Garnet's Story

by Amy Ewing

  “Surely I could wait a few more—”

  But Mother cuts me off. “This is not up for discussion. Carnelian, I will see you back here at three o’clock to meet with the Lady of the Flame. Garnet, you and I will be having tea tomorrow at the House of the Locks.”

  It’s my turn to shudder. The daughter of the House of the Locks has acne, crooked eyes, and a deep, abiding love of bird-watching.

  “Oh, Carnelian,” she adds as I open the door to leave. “If we are to properly find you a husband, you must have a companion. He will be arriving this afternoon.”

  Carnelian looks like the Longest Night celebration came early.

  I GET MY FIRST ACTUAL INTERACTION WITH THE SURROGATE that night.

  Mother has Father’s family over for dinner. The footman announces me and I swagger into the dining room, last to arrive, just the way I like it. Mother complains but she was the one who taught me the virtue of being fashionably late.

  The surrogate watches me, almost as if she’s fearful. I wonder if it’s me, or if she’s frightened of everyone.

  “Mother, Father,” I say, taking a proffered glass of champagne. “Am I late?”

  A muscle in Mother’s jaw twitches.

  “Shall we sit?” Father says brightly.

  The companion Mother bought for Carnelian is very good looking, even for a companion, which says a lot. I immediately dislike him. She sits beside him with an enraptured look on her face.

  Aunt Iolite wastes no time setting up jokes at Carnelian’s expense and Mother is quick to join in.

  “I see you finally got a companion for her,” I say through a mouthful of beets, because Carnelian’s wounded puppy face is becoming too much to take. I wipe my mouth with a napkin and extend my hand to him. “I’m Garnet, by the way.”

  I love introducing myself like that. There is no way this guy doesn’t know who I am. But I’m interested to see how he reacts.

  “Ash Lockwood,” he says pleasantly, returning my handshake.

  Hmph. No flicker of recognition at all. He’s good.

  “He’s a looker isn’t he, cousin?” I say. “How much is he costing you, Mother?”

  I only get the slightest reward of Mother’s nostrils flaring before the companion cuts in and smoothly redirects the conversation to Mother’s library. Then it’s the usual Founding House monologue from Mother, history, duty, and all that boring stuff. The surrogate seems to be interested in her food and the companion, judging by where her attention lingers most. She never speaks. Maybe because I always took that for granted, but sitting around this table with so many people—and being forced to observe her under penalty of being disinherited—I suddenly find it strange that no one finds her silence odd. Carnelian can say all the ridiculous things she wants. Even the companion can introduce himself and shake my hand.

  Perhaps it’s these thoughts, or maybe it’s the wine, but when Mother and Aunt Iolite start talking about another surrogate who died recently, I find myself speaking up.

  “Oh, has surrogate hunting season started?” I say. I mean, everyone knows rival Houses take out each other’s surrogates, often before they’re even pregnant. I assume this surrogate must know that. She might even be grateful she was bought by a House of such high standing. “Better watch your back, new girl. This year is bound to be vicious, what with the precious little Exetor’s hand at stake.”

  The blood drains from her face, and for a second, I wonder if maybe she doesn’t know about all the rivalries, the blood sport. But she knew about the Electress’s surrogate—I mean, she went to the funeral and all.

  Mother stands and slams her hand down, rattling the silverware.

  “You will leave this table at once,” she says.

  I drain the rest of my wine and stand. “With pleasure,” I say, giving her an overly elaborate bow before leaving. This is worse than dinners used to be. I don’t like having to focus on so many things when I’m just trying to eat my food and get drunk.

  I pass Annabelle, waiting outside with Carnelian’s maid, and she sees my stormy expression. Like a little white shadow, she follows me to the library. I throw myself on one of the couches.

  “Do you think I was switched at birth?” I ask her.

  She gives me a half-amused, half-confused look.

  “I loathe my mother. I’m nothing like my father.” I prop myself up on one elbow. “In the lower circles, children look like their parents. Doesn’t that seem . . . normal?”

