by Amy Ewing
The Exetor emerges from the car and climbs the steps to the palace, trailed by two members of his private guard. The entire foyer bows and curtsies as he enters.
“Pearl,” he says, in a commanding voice. “I am deeply sorry for your loss. As you said in your letter, it is truly a tragic time for the House of the Lake.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” the Duchess replies. “I am honored you took the time to visit me here.”
The Exetor smiles. It’s a surprisingly nice smile. His beard is close-cropped and streaked with hints of gray, but you can see the strong jaw underneath.
“You wished to meet with me,” he says.
“Yes,” the Duchess replies. “If you will accompany me to my private study, we can speak there. Cora can bring us refreshments.”
“That won’t be necessary,” the Exetor says, stopping Cora in her tracks.
“As you wish.” The Duchess curtsies again. I’ve never seen her be so deferential. “Please follow me.”
They begin to ascend the staircase. The Exetor’s guards shadow him, but he waves them off with a hand. “You will wait for me here.”
They reach the second floor and disappear.
It’s like everyone in the foyer was holding a collective breath. The Regimentals break ranks, One and Two moving to stand by the main stairs, Four and Five going over to greet the Exetor’s guards. Zara claps her hands and all the scullery maids follow her down to the kitchen. Garnet turns to Rye and Carnelian.
“I’m off to the library. We’ll have to be back here soon enough when he leaves.”
“I’ll come with you,” Carnelian says. “I need to get a new book.” She glances at me with a smug smile. “Come along, Imogen.”
I bob my head and try to look docile.
“Are you sad?” Carnelian asks Garnet as we walk through the halls. “About Coral?”
“Of course.”
“But you didn’t love her.”
“That doesn’t mean I wanted her to die.” We pass the dining room and make a right. “I’m glad you’re all right,” Garnet adds.
“Thanks.”
This whole quartet is so strange. I know about everyone. Garnet knows about Rye but not Carnelian and vice versa. Carnelian knows about me but not Garnet and Rye.
Is this how Lucien feels all the time?
“What do you think they’re talking about?” Carnelian asks.
Garnet shrugs. “Not a clue. Mother is probably angling to use Coral’s death”—he stumbles over the word—“to some advantage or another.”
When we reach the library, Garnet spreads out onto one of the leather couches and throws an arm over his eyes. Carnelian peruses one of the shelves with Rye.
“Imogen, it’s hot in here and I forgot my fan,” she complains. “Go get it for me from my room.”
I can tell she’s enjoying her position of power.
“Yes, miss,” I say with a strained curtsy.
I turn to leave, passing the table with all the crests on it and then a family portrait of Garnet with his father and mother, when an idea occurs to me.
The Duchess said she was going to her private study. When I was first looking for Hazel, I discovered a hidden staircase that led me to a study with a photograph of the Duchess’s family in it. It was a place that felt intensely personal. What if she and the Exetor are there now?
I pretend I’m leaving the library, then make a sharp left and dart behind the shelves. Silent as a ghost, I make my way to Cadmium Blake’s Essays on Cross-Pollination and slip down the tunnel. I find the staircase and climb it quickly. Murmured voices tell me my suspicions were right.
I reach the door to the study and am shocked into stillness by a sudden burst of laughter.
“Oh, Onyx,” the Duchess says. There’s a silence, and then the unmistakable sounds of kissing.
The Duchess. Is kissing. The Exetor. I knew they were engaged once, but . . .
“I’m tired of this charade,” she says.
“I know,” the Exetor replies. “So am I.”
“Did you bring it?”
There is a rustling and then the sound of something clattering onto a tabletop. “From her personal library,” he says.
“And no one saw?”
“Not a soul. Not even Lucien. I think he believes she is behind the shooting. At least, he doesn’t suspect you or me.”
“That is excellent news.”
I’m trying to make sense of what she’s saying. The Duchess and the Exetor were the ones who planned the attack on Hazel. But why?
