by Amy Ewing
“Of course not, Madame.”
“I won’t have it said that my house breeds surrogate rapists and fugitives from the law.”
“No, Madame. I am eager to meet Miss Silver. I’m certain our time together will be most enjoyable.”
Madame Curio purses her lips. “Come here.”
It’s like my eye is glued to the keyhole. I want to look away, but I can’t. I feel Ash tense beside me.
Rye comes into view, still shirtless. The muscles in his back ripple when he moves. Madame Curio sits up and runs a hand over his chest.
“Very nice,” she says. Her hand travels farther down. “Hmm,” she murmurs after a couple seconds. “You will come to my room this evening at six. Let’s make sure you’re up for the assignment.”
“Yes, Madame.”
“And you’ll report to Dr. Lane this afternoon for the usual tests.”
“Of course, Madame.”
Madame Curio stands in a movement so fluid, it reminds me of the Duchess. She moves like royalty.
“Good boy,” she says, patting his cheek. Then she walks out of my line of sight. I hear the door open and close. Rye stands still for a moment, then marches over to the bathroom. I scoot back as he throws the door open.
“So,” he says. “I guess I’m your replacement.”
“She knows,” Ash says, looking up with a pained expression. “She knows you’re connected to me, somehow. She’s doing this to find me. To find Violet.”
“It’s not like I can tell her anything,” Rye points out. “I don’t know where you’re going.”
“But you’ve seen us,” Ash says. “Together. And Raven.”
Raven’s head snaps up. “You can’t tell her,” she says. “She can’t know I’m alive.”
“Can everyone back off for a second?” Rye says. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t need you to come running into my life and messing it up.”
Ash gets to his feet. “You’re right. Tell her, don’t tell her, it’s up to you. But she’s asked for you for a reason. I don’t know how or when, but at some point, she will interrogate you about me.”
A smile curls on Rye’s lips. “Always top of the class, weren’t you? The Jewel’s most-wanted.” He shakes his head. “Come on, let’s get you guys someplace safer than this room. Everyone should be down at breakfast by now.”
Raven climbs out of the tub and walks with deliberate steps toward Rye. She grabs his wrist and fixes him with a sharp, piercing gaze.
“You’re scared,” she says. “That’s good. You should be.”
She drifts into the bedroom. Rye raises an eyebrow.
“I’m not scared,” he says.
Ash and I exchange a look, but say nothing.
RYE CHECKS TO MAKE SURE THE COAST IS CLEAR, THEN the four of us hurry down the stairs and out the door we came in through last night.
The grounds are even prettier during the day. A dusting of frost makes the gravel roads twinkle like diamonds. We stocked up on sweaters and coats and scarves, so the cold isn’t unpleasant, but Raven and I are both wearing a pair of Ash’s shoes with extra socks stuffed into the toes so they’ll fit. It makes walking a bit awkward.
We keep close to the walls of the dormitories, their windows following me like empty eyes. A larger building looms into view, one whole side covered with ivy. An impressive pair of oak doors are set at the top of a stone staircase.
And beyond it, on the very far side of the grounds near the wall that encircles them, a sleek black train sits at a long platform. It is even smaller than the one I took to the Auction, only one car attached to a steam engine. Billows of smoke rise from its chimney, as if it were getting ready to depart.
“It’s here,” Ash says.
“That’s odd. Maybe there was a last-minute schedule change. Guess fate is on your side, for the moment,” Rye says. “There’s no way it’s going to the Jewel—my train won’t leave until tomorrow, after the doctor and Madame have finished with me. It has to be going to the lower circles.” He claps a hand on Ash’s shoulder. “You’d better get on it, while everyone is still at breakfast.”
My stomach grumbles at the thought of food.
“Thank you, Rye,” Ash says, shaking his hand. “Seriously. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”
“Probably gotten executed,” Rye says, with a shrug and a grin. “So you owe me one.”
