by Amy Ewing
“Oh, darling, you’ve been so busy,” the Duchess says. “What do you think?”
The man shrugs. “You know best, my dear. She’s certainly prettier than the one who had Garnet.”
This must be the Duke. I don’t like the way he says this, or the way he looks at me under those thick brows—it makes my skin prickle.
“My wife tells me you have big plans for her,” the other man says. He is portly, the buttons on his waistcoat straining against his large stomach, and his cheeks are red.
“Yes,” the Duchess says. “I have been waiting quite some time to find a surrogate like this one. My daughter will be exceptional.”
“Our daughter,” the taller man corrects her.
The Duchess smiles icily. “Quite right. Our daughter.”
The door opens, and I hear the footman announce, “Garnet, son of the House of the Lake.”
Garnet swaggers in, looking more put together than when I saw him before. At least, he’s not drunk this time. His blond hair is slicked back, his clothing immaculate; his tuxedo jacket fits snugly over his broad shoulders.
I look back and forth between him and Ash. They are both very attractive, but there is something decidedly natural about Ash’s looks. Garnet’s features are flawless—full lips, straight nose, pale skin. He could have walked out of the pages of one of Lily’s gossip magazines. He looks nothing like either of his parents; I assume whatever surrogate bore him was very good at Shape and Color.
“Mother, Father,” Garnet says, nodding at the Duke and Duchess and taking a proffered glass of champagne from a nearby footman. “Am I late?”
A muscle in the Duchess’s jaw twitches, but just then a bell rings.
“Shall we sit?” the Duke says brightly.
I take a seat on the Duchess’s right, the Duke on her left, then Garnet. The Lady of the Glass sits beside me with her husband, then Carnelian, then Ash. The result is that Ash and I are almost directly across from each other.
He doesn’t look at me. His eyes seem to skip over me, as if I’m not even there. Like I’m invisible.
The pain of this is a sharp, physical thing, almost like the aftermath of an Augury except it’s not my head that feels like needles are being shoved into it. I try and focus on arranging my napkin in my lap.
I shouldn’t be feeling like this. It’s stupid. I don’t even know him. What does it matter if he looks at me or not?
A servant places a salad of spinach, beets, and goat cheese in front of me, but for the first time since Dahlia’s death, I have no desire to eat. My mouth feels like sandpaper.
“Pearl,” the Lady of the Glass says, as another servant fills her wineglass, “your niece was telling me the most charming stories about living in the Bank. Did you know she actually helped with her father’s printing press? Imagine!”
The words sound sincere, but the tone is off—I get the impression that the Lady and the Duchess are sharing some sort of private joke at Carnelian’s expense.
Red blotches of embarrassment appear on Carnelian’s cheeks. “Only one time,” she says to her aunt. “When his apprentice was ill.”
“Well,” the Duchess says smoothly, “I’m sure it was very character-building.”
The Lady of the Glass hides her laugh in a sip of wine.
“I see you finally got a companion for her,” Garnet says to the Duchess through a forkful of beets. He wipes his mouth with a napkin and extends his hand to Ash. “I’m Garnet, by the way.”
Ash shakes his hand politely. “Ash Lockwood.”
“He’s a looker, isn’t he, cousin?” Garnet says to Carnelian, waggling his eyebrows at her. “How much is he costing you, Mother?”
The Duchess’s nostrils flare, but Ash cuts in smoothly.
“Carnelian was showing me the library before dinner,” he says. “You have the most extensive collection I’ve seen, my lady. It’s very impressive.”
“Thank you, Mr. Lockwood,” the Duchess says with a tight smile.
“Yes, my wife does have the most remarkable preoccupation with the past,” the Duke says. “I must admit, I don’t understand it at all.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to, darling,” the Duchess murmurs. “The only books you read are the ledgers.”
“Someone must look after the finances,” the Duke replies, with a significant glance at the Lord of the Glass. “Isn’t that right, Beryl?”
