by Amy Ewing
“I told you she would be a handful, Ebony,” the Electress says. She is on the opposite side of the sculpture—I can barely make out her figure, distorted by the ice. “But you insisted on picking the most headstrong lot in the Auction.”
“Why start with anything less than the greatest challenge?” The Countess of the Stone’s voice sends a chill through me. “If I succeed with her, the others will be easy.”
They must be talking about Raven. I keep very still, straining to hear over the music and laughter.
“Don’t push too hard. Remember what happened with the last one. It was wise of you to leave this one at home.” The Electress sighs. “If only there was an easier way . . .”
“Greatness is never achieved easily, Your Grace,” the Countess of the Stone replies. “If we prevail, you will become the most revered Electress since Diamante the Great, who started the first Auction. You will change the face of history.”
The Electress giggles, and my stomach squirms. “Yes. I will prove to this arrogant circle that bloodline isn’t everything. And the Duchess of the Lake will fall so far in standings that she will have to beg for an invitation to a third-tier garden party. Did you know, she lied to me at her son’s engagement party? She said she hadn’t started trying for a child, and then her surrogate up and nearly bleeds to death onstage.”
“Caution and care, Your Grace. Caution and care. Pearl has done nothing to threaten us. Yet.”
“Oh yes, yes, I know. Come, enough of this somber talk. It is the Longest Night. I must dance. The Lady of the Veil has recently acquired a most agreeable companion . . . do you think he would favor me with his hand?”
She laughs again, and I hear them move away. I feel as frozen as the sculpture beside me, struggling to make sense of their conversation. If the Electress is seeking to lobotomize the surrogates, it sounds like they’re testing it on Raven. That must be what Raven meant, when she told me the Countess was trying to take her memories away.
A new dance begins and the Duchess leaves the floor to join the Lady of the Glass, Carnelian, and Ash. She beckons me over and takes a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.
“Now, I don’t want to speak to soon, Iolite,” the Duchess is saying—she and the Lady of the Glass are both flushed and smiling. “But I may have some very exciting news in the next day or so.”
She reaches out and pats my stomach with her hand. I’m still in a daze, picturing my best friend strapped to a table, being experimented on. They can’t do that. Not to Raven. She’s too strong, she’s too brave . . .
“Oh!” the Lady of the Glass practically shrieks. “Oh, Pearl, how marvelous.”
“Calm down, calm down,” the Duchess says, laughing. “Nothing is certain yet. But Dr. Blythe is quite confident this time. She’s been on complete bed rest all week. No more mishaps.”
A muscle in Ash’s jaw twitches.
“Oh,” the Duchess exclaims, pointing. “There’s the Lady of the Light with her son. Come, Carnelian, let’s see if we can’t find someone willing to take you off my hands.” Carnelian reaches out for Ash, but the Duchess smacks her hand away. “Don’t be stupid, girl, you can’t bring your companion with you.” The Lady of the Glass snickers.
Carnelian allows herself to be dragged off, glancing back pitifully at Ash. He and I stand side by side, not daring to look at each other.
“I need to see you,” Ash breathes. “Alone. Now.”
The sound of his voice sends tiny shivers through me. He turns without waiting for a response, knowing I’ll come. I wait a moment, then follow, staying a few feet behind him, keeping my head down and slipping through the crowd and out the glass doors, into a quiet hallway lined with plush carpets. His back disappears around a corner and I hurry to keep up.
This hallway is smaller, more narrow. Halfway down, Ash opens a door and vanishes. I turn the knob quickly when I reach it—the room behind is dark. Ash’s fingers close around my wrist, pulling me inside.
“Ash, I—”
But he doesn’t allow me to finish my sentence. His lips are eager and my body reacts instinctively. His fingers caress the exposed skin on my back and I shudder with longing.
“This is a really bad idea,” I gasp.
“I know,” he says, his lips on my throat. “But I couldn’t—”
I pull his mouth back to mine. My blood is singing as I run my hands over his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his tuxedo shirt.
