The Jewel

by Amy Ewing

  THAT NIGHT, I CAN’T SLEEP.

  The things Ash has revealed to me about the royalty, about his profession, about how he’s treated within the walls of the Jewel . . . to anyone else I think it would be impossible to understand why he would do it, or how he could. But not to me. They took something inside him and they broke it, just like they took something inside me.

  I know the pain of obeying an order that every part of you screams to resist. But Ash and I found each other. And we broke all their rules.

  I can still hear his voice, whispering in my ear.

  I love you.

  It takes me only a few seconds to decide—I can’t wait another minute. I’m running out of time. If I really want this, I have to do it now.

  I throw back the covers and quietly slip out of my chambers.

  The halls of the palace look different at night, all shadows and unfamiliar shapes, but I could walk this path blindfolded. The silence is eerie. I make it to the library, and flit past shelves that loom like sentinels in the darkness. The secret door creaks a little as I open it and hurry down the tunnel, into his parlor. There is no curtain on the window, and moonlight gives everything a silvery glow. I tiptoe across the rug and open the door to Ash’s room.

  I’ve never been in his bedchamber before.

  The curtains are drawn, but I can see his outline under a pale blue comforter, the faint movement of his body as he breathes in and out. I creep to his side—only his head is exposed. The rest of his body is hidden under a swath of blankets. I put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Ash,” I whisper, shaking him gently.

  He makes a small, sighing sound.

  “Ash,” I say again, shaking him a little harder.

  He opens his eyes and yelps, sitting up so fast that I jump back. His chest is bare, his hair rumpled with sleep, and I feel a surge of desire and a stab of fear.

  “Violet?” he hisses. “You nearly gave me a heart attack! What are you doing here?”

  “I . . . I . . .” I’ve suddenly lost the power of speech. All I can see is his skin glowing faintly in the light of the open door.

  Ash throws off the covers, and I see that he is wearing a pair of loose, cotton pajama pants.

  “Violet,” he says, getting up and putting his hands on my arms, as if to steady me. Am I shaking? I guess I am. His fingers are warm against my skin. “Are you all right? Did something happen?”

  “I—I love you,” I stammer.

  For a second, he just looks stunned. Then he smiles and pulls me against him. “Is that why you’re here?” A strange sound escapes my throat, somewhere between a sob and a squeak. His breath is hot against my ear as he murmurs, “I love you, too.”

  My heart is in a panic now, throwing itself against my ribs as I wrap my arms around him, feeling the indentations of his shoulder blades, tracing the curve of his spine. His scent is everywhere, and I press my cheek against his chest. One of his hands curls around my waist, the other stroking the length of my hair, out of its pins, falling freely down my back.

  I turn my head so that our lips can meet.

  At first it’s just a regular kiss, comforting and familiar and warm. But then it deepens into something else, something more, and a yearning blossoms inside me. My hands move from his back to his stomach, tracing the lines of his chest and neck until my fingers are brushing his cheekbones. Desire twists in me so fiercely it hurts.

  I don’t realize I’ve been pushing him backward until we fall onto the bed. My hair hangs like a curtain around us, and he holds it back with his hands.

  “Violet,” he says, and there is a warning in his voice. But I can’t stop. I can’t stop kissing him. I feel him give in, sinking his hands into my hair, the muscles in his arms tense and tight. I press myself against him.

  “Violet, stop,” he gasps, rolling me over so that I’m lying on my back.

  “I—I—I’m sorry.” Hot tears fill my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  Suddenly, he is stroking my face, kissing my hair. “Please don’t say that,” he murmurs. “You know I want to. You know I do.”

  “Then why not?” I can’t hide the desperation in my voice.

  “I could hurt you,” he confesses quietly. “I’ve never . . . I mean . . .”

  “It’s all I want,” I whisper. My voice sounds so fragile. I feel breakable. “You’re all I want.”

  Ash hesitates. I run my hand across his chest and press my lips against his shoulder.

