by Amy Ewing
“You are royalty,” I say, frowning. What a ridiculous thing for her to say. “You have everything. What more could you possibly want?”
The Duchess’s eyes flash. Her hand whips out and pain explodes in my cheek and eye. “I am exactly the woman my father wanted me to be and it is still not enough. You must try harder. I have risked everything on you.”
Slowly, I straighten up, square my shoulders, and glare at her. I barely feel the pain. It doesn’t matter. I will take the Duchess hitting me a thousand times. Because she cannot truly hurt me anymore.
When she realizes I’m not going to respond, she says, “I’m hosting a luncheon this afternoon. Annabelle will get you ready. Be in the dining room at two.”
ANNABELLE BUTTONS ME INTO A PALE PINK BEADED dress, her eyes fixed on her work, sensing that I don’t feel like talking.
I twist the topaz ring around my finger—I’ve put a couple of other rings on, and a bracelet as well. Not that anybody would notice anyway. I have more jewelry than anyone could keep track of. And I’m not letting this ring out of my sight today. Only ten more hours until I take the serum.
I make my way to the dining room. A footman bows to me and opens the door.
“The surrogate of the House of the Lake,” he announces.
It’s the same crowd as the family dinner, except the Countess of the Rose is also in attendance, with the lioness. I move to stand beside the Duchess. The Duke is with her, looking like he’d rather be somewhere else. Garnet leans against a side table, a glass of amber liquid in one hand, a wry grin on his face—he toasts me with his drink. Carnelian stands beside him, her expression sullen.
And just behind her, is Ash.
I feel an odd, swooping sensation in my chest, like I’ve missed a step going down a flight of stairs. His eyes burn into mine for a half a second before they turn blank. He keeps up a pleasant smile, but from the tense set of his shoulders, I know that he is angry. My lips part slightly, but I can’t speak to him here.
I can’t speak to him ever again.
The Duchess and the Lady of the Glass descend on me.
“You must be so disappointed,” the Lady says in a hushed voice. “But she looks healthy.”
“Yes, the doctor agrees we won’t have to wait so long before the next attempt,” the Duchess says.
The Countess of the Rose stumps over, leaning heavily on her cane. “Patience is the key,” she says. “Though mine is wearing thin, I must admit.”
She glances toward the windows where the lioness stands, dressed in black, hands clasped behind her, head down.
“Dr. Plume is worried she may not be compatible at all. It is so frustrating—I wish they could sort the defective ones out before the Auction.”
The Lady of the Glass nods sympathetically. The lioness does not look up, though I’m sure she can hear these women talking about her. I remember the girl I first saw in the Waiting Room at the Auction House, with the gold-threaded braids, and the rainbow tassels, and the fierce expression. The girl who bragged about a surrogate’s power at Dahlia’s funeral, and stole a flute of champagne at the Exetor’s Ball. Now her shoulders hunch, like she’s trying to make herself smaller, invisible.
The door to the dining room opens.
“The Countess of the Stone. And surrogate,” a footman announces. My heart leaps—Raven! Raven is here.
“What?” the Lady of the Glass hisses.
“I thought you rescinded her invitation,” the Countess murmurs.
“I did,” the Duchess replies.
The Countess of the Stone is so large, she blocks Raven from view. She wears an enormous fur cloak, which she sweeps off her shoulders and holds out for the footman to take.
“Pearl,” she says. “How kind of you to invite me.”
She bears down on the Duchess, kissing the air beside each of her cheeks.
“Oh, it was my pleasure,” the Duchess says with an icy smile. Two footmen hurriedly add more settings to the dining table.
The Countess of the Stone greets the Countess of the Rose in a similar fashion, but barely glances at the Lady of the Glass. Her eyes move to me—or more specifically, my stomach. “Still no luck, I take it?”
“Dr. Blythe is optimistic that the next—”
“Doctors are idiots,” the Countess of the Stone replies. “It’s the surrogate that counts.” She snaps her fingers.