I hear a gasp and a light switches on. Ash and I jump apart. Lucien is standing in the doorway, his eyes wide, his face blank with shock.
I can’t move. I can’t think.
Lucien recovers quickly, closing the door and wheeling around to face us, his expression livid.
“What is going on?” he hisses. His eyes dart from me to Ash and back again. I feel shame well up inside me, hot and stinging; suddenly I can’t look anywhere except the floor.
The silence swells and billows around me.
“Violet.” Lucien’s voice is cold, and for once, I don’t enjoy hearing the sound of my name. I force myself to meet his eyes, and I can see the anger and incredulity there, mixed with something much worse. Disappointment. “Have you lost your mind?”
Ash looks back and forth between us. “You . . . you two know each other?”
“Um . . .” I don’t know who to answer first.
Lucien ignores Ash. “What is wrong with you?” he snaps. “This isn’t a game. Are you completely unaware of the danger you’ve put yourself in? He’s a companion, Violet. A companion.”
“I know who he is,” I snap back. “I haven’t told him anything. He has nothing to do with this.”
“Nothing to do with what?” Ash asks.
“Get out,” Lucien orders.
I realize that if Ash leaves right now, I will never be alone with him again. I will never get to say good-bye.
“Ash—I’m leaving,” I stammer.
“Violet!” Lucien cries. But it’s too late. The words are out.
“He won’t tell anyone,” I insist.
“Can someone please explain what’s going on?” Ash asks.
“Lucien is getting me out. Of the Jewel. I leave . . . I leave tomorrow.” The relief at finally telling him the truth is quickly overshadowed by the expression on his face. I thought Lucien’s look of betrayal was the worst thing I’d seen.
“I don’t understand,” Ash says slowly.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
Ash blinks. “How? How could you even . . .”
“Lucien’s made a serum,” I say. Lucien makes a sharp sound of protest and I hold up my hand. “No. I’ve been lying to him for over a month. Please, let me finish.”
“Over a month!” Lucien cries.
I ignore him, speaking quickly. “The serum will make me seem dead. Lucien will get my body out of the Jewel and hide me . . . somewhere. That’s all I know.”
“This is exactly why I haven’t told you where you’re going,” Lucien snaps.
Ash’s whole body seems to crumple. “You would let me think you were dead?” he asks.
“I . . .” Tears fill my eyes. “I made a promise.”
“And what about your promises to me?” Ash shoots back. “Or did those not really matter? Can I believe anything you’ve said to me? Was I just satisfying some urge before you ran away to who knows where?”
“Of course not,” I protest. “Don’t say that, what else could I have done?”
“You could have trusted me,” Ash says.
“I do.”
“Enough.” Lucien stands between us, glaring Ash down. “Get out.”
Ash glares right back. “Why are you doing this? What’s in it for you? And don’t pretend like there isn’t something, because you and I both know, no one does anything in this circle for free.”
Lucien’s lip curls into a sneer. “I will not have my motives questioned by some lowlife companion.”
“Lucien, don’t—” I start to protest but
Ash cuts me off.
“I’ve heard the rumors about you. Your laboratory, your experiments. Is that what she is? A test case? A laboratory rat?”
“Ash, that’s not—” This time, I cut myself off. What is Ash talking about? I knew Lucien was an inventor, but what experiments?
“You know nothing about me,” Lucien snarls. “She needs to be protected. She needs to be saved.”
“She’s stronger than you think,” Ash retorts.
“She is more important than you could possibly fathom, and she is leaving you. Nothing she does is your concern anymore. So do everyone a favor and get. Out.”
Ash turns to me.
“Is this it, then? This is how we end?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I have to leave, I know I do, but I don’t know how to say good-bye to him.
“There is more at stake here than some silly romance,” Lucien says sharply. “If Violet doesn’t leave this place soon, and I mean immediately, she will die.”
Ash and I stare at him, frozen with shock.
“What?” My voice is barely a whisper.