“It really is a beautiful piece,” the Duchess says with a sigh.
“I gave it to her for the Longest Night two years ago. Very publicly.” There is a pause. “I don’t think she appreciated it.”
“She is too pedestrian to understand it.”
The Exetor laughs. “She doesn’t have your love of history. Or your passion for fine weaponry.”
Weaponry? My heart sinks lower in my chest. What is happening here?
“It was your great-grandfather’s, wasn’t it?” the Duchess asks.
“What an excellent memory you have.” I can hear the smile in the Exetor’s voice.
“I remember everything about us,” she says. I’ve never heard her sound so vulnerable. “Every single second. I first saw this when I was thirteen and we broke into that old chest your father kept in one of his studies.”
“We got in quite a bit of trouble for that.”
The Duchess’s laugh is gentle, and full of memory. “We did, didn’t we? My father kept me locked in my room for a week.”
“And I arrived two days into that week and demanded he release you.”
“Yes, I’m sure you were very intimidating.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t box my ears.”
“So am I.”
It’s the Exetor’s turn to laugh. “I’m certain he wanted to. But I don’t think my father would have been so forgiving of one of his subjects accosting his own son.”
“What do you think our fathers would make of us now?” the Duchess asks.
There is a long pause. “I don’t think I care, to be honest. After what they did . . . after . . . it was our lives, Pearl, our lives, and they—”
“I know,” she says softly.
I hear a stopper being popped off and liquid poured into glasses. “I’m worried, Onyx. What if we fail? What if people don’t believe it was her? We need the royalty to love this engagement. We need them to be so attached to the joining of our Houses that there is an outrage when the surrogate is murdered.”
She’s trying to kill me. Hazel’s words come back to me with full force. Someone in this palace is trying to kill her. I was just wrong about who.
“Yes, I’ve thought on this quite a bit,” the Exetor says. “Your House has garnered so much sympathy recently. What if we were to make use of all that goodwill?”
“In what way?”
“We make the Auction double serve as an engagement party for Larimar. A grand affair, not like Garnet’s little promotion celebration. We will make it the event of the century. And we will open the invitation to every member of the royalty.”
“Of course,” the Duchess says. “The royals will love it, especially the unmarried ones who wouldn’t be able to come otherwise. A party on top of a party.”
“We appear as a united front. No one will doubt the validity of this engagement. Then, when the surrogate is murdered with the Electress’s dagger, this circle will turn on her like a pack of wild wolves.”
“Oh, my darling,” the Duchess says. She murmurs something too low for me to hear.
“I could have been better,” the Exetor says, his voice straining with emotion. “I should have been. With you by my side.”
“We can’t change the past.”
“I should never have let—”
“Shhh.” There are some more muffled movements. “Soon. After the Electress is hanged for treason. This will all die down in a year or so.”
“That seems so far away.”
“We’ve been waiting twenty-eight years,” the Duchess says. “I think we can wait one or two more.”
I don’t understand. If they love each other so much, why did the engagement break off in the first place?
There is a silence and then he asks her something in a whisper, too soft for me to make out.
“I don’t know,” she replies, and she sounds like she’s in pain. “I never knew. It was too early to tell.”
Too early to tell what? I want to shout.
“I am so sorry,” he says.
“I know, my love,” she murmurs. “I know you are.”
One last bit of kissing and then the Exetor says, “I should be getting back. The announcement needs to be made.”
“Yes, of course.” She chuckles. “It’s going to send this circle into a tizzy.”
There’s the sound of footsteps and then a door closes.
I slide down the wall and perch on the edge of a stair, my heart thrumming in my chest.
This whole thing has been one elaborate scheme to get the Exetor and the Duchess back together. At the cost of my sister’s life.
Twenty-Two
THE ANNOUNCEMENT THAT THE AUCTION WILL SERVE AS an engagement party as well throws the circle into gleeful chaos, as the Duchess and the Exetor predicted.
