by Amy Ewing
“I was on my way to your store,” she says. “I need a new pair of shoes to match the gown I bought for the Magistrate’s Gala.”
“Of course, Mrs. Firestone,” the Cobbler says. “I am making a delivery. Then I will be happy to attend to you.”
“Come to the house,” Mrs. Firestone says. “This is a special order. And don’t send your apprentice like last time. That boy was all thumbs.”
The Cobbler’s shoulders tense, but he nods. “As you wish.”
The woman breezes past us, her servant hurrying along in her wake.
“She seems lovely,” I mutter.
The Cobbler fixes me with a cold stare. “She is better than most.”
“Is that why you’re working for—” I stop myself from saying Lucien’s name just in time. “Him?”
“Now is not the time for questions,” the Cobbler says. I grip the box so hard my knuckles whiten. I am tired of hearing that.
He walks away and I have no choice but to follow.
Eventually, we leave the wide boulevard of upscale houses and turn onto smaller streets. We pass a theater with a gold marquee proclaiming, THE LONG WAY BACK: A NEW PLAY BY FORREST VALE. ONLY TWO PERFORMANCES LEFT! and a restaurant with large glass windows and linen-covered tables.
We reach a street made of rough cobblestone. The buildings here are big and boxy, with metal awnings and dirty windows with iron bars on them. A wagon sits under one of the awnings as two men haul large slabs of meat off it under the watchful gaze of a butcher in a stained white apron. He glances down at the clipboard in his hands.
“Four diamantes more per pound than last month,” he says to himself. “What is the Exetor playing at with all these new taxes?”
Then he seems to realize he’s speaking out loud and glances worriedly at the men, but they are too busy lifting a long cut of ribs onto the loading dock to notice.
The Cobbler stops in front of a small warehouse with chipped green paint and a sliding iron door. “This is where I leave you,” he says, taking the package from my arms. “I do hope the Black Key was right about you.”
“Why are you doing this?” I blurt out. “Why are you helping me, helping . . . him?”
The Cobbler looks away. “They took my son,” he says. “Because he was large and strong. He liked making shoes, but they wanted him as a Regimental. He is theirs now.” His eyes meet mine and I see years of anger in them, of loss, and of the desperate need for hope. “But their time is over.”
I never thought about how the Regimentals came to be Regimentals. Did I think it was voluntary? Is anything in this city voluntary?
“I’m sorry,” I say.
He huffs. “Don’t be sorry. I don’t need your pity. I need my son back.” He yanks open the door. “Someone will come for you. Do not trust them until you see the key.”
Without another word, he turns and walks back the way we came.
“Violet?” Raven’s voice pulls me away from the Cobbler’s retreating back. I step inside the warehouse and slide the door shut.
Raven throws herself into my arms, and I can feel the sharp points of her shoulder blades as I hold her. The small mound of her stomach presses softly against me.
“You’re real, right?” she whispers in my ear.
“I’m real,” I whisper back.
She pulls away. “He said you were real, that you were here and coming back to us, but I didn’t believe him. They lied to me so many times; I don’t want to be lied to anymore.”
I look behind her to where Ash is standing, healthy and alive and smiling at me. I don’t want to let go of Raven, so I hold out my hand to him. He takes it.
“You made it,” he says with relief.
“You didn’t trust Lucien?” I ask wryly.
“To save you? Absolutely. To bring you here? Not a chance.”
“Who’s Lucien?” Raven asks. Her face crinkles with concentration. “Was he . . . is he . . .” She glances at Ash.
“I’m Ash,” he reminds her gently. I get the impression this isn’t the first time she’s asked.
“Lucien is a lady-in-waiting. You met him at—” I’m about to say the morgue but think that might be the wrong word to use. “In the room with the fire,” I finish.
Raven blinks. “Yes. I remember the fire. We put it out together.” Then her face goes pale. “But it burned him. It burned him alive.” She holds her head in her hands. “No, no, no . . .”
