She helps me out of bed, careful not to wake Amber, who is sprawled out across the covers. I look around the room at the five other beds. The curtains around them remain closed.
“Wash up, and I will take you to Madam. She’s waiting in the main salon.”
I wipe the sleep from my face, and slip into the turquoise day dress set out for me. She returns and pulls my hair up into a simple, unadorned Belle-bun, and ties a cream-colored waist-sash around my middle.
If this were a morning at home, the sound-box would’ve woken us. Breakfast would be served on the veranda. Hana would be the last one out of her room and the first to complain about cold hotcakes and picked-over fruit. We would bathe, dress, then rush off for lessons, where Du Barry would have a list of assignments for us.
But this is the first day of my new life.
The Belle-apartment corridor buzzes with activity. Flower garlands droop from the ceiling like beautiful spiderwebs. Morning-lanterns drift overhead. Teapots cry out with steam. People move in and out, carrying parcels and linens and trays.
“What’s your name?” I ask the servant.
“It doesn’t matter.” She looks down and continues to move forward.
“Yes, it does. Please tell me.”
“Bree, my lady,” she whispers.
“Nice to meet you.”
“And you, too, my lady.”
We pause before the main salon doors. I shiver.
“She’s waiting,” Bree whispers.
I shift my weight from left to right, right to left, as she leads me forward. “How angry is she?”
“She’s eaten a whole tray of citron tarts.”
She opens the door. Du Barry sits in a high-backed chair, facing the fireplace. She clenches a jade cigarette holder between her fingernails. The end burns as bright as the flames in the hearth. She grunts, inspecting a tray of Belle-pots and rouge-sticks, and gives notes to Elisabeth.
Bree leads me forward and into the adjacent seat. She pats my shoulder before slipping out of the room.
“The testers are complete. The windy season’s colors are in: bright cobalt, misty mauve, cognac, purple-red wine, radiant orchid, cypress green, and storm gray. Madam Pompadour sent her daughters with new pomander beads to consider for the cold season. The scents will be lovely. Juniper berry, lavender, and snow-melons. They’ve used sky pearls from the Glass Isles to hold the perfume. Every woman in Orléans will want these for her toilette box,” Du Barry says. “Aren’t they gorgeous, Elisabeth?”
“Yes, Maman. Will fetch many leas,” Elisabeth says.
I ease into conversation with them. “When will the queen release her official announcement regarding toilette-box allotments?”
“Soon, and we shall be ready when she does.” She waves at the servants to take the tray from the side table. Then she faces me, her eyes full of disappointment. “You did not follow protocol last night, Camellia.”
Elisabeth gulps down her tea and starts to cough, then apologizes. I swallow and tell myself not to break eye contact with Du Barry. Her steely blue eyes burn into mine. I try not to be the little girl who always jumps as soon as she walks into a room. I try to be the girl who isn’t afraid of anything. Or anyone. But a twinge of fear grows inside me despite myself.
“Though your exhibition was quite enchanting and clever, I’m concerned. And I’ve spoken with the Beauty Minister.” The servants display a platter of sweets before her. She pops a raspberry cream puff in her mouth, chewing quickly, then takes three madeleine cookies. “You were told to use the second arcana to provide the look laid out in your carnaval dossier. Small changes that demonstrate you’re ready to serve the great land of Orléans. Nothing more. Nothing less.
“Your blatant disregard for the rules, Camellia, in front of the entire population of Orléans, has put us in a compromised situation—do we disqualify you from being the favorite, or allow you to be considered despite this? In order to be a successful Belle, you must be able to follow instructions. It was reckless, and reminded me of all the low marks you received during your training because you simply ignored the rules. You just can’t—”
“The crowd loved it.” The words bubble up and brim over my lips. Elisabeth puts a hand over her mouth. Servants re-enter the room with tea carts. Bree serves me tea and almost drops the teacup in my lap. I gently take it from her. I worked so hard to get that response from the crowd. I won’t let her erase it like a picture wiped from a chalkboard.
Du Barry’s shoulders crumple like I’ve hit her. Her sharp eyes narrow, waiting for me to look away, but I don’t. Anger rises inside me. I thought she would be happy with the crowd’s response.
“Disrespect will not be tolerated,” she says. “Rule-breaking will be punished.”
The teacup in my hand wobbles. I drop my gaze. “I wasn’t trying to—”
“This isn’t a game to be won,” Du Barry says. “These traditions have been in place for hundreds of years. Time-honored and tested—they keep us all safe. You think you showed the world what you can do? You think they were amused? Really, what you did was let the queen know that you can’t follow directions. That you’re more interested in what you want than what your client might want.”
The possibility of being the favorite shrivels like a dying flower. Du Barry’s words dry out each and every petal, and snap the stem.
“You showed Her Majesty that you may not be trusted to carry on the work of the Belles in the way it should be carried out—that although you’re talented enough to be the favorite, maybe you’re not disciplined enough for such a grand title. Too risky to be picked. Too wild to take over such a hallowed responsibility. And all that pomp and circumstance lowered your Aura arcana level significantly.”
Her words link together into a chain that digs its way under my skin, all the way to my heart. I think of the little girl, Holly, standing on the platform. I think of the flower chrysalis and the banners flashing her new face. I think of the grinning crowd and remember the chants. The cleverness of that moment drains away. The stupidity of my feat replaces it all.
“Using your powers to manipulate fabric and plants pushes the arcana outside of its intended use. It weakens it.” She releases her deepest and longest sigh yet. “You’ve always had an excessive appetite—an ambitious soul.” She spits each word out at me. “But, Camellia, ambition leads to insanity. The God of Madness feeds on it.”
“I thought I was supposed to show them all what I could do. Isn’t that the point of the carnaval?” I say with caution.
Du Barry snaps back in her chair. “Have you been paying attention during your studies? Has all this been lost on you?”