“Oh, quite, quite,” the Lord says with a wink.
“The House of the Lake is one of the four founding Houses,” the Duchess says sharply. “My ancestors helped build the Great Wall, without which this island would have long ago been destroyed by the sea. I am a direct descendant of the first Electress, who founded the Lone City and created the five circles, including our beloved Jewel. It is not simply my honor, but my duty to preserve the literature of their time. Of course, I suppose I understand why it might not be of interest to those whose bloodlines do not extend back that far.”
The Lady of the Glass shifts uncomfortably, and her husband busies himself with his salad. The Duke’s hand tightens around his fork.
“Oh, come on, Mother, don’t belittle Father for climbing up the social ladder,” Garnet says, taking a huge gulp of wine and waving a footman over to refill his glass. “You would have done the same if you were born to the House of the Glass.”
“Thank you, son,” the Duke says tersely.
Carnelian pipes up. “Mama always said it isn’t who you are but what you do that is important.”
“Your mother said a great many things,” the Duchess snaps. “And none of them need be repeated at my table.”
An icy silence settles over the room. I shovel a couple of beets into my mouth just for something to do. I think the last dinner was preferable to this one. At least Raven was there. And Lucien.
“Did you hear,” the Lady of the Glass says brightly, leaning forward, almost across me, to the Duchess, “about the Lady of the Locks?”
The Duchess perks up. “What about her?”
“You know she just bought her first surrogate this year?” The Duchess nods. “Apparently, she takes her around everywhere!” the Lady exclaims. “On shopping excursions, to luncheons, she even brought her around my house for tea. I can’t imagine what she’s thinking.”
“How embarrassing,” the Duchess says. “Do you think she’s trying to show off?”
The women burst into malicious laughter. The Duke, the Lord of the Glass, and Garnet are engaged in a debate over a new tax the Exetor plans to levy on the Farm, and Carnelian is prattling away about her plans for the weekend to Ash. I feel incredibly lonely.
“What lot did she end up with?” the Duchess asks.
“102,” the Lady of the Glass replies.
“102? And she parades her around like she was in the top ten?”
“I know. Someone should speak to her.”
“It’s not as if safety is an issue, I suppose—I can’t imagine anyone who matters bothering with the surrogate of a third-tier House. It’s just a lack of class.”
“Perhaps she’s trying a new strategy to gain the Electress’s attention,” the Lady of the Glass suggests, and the two women begin laughing again.
“She’s having a daughter, too, I suppose?”
“Of course. But I can’t believe the Exetor would ever consider an alliance with the House of the Locks.”
“Speaking of,” the Duchess says, “did you get your dress for the Exetor’s Ball?”
“I did. I was so afraid the Electress might make him cancel it after the whole business with her surrogate. What a disappointment that would be!”
I grit my teeth at the casual mention of Dahlia’s death. I wonder if the Lady of the Glass knows that she’s speaking to the woman who was responsible for it. I doubt she’d even care.
The footmen clear our plates and serve the next course, lamb with mint jelly and roasted potatoes. The food is delicious, but I can’t enjoy it. I’d rather be eating in my rooms with Annabelle t
han listening to these women talk about surrogates as if they are pets or a new pair of shoes.
My eyes keep wandering to Ash, and I really wish they wouldn’t. It’s like they’re on a mission to notice as much about him as possible. The way he sometimes smiles like he’s keeping a secret. How his eyes almost seem to change color, shifting from gray to green. He is patient as he listens to Carnelian, never looking bored or interrupting. His fingers curl around his wineglass and all I can think of is how they felt against my skin. What is wrong with me? He’s just a boy. Just an incredibly good-looking boy who knows music and talked to me like a person for a few minutes and made me feel all buzzy and . . .
I take a drink of wine.
“Of course, the Electress isn’t the only one who’s suffered a loss.” The Duchess’s words bring me back to the present. “Did you hear about the Lady of the Bell?”