Raven shuffles out from behind the Countess. Seeing her makes my throat swell. Like the lioness, she keeps her head down, and her hair is longer than it used to be, hiding her face. But I can see that she is even thinner than she was at the Exetor’s Ball, and her dress is tight, as if to accentuate it. Which is why, at first, I can’t make sense of the small bump protruding from between her hips.
Not until Raven runs one bony hand over it tenderly.
I don’t know how I keep my gasp inside, but I manage to stay quiet.
Raven is pregnant.
It doesn’t make sense. Even if she got pregnant right after the Auction, she shouldn’t be showing yet, should she? It’s only been two months.
“You must be very excited,” the Lady of the Glass says.
The Countess of the Stone ignores her. “She took to it on the first try. The first try. Imagine!”
“Imagine,” the Duchess repeats dryly. “Though you might want to consider feeding her now and again.”
The Countess shrugs. “She’s naturally thin.”
I can’t stop staring at Raven. In a matter of months, my best friend will be dead.
I wish I didn’t know. I wish Lucien had never told me. I blink back the tears that threaten to well up and spill over, because I cannot cry here. A bell rings and the Duchess claps her hands.
“Shall we sit?” she says.
I take my usual seat beside the Duchess—the lioness and Raven sit beside their mistresses as well. I try to catch Raven’s eyes, but she keeps her head down. A frail, wispy man sits on the Countess of the Rose’s other side, and I assume he must be the Count. How pathetic these royal men seem, compared to their wives. The Duke and the Lord of the Glass are on their way to getting drunk, laughing loudly and slapping each other on the back. The Lady of the Glass’s eyes dart between her husband and the Countess of the Stone, as if afraid he’s making a bad impression.
Footmen circle the table, pouring out glasses of wine and water, and placing the first course in front of us. Ash has not looked at me since I came in. Garnet is teasing Carnelian about something, make her face turn from pink to scarlet. Raven’s head is still down. She hasn’t touched her food. She hasn’t even picked up her fork.
Then she looks up and I can’t stop the sharp intake of breath at the sight of my once-beautiful best friend.
Her cheekbones stick out and the skin stretched tightly over them has a grayish tinge. She looks hollow, vacant. Our eyes meet but I see no flicker of recognition in hers, just a blank stare.
It’s as if Raven is dead already.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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Thirty
NO. SHE CAN’T BE GONE.
Suddenly, I am aware of the silence in the room. Everyone is staring at me.
I turn to the Duchess. “The Countess asked how you are feeling,” she says.
I’m not sure which Countess she’s talking about, so I try to make my answer general. “I’m feeling fine, my lady,” I say to the room at large.
At the sound of my voice, Raven blinks and looks around, confused, like she’s waking up from a dream. There is life in her eyes again, and when she sees me, the ghost of a smile pulls at her pale lips.
I feel a rush of relief so strong it’s almost painful. She’s still there. Raven is still in there.
I have to find a way to save her. I can’t leave her in this place.
The rest of the meal resembles the many others I’ve been forced to sit through, the mindl
ess chatter and gossip, the snide comments hidden under the guise of politeness. I try to think of some way I can communicate with Raven, who spends the luncheon going back and forth between being in the present and being somewhere else—sometimes her eyes glaze over, or she stares at her plate for too long, her fork frozen in midair.
Maybe it’s because I’m so aware of her, or maybe it’s because I know her so well, but I almost sense the pain before it happens.
Raven gasps—one hand slides across her stomach and the other grips the tablecloth. Veins of color spread out from her clenched fist, a deep, inky blue that crawls across the table, turning the white linen dark. Carnelian screams, and the Lord of the Glass topples out of his chair.
Suddenly, I know what I need to do.
“Get the doctor,” someone yells. In the commotion, I jump up and knock over my chair, pretending to get tangled in its legs and fall to the floor. I bring up the image in my head, swift and sure, and cracks of brilliant green spread across the carpet. The royal women shriek, the men hopping around to dodge the color that races over the ground. I crawl toward Raven and shove her out of the chair.
