The Black Key

by Amy Ewing

  “You did?” I say.

  “What would you do if a lady-in-waiting showed up at your front door? In a place you thought no one could find?” Sil says, but her mocking is gentle. “He didn’t like me much after that. Of course, we had to get along, for Azalea’s sake.”

  “I know,” I say.

  “But Azalea never brought us together the way you did,” Sil says. I stare at her, dumbstruck, but she’s refusing to look at me, flipping through an old, leather-bound tome. “I saw a change in Lucien, even before I met you myself. The way he used to talk about you . . . if I heard one more damned Violet story, whether he was proud or worried or just bothering me with that arcana to complain about you . . .” She chuckles at the book. I’m having difficulty breathing. “He’d lived in that circle for so long. I don’t think he realized how much it had affected him, even if he never wanted it to. But you did. You held up a mirror and reminded him that he was just as worthy of saving as the surrogates.”

  “Of course he was,” I whisper.

  “You say that like it’s an easy thing to believe,” she says with a snort. “And then he showed up at my door again, with not one but two surrogates, a companion, and a royal.” Sil lets out an exasperated sigh. “I was so mad. Well, you know, you were there. That wasn’t the plan. Saving those people, a pregnant surrogate, a companion, it was such a risk. Lucien and I, we were so wrapped up in what we were supposed to be doing, we forgot why we were doing it. I thought it was just revenge—that’s all I wanted at first, and I think he did, too. Revenge for Azalea. Blood for blood.”

  She finally meets my gaze. Her eyes are red and glassy. “We were wrong. You showed us what really mattered. You changed us both. I wish I could make you see that, Violet.” She turns away, wiping her nose with her sleeve. “He was a fool, to be sure. But you can’t say he didn’t love you.”

  I sink into the armchair. Sil quickly busies herself with examining papers and looking at beakers and saying things that don’t make sense to me, like, “The Apothecary will be very interested in this,” or “Got to make sure the Feroner gets a look at these.”

  Lucien is gone. The revolution is over. It’s time for me to exercise the freedom we fought so hard for.

  “Sil?” I say hesitantly.

  “Mph?” she replies, not looking up from a beaker filled with simmering blue liquid.

  “I . . . I want to leave. There’s something I want to do. I know there’s so much work to do here, and things to figure out, but . . .”

  She gives me her most penetrating stare.

  “Spit it out,” she says.

  “I want to see the ocean.” It’s been tugging at my heart, the desire to see over the Great Wall, to see what’s out there. To get to the edge of this little piece of my world and climb the wall the royalty built. To see what hasn’t been seen in centuries.

  Sil’s pale eyes soften with understanding. “You do what you have to,” she says, patting me on the shoulder, before turning back to Lucien’s table.

  WE BURY THE FALLEN IN THE LAWNS SURROUNDING THE Auction House, the Paladin burying our own separately, under a little copse of trees.

  Twenty-five in all. Indi, Olive, little Rosie Kelting . . . Ginger died, too. As we cover them with earth, a myriad of flowers grow up over their graves, each girl’s flowers sprouting from the earth one last time. I see Indi’s lemon-yellow blossoms entwine with Olive’s dark green ones.

  “I want to see the ocean,” I say to Raven.

  She grins at me. “So do I. We’re all coming with you.”

  “We?” I ask, startled. She glances over to where Ash and Garnet stand, a little apart, watching this private funeral from a respectable distance.

  Raven sighs dramatically. “If we left without them, they’d just follow after us anyway.” She throws an arm around my shoulder. “When do you want to leave?”

  IT’S ANOTHER DAY BEFORE WE ARE READY TO SET OUT.

  I expect Hazel and Ochre to come, to be eager to go home to the Marsh, but to my surprise, they both staunchly refuse.

  “I can’t go back,” Hazel says. “Everything is different now. I . . . I mean something. I matter here. I can’t go back to the Marsh like everything is the same because it’s not. I’m not.”