“Raven,” I say, reaching for her again but she scuttles away from me and curls up against the far wall. She holds her knees and starts muttering the same thing I heard her say in the morgue, but I can understand the words now.
“I am Raven Stirling,” she says. “I am sitting against a wall. I am real. I am stronger than this.” She taps the knuckle of her right thumb against her forehead three times and repeats the mantra.
I move toward her, but Ash’s arm wraps around my waist. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “She does this sometimes. It’s better to leave her be for a moment.”
My body melts against his and I tear my eyes away from my friend to look him full in the face. I reach out and run my fingertips over the smooth skin where his bruises used to be.
“Garnet fixed me up,” he says. He touches the corner of my lip with his thumb. “Looks like someone fixed you up, too.”
I nod. “Where is Garnet now?”
Ash shrugs. “Back in the Jewel, I imagine. I’m surprised we saw him again at all.”
“How did you escape? There were so many Regimentals . . .”
He glances at Raven. “She saved us. I don’t know how. It was like when we were in the sewers and she found the exit. She. . . knows sometimes. She senses things. Right as the whistle blew she pulled me into this alley, and there was a door in the ground. It led to this underground tunnel that connected to a bunch of different stores. There was a lot of junk in it. And she knew exactly where to go, and when to stop, and where to hide. We stayed down there until it got dark, then she found an exit that let us out about fifty yards from Landing’s Market. And then I found our way here, to the address Garnet gave us. I guess it ended up being lucky that I knew the area.” He smiles. “Garnet was pretty impressed we made it at all. Not that he was any help.”
“What did that woman do to her?” I mutter. In my mind, I can see the Countess of the Stone’s fleshy arms and cruel eyes.
“I don’t know, but whatever it was . . .” Ash’s jaw hardens. “She goes places sometimes. She thinks she’s somewhere else. Bad things happen to her there. There’s someone named Crow—I think he’s her brother or something—he burns alive a lot. And you lose your eyes—that was the worst for me to hear. And I think her mother gets skinned.” He shudders. “It’s so real for her.”
I don’t know what Lucien’s plans are, but I am going to make sure they involve making the Countess of the Stone pay for what she’s done.
The iron door slides open. I freeze at the sight of the Regimental looming in the doorway, but relax when I see that it’s Garnet.
“Oh, good, you’re here,” he says to me, closing the door behind him. “We’ve got a problem.”
“Doesn’t that make for a nice change,” Ash says.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Nothing,” Garnet says. He hands me a canteen and I drink from it greedily before passing it to Ash. “All the trains are still canceled. Every inch of the Bank is being searched by Regimentals. I think this might be the first time in Lucien’s life where he actually doesn’t know what to do.”
“So what, we have to stay here? Wait it out in this warehouse?”
Garnet shrugs. “I don’t see another option.”
“But it’s not safe. If they’re searching every inch of the Bank, they’ll find us, eventually.”
“I’m not Lucien,” he says. “I don’t have backup plans upon backup plans.”
“What are you doing here then?” I snap. “If you don’t really want to help, then go!”
I
didn’t mean to yell, to take my frustration out on Garnet. But I want to get wherever it is we’re going and I want to get there now. His pale face flushes dark red.
“You don’t think I want to help?” he says. “What do you think I’ve been doing this whole time? Getting you out. Getting your boyfriend out. Lying to my mother. Dealing with Carnelian. For the Exetor’s sake, I let one of Lucien’s followers tattoo me!” He opens his shirt to reveal a skeleton key tattoo, like the one the Cobbler had, on his chest, just above his heart.
I am stunned. “What if your mother sees it?”
Garnet looks embarrassed. “She won’t. And even if she did, she’d think it was some stupid prank or that I did it on a dare. She wouldn’t take it seriously.”
“I was wrong about you,” Raven says. I didn’t realize she’d been listening. She looks at Garnet with a single-minded ferocity. “You aren’t a coward.” Her eyes become glassy. Double-focused, as I suppose I’ve come to think of it. “You’ve never had real friends. You just needed something to fight for.”
