by Amy Ewing
“How did you sleep?” Ash asks.
“Like the dead,” I say. His hair is wet and tangled. I want to run my fingers through it. “Did you bathe?”
He smiles. “It had been a while. I think I needed it.”
“Eat,” Sil says again, setting a bowl down in front of me. “Then you can take a bath.” She sniffs. “You both need it,” she says with a glance at Raven.
“Where’s Garnet?” I ask, taking a bite of oatmeal. The brown sugar melts on my tongue.
“Outside sulking,” Lucien replies. He flips to the front page of the paper and flops it down in front of me. The headline of the Lone City Herald reads, ROYAL WEDDING. And under that in smaller print: THE JEWEL’S MOST-ELIGIBLE BACHELOR TO WED.
In everything that has happened, I completely forgot that Garnet was getting married. I even played cello at his engagement party. I shudder, remembering the pain that night, how I nearly died from a miscarriage. I didn’t realize a date had already been set for the wedding.
“Oh,” I say. “Right.”
I’ve become so used to Garnet’s presence. He’s like a friend now. It’s strange to think that he’ll go back to living in the Jewel.
“Will he no longer be part of your Society?” I say. “But he got that tattoo . . .”
Lucien smiles. “I’m flattered you think of it as my Society.”
“Oh, come on,” I say. “You’re the Black Key.”
“It might surprise you to know,” Lucien says, “that I am not the first person in the Lone City to think the royalty needs to be held accountable for their actions. It was about two centuries ago—no one remembers it now, and the royalty certainly don’t wish to even admit that it happened, but there was a man in the Farm. Bulgur Key. He attempted a revolt on the royalty, formed a secret society, caused a lot of trouble in the Farm. But his reach was not wide enough—he couldn’t affect anything beyond his own circle. In the end, he and every member of the Society of the Black Key were executed. And the whole thing was quietly swept under the rug.” Lucien taps his chin with a finger. “I felt his Society deserved to live on.”
“How did you find out about it?” I ask. “If the royalty tried to hide it.”
“The Duchess of the Lake has the most extensive library in the entire city. As you well remember, she allows me to peruse it from time to time.” Lucien winks at me and I smile. So the Duchess unwittingly aided the revolution.
“Aren’t you at all worried that this time will end like last time?” I ask. Ash gives me a look that makes me wonder whether he was thinking the same thing.
Lucien puts a hand on mine. “No,” he says. “Because this time, it won’t be one circle fighting within itself. We have something Bulgur Key did not have. We have you.”
The oatmeal turns to cement in my mouth. I swallow it down and push my bowl away.
“So what are you going to do about Garnet?” Ash asks. I am grateful for the subject change.
“He wants me to get him out of the marriage,” Lucien says. “As if I were a magician.”
“You’re pretty close,” I say.
Lucien smiles. “Thank you.”
“He doesn’t want to leave,” Raven says, staring at the headline. “He likes it here, with us.”
At that moment, Garnet bursts in through the door. “Oh, you’re up,” he says, noticing the newspaper. “Can you convince him to get me out of this stupid wedding arrangement? I can’t spend the rest of my life with Coral. She’s got a collection of miniature tea sets. What kind of person collects something like that?”
“I imagine she’s very lonely,” Raven says.
Garnet frowns. “Sure, but do I have to be the one to keep her company? I want to stay. I want to help.”
“This is helping,” Lucien says. “Think about it. This way we can keep someone in the Duchess’s palace, someone who will know what’s going on there and can report back. Do you know how hard it is to find allies in the Jewel? This is a gift to us, Garnet.” He sits back in his chair. “You know, I never foresaw how useful you would be. I only ever meant for you to keep an eye on Violet.”
“Thanks,” Garnet says dryly.
“I did not mean it as an insult,” Lucien says. “You have surprised me, and that is a rather hard thing to do—as you yourself well know.”
Garnet sighs and plops down in an armchair. “I thought you were all about freedom and choice,” he grumbles.
“I am,” Lucien says. “But sometimes sacrifices must be made.”
