The Jewel (22 page)

I
FOLLOW THE HALLWAYS IN A DAZE, THROUGH THE GLASS
corridor, left, right, right, left . . .

Everything looks the same but different somehow. I find myself outside the ballroom with no clear recollection of how I got there. My thoughts are lost in a pair of gray-green eyes.

I take one of the smaller staircases to the second floor and run into Annabelle. Her face is panicked, her anxiety wordless.

“I went for a walk around the palace,” I say, trying to sound innocent. “Is that not allowed?”

Alone?

“Yes.”

NO

“Oh. I'm sorry.” I hope my face looks apologetic. Annabelle presses a hand against her chest, and I notice that there's sweat beading on her forehead. “Annabelle, I'm sorry,” I say, more sincerely this time.

Never w/o permission

Her writing is sloppy and slanted.

“Or I'll be punished, right?”

Annabelle shakes her head and points at herself. My stomach drops.

“
You'll
be punished?”

Annabelle nods.

“Okay. Okay, I'm sorry. I won't do it again, I promise.” How selfish of me, not to have considered what might happen to her if I was caught.

The Duchess is waiting for us when we get back to my chambers.

“Where have you been?” she snaps.

“We were in the garden,” I lie, adding, “in the maze.” Just in case she checked and didn't see us.

She ignores my explanation.

“I am having a family dinner tonight,” she says. “You will attend.” She looks at Annabelle. “Have her dressed and in the dining room at seven thirty.”

Annabelle curtsies.

“D
OES THIS MEAN
I'
LL FINALLY MEET THE
D
UKE
?” I
ASK
as Annabelle laces me into a pale silver dress with tiny sapphires sewn into a floral pattern on the skirt.

She nods.

“What's he like?”

Annabelle shrugs and makes a face that I take to mean she doesn't find him particularly interesting. She sits me at the vanity and starts curling my hair and pinning it up.

Ash's face appears in my mind for the hundredth time in the last hour. The way he looked at me and spoke to me like a person, even for just a few minutes . . . it was like exhaling after holding my breath for too long.

I stare at my reflection—pink cheeks, tiny smile, bright eyes . . . the girl in the mirror looks truly happy, for the first time.

I've never thought much about kissing, but the idea of Ash's lips against mine—

I giggle. Annabelle gives me a curious glance and I force the smile off my face.

I know I'm being stupid. I'll never be able to kiss him. I'll probably never see him again.

“Oh!” I cry, suddenly remembering. Ash will be at dinner tonight.

Annabelle stares at me with a mix of confusion and concern.

“Oh, um . . . that pin stuck me. Sorry. I'm okay.”

Annabelle bites her lip and continues pinning my hair with unnecessary caution.

It feels like my lungs shrink to half their normal size while my heart beats at twice its usual pace. By the time Annabelle dabs some scent on my wrists and pronounces me finished, I'm practically hyperventilating.

“It's perfect,” I say. My voice sounds a little strangled. The dress glows against my skin like moonlight, and Annabelle has adorned my hair with sapphire-and-pearl pins. My lips are glossed in pink, my eyes lined in pale purple, making their color stand out even more. I wonder if Ash will think I look pretty.

Stop it, Violet
, I tell myself.
It doesn't matter what he thinks.

By the time we reach the main foyer, I'm wishing I wasn't invited to this dinner. My nerves are as taut as my cello strings. When we stop outside the dining room doors, Annabelle stops and gives me a once-over, fussing a little with my skirts.

OK?

I nod, my throat too swollen to attempt speech. Annabelle jerks her head at the door and smiles.

Great food

I laugh nervously. She nods to the footman standing at attention by the door. He opens it and announces, “The surrogate of the House of the Lake.”

My stomach turns to water as I enter the dining room.

I
T LOOKS THE SAME AS
I
REMEMBER.

Polished oak furniture, maroon walls, a candle-filled chandelier—the only difference is the company. To my left is the Duchess with two men in tuxedos. The Duchess wears a gown of deep blue silk and holds a flute of champagne delicately in her gloved hand. To my right, I see the red-haired Lady of the Glass, Carnelian, and—my heart somersaults—Ash.

It's only been a couple of hours since I met him, but he's somehow even more handsome than I remember. My whole body feels like it's blushing.

Everyone looks up when I enter, except for Ash, who is suddenly very occupied with pouring Carnelian a drink.

I had sort of forgotten Carnelian would be here, too. I note, begrudgingly, that someone has dressed her in a very pretty beaded tunic, and her hair is styled more fashionably than I've ever seen it.

“Come here,” the Duchess commands me.

“So, this is the surrogate?” the taller of the two men asks. He is very thin, with coppery skin and a large nose. His eyes are dark, like the Duchess's, but round, and they study me under thick black eyebrows. He takes a sip of amber liquid from a crystal glass. “I was wondering when I'd finally get to see her.”

“Oh, darling, you've been so busy,” the Duchess says. “What do you think?”

The man shrugs. “You know best, my dear. She's certainly prettier than the one who had Garnet.”

This must be the Duke. I don't like the way he says this, or the way he looks at me under those thick brows—it makes my skin prickle.