For perhaps the first time in his life, Garnet seems uncomfortable taking a compliment. “Sure,” he says. “Whatever you say.”
Raven keeps staring. “If you admit you need people, you can lose them.” Her gaze sharpens, returning to the present. “But needing people can save your life.”
“We have to get to the Farm,” I say. I’ve trusted Lucien this far, I may as well trust him when he says the Farm will be safe. “We’re all part of this group . . .” I remember the Cobbler’s words. “The Society of the Black Key. Even if we’re not marked as such.”
“Sorry, the what?” Ash says.
“I can explain it later, or maybe Lucien is the one to explain. At any rate, let’s think. We can’t stay here.”
“Do you have any ideas?” Garnet asks. “I’m all ears.”
“Actually,” Ash says, stepping forward. “I think I do.”
Nine
“I KNOW THIS CIRCLE,” ASH CONTINUES. “BETTER THAN any of you. And I think there’s one train that can get us out of here undetected.”
“Where?” I ask. “All the trains are suspended.”
“At Madame Curio’s,” he replies. “And that train always runs.”
The name sounds vaguely familiar, and obviously means something to Garnet, because his mouth pops open. “Are you insane?”
“What’s Madame Curio’s?” I ask.
“It’s my companion house,” Ash explains. “She’s . . . well, she was my Madame. I told you about her, remember? She recruited me.”
And then it clicks. She was the one who found Ash when he took his sister, Cinder, to the free clinic. When Cinder was diagnosed with black lung—the reason why Ash became a companion at all. I bet you drive all the girls crazy. That’s what Madame Curio had said to him.
“What, um, does she do there?”
Garnet snorts with disgust.
“She runs the house,” Ash says. “She oversees the companions, our education and training, and she matches us with our clients.”
But there’s a pink flush creeping up his neck that makes me think it’s something more than that.
“All the companion houses have a private train station,” he continues, changing the subject. “Their trains won’t be monitored in the same way as the public ones. If we can get on that train, maybe we can make it to the Farm.”
“So, we’re supposed to stroll into your former companion house and ask to use the train?” Garnet says. “I thought they educated you guys in that place. This is the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard of.”
Ash throws him a sharp look. “There’s more than one way to get onto the grounds.”
“But, Ash,” I say hesitantly, “are you saying there won’t be any Regimentals on the train at all?”
“No, there probably will be,” he says. “But it won’t matter.”
“And why not?” Garnet asks.
“Because,” Ash says, “not everyone who works at a companion house is a companion. Many of them don’t come willingly.”
“What, you mean they’re kidnapped?” I ask. “Why?”
“The boys are taken for sparring practice, fencing, sword fighting, manual labor, any job Madame sees fit.” The idea of Ash sword fighting is strange. “The girls are taken for . . .” Ash clears his throat and the blush on his neck climbs up to his cheeks. “For . . . practice.” He is looking determinedly at Garnet, avoiding my eyes.
Garnet raises an eyebrow.
“Wait, so—” I begin, but Ash cuts me off.
“There are secret compartments in the train. It’s how they smuggle them in. And that’s how we can get out.”
A long silence follows. I can’t help thinking about all those girls, kidnapped and brought to the companion house. Held against their will. Like I was.
“So how do we get you guys in?” Garnet asks.
“We’ll have to wait until tonight,” Ash says. “And we’re going to need some new clothes . . .”
ASH GIVES GARNET A LIST OF ITEMS TO GET.
There’s nothing to do but wait. I sit beside Raven—she hasn’t moved from the wall. Ash sits on a wooden box by the front door, lost in thought.
“How are you feeling?” I ask her.
Raven looks at me with a deadened expression. “I’m not in that palace anymore. This is the best I’ve felt in a long time.” She blinks. “Did I thank you?”
“For what?” I ask.
“For saving my life.”
I smile. “Don’t worry about it.”
