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78
As I gaze around the Hall of Mirrors, I actually pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.
It’s so strange to think that my first visit is not as a ticket holder, but rather as a time traveling party crasher to one of Versailles’ most famous events.
I mean, just one month ago, I was hanging out at the mall, trying on sunglasses I couldn’t afford. And now, I’m in eighteenth-century France, dressed in a resplendent gown, and literally walking through history.
Even though it’s happening to me, it’s still hard to imagine.
Once I moved past the initial fright, the journey was over in a matter of seconds. And I’m left struck by the irony that it was easier to travel back two hundred seventy-five years in time than it was to cross the violent waters to get to the academy.
Aside from being short of breath and a bit dehydrated (driven by the horror of having to pee in a chamber pot, I’ve barely had so much as a sip of water all day), the three of us arrive looking as polished and pristine as we did when we left.
“What now?” I run a nervous hand down the voluminous skirt of my dress while taking in the sheer splendor of the space—the massive candelabras and glimmering chandeliers dripping from the painted dome ceiling, the golden sculptures and marble columns lining the walls—one side covered in mirrors, the other with arched windows that overlook the magnificent gardens beyond.
I remember reading how those mirrors this hall is known for came at a steep cost. At the time, such mirrors were made only in Venice, and it’s said that just after these were completed, the craftsmen were ordered to be assassinated for the crime of giving away their trade secrets.
The gate that marks the entry to the palace is covered in gold. In just four and a half decades from now, it’ll be destroyed in the French Revolution. Nearly three centuries later, it will cost millions to see it restored.
There’s a part of me that needs to warn these people of all the turbulence yet to come. That their extravagant lives and disregard for the well-being of others will ultimately lead to their downfall. But it’s not my place to interfere and risk changing the course of history.
Still, as I move to join the party that’s now in full swing, I can’t help but think:what has my life even become?
Together, Elodie, Jago, and I shoulder through the throng. Some people are in costume, others in masks and gowns. Though one thing is certain, this palace is the epitome of opulence, with no expense spared on design. And for one fleeting moment, I can’t help but think how much Mason would love being here by my side.
“Is that the king?” I gesture toward a man dressed as a yew tree at the other side of the room.
Elodie turns to me. “King Louis is interested in only one thing at the moment,” she says, voice filled with scorn. “And her name is Jeanne Antoinette Poison, who, unbeknownst to her, in September of this same year will be officially presented to the court as Madame de Pompadour. Which means it’s not our place to get in the way of their affair and risk changing the course of history. Which also means Louis is strictly off-limits. He is merely the host of this party. He is not the reason for this Trip.”
I stare at her in disbelief. She makes it sound like I was out to seduce King Louis when all I wanted was to catch a glimpse of a historical royal figure. Still, the need to stay in character requires me to keep my composure.
“You do understand why you’re here?” Elodie asks.
I roll my eyes in return. Though the truth is, now that I’m on Palace grounds, the twin demons of stealing from these people, and possibly facing the consequences of getting caught, have become startlingly real. And I find myself desperately craving some reassurance that not only is this actually achievable, but that it’s been done multiple times, without fail.
That the train of history continues.
That these rich nobles barely even notice their missing jewels.
That no one gets hurt.
Elodie leans in, takes my hand in hers, and squeezes so tightly, her nails dig into my skin. “Our job is to mingle, blend, flirt if you must, party if you will, pilfer as much as you can, but to never break character and never get caught because, I assure you, we will not bail you out.”
Her casual way of describing an illegal act that’s commonly known as grand theft makes me realize that procuring jewels for Arthur comes as easily and guiltlessly to her as it was to procure me.
She releases my hand, tugs the bodice of her lavender gown to expose even more of her chest, then turns on her heel and swipes a flute of champagne straight out of a handsome young gentleman’s hand. As she scurries away, she pauses long enough to toss a flirtatious grin over her shoulder that encourages the boy to dash off in pursuit. And I’m amazed at how watching her operate in the Hall of Mirrors isn’t so different from watching the way she dominated the hallways of high school.
“That sort of behavior works only at a masquerade.” Jago nods after Elodie without the slightest hint of jealousy. “And even then, she’s pushing it. But you know Elodie. By the end of the night, she’ll have claimed all his jewels, if not his virginity.”
I stare after them, take another glance around a room filled with people happily taking full advantage of the sort of anonymity that only comes from wearing a mask. “Not sure you’ll find a single virgin in this place,” I say.
“Present company included?” Jago leers suggestively, but he does it in such an exaggerated way, I know he’s not serious.
“Is that a confession?” I ask, then watch as he throws his head back and breaks into an uproarious laugh.
“Try to enjoy yourself,” he whispers, angling his lips to my ear. “It’s rare you get to attend the same event twice. It happens, but Arthur would rather our faces not become too familiar and risk triggering a déjà vu, unless it’s to his advantage, of course.”
“Déjà vu?” It’s not that I’m unfamiliar with the term, I’ve just always thought of it as having thefeelingof repeating an experience. The possibility of actually reliving a moment more than once never occurred to me.
