The Black Key (16 page)

Weaponry? My heart sinks lower in my chest. What is happening here?

“It was your great-grandfather's, wasn't it?” the Duchess asks.

“What an excellent memory you have.” I can hear the smile in the Exetor's voice.

“I remember everything about us,” she says. I've never heard her sound so vulnerable. “Every single second. I first saw this when I was thirteen and we broke into that old chest your father kept in one of his studies.”

“We got in quite a bit of trouble for that.”

The Duchess's laugh is gentle, and full of memory. “We did, didn't we? My father kept me locked in my room for a week.”

“And I arrived two days into that week and demanded he release you.”

“Yes, I'm sure you were very intimidating.”

“I'm surprised he didn't box my ears.”

“So am I.”

It's the Exetor's turn to laugh. “I'm certain he wanted to. But I don't think my father would have been so forgiving of one of his subjects accosting his own son.”

“What do you think our fathers would make of us now?” the Duchess asks.

There is a long pause. “I don't think I care, to be honest. After what they did . . . after . . . it was our lives, Pearl,
our
lives, and they—”

“I know,” she says softly.

I hear a stopper being popped off and liquid poured into glasses. “I'm worried, Onyx. What if we fail? What if people don't believe it was her? We need the royalty to love this engagement. We need them to be so attached to the joining of our Houses that there is an outrage when the surrogate is murdered.”

She's trying to kill me.
Hazel's words come back to me with full force. Someone in this palace
is
trying to kill her. I was just wrong about who.

“Yes, I've thought on this quite a bit,” the Exetor says. “Your House has garnered so much sympathy recently. What if we were to make use of all that goodwill?”

“In what way?”

“We make the Auction double serve as an engagement party for Larimar. A grand affair, not like Garnet's little promotion celebration. We will make it the event of the century. And we will open the invitation to every member of the royalty.”

“Of course,” the Duchess says. “The royals will love it, especially the unmarried ones who wouldn't be able to come otherwise. A party on top of a party.”

“We appear as a united front. No one will doubt the validity of this engagement. Then, when the surrogate is murdered with the Electress's dagger, this circle will turn on her like a pack of wild wolves.”

“Oh, my darling,” the Duchess says. She murmurs something too low for me to hear.

“I could have been better,” the Exetor says, his voice straining with emotion. “I should have been. With you by my side.”

“We can't change the past.”

“I should never have let—”

“Shhh.” There are some more muffled movements. “Soon. After the Electress is hanged for treason. This will all die down in a year or so.”

“That seems so far away.”

“We've been waiting twenty-eight years,” the Duchess says. “I think we can wait one or two more.”

I don't understand. If they love each other so much, why did the engagement break off in the first place?

There is a silence and then he asks her something in a whisper, too soft for me to make out.

“I don't know,” she replies, and she sounds like she's in pain. “I never knew. It was too early to tell.”

Too early to tell what?
I want to shout.

“I am so sorry,” he says.

“I know, my love,” she murmurs. “I know you are.”

One last bit of kissing and then the Exetor says, “I should be getting back. The announcement needs to be made.”

“Yes, of course.” She chuckles. “It's going to send this circle into a tizzy.”

There's the sound of footsteps and then a door closes.

I slide down the wall and perch on the edge of a stair, my heart thrumming in my chest.

This whole thing has been one elaborate scheme to get the Exetor and the Duchess back together. At the cost of my sister's life.

T
HE ANNOUNCEMENT THAT THE
A
UCTION WILL SERVE AS
an engagement party as well throws the circle into gleeful chaos, as the Duchess and the Exetor predicted.

Invites come pouring in, for cocktail parties and luncheons and wine tastings. Everyone wants the Duchess's attention. The loss of Coral and the Duke mixed with the ironclad promise of a union between the Royal Palace and the House of the Lake makes the Duchess the Jewel's most wanted woman. And with only one day left until the Auction, the palace is buzzing with excitement.

I haven't spoken to Lucien since the Exetor's visit. But tonight is the annual pre-Auction dinner party for the Founding Houses at the Royal Palace, and fortunately,
Carnelian was invited. Which means I'll get to see him one last time before the city changes, for better or worse.

This development also means Carnelian will be attending the Auction, a huge relief since Coral's death meant I would not have had a reason to attend myself.

The lower circles have been bubbling with discontent. Fires, lootings, more bombings . . . the Farm is in turmoil now, too. The factory workers in the Smoke have been striking. I haven't spoken to Rye privately again. But I manage to get a moment alone with Garnet before I prepare Carnelian for the big dinner. He tells me Rye reached out to him. He's very excited to have the companions on board.