  “Yeah,” Ochre agrees. “Besides, the Society needs me.”

  Stubborn, Lucien’s voice whispers.

  Just like me, I think.

  “All right,” I say. I won’t argue with them. They need to make their own choices now.

  “Be safe,” Sienna says.

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” Sil adds. “It’s still dangerous out there. There’s fighting in the lower circles.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about us, Sil,” Garnet says cheerfully, clapping her on the back. “Don’t you know we’ve got the most powerful Paladin in recent history as our guide?”

  “Second most powerful,” Sil grumbles, and we all laugh.

  We leave through the ruined south part of the wall, the one by the Auction House. It takes us the better part of the day to make it across the Bank, which has surrendered rather quickly to the fall of the royalty, though there’s a hefty amount of destruction all around us. Many stores have been looted or burned.

  When we reach the wall, Garnet glances at me. “Can you get us through?” he asks.

  “Of course she can,” Ash says, and I grin.

  I join with Earth and welcome the thick, mighty sense of being rooted in something deep and ancient. I feel the stones of these walls, greeting them like old friends, and when they begin to break apart, I fill up with a blissful power. This one isn’t nearly as thick as the wall that surrounded the Jewel. I make only a narrow fissure, just wide enough for us to climb through.

  The scene that meets our eyes is one of widespread devastation. Maybe because there were more things to explode in the Smoke. Factories have been leveled. There are bodies in the streets and constant outbreaks of fighting.

  I’m grateful when we reach the wall to the Farm. At first, this circle seems untouched by the violence. Until we come across the first burned-out farmhouse, the fields surrounding it dead and blackened. It takes several days to cross the Farm.

  We reach the wall to the Marsh late at night. My feet are sore and my back aches, but when I draw on Earth, my strength returns. The wall is black against the night sky, but I don’t need to see it to break it. It is too dark to continue into the Marsh so we camp in the shadow of the wall.

  I wake at dawn. The air is chilly, drops of dew forming on my hair like crystals. I stare at the pearlescent strip of gray in the distance that grows lighter. Then a streak of orange appears, underscored with slashes of pink and gold. Slowly, a symphony of color plays out in the sky, nature welcoming the beginning of a new day.

  I have always loved sunrises. There is something hopeful about them.

  After a quick breakfast, we set off again. Raven and I agree to visit our families on our way back—I fear if I see my mother now, I may never leave her.

  At first, the Marsh appears to be deserted. But then I realize that most of the laborers must have been in the other circles. We see the elderly, and children with young mothers, or children with no mothers at all. The Great Wall looms in the distance, but it never seems to come any closer.

  Until suddenly, the mud-brick houses end and we stand at the edge of a vast expanse of dry, cracked earth. The Wall rises up before us. It is larger than I imagined, larger by far than any of the other walls in this city, and I know I would never be able to take it down on my own.

  It grows more massive the closer we get to it. The wind blows sharply across the empty plain, whipping specks of dirt and dust up around us. We walk and walk and the Wall looms higher and higher. By the time we reach it, it hurts my neck to look up to the top.

  I turn to my companions. “I can’t break this one down.”

  Garnet’s eyes are wide.

  Ash looks slightly stunned. “It’s . . . so . . .”

  “Big,” Rav
en finishes. Big doesn’t seem like enough. The stones are gray and murky brown. Some are covered with lichens or moss. She reaches out and runs her hand over its rough surface, then gasps.

  “Follow me,” she says, taking off at a jog. Garnet rushes to catch up to her and Ash and I take up the rear.

  Whatever Raven’s looking for, she doesn’t find it for nearly half an hour. “There!” she cries triumphantly, pointing at what appears to be just more wall.

  But then I see the contrast, the shadows, the place where steps have been carved into the stony surface.

  Up, up, up they go, to a dizzying height that sets my head spinning. But I have to see.