“Yes,” the Lady of the Glass murmurs. “I heard they found her surrogate in the bath, drowned. She’s completely out of the running for a match with the Royal Palace now. She’ll have to wait another year before she can even buy a new surrogate.”
The Duchess shrugs. “It serves her right, not protecting her home as she should. One must be extra careful in times like these.” She takes a bite of lamb. “Anyway, that’s why I never have my surrogate take baths. You can’t drown in a shower, can you?”
“Oh, has surrogate hunting season started?” Garnet calls from across the table. His cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are bright when they meet mine. “Better watch your back, new girl. This year is bound to be vicious, what with the precious little Exetor’s hand at stake.”
The blood drains from my face, and because I’m too aware of him, I see Ash’s shoulders tense. The Duchess slams her palm down hard on the table, making everyone jump.
“You will leave this table at once,” she says in a voice so cold I feel the temperature in the room drop a few degrees.
Garnet drains the last of his wine. “With pleasure,” he says, standing up and giving the Duchess an overly elaborate bow. Then he turns on his heel and marches out the door.
There is a chilly silence. The Duchess remains standing. The muscles in her jaw clench and unclench, like she’s trying to work out what to say.
“Everyone knows how patient I have been over the years,” she announces to no one in particular. “I have taken many measures to ensure the safety of my surrogate. Nothing will happen to her. I will not allow it.”
I feel like she’s talking to me without actually talking to me. As if it would be embarrassing to try to comfort me in front of other people.
Dessert arrives and I try to enjoy the cheesecake with fresh raspberries, but I keep wondering how many other surrogates have been killed since the Auction. My thoughts flicker between Raven and Lily.
“Tell me, Mr. Lockwood,” the Duchess says. “How long have you been a companion?”
I stare at my fork and listen very hard.
“Three years, my lady,” Ash replies. “Since I was fifteen.”
“In which circle were you born?”
“The Smoke, my lady.”
My head whips up. The Smoke? I assumed he was from the Bank or the Jewel. But from one of the lower circles . . . we sort of have something in common. The thought sends a warm feeling through my chest before I remember I’m not supposed to care.
“Which Quarter does your family live in?” the Duke asks.
“The East, my lord.”
“Why, we own several factories in the East Quarter. What did you say your surname was?”
“Lockwood, my lord. But my father makes cabinets at Joinder’s Woodworks.”
“That’s a House of the Stone subsidiary, isn’t it?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Darling,” the Duchess says, “we must see if we can find this young man’s father a more suitable employ at one of our own factories.”
“Your Ladyship is very kind,” Ash says, but there is a tightness around his eyes.
“I was saying to the Lady of the Glass earlier, it is remarkable that natural conception still has the capacity to produce such . . . excellent results. Your mother and father must be a very handsome couple.” The Duchess is staring at Ash with a rather hungry look in her eye as she takes a long sip of wine.
The Lady of the Glass quickly changes the subject. “Carnelian, darling, tell me, what lot number was the surrogate your mother used for you?”
The question seems to make Carnelian uncomfortable. “She didn’t care about the rankings. She always said she just wanted me to be healthy.”
“Well,” the Lady of the Glass says, “I’m sure she got the best she could afford.”
“Beryl, all this surrogate talk should be left to the ladies, don’t you agree?” the Duke says to the Lord of the Glass. “What do you say to a brandy in the smoking room?”
Just then, the door bursts open and James, the butler, bows his way in.
“Forgive me, Your Ladyship, but an urgent message has arrived from the House of the Glass.” He turns and bows to the Lady. “Your surrogate is in labor.”
“Oh!” the Lady of the Glass exclaims. “But she’s not due for two more weeks.”
There is commotion all around as servants pull back chairs and rush to get coats and the Duke and Duchess offer congratulations.