  He leans in and kisses my neck, the soft spot just under my jaw, my collarbone . . . My head starts to spin as his fingers trace my arm until he reaches my waist, seizing a handful of my nightdress; I’m suddenly aware of how little separates us, just thin layers of silk and cotton.

  His lips graze my throat. “Are you sure?”

  I’ve never been so sure of anything in my entire life, but words fail me in this moment. My nerves are on fire, buzzing with a strange and fierce vitality, and I wrap my arm around his lower back and pull him closer to me. A low moan escapes his throat and then his mouth is on mine.

  IT DOES HURT. BUT PAIN IS NOT NEW TO ME; I HAVE FELT pain before.

  This is different. This pain is worth it. And this time, I am not alone.

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  HarperCollins Publishers

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  Twenty-Seven

  I AM A NEW PERSON.

  I sit up in bed. My own bed. I didn’t want to leave Ash last night, but I had to. I press my fingers to my lips and smile, letting the memories take me, the shape of his body, the feel of him . . .

  I am weightless. I climb out of bed and walk across my room, marveling at the wonderful strangeness of my body. It’s like my joints have become unhinged. Like my feet are barely touching the floor. My skin feels unnaturally warm, as if I’ve become a tiny sun, radiating light and heat and I love it.

  I love him.

  I open the door to my tea parlor and gasp as every flower in every vase throughout the room suddenly blossoms, buds unfolding, petals growing bigger in brighter and more vibrant colors than they were before. This is me—it has to be. I don’t know how, but there’s no other explanation. An accidental Augury. I brace myself for the pain, but there’s none. Just a pleasant buzzing sensation in my chest and stomach.

  The door opens and Annabelle enters carrying my breakfast tray. She stops short, her eyes wide as she takes in the explosion of color—some of the plants are still growing.

  “Good morning,” I say cheerfully.

  Annabelle puts the tray down and pours me some coffee. I sit in my favorite armchair and take a sip. It’s bitter.

  “Annabelle, can I have some more sugar?” I ask. She usually makes it better than this.

  She blushes and adds another spoonful, but I’m already far away, in a darkened bedroom, Ash’s phantom fingertips against my skin, his hot breath in my ear . . .

  The coffee is still too bitter. I put it down and a tingling numbness spreads through my fingers. “Annabelle, something’s . . . something . . .” My mouth feels clumsy, and it’s hard to form the words I want.

  Annabelle appears in my vision—guilt is etched across her face. The room becomes blurry.

  She drugged me.

  Annabelle doesn’t use her slate, she only mouths, “I’m sorry.”

  I fall forward into her arms and darkness takes me.

  WHEN I WAKE UP, I HAVE A NO IDEA WHERE I AM.

  As my eyes adjust, I see that I’m in my bed, in my room. Someone has dressed me in my nightgown.

  The doctor is sleeping in a chair next to me, his chin resting on his chest. I switch on the light and he starts, blinking around, dazed.

  “Good evening,” he says, stifling a yawn. “Or perhaps, good morning is more appropriate.”

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  “I wanted to be here when you woke up,” he says. “Annabelle was a little heavy handed with the sedativ
e I gave her. Overcompensating for last time, I think—she didn’t want you waking up during the process again.”

  The process. My stomach churns. I touch the inside of my elbow—there is a tiny bump where they put the IV in.

  “You did it again,” I whisper.

  “Yes. I’m hoping there won’t be any complications this time, but just in case, I am ordering you on complete bed rest for a while, until we can determine whether or not this attempt was successful. Someone will be with you at all times.”

  “What?” I gasp. “No.”

  Dr. Blythe pats my shoulder. “Not to worry. The Duchess will attend to your every need. I’m sure the time will fly by.”

  THE TIME DOES NOT FLY BY.

  True to his word, the doctor doesn’t allow me to be alone for even one minute. Either Annabelle, or Cora, or a handful of other maids are with me all the time. Even at night, someone is always sleeping on a cot in my bedroom.

  I feel that, somehow, Lucien will find out what’s happened. Ash must have heard, too. But I won’t be able to send anything to Raven.