“They're really good with strategy,” he says, adjusting his bow tie. “And they already know how to fight. When you Paladin start causing all that chaos, we're going to be ready. It's like the royalty trained the perfect weapons for us!”

I quickly fill Garnet in about the conversation I overheard between his mother and the Exetor.

He whistles. “Well, I can't say I'm entirely surprised. She's been in love with him for years. You didn't hear what broke off the engagement, did you?”

“No, but that's not the point,” I say. “Hazel is the
target
.”

“Yeah, at the
Auction
. Mother won't have a chance. Everyone will be too busy fighting the Society.”

I hope he's right.

T
HE
R
OYAL
P
ALACE IS LIT UP LIKE A GIANT CANDLE, IN
anticipation of the Auction tomorrow.

I caught a miraculous glimpse of Hazel for the first time
since she escaped. Leashed and veiled, she was led to the motorcar by the Duchess, but it was enough to make my heart soar. I have time. She is alive and I'm going to make sure no one threatens her life again.

We arrive at the same time as the Countess of the Rose. Her hair is piled up on her head and dotted with real roses. The Count leans heavily on a cane as he walks up the front stairs beside her. Her lady-in-waiting is an older woman with a topknot as gray as the Countess's own hair.

“You are the talk of the circle, Pearl,” the Countess says with admiration. I listen attentively but keep my eyes on my sister. She glances back at me, and I give her the tiniest shake of my head. She gives me a minuscule nod and keeps her eyes forward. “Just what you've always wanted.”

“That is where you are wrong, my dear Ametrine,” the Duchess replies, her gaze fixed on the front doors of the palace. “There has only ever been one thing I truly wanted. And it wasn't winning the Jewel's popularity contest.”

As soon as we step inside, footmen take cloaks and hats and lead the royals away to the dining room. I keep my eyes on Hazel's retreating form for as long as I can. Just as they are about to turn a corner, she looks back at me one more time. Then she's gone.

“Come along, Imogen,” Cora says. I turn and catch a glimpse of the Countess of the Stone making her way up the stairs with a short, frail man by her side. The Count, I assume. I wonder if Emile will be here tonight.

I follow Cora and the older lady-in-waiting (both of whom clearly know where they're going) to a room with colorful couches in shades of peach, turquoise, emerald, and
lilac. Several tables have been laid out with all sorts of food and glass pitchers of water. There is one lady-in-waiting already here—he must serve the Duchess of the Scales. She's the only Founding House I haven't seen yet.

“Olivier,” Cora says, coming over to greet him. “How lovely to see you. Have you met Imogen?”

Olivier is plump and cheery, with a carrot-orange topknot.

“You were hired for Coral, yes?” he says, shaking my hand. His are unnaturally soft.

“Yes,” I say. “But I serve Carnelian now.”

“Such a shame,” he says with a sigh, then directs his attention back to Cora. “Your House has been hit hard these past few weeks. Turning the Auction into an engagement party was a brilliant idea of the Exetor's. Just the thing this circle needs to lift its spirits.”

“I'm surprised the Duchess brought her surrogate here at all,” the gray-haired lady-in-waiting says, coming to join us with a plate of cheese and fruit. “Isn't she worried about the Electress?”

“Come now, Eloise,” Olivier says. “The Electress would never attempt to harm the surrogate in her own house.”

“I wouldn't put it past her,” a thin, dry voice says from the doorway.

I know him, even without ever really having seen him before. Raven told me all about Frederic—his voice, his bloody gums, his beady eyes, his beaked nose. He glides into the room, plucking a grape off a bunch in a silver bowl.

“Eloise. Olivier.” He acknowledges them with a nod.

“Glad to see you're up and about,” Cora says dryly. “We
missed you at Garnet's party.”

“I was sorry not to be there,” Frederic says with a distinct lack of sincerity. “Though I do like my soirees to come with a little less violence.”

“Really,” Cora shoots back. “I was under the impression it was quite the opposite.”

Eloise and Olivier look uncomfortable. But Frederic merely smiles at her, and I see them, the bloodred gums Raven told me about. It is a hideous smile, one that clearly wishes the receiver harm. Frederic pops the grape into his mouth and chews it slowly.

“Will the Countess be buying another surrogate this year?” Olivier says in a blatant attempt to diffuse the tension.

“Of course,” Frederic says. “Such a shame about the last one. It was truly . . . unique.”

Raven told me they used to call her “it.” Knowing it is one thing, but hearing him say it out loud . . . I ball my hands into fists, the desire to join with Air and throw him across the room potent inside me.

“Ah, good, you are all here.”

I turn and see Lucien. “Welcome, my friends. Another year, another Auction. Though this year seems to be shaping up a little differently than the previous ones.”