I wrench Lucien’s ring off my finger and jam it onto hers.
“Don’t take this off. There’s a clasp in the diamonds,” I say quickly. “Drink what’s inside at midnight.”
Raven blinks. “Violet?” she whispers. Then she vomits a river of blood.
A massive hand grabs the back of my neck. In one swift movement, I’m on my feet, looking into the cold eyes of the Countess of the Stone.
“Get away from her,” the Countess says.
“She—she’s sick,” I stammer. Blood stains the front of Raven’s dress and runs down her chin. Her nose has started bleeding, too.
The Countess tosses me aside like a rag doll.
“Ebony!” the Duchess shouts. “Don’t you dare lay a finger on my surrogate.”
The carpet is fully green now. For a moment, the room is still. The two women stare at each other, one small, one massive. It’s hard to decide who is more menacing.
“Get. Out.” The Duchess’s voice is sharp and commanding.
The Countess of the Stone’s mouth twists. “As you wish, Pearl.” She grabs Raven by the arm and pulls her upright. Raven follows her docilely out the door, Lucien’s ring secure on her finger.
“Well,” the Duchess says. “I think this luncheon is over.” The table is a mess, spilled wine and food on top of the now-blue tablecloth. All the guests are wearing various expressions of confusion and panic. She turns to the Duke. “Darling, why don’t you take the gentlemen to the smoking room. Garnet, will you join them?”
Garnet tosses the napkin he’s holding on the table. “Thanks, Mother, but I’d rather gouge my own eyes out.”
The Duchess’s eyes harden. “Then find something useful to do. Preferably something that doesn’t involve a kitchen maid.”
The Duke has already herded the other royal men out the door. Garnet bows.
“As you wish, Mother.”
“Are you all right?” the Duchess asks me.
“Yes, my lady.”
“Have Annabelle take you for a walk in the garden. The fresh air will do you good.” I curtsy. “Come, ladies, let’s move to the sitting room.”
As the Duchess sweeps out of the room, the royal women trailing behind her, I hear the Countess of the Rose murmur, “Very well trained, Pearl.”
The lioness is the last to leave. She looks back at me and for a moment, I see a hint of the old fierceness in her eyes. It reminds me of the way she looked at Dahlia in the Waiting Room—like she was jealous.
I wonder what her life is like, in the House of the Rose. I don’t even know her name.
The room is empty, except for me, Garnet, Carnelian, and Ash. Carnelian is staring at the bloodstained carpet.
Garnet clears his throat and says, in his typically blithe manner, “Well, I’m off to find a kitchen maid. See you all at dinner.”
Footmen come in and begin to clean up the mess. Carnelian tugs on Ash’s sleeve.
“Can we go for a drive, Ash?” she asks. “I’d love to get out of this house.”
His smile is so genuine, it might’ve fooled me if I didn’t know him better. “Of course. I’ll have them bring the car around.”
Carnelian threads her arm through his, throws me a smug look, and they walk out the door, leaving me alone with the hope that Raven understood my instructions and an emptiness where Lucien’s ring used to be.
I LIE AWAKE THAT NIGHT, LISTENING TO THE CLOCK TICKING on my mantel.
Raven should be taking the serum now. I don’t know why, but I’m certain that she heard me, that she understood. I wonder what Lucien will think, when it’s her body in the morgue instead of mine.
I can wait. Whatever this plan is of his, however he thinks I can help destroy the royalty, all of it can wait. Because I couldn’t let Raven die. Not like that. Not in that palace, with horrible things being done to her brain and someone else’s baby growing inside her.
Maybe, at the end of the day, I’m just like Lucien. Willing to save Raven’s life at the expense of others. Like he did with Azalea. Maybe I’m too selfish to be a savior of surrogates.
It doesn’t matter. I made a choice. Now I have to make amends.
I throw off my covers and slip out the door, down the darkened halls of the palace, toward the library.