  I wish there was some way to get a message to Ash. He needs to know I that I won’t forget him, no matter what happens.

  I love him. He loves me.

  I hold on to that thought over the following days. He loves me. I remember the look in my mother’s eyes when I gave her back my father’s ring, and I think I understand her better now. How hard it must have been to give that small piece of him away. How hard it must be to live without him.

  At least, once I’m gone, I’ll have some consolation knowing that Ash is alive. He won’t be as far away as my father.

  Each day that passes is one day closer to the Longest Night. I begin to worry that the Duchess won’t allow me to go to the Winter Ball. Dr. Blythe comes in to check on me twice a day, once in the morning, and once just before dinner, and every time I ask him if I’m allowed to leave my bed. He always says no.

  Sometimes, Cora reads to me aloud, and sometimes Annabelle and I play Halma, and once the Duchess sent a string quartet. That was frustrating more than pleasurable, though. The cellist wasn’t very good.

  I am only allowed out of bed to shower and use the bathroom.

  I am running out of time.

  The day before the Winter Ball, I decide I’ve got to do something drastic.

  “Get the Duchess up here,” I say to Annabelle. “Tell her I want to see her. Now.”

  Annabelle’s eyes are wide. She hesitates, unsure what to do.

  “I don’t care if this isn’t following protocol,” I say. “I need to see her.”

  The Duchess arrives twenty minutes later, her expression murderous. She slams the door of my bedroom behind her.

  “Who do you think you are?” she demands. “You do not call for me, do you understand?”

  “I’m very sorry, my lady, but”—I take a breath, not really believing I’m about to say this—“seeing as I’m the one carrying what might potentially be the future Electress of the Lone City, I thought maybe you could spare a few minutes,” I snap back.

  She stares at me, her eyes narrowing. “What do you want?”

  “I want to get out of this bed. I feel fine. I don’t want to be guarded day and night. And I want to go to the Winter Ball tomorrow.”

  The Duchess raises an eyebrow. “And why should I grant any of these requests?”

  “Because . . . because we are in a partnership, remember? You need me to be a willing participant. You want me to work as hard as I can to make this baby grow as quickly as possible, right? This is what I want in exchange for that.”

  The Duchess purses her lips and takes a minute before answering.

  “Very well,” she says. “I will talk to the doctor about lifting your bed rest. But you will report any pain, or abnormality, or anything immediately.”

  “Of course, my lady.”

  “Annabelle will see to it that you have a new dress for the ball.”

  “Thank you, my lady.”

  She pauses at the door, one hand on the knob, and smiles. “You’re a smart girl,” she says. “I was wise to have bought you.”

  I wouldn’t be so sure about that, my lady, I think.

  I TELL ANNABELLE I WANT TO GO OUTSIDE.

  We walk through the garden arm in arm. I can sense that she’s not about to leave me alone, even for a second, but I have to check on Raven. It’s been a week since I sent her anything—the last time was the day I learned about Ash’s true profession.

  I decide it doesn’t matter, if Annabelle sees a token from Raven. She won’t understand it, and I’ll be gone soon anyway. I lead her to the west wall, where the ivy is heavier due to my and Raven’s vines. There’s a spot where pieces of ivy have been snapped off or twisted, and I can’t remember if that’s how the vines have always looked, or if maybe someone else has come to this place while I was confined. Could someone have taken Raven’s token? Does someone in this palace know?

  I find the place where Raven’s gifts always wait for me.

  It’s empty.

  I search through the vines, ripping some of them off the wall, as Annabelle watches me with a confused expression.

  There’s nothing.

  Dread creeps up on me, slow and heavy.

  Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  Twenty-Eight

  THE LONGEST NIGHT IS SO NAMED BECAUSE IT IS THE shortest day of the year, and therefore, the longest night.