  At first, the stairs are wide and smooth, but the higher we go, the narrower they become. By the time we are halfway up, my thighs are in agony and there’s a painful stitch in my side. The drop below me is terrifying, worse than in the sewers when we had to climb that rusty ladder to get into the Bank, worse than the top of the golden spire in the Auction House where Sienna and I sent up the flare. Three-quarters of the way up and everything below has turned miniature—minuscule houses, baby trees. I can see straight across the Marsh, to the wall of the Farm.

  “How long . . . do you think . . . it took to build this?” Ash pants.

  “Twenty-five years,” Garnet says.

  Raven gives him a surprised look.

  “What?” he says. “You think I could have lived with my mother all my life and not known that? She loves to—” He stops himself and clears his throat. “She loved to say how our family ‘built’ it. Funded it, yes, but I’ll be damned if a single member of the House of the Lake ever touched a brick or stone.”

  “They are now,” Raven points out.

  Garnet looks at his own hands like he’s never seen them before. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess you’re right.” Then he shrugs. “Well, there isn’t a House of the Lake anymore. So I’m no one, really.”

  “Don’t ever let me hear you say that again,” Raven snaps. “After all you’ve given up. After everything you’ve done.”

  “Can we keep moving, please?” Ash says. He stands with his back pressed against the stone, his skin taking on a grayish tinge.

  “You didn’t have to come,” I say as we plod forward. Each step makes the muscles in my legs burn.

  “Yes, I did,” he says through gritted teeth. “I want to see what’s out there, same as you.”

  “I didn’t know you were so afraid of heights.”

  He lets out a breathy laugh. “I didn’t either. This isn’t just high up. I feel like . . . I don’t know, like we’re walking straight into the sky.”

  When we reach the top, it truly does feel as if we’ve emerged into some other world. The top of the Wall is easily twenty feet wide, the stone pockmarked. The wind is vicious up here, but something about it pricks at me, like little fingers, pinching and nibbling as if to get a sense of who I am. I walk to the other side, shaking with trepidation.

  The lip of the Wall comes into view, and then there it is. The ocean. Exactly as we saw it on the cliff. I hear a gasp, and Raven’s hand slips into mine.

  It is gray and blue and endless. White-capped waves crash onto a long strip of beach, hundreds of feet below. The Wall stretches away in every direction, and for a moment, I could easily believe there is nothing else out there, that this island is the only thing in the world besides water.

  Then I see the ships.

  Their hulls are rotting, their masts splintered, the sails eaten by wind and water and time. But they are there. Maybe a dozen of them, gathered together in a cove near the Wall. Perhaps the royalty kept them for sentimental reasons. Or they have simply been forgotten, lost to time. The only thing that matters is, they are here. Which means the royalty came from another land, as Sil’s book said.

  “I’ve only ever seen ships like those in pictures,” Garnet says in awe. Ash has collapsed on the ground, staring out at the ocean with greedy eyes, as if he can’t see enough of it. I sit beside him.

  “I never thought I’d see it,” he says.

  “Me neither.”

  “But you have seen it.”

  “Not like this.”

  “It’s incredible,” Raven says, wrapping an arm around Garnet’s waist as he kisses her temple.

  The briny tang fills my nose, sharp and sweet all at once. The crash of the waves mixes with the wailing of the wind, and in it I hear something else, too, something that might be singing, in a strange language that I don’t understand. It lifts my heart and makes me sad at the same time.

  We are taking this island back, I think, wondering if these ghosts of the Paladin can hear me, can understand my thoughts. For you. For us.

  The singing swells up around me before fading into the wind, the dying echo of a race that was nearly extinguished.

  But survived.

  We sit on the Great Wall and watch the sun sink lower toward the horizon. Ash’s hand is warm around mine. I feel complete here. The rebellion, the royalty, the city itself all seem so far away. There is only the rich blue of the sky, the gentle bite of the wind, and the dim roar of the ocean. I look at my friends and think about who we all once were, and how far we have come.

