The White Rose

by Amy Ewing

  There is a canvas bag, larger than the satchel, wedged next to the cans. I unzip it and pull out two dresses made of plain brown cloth. I hand one to Raven, whose eyes have gone blank. She clutches the dress and stares at the wall with a vacant expression. I change into my own dress before helping her into hers.

  “Is it time for the doctor?” she whispers. She looks terrified.

  “No. No more doctors,” I say, smoothing her hair back from her face. “Here, put this on.”

  Ash trades his sweater for a collared shirt and tweed jacket, with a matching short-brimmed hat. It doesn’t quite hide the welt on his cheek, but at least his eye isn’t as swollen. A dark bruise has blossomed beneath it, purplish black.

  “Take these,” Garnet says, handing him a stack of newspapers. Ash hoists the stack onto his shoulder, and the papers hide his face. He could be any other newsboy.

  “We can’t move together. I volunteered to help search the Bank for him”—Garnet jerks his head in Ash’s direction—“so I could come and meet you. My mother practically died of shock.”

  “Do they know how I escaped?” Ash asks.

  “Whatever Carnelian gave those guards, it completely wiped their memories. They don’t even remember locking you in the cell.” Garnet smirks. “You know, she’s actually pretty clever. If her blood was pure, she’d make one very impressive Duchess of the Lake.”

  “Great,” I say, eager to get off the topic of Carnelian and onto the more pressing matter at hand. “But where are we going?”

  “To a place not far from here. I only have an address, I don’t know who’s meeting you or what’s happening after.”

  “Isn’t the whole point of this to get to the Farm?”

  That’s what Lucien said. Get me to safety. There is safety in the Farm, the fourth and largest circle of the Lone City. But it feels like the Farm might as well be on a different planet right now.

  “I don’t know what the point is, Violet. You think Lucien tells me everything? I’ve got an address, you can either come with me or figure out something on your own. And you should know by now, Lucien likes to keep things mysterious,” Garnet says.

  “Yeah, I know,” I grumble.

  “So I’ll go first. Then the companion will follow me.”

  “His name is Ash,” I say.

  Garnet ignores me. “Then you two follow him. Oh, put your hats on,” he says. I riffle through the bag and pull out two white caps with a lace fringe on them.

  Garnet starts down the alley, when Ash grabs his arm.

  “Wait,” he says. “What quarter are we in?”

  “East,” Garnet says. “Near the southern border.”

  Ash swears under his breath.

  “What?” I ask.

  “We’re close to my companion house,” he replies. “Someone might recognize me.”

  The companion house is like Southgate—it’s the place where Ash was trained how to escort the young ladies of the Jewel.

  “No one’s going to recognize you,” Garnet says. “Your face is a mess. But at least you know where you are. The address is Forty-Six Twenty-Two Plentham Street. In case we get separated. You take them there.”

  We skirt the wall, creeping down the alley until we get close to the street. Garnet holds up a hand signaling us to stop.

  “Wait five seconds,” Garnet says to Ash, “then follow me. You two wait five seconds more and follow him. Got it?”

  I nod as Garnet walks out of the alley, turns right, and disappears down the street. I count to five in my head. I only get to three before Ash’s arm wraps around my waist, his lips pressing, gentle but firm, against mine. It takes me by surprise, but it comforts me.

  Before I can say anything, he’s gone.

  I forget to start counting.

  “That boy kissed you,” Raven says.

  “Yes,” I say. “Come on. Stay close to me, all right?”

  She smiles playfully. “Where else am I going to go?”

  I take a deep breath, and we walk out onto the streets of the Bank.

  AFTER LIVING IN THE HEART OF THE JEWEL FOR NEARLY three months, the Bank shouldn’t be overwhelming. It’s the second circle of the city, where the merchant class lives, and the wealthiest after the Jewel.