“What did you do anyway, Garnet?” I ask. “You must have owed Lucien a pretty big favor.”
“Yes, I’d be curious to know this myself,” Ash says. Even Raven has a hint of her old curiosity in her eyes.
Garnet’s cheeks turn pink. “Nothing,” he grumbles.
“He said some extremely compromising things and got himself into an even more compromising position with a young lady from the Bank,” Lucien says with a smirk. “The young lady’s father happens to run this very paper.” He holds up the Lone City Herald. “It would have been a scandal the likes of which even his mother could not have gotten him out of. I saved him from losing his title.”
“I don’t even want the stupid title anymore, anyway,” Garnet protests.
“Well, now we need it,” Lucien says.
“You two can discuss this all you want,” Sil says. “But she needs to come with me.”
She points a finger in my direction.
“I’ll do whatever you want,” I say. “But please let me take a bath first.”
THE BATHROOM IS ON THE SECOND FLOOR.
There is an enormous claw-footed tub, and I fill it with steaming water until the air is sticky and the mirror over the sink fogs up. Then I soak until my fingers turn into prunes. I wash the remnants of soot and dirt and sweat off my body and by the time I’m done, I feel like a new person. I wrap myself in a thick white towel, wipe the steam from the mirror, and stare at my face. I almost don’t recognize myself.
The trip through the Bank and the Smoke has left marks—circles under my eyes, a hollowness in my cheeks. Annabelle and Cora would have covered up these imperfections expertly, with creams and makeup. My collarbones stick out more than they used to. But there is a new strength in my eyes, in the way I hold my shoulders and the tilt of my chin. I look at my reflection and can almost believe I’m capable of something incredible.
The closet in my and Raven’s room is full of all sorts of clothes, but most of them look like they’re for men. I pull on a pair of brown pants that are too big, securing them with a thick leather belt, and slip an oversize woolen sweater over my head. I grab a pair of socks and head downstairs.
Garnet and Ash are sitting at the dining table playing Halma. Lucien is in conversation with Sil in the kitchen, and Raven is rocking herself quietly in the rocking chair.
“You’re good for a royal,” Ash says as Garnet takes three of his marbles.
Garnet shrugs. “Annabelle taught me,” he says. We exchange a glance, and I nod. Annabelle was the best Halma player I’ve ever met.
“All right, time to get going,” Sil says, handing me a pair of worn leather boots. “These should fit you. Let’s go.”
I lace my feet into the boots.
“Good luck,” Lucien says as I follow Sil out the back door.
There is a smaller porch attached to the back of the house. The sky is covered with heavy gray clouds. A light mist clings to the tops of the trees that surround the enormous field. The barn looms off in the distance, its gray wood weathered and cracked. There is a small pond to my right. In between the pond and the barn is a vast garden, row upon row of withered stalks and dried leaves.
Sil marches down the steps of the porch and strides across the field. I have to hurry to keep up.
Dew dampens my hair, making the strands stick to my face and neck. The air is chilly, but by the time we finally reach the tree line, I am flushed and out of breath. Sil stops and stares up at the branches above our heads,
a small smile on her face. Then she pats one of the trunks, the way you’d pat a horse or a dog. She wanders through the trees, patting each one. I trail behind her. Sometimes, she stops and runs her hand over a particular branch, or crouches down and picks up a handful of earth, rubbing it between her palms. I wonder whether she’s forgotten me completely, when she finally speaks.
“Nature is unselfish,” she says. “It only wishes to survive. Humanity inflicts harm on it, digs up the earth, poisons the waters, harnesses rock and metal and stone for its own purposes. We are the protectors. We are the connection between humanity and nature. Nature is always searching for balance.” She gazes up at the branches crisscrossing over our heads. “This island has been out of balance for a very long time.”
There is a slender birch tree between us. Sil probes its bark with her fingers.
“What are the four elements?” she asks.
For a second, I think she might be talking to the tree.
“Earth?” I reply hesitantly. “Air, Water. And . . .”
