to living in it every day for a decade. She feared if she pushed him too hard, she’d be pushing him away. So she swallowed her concern and simply kissed his forehead. When he pulled her down and pressed his lips to hers, she couldn’t help but wonder if it was an attempt to drown out whatever fear was still swirling in his mind.
• • •
The morning was so steeped in chaos that any plan Belle had of talking to Lio about the night before was immediately abandoned.
They emerged from their chambers to find Bastien’s household in total disarray. Servants ran about in every direction, packing up trunks or flinging white sheets over gilded furniture.
“What on earth is going on?” Belle asked Lio, who shrugged.
They made their way to the dining room, only to find it packed away, as though Bastien was leaving for a season at Versailles.
“Oh, you’re awake at last.” Bastien came up behind them and clapped them both on the back, guiding them away from the room and toward the kitchens. “How did you sleep?” He paused as if for them to reply but immediately plowed on. “I haven’t slept a wink. I’ve been receiving letters and notes all night. Nobles are fleeing Versailles, led by the comte d’Artois, who evidently has no interest in waiting for his brother to see sense.” He ushered them into the kitchens, where two bowls of porridge were waiting for them. “I think the only ones mad enough to wait out the storm are the king and queen and their closest staff. Everyone else is making for Metz, or the Continent, or England of all places. But I would genuinely rather die than set foot on King George’s soil, so here we are.”
Lio took a spoon to the steaming bowl, and all at once, memories were conjured of the Beast struggling with simply holding the utensil. “Er,” he said, “which is where?”
Bastien gave him a pitying laugh. “I’m coming with you to Aveyon, Cousin. It is clearly not safe for noblemen in Paris any longer, and I think it best that I be with the family I have left.” He let go of his arrogance and spoke plainly. “I need a place to wait out the storm, and while I’m waiting, I’d like to help you make sure Aveyon is secure.”
Belle felt a twinge of uncertainty she couldn’t account for—almost as if Bastien might bring Paris’s troubles along with him by association. But Lio was thrilled. “We’d be honored if you made a home in Aveyon, for however long you need.”
Bastien beamed. “Perfect. My things will travel after us.”
“Us?” Belle asked.
“I thought we could all become better acquainted on the ride to Aveyon.” He smiled at her, but it was a wicked smile. “I’ll go give Lumière a list of the servants who will be accompanying me.” He left the room in a rush.
“You really think this is a good idea?” Belle asked Lio.
“He’s a powerful ally, Belle. We could really use him.”
She stirred the sludge in her bowl, wishing desperately for fluffy eggs and buttery toast instead. “I suppose you’re right.”
Lio touched a hand to hers. “I know you don’t love him, but he’s correct. It’s not safe here anymore. What kind of cousin would I be if I refused him?”
Belle nodded through a mouthful of horrible porridge before swallowing it down. “All that matters to me is that we’re going home.”
Belle had left Aveyon hoping it would be a long time before she saw it again. She wanted to travel the Continent with her husband by her side, making memories that had no foundation in pain. But there could be no honeymoon if France was at risk of descending into civil war. And after even a small time away from it, Belle found herself missing home.
Perhaps that was all she needed to calm her restless spirit. Perhaps now she would be content.
At the very least, Aveyon was far away from the turmoil of Paris.
The journey felt twice as long now that Bastien was accompanying them.
The duc insisted they stay in only the most expensive roadside inns and taverns and would not travel more than six hours by coach each day, almost doubling the length of the trip. Lio did his best to be patient with his cousin, but Belle was ready to strangle him midway through the first day.
The carriage had felt so spacious on the way to Paris, but now it felt as cramped as a coffin. By the time they rumbled up the steep wooded road to the castle, Belle, wrinkled and wearied, thought she might kiss the ground as soon as she was free of it. She pushed open the small window and leaned right out of the carriage, breathing in Aveyon, where the air was thick with the scent of pine and the sun was warm but not punishing. The wind tickled her skin and pulled her hair from the simple braid she had tied that morning.
Her first glimpse of the castle warmed her heart—there were the towers that scraped the clouds, though still dwarfed by the mountains in the distance. Their polished white stones shone brilliantly in the sunlight. She counted the carved angels that sat sentinel on every buttress, and admired the lush gardens. It was all so different from the first time she had seen it, sullied by the curse as it had been.
She was home. It was time to put Paris behind her.
They were greeted by a beaming Mrs. Potts and a restless Chip. Even though the curse was long over, Belle couldn’t help but expect them to appear to her as they first had—a round bone-china teapot and matching teacup with a chip in its gilded rim. But this version of Mrs. Potts was as soft as a kindly grandmother, with pillowy white curls curving around her warm face, and Chip was as jumpy as a colt, his sandy hair sticking out in every direction as his dog, Chou, danced in circles around his legs. They were not the static objects she once knew. They were vibrant and alive, and after the rough days in Paris, it filled her heart with joy all over again to see them as they were meant to be.