  But I haven’t been around so many people at once, and I’m awestruck by the crowds. I forget for a moment that I’m supposed to be following Ash and Garnet, forget to keep my head down and try to go unnoticed, because there are people everywhere—coming out of slender brownstones, strolling arm in arm down the bustling sidewalks. Many of the women are accompanied by young girls in brown dresses, who follow a few steps behind their mistresses with arms full of brown-wrapped parcels, or carrying hatboxes, or leading sleek, well-groomed dogs on leashes. One woman, wearing a hat made out of real roses and holding a tiny monkey in her arms, pushes past me and says to her friend, “I do hope they find him soon. I finally managed to secure an invitation to the Royal Theater this weekend and if the Jewel is still sealed off I won’t be able to go!”

  I scan the streets for Ash and find him a few feet ahead of us, the stack of newspapers bobbing up and down as he walks. There are Regimentals everywhere, splashes of bright red among the crowds. I can’t tell which one is Garnet, so I keep my eyes locked on Ash. My nerves are taut, all the exhaustion I felt climbing out of the sewers erased by a new flood of adrenaline. We’re so exposed. I walk quickly, my arms tense at my sides, waiting to feel a hand on my shoulder or a shout of “There she is!”

  They’re not looking for you, I remind myself. But that reminder doesn’t make me feel better.

  The bobbing stack of papers crosses the street and turns left down another road. Raven nearly gets hit by an electric stagecoach as we follow after it; I grab her hand and pull her safely out of the way as a driver shouts at us to watch where we’re going.

  The street Ash took is lined with shops—glass-paned storefronts selling everything from the latest fashions in women’s dresses to gilt-framed paintings of bowls of fruit and girls doing ballet. Diamond rings glint at us, nestled in blue velvet cushions. Puppies bark and play in a pet-store window. A red satin chaise lounge takes up an entire window display under a sign proclaiming, SALE!

  And in every window, on every door and lamppost, a sign with Ash’s face is plastered, bold print proclaiming, WANTED. FUGITIVE.

  I feel like I’ve fallen down the incinerator shaft again—the air in my lungs is too thin and my head starts spinning. In the photograph, he’s maybe a year or two younger than he is now, his hair parted on the side instead of tousled, but it’s so very him.

  This plan suddenly seems reckless, foolish. What happens if they catch him?

  For one heart-stopping moment, I wonder whether Lucien organized it this way intentionally. Get Ash out of the way. Still save me.

  Then I remember Lucien’s warning about the key. I didn’t even think to ask Garnet. What if this is a setup? What if Garnet isn’t working for Lucien after all?

  “All right there, ladies?”

  A Regimental blocks our path. He’s about Garnet’s age, and very tall, with a mop of dark curly hair. His eyes skim over my body in a way that makes me wish I were wearing about ten more layers.

  I have no idea what to say, so I curtsy. That always worked in the Jewel.

  This seems to please the Regimental. “I saw you girls nearly get run over by that coach. You ought to be more careful.” His eyes flicker to the bruise on my cheek. “You don’t want to get more of those.” He reaches out, like he’s actually going to touch my face, and I shrink away. He laughs. “I won’t hurt you. I’m here for your protection.” His chest swells a little as he says it. “You heard about that companion, right?”

  I nod once, a short, tight movement.

  “Dangerous fellow. But don’t worry, we’ll find him soon enough.” He winks at me. “Has anyone ever told you, you have absolutely stunning eyes?”

  I finally find my voice. “We need to be getting home,” I say. �
��Our mistress will be wondering where we are.”

  “I’ll gladly escort you to—”

  “No, thank you,” I say, ducking around him and pulling Raven with me. Raven mutters something under her breath, but I keep walking and don’t look back. We weave our way through the crowds, and I’m so focused on getting away from the Regimental that it’s a few moments before I realize I’ve lost Ash. I slow my pace, frantically searching for the stack of papers. The crowd swells around me as the street empties out into a large square. Other streets pour into it from all directions.

  The square is host to an open-air market; stalls are set up all around. Many boast large wicker baskets filled with all sorts of vegetables—bunches of carrots, strings of onions, heads of broccoli, potatoes, kale, beets, winter squash. The scent of fresh bread hovers around a baker’s stall. A potbellied man shouts out prices for large glass jugs of cider.

  “I can’t find him,” I whisper. “Raven, do you see him?”