Lucien’s gaze is still fixed on Ash. “Do you want to know what really happens to surrogates after the royal babies are born?” A cold bead of fear slides into the pit of my stomach. “They die. They all die. Childbirth kills them.”
The room takes on a strange, hazy quality. I feel like I am watching someone else’s life, like Lucien’s words don’t apply to me.
“No,” Ash says. His voice sounds hollow. All the anger has drained out of him.
“Please,” Lucien scoffs. “You know enough about the royalty—more than she does. Do you honestly believe they would build a facility for surrogates who are no longer useful? She’ll die if she doesn’t get out of here. Is that what you want?”
Ash is quiet for a long moment. I wish I could know what he’s thinking.
“I should go,” he says.
“Yes,” Lucien says. “Finally.”
“No!” I cry, finding my voice again. “Ash, please . . .” But there are no words that can keep him with me.
Ash stops at the door. “It would be easier to forget you,” he says to me, “and these past weeks we’ve had together. It would be easier if I could hate you. But the sad truth is, I will more than likely love you for the rest of my life.”
Then he’s gone.
I’m suddenly aware of the panic snaking its way up my spine. Tears stream down my cheeks, but I don’t bother wiping them away now. I swallow and turn to face Lucien.
“Am I really going to die?”
Lucien puts his hands gently on my shoulders. “If you have her baby,” he says. “Yes.”
“Why?” I ask. “How?”
Lucien shrugs. “Maybe your bodies aren’t compatible with the fetus. Maybe it’s to do with the Auguries. They don’t know. They don’t care enough to find out.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? How could you not tell me this, Lucien?”
“I . . .” Lucien sighs. “I wanted to protect you. I didn’t want you to have another thing to worry about.”
I wish I could sit down, but there’s no furniture in this room.
“I cannot believe you had an affair with a companion,” Lucien says. “I cannot believe you broke my trust.”
I shake my head slowly, back and forth. The fact that Ash is gone, that I will never hear his laugh in my ear, or feel his heart beating against my skin, hasn’t entirely sunk in yet. “He won’t tell,” I say.
“Let’s hope not. Because if he becomes a threat, there are ways of dealing with it. One companion can easily disappear.”
“Don’t you dare,” I growl.
“You do not give me orders, young lady. Remember what you promised. You do what I tell you—no questions, no complaints.”
“Why are you doing this for me? Really. Why do you want to save me?” I demand. “I don’t understand. Why me, why now? Was Ash right? Is this even about me, or is there something in it for you?”
Lucien’s jaw clenches.
“I had a sister. Azalea.” He says the name softly, his voice tight with emotion. “She was a surrogate. I tried to help her, tried to save her life, and for a while, I succeeded. Until one day, I failed.” He shakes his head and turns away from me. “There was a time, only a few short months ago, when all I cared about was keeping her safe. That was all that mattered to me. And so what if nameless, faceless surrogates were dying, as long as my Azalea was protected. But she became restless, rebellious. She wanted an end to the Auction, an end to the suffering of innocent young girls. She believed that surrogates could take their power into their own hands, use it to overthrow the royalty. There was another voice whispering in her ear, and in the end, that voice won out over a brother’s love.”
I’m shocked into stillness. Use the Auguries to overthrow the royalty?
Lucien rubs a hand across his forehead. “She left me a message before she died. ‘This is how it begins,’ she said.” The words stir something in my memory, but it’s too elusive to recall. “Her death forced me to action. Because I cannot ignore all the injustice anymore. Once a small crack reveals itself, suddenly a hundred others appear. And then the walls that have been so carefully constructed begin to crumble.
“Then I was looking through the photographs for the Auction and I saw you.” His eyes meet mine. “You look so much like her. And if I had to choose a surrogate to help, why not the one who would always remind me of why I’m doing this.” He smiles. “Once I met you, you reminded me of her in other ways, too. She was stubborn, and determined, and compassionate. And she had a good heart.”
“So you think, somehow, I can help change the system?” I ask incredulously.