“Fire,” Sil snaps. “Don’t they teach you anything at those holding facilities anymore?”
I choose not to answer that. In the few hours I’ve known her, I have come to realize that arguing with Sil gets you absolutely nowhere.
“We cannot create anything,” Sil continues. “We can only call on an element. The island gave us this power. It chose us to be its guardians. You must learn to listen to it. The Auguries are a perversion of nature. When you become one with an element, there is no pain, no blood. Only a deep understanding. You must give yourself up to it.” As soon as she finishes speaking, a brilliant green leaf blossoms from the branch of the birch tree that Sil is touching. It flutters in the air for a second. Then its edges turn brown, and the leaf withers and falls to the ground.
“Now,” she says. “You try.”
I barely hide my smile. Of course I can do this. I’ve been making leaves grow since I was twelve. Sil picks up a slender twig from the ground and twirls it in her hand.
“Go on,” she says. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
I place my hand on a nearby branch.
Once to see it as it is. Twice to see it in your mind. Thrice—
“Ow!” I cry, as Sil hits my wrist with the twig.
“Did I say to use the Auguries, girl?”
“You told me to make it grow,” I say, rubbing the spot where it stings.
“Did I? Is that what I said?”
I think back and realize she never actually told me anything. She just made a leaf grow herself.
“You have to ask it,” she says.
“How?” I ask.
“Who taught you how to breathe?” Sil says. “It’s instinctive.”
I put my hand back on the tree.
Once to—
“Ow!” I cry again, as the twig snaps against my fingers.
“Stop using that damned mantra,” Sil says.
“How do you even know I’m doing it?” I ask.
“You think I don’t know that look?” she says. “You think I can’t feel it coming off you, stinking waves of dominance and manipulation? You reek of it. Of them.”
“Well, you’re not giving me very good instructions,” I grumble.
“You’re not listening to me,” Sil says.
“I am,” I protest.
“Prove it.”
I grit my teeth and place my hand hesitantly on the tree once more.
Um . . . grow, please, I think.
The twig snaps down on my hand again.
“Stop it!” I say. “I’m trying.”
“No, you’re not,” Sil says. “You think I’m a crazy old woman.” She cocks her head. “And that’s fine. You didn’t do anything I didn’t already expect you’d do. Azalea didn’t understand at first either.” She sighs. “But you need to learn. Now comes the hard part.”
“What do you mean—”
Suddenly, thick brown ropes shoot up out of the ground, twining themselves around my feet and ankles and up my calves.
“Stop!” I cry. But Sil has turned and is already walking back to the house.
“Sil!” I shout as I desperately try to free myself. “What are you doing?”
I bend down and see that the ropes are actually roots. She must have done this, called on the tree or whatever it is that she was trying to get me to do. The birch is holding me hostage.
“Sil, you can’t leave me here. Lucien!”
There’s no answer from the big farmhouse.
“Ash!” I shout again, louder this time. “Garnet! Raven!”
I think I hear a noise from the inside of the house but it’s so far away and honestly it’s probably wishful thinking on my part. I yank on the roots, clawing at them with my fingernails and pulling as hard as I can, trying to break them. If anything, I think it only makes the tree hold me tighter.
I finally give up, flop back against the birch, exhausted, tears of frustration pricking the corners of my eyes.
If this was meant to be my first lesson, I’ve most certainly failed.
Seventeen
THE DAY SHIFTS SLOWLY INTO EVENING.
My stomach cramps from lack of food, the oatmeal this morning a distant memory. My mouth is painfully dry and when I touch my tongue it feels like sandpaper. I stuff my hands inside the sleeves of my sweater to keep them warm, but still, my fingers and toes are numb with cold.
I’m no closer to calling on an element than I was when Sil was hitting me with that twig. This feels like a giant waste of time.
My heart lifts when I see a light bobbing toward me. Lucien slowly comes into focus, carrying a lantern with him but no visible signs of food.
“How are you doing?” he says when he reaches me.