Invites come pouring in, for cocktail parties and luncheons and wine tastings. Everyone wants the Duchess’s attention. The loss of Coral and the Duke mixed with the ironclad promise of a union between the Royal Palace and the House of the Lake makes the Duchess the Jewel’s most wanted woman. And with only one day left until the Auction, the palace is buzzing with excitement.
I haven’t spoken to Lucien since the Exetor’s visit. But tonight is the annual pre-Auction dinner party for the Founding Houses at the Royal Palace, and fortunately, Carnelian was invited. Which means I’ll get to see him one last time before the city changes, for better or worse.
This development also means Carnelian will be attending the Auction, a huge relief since Coral’s death meant I would not have had a reason to attend myself.
The lower circles have been bubbling with discontent. Fires, lootings, more bombings . . . the Farm is in turmoil now, too. The factory workers in the Smoke have been striking. I haven’t spoken to Rye privately again. But I manage to get a moment alone with Garnet before I prepare Carnelian for the big dinner. He tells me Rye reached out to him. He’s very excited to have the companions on board.
“They’re really good with strategy,” he says, adjusting his bow tie. “And they already know how to fight. When you Paladin start causing all that chaos, we’re going to be ready. It’s like the royalty trained the perfect weapons for us!”
I quickly fill Garnet in about the conversation I overheard between his mother and the Exetor.
He whistles. “Well, I can’t say I’m entirely surprised. She’s been in love with him for years. You didn’t hear what broke off the engagement, did you?”
“No, but that’s not the point,” I say. “Hazel is the target.”
“Yeah, at the Auction. Mother won’t have a chance. Everyone will be too busy fighting the Society.”
I hope he’s right.
THE ROYAL PALACE IS LIT UP LIKE A GIANT CANDLE, IN anticipation of the Auction tomorrow.
I caught a miraculous glimpse of Hazel for the first time since she escaped. Leashed and veiled, she was led to the motorcar by the Duchess, but it was enough to make my heart soar. I have time. She is alive and I’m going to make sure no one threatens her life again.
We arrive at the same time as the Countess of the Rose. Her hair is piled up on her head and dotted with real roses. The Count leans heavily on a cane as he walks up the front stairs beside her. Her lady-in-waiting is an older woman with a topknot as gray as the Countess’s own hair.
“You are the talk of the circle, Pearl,” the Countess says with admiration. I listen attentively but keep my eyes on my sister. She glances back at me, and I give her the tiniest shake of my head. She gives me a minuscule nod and keeps her eyes forward. “Just what you’ve always wanted.”
“That is where you are wrong, my dear Ametrine,” the Duchess replies, her gaze fixed on the front doors of the palace. “There has only ever been one thing I truly wanted. And it wasn’t winning the Jewel’s popularity contest.”
As soon as we step inside, footmen take cloaks and hats and lead the royals away to the dining room. I keep my eyes on Hazel’s retreating form for as long as I can. Just as they are about to turn a corner, she looks back at me one more time. Then she’s gone.
“Come along, Imogen,” Cora says. I turn and catch a glimpse of the Countess of the Stone making her way up the stairs with a short, frail man by her side. The Count, I assume. I wonder if Emile will be here tonight.
I follow Cora and the older lady-in-waiting (both of whom clearly know where they’re going) to a room with colorful couches in shades of peach, turquoise, emerald, and lilac. Several tables have been laid out with all sorts of food and glass pitchers of water. There is one lady-in-waiting already here—he must serve the Duchess of the Scales. She’s the only Founding House I haven’t seen yet.
“Olivier,” Cora says, coming over to greet him. “How lovely to see you. Have you met Imogen?”
Olivier is plump and cheery, with a carrot-orange topknot.
“You were hired for Coral, yes?” he says, shaking my hand. His are unnaturally soft.
“Yes,” I say. “But I serve Carnelian now.”