  It also symbolizes the darkest time in the city’s history, just after the forming of the Lone City, when the ocean threatened to engulf the island and the royalty funded the building of the Great Wall. There was no electricity then, so it’s tradition for all electric lights to be turned off and candles lit—this was never a problem in the Marsh, where electricity was so rare anyway. Gifts are exchanged at midnight. I remember the year my father gave me a brass-plated harmonica. I thought it was the most amazing present, even if I couldn’t quite figure out how to play anything on it. He promised to teach me. That was the last year we celebrated the Longest Night with him; he was killed a few days later.

  It’s also tradition to wear white, after the five-petaled hellebore that blooms during the winter months. I study myself in the mirror now, as Annabelle curls my hair. My dress is strapless, layers of ivory chiffon floating to the floor. A necklace of diamonds and rubies sparkles at my throat. Annabelle piles my curls up on my head, securing them with pins that are adorned with jeweled flowers, tiny sprinkles of white and red. She smiles at me in the mirror.

  I study my reflection. Something is different. I’m not the frightened young girl who sat here the night Cora and Annabelle got me ready for that first dinner. I have experienced so much in my short time in the Jewel. I have been changed, forged into someone wiser and stronger than I used to be. I have grown up.

  Annabelle covers me in a white fur cloak and we make our way to the foyer.

  I allow my eyes three full seconds to drink Ash in as I walk down the main staircase. He wears a white tuxedo jacket over a black vest and tie, but all I can see are the lines of his body in that darkened room.

  Ash spares me the briefest glance, then turns away, the hint of smile on his lips. Carnelian is watching me with her arms crossed, her white lace dress covering her up to her neck. Her stare reminds me to be cautious. The Duke is draping a long cloak over the Duchess’s shoulders. Garnet leans against the newel post and whistles as I come down the stairs. My cheeks flush, and the Duchess cringes, touching her temples like she has a headache.

  “Garnet, please,” she says, threading her hand through the Duke’s arm. “Let’s get going.”

  It’s cold outside, and tiny flakes of snow drift lazily from the night sky. In the motorcar, I’m reminded of my last ride to the Royal Palace. It’s like my life is repeating itself, but in
a stranger form.

  “Have you been to the Royal Palace yet?” Garnet asks me.

  I stare at him for a second, wondering if he’s joking. “Yes,” I say slowly. “You . . . you bumped into me at the Exetor’s Ball.”

  Carnelian snorts.

  “Did I?” Garnet’s eyebrows pinch together. “Huh. Well, you haven’t seen anything until you’ve seen the Winter Ball decorations.”

  When we arrive at the Royal Palace, we are escorted to an extension made entirely out of glass. It is lit with thousands of candles, giving the room a beautiful golden glow. Women in white look like delicate snowflakes, milling about and drinking champagne from crystal flutes, hanging on the arms of men in white tuxedo jackets. Boughs of hellebore dangle from candle-filled chandeliers, interspersed with bright splashes of red and green holly. The floor is made out of blue glass, and enormous ice sculptures glitter in the flickering light.

  I see what Garnet meant—the whole effect is magnificent.

  There is a loud banging, and I see the Exetor and the Electress at the far end of the room, on a crystal dais, both standing with their glasses raised.

  “Welcome,” the Exetor says, “to the Winter Ball, and the celebration of the Longest Night.”

  THE WINTER BALL IS MORE EXUBERANT THAN THE Exetor’s Ball.

  Or maybe it just starts out the way the Exetor’s Ball finished. I keep well away from the dance floor, ignoring the sight of Ash and Carnelian dancing together, and scan the room for Raven. I need to see her face, to know that she’s all right.

  Instead, I glimpse Lucien, on the crystal dais, speaking to the Electress. I wonder what excuse he’ll use to get me alone and give me the serum. I stand quietly beside an ice sculpture of a winged horse, grateful that no one seems to notice me, and that the Duchess has left me on my own. It’s like she’s proving that she trusts me. It’s exactly what Lucien wanted.

  Dance after dance . . . I stay in the shadow of the winged horse, waiting for Lucien to find me, searching for Raven’s face in the crowds. People mill around, chattering and laughing, but I don’t pay attention to their conversation until I hear a familiar, childlike laugh.