A wound-up Cogsworth—mustache twitching—almost as rigid as he had been when Belle first met him—besieged Lio with concerns and plans before he’d properly exited the carriage.
“Sire, we must call a meeting of your advisers at once. The unrest in Paris—”
“Cogsworth, please.” Lio looked tired, and older than when they had left the castle several weeks prior. “We are exhausted from our journey and ready for nothing more than a good rest.”
“But, sire—”
Lumière deftly stepped between Lio and his majordomo, taking Cogsworth by the shoulders and steering him away from the group. “Wonderful to see you, old friend. Shall we see to the logistics?”
“What logistics?”
“You know, the logistics, the ones we must tend to in the castle.”
“But—but—” Cogsworth sputtered as Lumière led him away through the enormous front doors. Even as humans, they made a funny pair: Lumière, tall and spindly; Cogsworth, short and rotund. Watching them walk away reminded Belle of the time they played her guides through the castle, and how easily she had slipped away from them.
Mrs. Potts came to Belle and Lio and embraced them warmly. “You two were greatly missed.”
“Not as much as I missed your cooking, Mrs. Potts.” Lio
beamed.
She grinned. “I was beginning to fear you’d regretted my promotion.”
“Never. All it took was one bite of your soufflé to hook me.” Lio gave her a warm bow and went to talk to his coachmen.
Mrs. Potts took Belle’s hands in hers. “Your father sent word that he has left Toulouse and is making his way back here.” Maurice had been gone from Aveyon some three months, traveling with his inventions from one town to the next, seeking like minds. Belle was relieved to know he was returning. “He doesn’t know how long he will be, given the travel delays caused by the mess in France, but take heart, he will be back soon.” She straightened and brushed the wrinkles from her apron. “I’d best get back to the kitchens, love. Dinners of my caliber don’t prepare themselves.” She winked and left. Belle wandered over to where Bastien was gazing up at the castle with a quizzical look on his face.
“Is it your first time in Aveyon?” Belle asked.
He didn’t look away from the stones and tiles. “I came once as a child, but I don’t remember much.”
She looked up at the tower he was studying. “It must seem so small to you.”
He looked to her and offered a tepid smile. “Small isn’t so bad.” She wondered why this version of Bastien—polite, humble, maybe even kind—remained hidden most of the time. She thought she could even become friends with him if he had left the brash and arrogant Bastien in Paris.
Raised voices stole their attention away from the architecture and back to the coach, where Lio was admonishing two servants.
“I don’t care; get rid of them.” His tone was pure ice, and when Belle got close, she figured out the problem immediately. In their absence, roses had blossomed in a forgotten patch of garden. They were glorious—bloodred with lush, unblemished petals and sharp thorns.
They were also a living reminder of the curse that had nearly consumed the kingdom.
Mrs. Potts had seen to it that the castle gardens were rid of any traces of roses as soon as the curse was lifted, but some had evidently been missed.
“All this fuss over some roses?” Bastien was looking between Lio and Belle, trying to understand what was really going on. “You know, maybe I was wrong. Perhaps you would fit in just fine at Versailles, Cousin, where things like errant flowers are deemed worthy of getting upset about. You would find an ally in Marie Antoinette. I once saw her tip an entire steaming plate of filet d’aloyau braisé onto the carpet beneath her rather than waiting for it to cool slightly.”
Bastien, of course, had no idea why Lio would never want to see a rose again. Servants began hastily hacking away at the bush, and the duc continued to look between Belle and Lio incredulously, waiting for a response they couldn’t give him.
“Is someone going to explain this to me?”
Lio turned away from his cousin and retreated to the castle in stony silence. Belle looked at the duc and sighed. “Roses make him ill.” It was a weak excuse, but she couldn’t think of anything better.
Bastien watched his cousin disappear inside but mercifully dropped the subject. “You know, it’s been a long journey and I’m ready to drown my sorrows in the biggest bottle of champagne you’ve got.”
• • •
They spent the first night back in Aveyon tucked into their corners of the castle, too exhausted to do much more than nibble on the food Mrs. Potts had delivered to their doors and wash away the stench and dirt of the journey from their bodies. Belle and Lio danced around the incident with the roses. She was too exhausted and too haunted by everything that had happened to launch into the discussion they both knew they needed to have.
It was one thing to lie to Bastien in Paris. It was another to hide such an enormous truth in their own home, which had until recently been under a veil of magic.