  She shrugs, then nods. I don’t even know where these thoughts are coming from. It’s like watching the surrogate is making me think about all sorts of things I’ve never considered before. And this surrogate has done literally nothing in my presence except eat and look frightened.

  “She can talk, right?” I say.

  Annabelle raises a questioning eyebrow.

  “The surrogate,” I explain. “I’ve never heard her speak.”

  Annabelle rolls her eyes, like she can’t even believe I’m asking this question.

  Yes

  “Is she . . . smart?” I don’t know what to ask. Why did Lucien give me this stupid assignment in the first place? I grope around for something specific. “You said she plays the cello, right?”

  At the mention of the instrument, Annabelle presses a hand to her chest and her face turns dreamy.

  “Does that mean she’s good?”

  She gives me a playful slap with her slate.

  Better

  “Better than good?”

  She nods. Well, there’s something to tell Lucien. Surrogate Excels at Cello in addition to Surrogate Eats Food.

  “Is she nice?” I ask. I’m not sure if I really care one way or the other.

  Annabelle’s brilliant smile is the only answer I need.

  A FEW DAYS LATER, I HAVE MET WITH THREE ROYAL daughters, all of whom seem to be more than eager to marry me.

  It’s the mothers who turn out to be the problem.

  “Stupid cow,” Mother growls as we arrive home from the palace of the Leaf, unwrapping her silk scarf and throwing it on the floor of the foyer for Cora to pick up. “Who does she think she is, calling you a renegade, implying you are mentally unstable?” It’s surprising to hear Mother defending me, especially when she herself has called me mentally unstable on a number of occasions. I keep my mouth shut.

  “Just make sure you look and act impeccable at the Exetor’s Ball tomorrow,” she says, before storming off to her private study.

  Looking impeccable is second nature. Acting impeccable . . . well, I can’t promise anything.

  Lucien calls that night, the arcana buzzing over my bed until I wake up.

  Yawning, I tell him about the dinner, and what Annabelle said about the surrogate’s exceptional cello playing. He seems most interested in the arrival of the companion, which is weird, but I gather that he doesn’t like or trust companions very much.

  “I need you to do something for me tomorrow at the ball,” he says.

  “Oh, just the one thing?” I say. He ignores my sarcasm.

  “I want you to bump into the surrogate and muss her hair.”

  My jaw drops. “You want me to touch her? Are you insane? Mother would cut my hands off!”

  “Wait until the Duchess is dancing. Pretend you are insanely drunk. Get insanely drunk, for all I care. Just make sure you ruin her hairstyle in some way.”

  “Why?”

  “The reason is insignificant.”

  “Oh, come on. I get that you can’t tell me why I’m watching her, but if you want me to actually have physical contact with her, I need a good reason.”

  There is a pause, no sound in my darkened bedroom except the arcana humming its strange buzzy-hum. I can feel Lucien deliberating on the other end.

  “Fair enough,” he says finally. “I wish to give her an arcana as well. I’ve realized that is the only way I can truly keep abreast with what is happening to her.”

  “Great!” I say. “So you get her an arcana and I’m done?”<
br />
  Lucien chuckles softly. “No, I’m afraid not,” he says.

  I suppose I shouldn’t have expected to get off so easy. “Okay, but how does messing up her hair get her an arcana?”

  “That is not your concern. I will see you tomorrow evening,” he says, and the arcana goes silent and falls onto my comforter.

  I collapse back onto my pillow and curse Cyan and the day I met her.

  Five

  I KNOW I’LL HAVE TO RIDE TO THE EXETOR’S BALL IN THE motorcar with Carnelian and her companion.

  I can’t think of anything more vomit inducing. So I leave the palace early and get ready with Peri at his house.

  He pours us both a drink while I adjust my bow tie, an art I have perfected since the age of twelve. Father was an absolutely useless instructor. I had to get one of the Regimentals to show me. He was a One, I think. He retired a few years ago.

  “I hear you’re going to have a little sister,” Peri says. “And a wife?”