“It will be fine,” the Duchess assures the Lady of the Glass. “Garnet was two and a half weeks early and he turned out . . . well, he was healthy, at any rate. You must take my car back, it’s faster.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you!” the Lady of the Glass gushes, kissing the Duchess’s cheek. Her husband and the Duke shake hands, then the couple hurries out the door.
“My dear,” the Duke says, “I believe I will retire.”
And without even looking at his wife, he strides out of the room.
The Duchess sinks into her chair. “That will be all for tonight,” she says with a wave of her hand. “Get out.”
I’m only too happy to oblige.
Ash, Carnelian, and I file into the hallway. A maid in a black dress and white apron is waiting for Carnelian, but Annabelle is nowhere in sight.
“Your lady-in-waiting will be back shortly,” the maid says, and I recognize her voice from the east wing—the girl named Mary. “She is attending to Garnet in the library.”
“Oh,” I say. “Thank you.”
“How was your dinner, miss?” she asks Carnelian.
“Horrible,” Carnelian grumbles. “Can Mr. Lockwood escort me back to my room?”
“That would not be appropriate,” Ash says, taking her hand and kissing it. “But I will see you tomorrow.”
Carnelian smiles and allows her maid to lead her away.
The hallway is empty except for the two of us.
Ash realizes this at the same time I do, and he takes a step back, like he doesn’t want to be too close to me. I don’t know what to say, but I want to say something. He starts to walk away, then turns back.
“It’s always like that for you, isn’t it,” he says. “It’s always been like that for the surrogates. I’ve just never noticed before.”
I open my mouth, but before I get a chance to ask him what he means, Ash whirls around and disappears down the hall.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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Sixteen
“DOES IT REALLY NEED TO BE QUITE SO TIGHT?”
I was informed a few days after the family dinner that I was to attend the Exetor’s Ball with the Duchess and her family. I didn’t think going to a ball would entail not being able to breathe for an entire evening.
Annabelle rolls her eyes and finishes tying the strings of my corset. I trace the hard boning with my fingers—I’ve never worn one before, and I definitely won’t miss the experience.
Annabelle turns me away from the mirror and helps me into about a thousand petticoats, th
en holds up a pile of glittering fabric. Carefully, so as not to muss my hair, she negotiates my way into the dress. She steps back to admire her work, and claps her hands together.
“Can I look now?” I grumble. Preparing me for the Exetor’s Ball has taken several hours, and I’m ready to be done with it. Annabelle laughs silently and turns me to face the three-sided mirror.
“Oh!” I gasp. “Oh, Annabelle . . .”
The dress is lavender slashed with gold, the full skirt falling gracefully to the floor, the bodice tight over the corset, which, I grudgingly admit, accentuates my figure. Perhaps a little too much—it’s like my body has been squeezed upward, so that I’m showing a bit more skin than I’m used to between the capped sleeves. My hair has been curled and pinned so that it tumbles over one shoulder, and I’m wearing more makeup than usual, especially around my eyes.
Annabelle’s face appears over my shoulder, beaming.
“Oh, don’t look so smug,” I say, but I can’t help smiling, too. “The Duchess will be very impressed.”
Annabelle leads me to the main foyer, where the fountain twinkles happily in the evening light. Ash and Carnelian are already there, and I can’t stop my heart from jumping at the sight of him.
“I didn’t realize you were coming,” Carnelian says. Her pink dress is fancier than mine, with lace sleeves and a much fuller skirt.
“I didn’t realize you were coming,” I shoot back.
Ash doesn’t look at me, but his lips twitch.
The Duke and Duchess arrive, Cora trailing behind them.
“We’re late,” the Duchess says, without any sort of greeting. “Where is Garnet?”
She looks sternly at each of us, as if we might be hiding him in our pockets or something. Then she lets out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t even know why I bothered asking. Come.”
Her midnight-blue gown gleams under a velvet cloak, and one gloved hand is twined around the Duke’s arm as she steers him out the door. Annabelle ties my own cloak around my shoulders as Ash does the same for Carnelian.