Lucien sighs. “I think you can help end the system. But I am not the one who can explain how. For that, you will need this.”
Lucien takes my hand and slips a ring on my finger, a large oval topaz surrounded by tiny diamonds. “The serum is inside. There’s a secret compartment in the stone.” He shows me a tiny clasp, hidden by the diamonds. “Take it tomorrow at midnight.”
I run my fingers over the jeweled surface.
“Thank you, Lucien,” I say numbly.
He kisses my forehead. “We can do this. Trust me. Now, let’s get you back to the Duchess.”
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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Twenty-Nine
I WAKE THE NEXT MORNING WITH A WEIGHT IS PRESSING against my chest.
Today is the day. I will take the serum tonight. I’ll leave Ash and Raven behind, because if I stay here, I will die.
I stare at the ceiling and wait for Annabelle to come with the breakfast tray.
But when my bedroom door opens, it isn’t Annabelle who enters. It’s Dr. Blythe.
“Good morning, Violet,” he says cheerfully, placing his black bag on my bedside table. “Did you have a nice time at the ball?”
A nice time. No, Doctor. I did not.
“Yes, thank you,” I say automatically.
“It’s a very exciting day for us,” the doctor says, rubbing his hands together. I am barely aware of him as he takes out a needle and syringe, and a flat square of plastic with two felt circles on it. He sinks the needle into my arm and draws a small amount of blood. Suddenly, I become more alert—he hasn’t taken a blood sample in a while.
“Yes, a very exciting day indeed,” he says, holding the syringe over the plastic square and soaking one of the felt circles with my blood. “If the other circle turns green, it indicates a positive result. If it stays white, a negative.”
My lungs contract and my heart fills my throat. The doctor and I stare at the small circle of felt.
The seconds tick by.
A thought occurs to me then, a thought so glaringly obvious I’m surprised I didn’t think of it before.
If it turns out I’m pregnant . . . what if the baby i
sn’t the Duchess’s?
Ash’s darkened bedroom flashes before my eyes.
What if the baby is mine?
Suddenly, I think I might throw up.
“Excuse me,” I gasp. Dr. Blythe moves aside quickly as I scramble out of bed and run to my powder room. I make it just in time to vomit in the sink.
I turn on the tap and rinse out my mouth, then wipe my face with a soft blue towel. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My skin is even paler than usual, and clammy, strands of black hair sticking to my forehead and cheeks.
I look terrified. I am terrified.
The baby could be mine.
I’ve never wanted to be pregnant, and I’ve certainly never envisioned a scenario in which the pregnancy was my own. Having something of the Duchess’s inside me was such a hateful idea, and always the only option.
I move my hand down and press it gently against my stomach.
I don’t want to be pregnant. But if the baby is part me and part Ash . . . how could I hate that?
Everything is all mixed up. I feel nauseous again.
“Violet?”
I jump. Dr. Blythe stands in the doorway. “Are you all right?”
I manage a nod. He holds up the pregnancy test. “Negative,” he says sadly.
All the air whooshes out of me, leaving me dizzy. For once, Dr. Blythe seems to understand exactly what I need.
“I’ll leave you alone for a minute. Her Ladyship must be informed at once.”
I sink down onto the plush blue bathmat.
Negative.
I start to laugh, a heady, breathless laugh. I lean against the sink and laugh and laugh until my stomach hurts.
“Annabelle,” I call. I hear the door to my bedroom open.
“Good morning.” The Duchess’s voice makes me jump, as she appears in the doorway.
I scramble to my feet. She wears a gold dressing gown, and her hair is hanging loose down her back. It’s a strange contrast to the harsh look on her face.
“I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up,” she says. I can’t think of a response to that. We stand in silence.
“When my sister and I were born,” the Duchess says, “my father said he knew immediately that I would be the one to do great things. I was his favorite. He spent his whole life preparing me to take the throne—he was a hard man, but he taught me many things. Strength. Cunning. Ambition. Determination. All the qualities that he admired, I possess. And look at me now.” She smiles sadly.