  “Ugh.” Of course, the news must have spread like wildfire after all those meetings with all those girls. “Don’t remind me. About either one.”

  Peri sips his drink. “Hey, maybe we can hit up The Prize Jewel again in a few days. I think Cyan had a real thing for you.”

  He winks like I’m supposed to be happy to hear this. I know Cyan has a thing for me. A very, very dangerous thing.

  “Maybe,” I say casually. “I’m not that fussed about her, to be honest.”

  “What? You two were all over each other.”

  I shrug.

  Peri gets a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Is it another girl?”

  If only he knew the “other girl” was my mother’s surrogate. And I am spying on her for a lady-in-waiting.

  “No,” I say emphatically. “What’s the point anyway? If I’m just going to get married off.”

  Peri shrugs. “That doesn’t mean you can’t still have a little fun. I know my mother cheats on my father all the time. With her Regimentals, with some of the footmen, once with a—”

  “I get the picture,” I say, shuddering. I don’t want to think about the Lady of the Brook in a compromising position with a Regimental, or anyone else for that matter. Peri laughs.

  “All I’m saying is,” he continues, “you don’t have to be faithful after you’re married. Just don’t sleep with any unsterilized female and you’re good.”

  That should lift my spirits but for some reason it leaves me feeling like I need a shower.

  “How romantic, Peri,” I say dryly.

  We pick up Jasper and a couple of other guys on our way to the ball—none of us wanted to show up with our families. I see Mother talking with the Countess of the Rose, the surrogate standing docilely by her side. Father is off in the corner with Uncle Beryl, getting drunk. I have a good buzz going, but I’d better make it stronger if I’m going to pull off what I need to do. No sign of Lucien, though it wouldn’t surprise me if he was watching this whole affair from some secret room.

  The surrogate has lots of pins in her hair—Annabelle did an excellent job. The style is subtle yet elegant. I figure my best bet is to pull one of them out.

  Two whiskeys and four glasses of champagne later, and I am presented with the perfect opportunity. The companion asks Mother to dance, leaving the surrogate alone with Carnelian and the Countess of the Rose. I still don’t see Lucien, but I’m not waiting around. I’ll mess up her hair and be done with it.

  I grab Peri and start dancing with him, cutting a path through the crowd, my friends hooting and following us. I release Peri just as I reach the Countess and in two steps, I’ve fallen right into the surrogate. She drops her champagne glass and cries, “Oh!” as I yank out a few pins and let them drop to the floor.

  “Garnet,” the Countess of the Rose snaps. Jasper, Peri, and the others look down, abashed by the presence of a Founding House. But I’m a Founding House. And I did it! I touched the surrogate and no one has threatened to chop my hands off.

  Besides, the Countess of the Rose doesn’t scare me.

  “My sincerest apologies, Your Ladyship,” I say with a bow. I can tell the boys are impressed. “I didn’t see you there.”

  “Really, is it so difficult to behave yourself?” the Countess asks. “Don’t you think your mother has enough on her mind?”

  “You mean my impending nuptials? Or lack thereof?” I let out a jolly laugh. “Who would have thought that this”—I gesture to my face—“would be so difficult to sell?”

  Jasper chortles behind me. Even Carnelian has the good sense to grin.

  “You are a pig,” she says.

  “And you, cousin, are a public relations disaster, but who’s counting?” A waiter passes with a tray of drinks and I grab another glass of champagne. I have to admit, I’m riding a bit of a high. No one suspects I fell into the surrogate on purpose! I feel quite the Master of Espionage. “I will bet you ten thousand diamantes that she finds a match for me before she finds one for you.”

  Carnelian’s face goes sulky again. “I don’t have ten thousand diamantes.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of white. Lucien has finally made his appearance. It’s time for me to get away from my family and just enjoy the party. As far from the surrogate as possible.

  “True.” I turn to my friends. “Let’s get out of here before Her Royal Ladyship gets off the dance floor. There’s a garden out back.”