“I do,” Ash says, no hint of amusement in his voice. “Watch out for yourself in the palace of the Lake. Please. You don’t need to worry about the client—she isn’t interested in companions. But never, under any circumstances, tell Carnelian that you know me. She’ll probably ask. You need to lie.”
“Well, won’t that make for a nice change,” Rye says.
Ash’s smile is taut. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying that,” Rye says. “This isn’t your fault. Stop acting like you bear the weight of all companions. You don’t.”
“I know.”
“And take care of yourself,” he adds.
“I will.”
“Thank you,” I say to Rye. He gives me a nod.
“You know,” he says, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard a surrogate talk before.”
I’m not entirely sure what to say to that. With a final glance at Ash, Rye takes off across the grounds.
The three of us turn and run toward the station. As we get closer, I see a painted wooden sign that reads MADAME CURIO’S COMPANION HOUSE. There’s a little station house beside the sign, and Raven grabs my arm and pulls me beside it, Ash following. We’ve both learned quickly to trust her instincts. A few moments later, two Regimentals emerge from the train and saunter out onto the platform.
“All clear,” one says to the other.
“He’d have to be a total fool to come back here anyway,” the second Regimental says, as the two of them descend the steps to the platform and walk toward the grounds. The three of us press together against the rough wood of the house.
“I don’t see why we have to be working double shifts to find some companion,” the first grumbles. “It’s not like he raped the Duchess herself.”
“Don’t let the Major hear you talk like that,” the second one says. “You’ll be shipped off to serve in the Marsh before you can say Founding House.”
“Yeah, yeah,” the first says. “Let’s go see if the kitchen’s open, I’m starving.”
We wait until well after their footsteps have faded and quiet settles all around.
“Come on,” Ash whispers. We hurry up the stairs and onto the platform. Ash opens the door to the train car and ushers us inside.
Unlike the Southgate train, the companion car has neat rows of wooden seats all facing the same direction. Curtains hang in the windows and the aisle is carpeted in green.
“Where are we supposed to hide?” I ask.
Ash stops at the third row.
“Here,” he says. He bends downs and I hear a click. The entire row of seats lifts up, revealing a long rectangular hole. “You two get in this one. There’s another compartment under the sixth row. I’ll hide there. Hopefully whoever is leaving on this train is leaving soon.”
“And hopefully they’re going to the Farm,” I add. I look down at the hole and shudder. It eerily resembles an open grave.
“I think I prefer the trunk of Garnet’s car,” I say.
“At least it’s not the morgue,” Ash says.
I step down into the hole—it’s a little deeper than I expected. I reach my hand up for Raven. Her face is pale as she looks down at the empty space. Even her lips are white.
“Promise me, Violet,” she says, “that if I get in there, I’m getting out again.”
“I promise,” I say.
She takes my hand and I help her inside. We both lie down—there’s a surprising amount of room.
Ash looks at us with a pained expression. “Keep as quiet and still as you can. I’ll come get you when we get to . . . wherever we’re going.”
After a while, my eyes begin to adjust. Gray light creeps in through the wooden slats above us.
“Violet?” Raven whispers.
“Yes?”
“Do you think that this place we’re going to in the Farm . . . do you think there’s someone there who can fix me?”
The outline of her face is soft, almost blurred. I want to tell her she’s not broken. I want to tell her there must be a way to undo what the Countess did. But I can’t lie to her.
Her mouth pulls up into a sad smile. “That’s what I thought.” She wraps a piece of her hair around her finger. “Emile told me I was the strongest of all the surrogates he’d ever seen. I was the only one who survived being impregnated.” Her other hand slides to her stomach.
“Emile, he was your lady-in-waiting?” I ask. She nods. “Well, he was right. You’re the strongest person I know. And besides, Lucien’s a genius—maybe he can figure out how to help.”
“He must care about you very much.”
“I remind him of someone he used to know,” I say. “His sister. She was a surrogate. She died.”