“How do you think?” I croak. My throat feels dusty. “When is she going to let me go? This isn’t working, whatever she’s trying to do.”
“Azalea said the same thing,” Lucien says.
“Did Sil lock her up like this?” I ask.
“She tied her to a different tree.”
“Why?” I ask. “What could she possibly hope to accomplish?”
“The only way Sil knows how to bring out the true Augury is based on her own experience,” Lucien says. “For you to comprehend it, she must . . . re-create that experience in you. She wants to break you down. Make you weak. So that this power, whatever it is, will be forced to save you.”
“And that’s how she taught Azalea? Why would you allow that?”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t know. I wasn’t here all the time. When I came to see her months later, Azalea was tied up, thin and starving. I was furious. But that was the day she understood. I’ll never forget the look in her eyes. I wished I could have seen the world the way she saw it.”
Lucien sits down and gazes up at the sky. The first stars are beginning to appear. “Azalea was always so frustrated with me. She thought I could be doing more, helping more people, not just her. But I was selfish. When she died, she said, ‘This is how it begins.’ She knew her death would spur me to action. And it did.”
The phrase shakes something loose in my memory. I see an image of a wild girl with bright blue eyes, her head being lowered onto the chopping block in front of Southgate.
I gasp. “I saw her.”
His brow furrows. “I beg your pardon?”
“You never told me how she died,” I say. “Was she . . . executed?”
“Yes,” he says quietly.
“Lucien, she was executed at my holding facility. She was so . . . strong, so brave. And when the magistrate asked her if she had any last words, she said, ‘This is how it begins. I am not afraid.’ And then she said, ‘Tell Cobalt I love him.’ Do you know who Cobalt is?”
A single tear falls onto Lucien’s cheek and glitters there like a diamond.
“Me,” he whispers.
“What?”
Lucien wipes his face with his hands and turns away from me. Very carefully, he unties his t
opknot. A sleek ribbon of chestnut hair falls to his shoulders.
“I was born Cobalt Rosling,” he says. “In the West Quarter of the Marsh. My father was a very ambitious man—it didn’t take him long to discover that his only son was different. I was reading the entire newspaper front to back by the age of five. I excelled with numbers. I loved taking apart the one clock in our house and putting it back together. The magistrate in our area began to take notice of me. He suggested that my father try and find employment for me in the Bank.
“But the Bank wasn’t enough for my father. The Jewel was where the real money was—not only money, but status. My father hated living in the Marsh. The Jewel pays a premium for ladies-in-waiting. They are the most revered of all servants. But to be a man and a lady-in-waiting, one must first be castrated. I wouldn’t even be considered otherwise.” Lucien runs a hand over the shaved front of his head, then down the length of his hair. “Of course, I was not aware of any of this at the time. One day, a few months before my tenth birthday, my father came home early from work. There was a small shed in our backyard—my mother had cleaned it out years before so I could pretend it was my workstation. I used to make—”
Lucien’s voice breaks, and he shakes his head hard as if trying to rid himself of the memory. I feel strangely paralyzed. I can’t imagine a child Lucien. I had no idea he was from the Marsh, though of course if his sister was a surrogate he’d have to be. He has always seemed so confident, so cool under pressure, always knowing the right thing to do.
I never thought about the events that led him to become a lady-in-waiting. Maybe I didn’t want to know. Maybe it was easier to pretend he’d always been this way.
He looks at the ground when he speaks.
“My father called me into the house,” he says. “My mother was crying. Azalea was only two. The kitchen table had been cleaned off. My father said I was going to help the family. I didn’t see the two men he’d brought with him until it was too late.”
Lucien tugs hard, three times on his long rope of hair.
“They tied me to the table.” He’s talking faster now, the words pouring out of him, and I wonder whether he has ever told anyone this story before. “They tied me up while my mother screamed. And Azalea cried, even though she didn’t know what was happening.” Lucien digs his fingers into the earth. “I couldn’t move. I felt someone unbuckle my pants and rip them off.” His shoulders tense. “And then there was a fire. And then there was a knife.”