In more ways than one,
I think, and his gaze lands on me for half a second, but in that time, I know his thoughts are in line with mine.

“Indeed,” Olivier agrees, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “An engagement party
and
an Auction? The entire Jewel attending?”

“No doubt the Duchess will be thrilled by the attention,” Frederic says.

“And the Countess is known for her humility?” Cora retorts.

“We must be in top form,” Lucien says, ignoring the snipes between the two. “And keep close eyes on your mistresses. With all the violence and the distress in the lower circles, we must be on high alert.”

If I didn't know better, I'd think he was sincerely concerned with the well-being of the royal women. He snaps a finger at me.

“You,” he says. “Carnelian requires you. Come with me.”

My heart in my throat, I follow him out the door. I expect him to lead me far from the room with the other ladies-in-waiting, or maybe back to his secret workshop, but instead he takes me only one room over.

“Do you know how to get to this room from the front doors?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say, surprised. “It's just down the hall to the left, right?”

“Correct.” The room is a small antechamber, nothing in it except for a round, blue rug and a painting of a white fluffy dog sitting on a plush stool. Lucien pulls back the painting to reveal a hole in the wall, large enough for me to climb through. I can see stone stairs on the opposite side.

“This will take you to my room,” he says. “I left markings for you to follow. I wanted to make sure you could find it. If . . . if the time comes.”

My chest is tight. Lucien replaces the painting so nothing looks out of place.

“This is it,” I say.

“This is it,” he echoes in reply. He puts his hands on my shoulders. “Whatever happens tomorrow, whatever the day brings . . . at least we tried. We tried to do something bold and brave.”

“We tried to change the world,” I say.

He smiles gently. “Or our own little corner of it, at least.”

I smile back. He has meant so much to me, and I don't know how to express my thanks for everything he has done. He seems to sense my feelings, though, and envelops me in a freesia-scented hug.

As we walk back out into the hall, a footman rushes up. “Lucien, come quick. Arabelle has burned the venison pot pies and Robert and Duncan are at each other's throats again. The kitchen is a nightmare.”

Lucien pinches the bridge of his nose. “Of all the nights,” he mutters, and the two hurry down the hall, disappearing behind a tapestry.

I'm left alone. I turn to reenter the chamber where the food and ladies-in-waiting are, when a dancing glint of light catches my eye.

A door across the hall with a golden handle is slightly ajar. Curiosity gets the better of me and I push it open, slipping inside.

The room is larger than I expected. And full of . . . me.

Mirrors hang on every wall, reflecting my startled face back at me. Except that it's not my face, not really. It's the face of a blond girl with a high forehead and wide green eyes. It's the face of a stranger.

I make a circuit of the room, my stranger's face appearing in an oval mirror inlaid with mother-of-pearl, a square-shaped one with golden roses fixed on its four points, and a long rectangle with pearls dotting its edge.

I stop at one that sets my heart pounding. It's a simple square mirror with a silver frame, but etched lightly in its center is a tree that looks exactly like the lemon tree that grows in the backyard of my house in the Marsh. The one that never produced a lemon until I used the third Augury, Growth, on it when I visited my family on Reckoning Day. I grew a lemon for Hazel, to remember me by.

And now she's sitting in a glitzy dining room, on a leash, next to a woman who is planning to murder her tomorrow.

I take one step back from the golden tree. Then another, and another, until I'm standing in the center of the room. My reflection stares out at me with a hundred pairs of eyes.

This is not who I am, this blond-haired girl in lady-in-waiting garb. I am Violet Lasting. I am one of the Paladin and I could destroy this room if I wanted to.

And I do want to. Desperately.

I join with the element effortlessly, sweeping all the Air in here to me, calling on it to do as I command. I feel it swirl around me, restless, waiting and eager.

Break,
I think, and my focus is so sharp, so intense, the image of what I desire strong and specific, like I'm conjuring an Augury. But the elements are stronger than any Augury. I shoot the air away from me, and it hits the center of each mirror perfectly. I feel as if I am flying in a hundred different directions, as if I am reaching out with my own hands to imprint the pattern on each and every mirror in this room.

All but one.

I release the hold on the element to the sound of tinkling bits of glass clattering to the floor. The lemon tree mirror is as it was, perfectly smooth and reflective.

In the center of every single other mirror, the glass has cracked to form a very well-known, very specific shape.

A skeleton key.

I look around the room in awe. Keys surround me, fragmenting my face in grotesque fashions. I've never been so proud of myself, so sure of the power I possess.

I have marked this room for the Society. And tomorrow, the royalty will feel the weight of our fury.