  We can’t stay in one place—I fear the Regimental might follow us, and the best way to find Ash is to keep moving. I try searching for Garnet instead, but there are so many Regimentals and they all look the same. Raven and I move slowly among the stalls. I hear snatches of conversation, most of which are about Ash. There is an overtone of shock and outrage, but I sense that the people of the Bank are loving this story. Such juicy gossip, a companion and a surrogate. I wonder whether any of them know him, personally. Whether he has friends in this market or—I shudder—former clients.

  “C’mon,” I mutter to myself. “Where are you?”

  Suddenly, Raven stops walking. Her face has gone pale, her eyes taking on that strange, double-focused look, like she’s seeing something I can’t see.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “She knows him,” she says.

  “What?”

  Without another word, Raven bolts.

  “Raven!” I cry, grabbing for her arm too late. I run after her, squeezing my way through the crowd, and trip over a basket of cabbage. Next thing I know I’m sprawled on the ground with scraped palms, leafy green balls tumbling all around me.

  “Are you all right, miss?” the stall owner asks, but I scramble to my feet, pushing through the crowd, because I can’t have lost them both, I can’t be without Raven and Ash.

  Then I see him. Time freezes for a moment and the world slows as Ash appears in the far corner of the market. Raven is only a few feet away from him. How she knew where he was, I have no idea—as I watch, her head turns to the left. I follow her gaze and see a woman speaking to a Regimental and pointing in Ash’s direction.

  I feel a strange whooshing sensation, as if a great tunnel of wind had dropped down through my torso. Raven’s words echo in my head.

  She knows him.

  Raven reaches Ash at the very moment I hear the whistle blow.

  “There he is!” someone shouts.

  The market erupts in chaos.

  Regimentals are everywhere. People pushing and shoving, stalls are toppled over, more whistles blow . . . I get knocked down again and by the time I get to my feet, I can’t see Raven or Ash anywhere. I can’t find Garnet among the sea of red uniforms.

  I am all alone.

  I push my way to the edge of the square, fighting against the swarm of people who can’t seem to decide which way they want to go.

  “Did you see him?”

  “Is he here?”

  “Have they caught him?”

  “Right here, in Landing’s Market, imagine!”

  I finally make it past the last of the stalls and onto one of the smaller streets, so wrapped up in panic that I run smack into a petite blond girl.

  “Oh!” I cry as we both tumble to the ground.

  “I’m so sorry, I—” The girl blinks and looks at me. “Violet?” she gasps.

  It’s Lily.

  Seven

  AS SOON AS WE’RE ON OUR FEET, LILY THROWS HER ARMS around me.

  The last time I saw her was on the train from Southgate to the Auction. I remember her singing that Marsh-song in her plaintive, sweet voice. She was so excited to start her life as a surrogate.

  “What are you doing here?” she asks. “Why are you dressed like a servant? What happened to your face?”

  Lily is wearing a simple gray coat and a pretty purple hat with a yellow ribbon on it. She looks cared for. She looks healthy. I want to hold on to her and never let go. I want to make sure she’s real.

  But I can’t stay here.

  “Help me,” I gasp.

  “Of course,” Lily says. “Are you lost? Do you need help finding your mistress? Oh, Violet, I thought I’d never see you again! You live in the Jewel, don’t you? You must, I knew of course that someone in the royalty would have bought you. Did your mistress take you shopping? Have you seen Raven at all? Is she in the Jewel, too? Oh, have you heard about that companion!”

  I’d forgotten just how much Lily can talk—a strange sensation bubbles up in my chest, a mixture of happiness and exasperation.

  “Lily,” I interrupt, before she can keep going, “I need a place to hide.”

  Her eyebrows knit together. “From what?”

  A few Regimentals run past us at that moment, one of them yelling, “Search the alleys!”

  I shrink back against the wall. “From them,” I say.

  Lily looks from the retreating Regimentals to me and back again. I see something click in her expression. The next moment, her hand slips into mine.

  “Come with me,” she says.