  “Garnet,” Jasper says with a quick nod at the one person I don’t want to look at anymore. “Aren’t you going to apologize?”

  The surrogate stands there, wide-eyed. I’m willing to bet she’s wishing I’d just go away, too.

  “For what?” I say, looking at her as if I barely remember who she is. Lucien is closer now, I can see his topknot. “Oh, that’s just my mother’s surrogate. Come on.”

  I feel the weirdest sensation, almost like guilt, as I dismiss her like that. But I shrug it off and lead them across the ballroom, not stopping until we are outside in the cool night air. The boys start horsing around, making some rude gestures at a statue of a naked woman, but I pretend the booze has gone to my head and sink down on a bench.

  What did I do to deserve this? It’s sort of fun, but also dangerous and exhausting. Parties are supposed to be relaxing affairs, without thought or care.

  I lean my head back against the palace walls and stare up at the stars, blanketing the sky like so many diamonds.

  THE ONLY OTHER TIME I SEE THE SURROGATE THAT NIGHT is for the performances.

  Royal women are always showing off their surrogates right after they buy them. The Duchess of the Scales’s surrogate is a dancer. Yawn. Then Mother volunteers for hers to play the cello and we all get dragged over to where the orchestra is.

  I guess I’ll finally get to see what Annabelle was talking about.

  She seems nervous as she walks up the steps and takes a seat with the cello. Lucien hid the arcana well because I sure can’t see it.

  Then I forget about the arcana, I forget about Lucien, and everything, because the girl is playing and it’s . . . I don’t know. I’m not a particular fan of stringed instruments but this is like listening to something at once haunting, uplifting, and devastatingly personal. The girl doesn’t look frightened or intimidated—it’s like she’s forgotten her audience completely. I watch her on that stage, surrounded by royalty with eyes glinting like birds of prey, waiting for her to fail, to misstep, to be mocked. I feel like I’m seeing a sparrow in a cage, something young and innocent trapped by grasping hands.

  And I think that perhaps my own cage is simply larger than hers, so large I have never been fully aware of its edges.

  She finishes to thunderous applause and the spell is broken, and I come back to myself, embarrassed at the surge of emotions brought up inside me. I see her make a small gesture, fingers over her heart, and I wonder what it means.

  Then I turn away from her, because I don’t want to know, I don’t want to care, so I just clap along
with everyone and roll my eyes and nod when Peri makes a face that says how many more surrogates are we going to have to watch before we can start the party again.

  And I wonder how many times I’ve made that face myself.

  I make it a point to ignore the surrogate for the rest of the night.

  Six

  I DON’T SEE THE SURROGATE AT ALL OVER THE NEXT FEW days, but I do get to see Annabelle more.

  She tells me Mother has given the girl permission to walk about the palace freely. That goes on the list for Lucien. There’s something she doesn’t tell me, too—I always know when Annabelle is hiding something or has been forbidden from saying something because she purses her lips and scratches just under her right ear. I don’t push it, though. I have no interest in getting Annabelle in trouble.

  I do see a new cello being delivered, though, so I wonder if something happened to the first one. A punishment and then a reward, perhaps? That sounds like Mother.

  I’m lounging in an upstairs drawing room one afternoon when she finds me.

  D wants you

  “I haven’t done anything,” I protest.

  She only half smiles, and I see that my jacket is draped over her arm. Immediately, I’m on alert.

  “What?” I ask.

  She shrugs, her eyes downcast.

  “Another potential wife?” I ask with trepidation.

  She shrugs again.

  Don’t be late

  “I know, I know,” I say. If I am, Mother will likely blame Annabelle. She holds out the jacket and slips it on my shoulders, brushing a piece of lint off the lapel.

  Be nice

  “Aren’t I always?” I say, batting my eyelashes. That gets a full smile.

  I pass the concert hall on my way downstairs. Strains of cello music can be heard clearly through the closed doors. I pause, wondering if I should peek in. But the music stops and I come to my senses and head down the main staircase to the foyer.