We’re quiet for a while.
“Did his sister die giving birth?” Raven asks.
“I don’t know, actually,” I say. I think back to the Longest Night ball, when Lucien caught Ash and me together, when he told me the truth about the surrogates. His words echo in my mind.
I had a sister. Azalea. 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 never told me exactly what happened.
“I’m going to die if I have this baby, aren’t I?” Raven says quietly.
A knot of fear hardens in my throat.
“Yes,” I say.
“Yes,” Raven repeats. “I can tell. I can feel it.”
I haven’t let myself think about it, about the death sentence Raven carries inside her. I wrap my arms around my torso as if that would somehow keep me from falling apart.
At that moment, we hear a click and the door to the train car opens.
Raven and I freeze. Footsteps and voices fill the air above us.
“Far too early for this,” a man says. His words are clipped and his voice has the subtle confidence of someone who is well educated.
“I’ve brought some coffee, sir,” a younger voice replies.
“Excellent.”
“And here’s your paper.”
Wood creaks as someone sits. The rustle of newspaper is accompanied by the sound and smell of coffee being poured.
“Ghastly business,” the man says. “Madame Curio was devastated when she heard. I must admit, I was shocked as well. Ash Lockwood, a surrogate rapist? I trained that young man myself. He was an exceptional companion. One of the best.”
“Maybe this is a misunderstanding, Mr. Billings,” the boy says.
There’s a loud whistle, and with a lurch, the train begins to move.
“Nonsense,” Mr. Billings says. “We do not question the testimony of a Founding House.”
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.” There’s a pause. “Do you think Mr. Lockwood’s family will be amenable to the deal? I mean to say, are you sure he’ll go back to them?”
I can hear Raven’s heart thudding in time with my own.
“Well, for goodness’ sake, Red, where else is he going to go? I can’t imagine how he’s evaded detection this long—with the exception of Landing’s Market, of course, and what a disaster that was. No, he’ll have to return home soon. And from what I’ve gathered of his father’s character, Lockwood Senior will be happy to turn in a troublesome son to save a dying daughter.”
Cinder.
I think of Ash, alone in a compartment somewhere nearby. He obviously knows this Mr. Billings. I wonder if he knows the boy, Red, too. From the little I know about Ash’s father, Mr. Billings’s assessment sounds accurate.
But Ash isn’t going home.
And Cinder is dying.
Mr. Billings must be very involved in his paper, because there’s nothing but silence for a long time. My muscles ache from the constant, unceasing tension. Raven and I are both too afraid to move, and my back and shoulders begin to cramp. The train chugs along at a steady speed, only slowing to a halt when we reach the massive iron doors separating the Bank and the Smoke. I can hear them groaning open. The heavy tread of Regimental boots entering the train carriage nearly stops my heart.
“Morning, sir,” a deep-voiced Regimental says.
“Good morning,” Mr. Billings says.
There’s the scratching sound of a pen. “Going to the Smoke?”
“That’s right.”
“Just you and this young man, is that correct?”
“Yes. And this train was searched by your colleagues before it left the companion house.”
Footsteps march up and down the aisle, passing the spot where Raven and I lie hunched together. Neither of us dares to breathe.
“Very good, sir,” the Regimental says. The train door closes.
I exhale in a giant whoosh as the train rolls forward, picking up steam.
We’ve made it into the Smoke. Only one more circle to go.
Twelve
BY THE TIME THE TRAIN SLOWS DOWN, MY NERVES ARE fried.
Every muscle in my body is in agony, and there’s a constant throbbing at the base of my skull, like an Augury headache.
“We’re here, sir,” Red says, his footsteps making the wood creak over our heads as he walks to the front of the car.
“Yes, I can see that. Take my briefcase, please. The coach should be waiting for us. I do wish we could have used the main terminal; it’s so much closer, but the traffic will be a nightmare this time of day. I’m hoping we’ll be back to the Bank before lunchtime—the Smoke always gives me such a terrible cough. You brought the lozenges?”