  We hurry down narrow streets that blur together, pink and gray and red stone, glinting glass windows, trees with neatly trimmed branches, bare and leafless now that winter is here. The houses get smaller, plainer, the farther away from the market we go. Finally, Lily stops in front of a pale-yellow house, sandwiched between a red one and a gray one. It’s only two floors, but it has a cheery blue door with a wreath of hellebore hanging on it.

  “Quickly,” she says, hurrying up the steps and taking out a key. We slip through the door into a combination of front hall and living area—a smattering of mismatched couches and armchairs surround a low wooden coffee table to my left. Directly in front of me is a set of stairs.

  “This way,” Lily says, as we run up to the second floor. It’s a single hallway, lined with a worn red carpet. All the doors are closed. Lily reaches one hand up, a gesture that makes no sense until I see the dangling rope, then a hatch opens and a ladder descends from the ceiling.

  “Up, up, up!” she says. I climb into semidarkness, expecting Lily to follow me. Instead, I turn to find her folding up the ladder.

  “I’ll be back tonight,” she says. Then she closes the hatch before I have a chance to thank her, or ask any questions, or wonder if there might be something to eat up here.

  I am sealed off, in an attic, in a strange house, in the Bank.

  I am utterly on my own.

  EXHAUSTION OVERCOMES ME, AND I FALL ASLEEP DESPITE the ache in my stomach and the fear that clogs my lungs.

  I don’t remember the last time I slept. Over twenty-four hours, at least. I suppose I needed it. But it doesn’t make me feel better.

  When I wake, I am completely disoriented. For a second I think I’m in the dungeons, in the palace of the Lake, but then I feel the lumpiness of the ancient, sagging couch I collapsed on, and my eyes adjust, and I remember.

  The attic has a musty smell. There is a small, half-moon window that looks out over the street—I can tell from the dimness of the light that evening has fallen. There are several rolled-up rugs piled against one wall. I find some moth-eaten sheets draped over the back of the couch. A broken lamp, a few boxes containing books and some old photographs, an empty birdcage, and stacks of yellowing newspapers are scattered about the narrow space. The ceiling slants downward, so I have to crouch a bit as I make my way to the window.

  The sound of voices freezes me in place. A man’s first, then a woman’s. I clap my hands over my mouth, a physical reinf
orcement to ensure I don’t make a sound.

  I can’t hear what they’re saying. I think they’re on the ground floor. The voices become more muffled, finally vanishing into some part of the house too far away for me to hear.

  The couch springs creak as I sit down. My whole body is trembling. My head throbs and I realize I’m clenching my jaw so hard my teeth are grinding together.

  My solitude comes crashing down on me. Where are Raven and Ash? Have they been caught? My empty stomach contracts at the thought of Ash once again thrown into a cell. Ash, with his head on the chopping block. Raven, sent back to the House of the Stone. Or worse—side by side on a matching block with Ash.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and will the images to disappear. I don’t know anything and thinking the worst will not help. I press the heels of my hands against my eyes and a flurry of sparks appears in the darkness behind my lids.

  The base of my skull begins to buzz.

  I have a wild, fleeting thought that I’ve snapped from the stress before I remember the arcana. I gasp and struggle with the knot I made in my hair, so many lifetimes ago, when Annabelle was still alive, and I lived in the Duchess’s palace.

  I finally tug it free, barely feeling the sharp sting when a few hairs come out with it. It rises in the air, hovering inches away from my face.

  “Lucien?” I whisper.

  His voice comes across immediately. “Where are you?”

  “I . . . I’m . . .” I don’t know how to answer him. I have no idea where I am. “I’m in the Bank.”

  “What happened? Why didn’t you make it to the safe house with the others?”

  “I got—oh, Lucien, are Raven and Ash okay? Are they there?”

  “Yes, but what happened to you?” Lucien’s voice is clipped, impatient.

  Raven and Ash are all right. They’re safe. My legs melt into the couch.

  “We got separated,” I say. “And then I ran into a friend, another surrogate. Someone I knew from Southgate. I’m hiding in her attic.” I want to hold the arcana, cradle it in my hands but I don’t know whether touching it will end the communication or harm it in some way.