But it could wait. Time was on their side.
They were asleep before the sun set.
When she awoke, Belle was surprised to find it was nearly midday, and Lio was gone. She had slept for so long, and yet she did not feel rested. The weeks they spent traveling had been borrowed time. Now that she was home, Belle had time to be haunted by the violence she had seen in Paris. The marquis’s severed head dripping, held aloft by men whose anger would not be slaked by just one death. That was not retribution, she thought. It was only the beginning.
She was starting to understand that the image would never leave her. The horror of it had made a mark. She felt it in the way her mind refused to quiet, in the way rest eluded her, and in the way the distance between her and Lio grew. Belle already regretted her choice to keep what she had seen that day in front of the Hôtel de Ville from him. It had seemed logical at the time to spare him the worst of it, but now she was suffering alone, and it was too late to tell him without it seeming like a betrayal. She would have to hold that darkness inside of her and hope it didn’t break her.
The shadows on her wall stretched as she lay alone in her bed, holding the disparate parts of herself together. She was Lio’s wife. Maurice’s daughter. A noble. A peasant. Alone. Loved. Distantly, she knew she must get up, but in that moment, she was numb to anything else.
The door opened, and Lio came into the room.
“Belle.” His voice was strained. “Are you all right?”
She turned to find him framed in the doorway. “I’m fine,” she replied. “Just tired.”
He looked away from her. “I know you lied to me about that day in Paris.”
She sat up with a start, both ashamed and relieved that Lio had been able to see right through her. Heat rose to her cheeks in a mixture of anger and shame. She threw off the covers. “It wasn’t so much a lie as it was an omission.” She felt as small as the words were insignificant. It didn’t matter the reason. It mattered that it was a lie.
He looked at her at last, eyes blazing with the light of the reflected sun and something deeper. Anger, perhaps. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?”
The room got smaller and smaller. “I didn’t want to make it any more real than it already was.” She fiddled with the blankets that pooled around her. “I didn’t want to burden you with something so horrible.”
“So instead you shouldered it yourself.” He sighed and his anger seemed to break. He walked over to the bed and knelt before her, taking her hands in his. “We have been forced to lie to the world; we cannot lie to each other.”
“I know,” she started, but lost the words when he brought his hand to her cheek.
“You have seen my darkest moments; don’t ever try to spare me yours.” He sat beside her on the mattress. “Come, tell me everything.”
And so she did. She told him of the frenzied streets, the rage that united the mob, the feeling that she had no choice but to let herself be taken by it. She described how the crowd was as fearful as they were angry, and how disorganized they were. She explained that she didn’t think any of them set out that day to kill the marquis de Launay, and that almost made it worse. The thought that the desire to harm could infect a crowd like a sickness and push ordinary people toward a violence they might never have known otherwise…it was almost too much to bear, and it made her all the more fearful that Aveyon could become similarly infected.
But she refrained from telling him about the woman in the mirror shop and her dire warning, which had proven oddly prescient. Belle’s memory of everything before the mob murdered the marquis was hazy at best, and she didn’t have an explanation for what she had seen. Telling him that the sort of magic that had smothered his kingdom lived on in some way—even if she doubted the veracity of the vision itself, Belle understood that she had been exposed to magic within the shop—would only serve to worry him. She’d seen how affected he’d been by the roses, and this was so much worse.
When she was done, it was like coming up for air after too long a stretch underwater. She still felt the pain of what she had seen, but it had lessened. Telling Lio had softened the worst of it. Belle thought she could live with what was left.
Lio’s mouth was a hard line. “We can’t let any of this happen to Aveyon.”
“No, we certainly cannot.”
“Thank you for telling me.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” She tucked her head under his chin. “What are we going to do?”
“We’ve been through worse. We’ll figure it out.”
She leaned back to look up at him and pulled him closer, needing to know that her lie hadn’t driven them apart. He tilted her chin up, and when their lips touched, everything else vanished and all that remained was the two of them, bound as they were by the curse they had broken.
He pulled away, his cheeks flushed. “You need to come with me.”
She was a bit breathless. “Where?”
“I’ve called a meeting of my advisers. There is much that needs to be discussed, and Cogsworth is right—we don’t have any time to waste.”
“I had hoped we’d talk together first.” She had so much she wanted to discuss with Lio before being shunted off to the side of the throne room while six different useless men vied for his attention.
“I know. We just don’t have time.” Her frown made him smile, infuriating her. “I think you’ll like my first order of business.” He jumped up from the bed and made for the door. “Dress quickly; we’re already late.”
She stood and reached for a clean and simple gown, one of many that lined her closet, much to Madame Garderobe’s chagrin. “What is it you’ve got planned?”