I don’t hear Red’s response. Back to the Bank? But what about the Farm?
The two men depart the train. Neither Raven nor I move.
“What do we do?” I whisper.
With a groan, the roof of our hiding place wrenches open. The light hurts my eyes, and I blink until they adjust and I can see Ash’s figure looming above me.
His face is like stone, his eyes blazing. He reaches a hand out—I take it and he yanks me up and out of the compartment without a word. My legs give out, and I crumple to the floor, rubbing life back into my limbs and cringing at the invisible needles that stab my muscles as blood flows back into them. Raven collapses beside me.
“What do we do?” I say again. “This train isn’t going to the Farm.”
“Maybe we can hide in the station,” Raven suggests. “Wait for another train.”
“He’s killing her.” Ash’s voice is as cold as his face. I’ve never seen him look like this. It scares me. “Do you know how much money I’ve sent to my family? There should be enough to buy Cinder medicine for at least the next few years.”
“Do you think the royalty took it away?” I ask.
“No.” Ash balls his hands into fists. “I think my father did exactly what I was afraid he would do. He took all the money for himself.”
Ash has never spoken much about his father. During one of those stolen afternoons we spent in his parlor, he told me they weren’t close, but the way he said it implied something much deeper. Resentment. Anger. Hatred, even. He said his father preferred his twin brothers, Rip and Panel. That they were loud and rough while Ash was quiet and reserved.
Still, would Mr. Lockwood sacrifice his son for more money?
“Ash Lockwood?”
The sound of Ash’s name freezes us all in place. A small, soot-covered face is poking in through the open door of the train.
“It is you! The Black Key said to keep an eye on all trains coming into the Smoke, but, wow, I didn’t think you’d actually sh
ow up.” So Lucien’s secret society has members in the Smoke as well. “Nice move, changing your hair. How’d you get by the Regimentals?”
The boy who has now entered the train compartment is about twelve. He wears pants that are an inch too short for him and a coat that is nearly worn through at the elbows. I’d guess his skin is a shade darker than Raven’s but it’s hard to tell with all the smudges of ash and soot. His shaggy black hair is so long it falls into his eyes.
But he said the Black Key.
“Show me your key,” I say.
The boy rolls up the sleeve of his coat to reveal a black skeleton key on the inside of his elbow, drawn onto the boy’s skin with charcoal. “You’re 197, right?”
“My name is Violet,” I say. “Are you here to help us?”
“I sure am. You can call me the Thief,” he says with a toothy grin. “The Black Key says fake names are safer. My real name’s stupid, anyway, so I don’t mind. Are you really gonna help bring down the royalty? The Black Key says you have some sort of power. Can I see it?”
I can’t help smiling at his enthusiasm. “Not right now,” I say.
“Right. Guess there are more important things to take care of.” The Thief pushes his hair out of his eyes. “I’ve got to get you to the main terminal. We think we found a train that can take you to the Farm. But you can’t go out looking like that. Wait here.”
Before I can ask him anything else, he’s gone.
“Who’s Cinder?” Raven asks.
I explain quickly about Ash’s sister.
“I understand,” she says, looking up at him. “You want your Reckoning Day. You want to say good-bye.”
“Ash,” I say gently. “You can’t . . . we can’t see her.”
“I know,” he snaps. Then he sinks down onto one of the train seats. “I was supposed to be saving her. I failed.”
“You did the best you could,” I say. “You did the only thing you could.”
“And if it was Hazel dying?” he says. “Would you believe me if I said you did the best you could?”
My gut twists at the thought of Hazel dying. “I don’t know,” I lie.
“Don’t worry, Violet,” he says. “I get it. I can’t say good-bye to my sister or confront my father for being the selfish bastard he is. You’d think I’d be used to being told what to do all the time by now.”