“Such a shame,” he says with a sigh, then directs his attention back to Cora. “Your House has been hit hard these past few weeks. Turning the Auction into an engagement party was a brilliant idea of the Exetor’s. Just the thing this circle needs to lift its spirits.”
“I’m surprised the Duchess brought her surrogate here at all,” the gray-haired lady-in-waiting says, coming to join us with a plate of cheese and fruit. “Isn’t she worried about the Electress?”
“Come now, Eloise,” Olivier says. “The Electress would never attempt to harm the surrogate in her own house.”
“I wouldn’t put it past her,” a thin, dry voice says from the doorway.
I know him, even without ever really having seen him before. Raven told me all about Frederic—his voice, his bloody gums, his beady eyes, his beaked nose. He glides into the room, plucking a grape off a bunch in a silver bowl.
“Eloise. Olivier.” He acknowledges them with a nod.
“Glad to see you’re up and about,” Cora says dryly. “We missed you at Garnet’s party.”
“I was sorry not to be there,” Frederic says with a distinct lack of sincerity. “Though I do like my soirees to come with a little less violence.”
“Really,” Cora shoots back. “I was under the impression it was quite the opposite.”
Eloise and Olivier look uncomfortable. But Frederic merely smiles at her, and I see them, the bloodred gums Raven told me about. It is a hideous smile, one that clearly wishes the receiver harm. Frederic pops the grape into his mouth and chews it slowly.
“Will the Countess be buying another surrogate this year?” Olivier says in a blatant attempt to diffuse the tension.
“Of course,” Frederic says. “Such a shame about the last one. It was truly . . . unique.”
Raven told me they used to call her “it.” Knowing it is one thing, but hearing him say it out loud . . . I ball my hands into fists, the desire to join with Air and throw him across the room potent inside me.
“Ah, good, you are all here.”
I turn and see Lucien. “Welcome, my friends. Another year, another Auction. Though this year seems to be shaping up a little differently than the previous ones.”
In more ways than one, I think, and his gaze lands on me for half a second, but in that time, I know his thoughts are in line with mine.
“Indeed,” Olivier agrees, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “An engagement party and an Auctio
n? The entire Jewel attending?”
“No doubt the Duchess will be thrilled by the attention,” Frederic says.
“And the Countess is known for her humility?” Cora retorts.
“We must be in top form,” Lucien says, ignoring the snipes between the two. “And keep close eyes on your mistresses. With all the violence and the distress in the lower circles, we must be on high alert.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was sincerely concerned with the well-being of the royal women. He snaps a finger at me.
“You,” he says. “Carnelian requires you. Come with me.”
My heart in my throat, I follow him out the door. I expect him to lead me far from the room with the other ladies-in-waiting, or maybe back to his secret workshop, but instead he takes me only one room over.
“Do you know how to get to this room from the front doors?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, surprised. “It’s just down the hall to the left, right?”
“Correct.” The room is a small antechamber, nothing in it except for a round, blue rug and a painting of a white fluffy dog sitting on a plush stool. Lucien pulls back the painting to reveal a hole in the wall, large enough for me to climb through. I can see stone stairs on the opposite side.
“This will take you to my room,” he says. “I left markings for you to follow. I wanted to make sure you could find it. If . . . if the time comes.”
My chest is tight. Lucien replaces the painting so nothing looks out of place.
“This is it,” I say.
“This is it,” he echoes in reply. He puts his hands on my shoulders. “Whatever happens tomorrow, whatever the day brings . . . at least we tried. We tried to do something bold and brave.”
“We tried to change the world,” I say.
He smiles gently. “Or our own little corner of it, at least.”
I smile back. He has meant so much to me, and I don’t know how to express my thanks for everything he has done. He seems to sense my feelings, though, and envelops me in a freesia-scented hug.
As we walk back out into the hall, a footman rushes up. “Lucien, come quick. Arabelle has burned the venison pot pies and Robert and Duncan are at each other’s throats again. The kitchen is a nightmare.”