  I am Violet Lasting again.

  I am home.

  Acknowledgments

  I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS SERIES HAS COME TO AN END. AND it would not be what it is without the help of so many incredible people.

  Karen Chaplin, my wonderful editor, thank you for your passion, your endless supply of wisdom, and your unwavering belief in me. Your guidance has made this story better than I ever thought possible, and I am eternally grateful for just how much you got me and this world and these characters.

  Charlie Olsen, thank you for being a sounding board, a protector, a champion, and for believing in me even when I didn’t. I will hold all the doors for you, my friend.

  To everyone at HarperTeen, especially Rosemary Brosnan, Olivia Russo, and Olivia Swomley—you are all wonderful, and I am so thankful to be in such capable hands. And massive hugs to Heather Daugherty, Erin Fitzsimmons, and the design team for yet another exquisite cover.

  Huge thanks to everyone at Walker Books, particularly Gill Evans and Emily Damesick, for their brilliant editorial insight, and to Jack Noel for the wonderful UK cover.

  Thanks to Lyndsey Blessing for being a master in all things foreign rights, and to everyone at Inkwell Management for their knowledge and support. And to Philippa Milnes-Smith for taking care of Violet so well across the pond.

  Jess Verdi, I don’t even want to think about how I would have survived this series without you. You were there for every word, every scream of frustration, every eureka moment. Thank you for always telling me to keep going and for always being there when I felt like I couldn’t. I love you to pieces. Moonstone.

  To my incredible betas Caela Carter, Alyson Gerber, and Corey Ann Haydu—you guys are quite simply the best. Thank you for all your wisdom and enthusiasm.

  Riddhi Parekh, friend of friends, thank you for all the hugs, flowers, roosters, wise words, patio laughs, and for just being an amazing person.

  So many incredible friends have supported me on this journey—Matthew Kelly, Erica Henegen, Jill Santopolo, Lindsay Ribar, Alison Cherry, Mindy Raf, Rory Sheridan, Jonathan Levy, Tori Healy, Maura Smith, Mike Hanna, Melissa Kavonic, Ali Imperato, Carly Petrone, Shilpa Ahluwalia, Nina Ibanez, Marissa Wolf, and Jared Wilder, thank you all so much. I value your friendship more than you know. I wish I could give each of you a palace.

  My family has been a bottomless well of support throughout the years. Thank you to both Ewings and McLellans—Jean and Dave, Don and Sandy, Tim, Sadie and Reed, Craig and Vicki, Sam and Sophie, Jennifer, Jonathan, Martha, and Mike. Enormous hugs to Kristen and Molly. As always, extra special thanks to Ben, Leah, Otto, and Bea.

  To my parents, who every day remind me of the power of following your dreams. Thank you for believing in me, for trusting me, and for helping me become the person I am.


  And to Faetra. I wish you could see your name on the dedication page. I wish you could have seen this story go from those few chapters I emailed you to these three actual, real live books. I wish for so many things that will never happen. But as E. E. Cummings said, “I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart).” You will be in my heart forever.

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  About the Author

  Photo by Navdeep Singh Dhillon

  AMY EWING earned her MFA in Writing for Children at the New School and received her BFA at New York University. The Jewel started off as a thesis project but became her debut novel. The second novel in the trilogy is The White Rose. She lives in New York City. Visit Amy online at www.amyewingbooks.com or on Twitter @AmyEwingBooks.

  Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.

  Books by Amy Ewing

  The Jewel

  The White Rose

  The Black Key

  Digital Novellas

  The House of the Stone

  Garnet’s Story

  Credits

  Photograph of girl © 2016 by Michael Frost

  Photo illustration of girl and stone © 2016 by Colin Anderson

  Cover design by Ellice M. Lee

  Copyright

  HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.

  THE BLACK KEY. Copyright © 2016 by Amy Ewing. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.