I quickly reach the east windows and for a terrifying second, I think I see a shadow move in the stacks. I freeze, my heart hammering. The shadow moves again, and I see that it’s just the wind blowing a tree branch outside the window.
I hurry down the secret tunnel and into Ash’s parlor, tiptoeing to his bedroom door and opening it quietly. He’s asleep, one arm thrown over his face, his breathing slow and even.
“Ash,” I say. He mumbles something unintelligible. “Ash.” I shake his arm.
“Wha—” His whole body lurches awake. His hair is a mess, and he blinks around the room with unfocused eyes. When he sees me, he freezes. “What are you doing here?”
I sit down on the edge of the bed. “I gave it to Raven,” I say.
“What?”
“Lucien’s serum. I gave it to Raven.”
Comprehension dawns on Ash’s face—I’ve told him about Raven before. “The Countess of the Stone’s surrogate. That’s Raven?”
I nod.
Ash lets out of huff of air, like I’ve punched him in the stomach. He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t.
“I’m not leaving,” I say timidly.
“Yes, I’ve gathered that.” He’s still holding his head in his hands.
“I couldn’t do it, Ash. I couldn’t let her die here. Not if I could save her.”
“So what, it’s all right if you die here?” Ash’s head snaps up and he glares at me.
“We don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“Yes, we do. We do know, Violet. Lucien knows what he’s talking about. He’s lived in the Royal Palace a long time, so if he tells you you’ll die in childbirth, you can bet your life that you will.” He grabs me and shakes me hard. “You can’t die, Violet, don’t you get it?”
His fingers dig into my arm, his face a mixture of anger and panic. I press one hand gently against his face.
“I made a choice, Ash,” I say. “Just like I made the choice to be with you, that day in the concert hall.”
“This isn’t the same thing,” he snaps.
I stroke his cheek. His skin is still warm with sleep. I didn’t think I’d ever get to touch him again. “It’s my life. You can’t decide how I live it. Neither can Lucien.”
For a second, I think he’s going to keep yelling. But then he relaxes his grip on my arms. “You really are infuriatingly stubborn, aren’t you?”
I smile bleakly. “Can you forgive me for lying to you?”
Ash sighs. “I can forgive you for not telling me about the escape and
Lucien’s involvement. That would have been unthinkably dangerous. But how could you have let me think you were dead?”
My hand slips from his cheek to his chest. His heart beats under my palm. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“I know. That doesn’t make it okay.”
“I know,” I agree. We hold each other’s gaze for a long moment. “Can I stay?” I ask finally. He has every right to kick me out and never speak to me again.
He definitely looks like he’s considering that option. Then he smiles my favorite smile and shakes his head. “I swear, you’ll be the death of me.”
“That’s not funny.”
Ash puts a hand on mine, leaning back against the pillows and pulling me with him. I nestle into the crook of his shoulder.
“How angry do you think Lucien will be?” he asks. “When he finds out you’ve given the serum to someone else?”
I smile into his collarbone. “He’ll probably pop a blood vessel.”
“Or two. Or ten.” Ash kisses my hair. “What happened today in the dining room?”
“You mean the Auguries?”
“I don’t know. Is that what it’s called? I’ve never seen anything like that.”
I tilt my head up. “You don’t know about the Auguries?”
Ash rolls his eyes. “Violet, I don’t know anything about the surrogates. At the companion house, we were instructed to treat you like furniture. We were told you had some peculiarities and if we saw anything strange we were to ignore it. Not that any of us wanted to risk even thinking about a surrogate.” His jaw tightens.
I kiss him just under his ear. “You’re pretty brave, aren’t you?” I say.
He grins at me. “Not as brave as some.”
Suddenly, there is a tremendous bang, followed by the sound of heavy boots, and then the door to the bedroom is kicked open. I shriek as Regimentals flood into Ash’s room, their guns drawn and pointed. Ash and I scramble back against the headboard, his body slightly in front of mine, protecting me. My brain buzzes, every muscle taut, my nerves thrumming. I can’t seem to make sense of what I’m seeing. I can’t stop looking at their guns.