Her fingers thread through mine—hers are so thin and frail I worry that if I squeeze too hard they’ll break. “Thank you,” she whispers. Her gaze travels down to her stomach. “Sometimes I forget,” she says, putting a hand on it—the little bump is barely visible under her dress. “It used to hurt all the time.”
“When did it happen?” I ask.
Raven closes her eyes. “I—I don’t know. Emile, my lady-in-waiting, took me out for a walk in the garden one afternoon. I’d wanted to see whether you’d sent another flower, but you hadn’t sent me anything. Then I went to the doctor . . .” A tear slides out from under her eyelid. “They made it grow so fast. It ate me up from the inside. My bones ached and shriveled and it grew and grew and wouldn’t stop.”
That would have been only three or four weeks ago.
“How?” I whisper.
She opens her eyes. “Did they ever use the stimulant gun on you?”
I nod. “Once.”
The stimulant gun was created to incite the Auguries against the surrogate’s will. I remember the all-consuming agony when the doctor used it on me, the blinding pain, the thick green vines covering the medical bed, crawling up to the ceiling. Dr. Blythe’s words echo in my head, from the day I made the oak tree grow.
The stimulant gun heightens your abilities, but it weakens you physically. If overused, it can have some very nasty side effects.
Raven’s smile is a tiny crack across her face. “The doctor used it all the time, especially after I got pregnant. Three or four times a day. The Countess didn’t care how much blood I threw up, or how much I screamed. She just wanted results.” Raven flinches at some memory. “She got what she wanted. He said . . . I was twelve weeks along? Fourteen? I don’t remember. I didn’t want to listen.”
“So she was trying to make you have a baby fast,” I say. “That’s what the Duchess wanted from me, too.”
“The Countess liked experimenting,” Raven says coldly. “To see what she could do. She wanted to pull the strings, to have complete power over my mind, my memories, the Auguries, everything.”
“Is that what . . .” I swallow. “Is that what those scars are from?”
Raven probes her skull with one hand. “She liked cutting into me. She liked making me see things that weren’t real.” Something glitters in Raven’s eyes, a fragment of her old mischief. “She didn’t know about the whispers, though. They tried something new one day. The doctor thought i
t would be an ‘interesting experiment.’ They cut me somewhere different and they thought nothing happened. But that was when the whispers started.”
I hesitate, watching her, wondering if it would hurt or help to press for more information. “What do they say?”
“All kinds of things. I can hear when someone is afraid or when they’re pretending to like someone, but they really hate them. I know when someone is lying or if they’re secretly in love. The whispers tell me. They come and go. The Countess has very dark thoughts. About her mother. About her husband. About the surrogates.” Raven rubs her eyes.
“It’s like the Countess unwittingly gave you an extra sense or something.”
“I knew that blond boy would come back,” she continues. “He likes us. He feels connected to us. And . . .” She looks at Ash, her brows crinkling. “Ash,” she says finally. “He’s Ash, right?”
I nod.
“He hates himself,” she says.
A lump forms in my throat. I don’t know anything about Ash’s life in the companion house. He’s never shared that with me.
“I don’t want to be this person, Violet.” Raven’s face softens and she leans her head back. “Emile was kind to me. He used to sneak me extra food sometimes. And he took me out to the garden often, letting me send you messages. But he also told me things. He told me the Countess buys a surrogate every year. She doesn’t care about having an heir. She cares more about seeing what we’re capable of. How much we can take.” Her face falls into a mournful expression. “He probably thinks I’m dead now.”
“I’m sure he’ll be all right,” I say.
“You don’t understand,” she says. “All I had in that place was him and you. I held on to the hope that you were safe, that the Duchess wasn’t torturing you, even when they put me in the cage or stabbed me with Frederic’s weapons or used the muzzle. But it was so hard when they started cutting into my brain. She took my memories and used them against me and I couldn’t tell what was true and what wasn’t. Emile helped me. He reminded me. He’d say your name sometimes when I started to forget.” A tear slowly runs down her cheek. “He couldn’t say my name but he could say yours.”