“My wife tells me you have big plans for her,” the other man says. He is portly, the buttons on his waistcoat straining against his large stomach, and his cheeks are red.

“Yes,” the Duchess says. “I have been waiting quite some time to find a surrogate like this one. My daughter will be exceptional.”

“
Our
daughter,” the taller man corrects her.

The Duchess smiles icily. “Quite right. Our daughter.”

The door opens, and I hear the footman announce, “Garnet, son of the House of the Lake.”

Garnet swaggers in, looking more put together than when I saw him before. At least, he's not drunk this time. His blond hair is slicked back, his clothing immaculate; his tuxedo jacket fits snugly over his broad shoulders.

I look back and forth between him and Ash. They are both very attractive, but there is something decidedly natural about Ash's looks. Garnet's features are flawless—full lips, straight nose, pale skin. He could have walked out of the pages of one of Lily's gossip magazines. He looks nothing like either of his parents; I assume whatever surrogate bore him was very good at Shape and Color.

“Mother, Father,” Garnet says, nodding at the Duke and Duchess and taking a proffered glass of champagne from a nearby footman. “Am I late?”

A muscle in the Duchess's jaw twitches, but just then a bell rings.

“Shall we sit?” the Duke says brightly.

I take a seat on the Duchess's right, the Duke on her left, then Garnet. The Lady of the Glass sits beside me with her husband, then Carnelian, then Ash. The result is that Ash and I are almost directly across from each other.

He doesn't look at me. His eyes seem to skip over me, as if I'm not even there. Like I'm invisible.

The pain of this is a sharp, physical thing, almost like the aftermath of an Augury except it's not my head that feels like needles are being shoved into it. I try and focus on arranging my napkin in my lap.

I shouldn't be feeling like this. It's stupid. I don't even know him. What does it matter if he looks at me or not?

A servant places a salad of spinach, beets, and goat cheese in front of me, but for the first time since Dahlia's death, I have no desire to eat. My mouth feels like sandpaper.

“Pearl,” the Lady of the Glass says, as another servant fills her wineglass, “your niece was telling me the most charming stories about living in the Bank. Did you know she actually
helped
with her father's printing press? Imagine!”

The words sound sincere, but the tone is off—I get the impression that the Lady and the Duchess are sharing some sort of private joke at Carnelian's expense.

Red blotches of embarrassment appear on Carnelian's cheeks. “Only one time,” she says to her aunt. “When his apprentice was ill.”

“Well,” the Duchess says smoothly, “I'm sure it was very character-building.”

The Lady of the Glass hides her laugh in a sip of wine.

“I see you finally got a companion for her,” Garnet says to the Duchess through a forkful of beets. He wipes his mouth with a napkin and extends his hand to Ash. “I'm Garnet, by the way.”

Ash shakes his hand politely. “Ash Lockwood.”

“He's a looker, isn't he, cousin?” Garnet says to Carnelian, waggling his eyebrows at her. “How much is he costing you, Mother?”

The Duchess's nostrils flare, but Ash cuts in smoothly.

“Carnelian was showing me the library before dinner,” he says. “You have the most extensive collection I've seen, my lady. It's very impressive.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lockwood,” the Duchess says with a tight smile.

“Yes, my wife does have the most remarkable preoccupation with the past,” the Duke says. “I must admit, I don't understand it at all.”

“I wouldn't expect you to, darling,” the Duchess murmurs. “The only books you read are the ledgers.”

“Someone must look after the finances,” the Duke replies, with a significant glance at the Lord of the Glass. “Isn't that right, Beryl?”

“Oh, quite, quite,” the Lord says with a wink.

“The House of the Lake is one of the four founding Houses,” the Duchess says sharply. “My ancestors helped build the Great Wall, without which this island would have long ago been destroyed by the sea. I am a direct descendant of the first Electress, who founded the Lone City and created the five circles, including our beloved Jewel. It is not simply my honor, but my
duty
to preserve the literature of their time. Of course, I suppose I understand why it might not be of interest to those whose bloodlines do not extend back that far.”

The Lady of the Glass shifts uncomfortably, and her husband busies himself with his salad. The Duke's hand tightens around his fork.

“Oh, come on, Mother, don't belittle Father for climbing up the social ladder,” Garnet says, taking a huge gulp of wine and waving a footman over to refill his glass. “You would have done the same if you were born to the House of the Glass.”

“Thank you, son,” the Duke says tersely.

Carnelian pipes up. “Mama always said it isn't who you are but what you do that is important.”

“Your mother said a great many things,” the Duchess snaps. “And none of them need be repeated at my table.”

An icy silence settles over the room. I shovel a couple of beets into my mouth just for something to do. I think the last dinner was preferable to this one. At least Raven was there. And Lucien.

“Did you hear,” the Lady of the Glass says brightly, leaning forward, almost across me, to the Duchess, “about the Lady of the Locks?”

The Duchess perks up. “What about her?”

“You know she just bought her first surrogate this year?” The Duchess nods. “Apparently, she takes her around
everywhere
!” the Lady exclaims. “On shopping excursions, to luncheons, she even brought her around my house for tea. I can't imagine what she's thinking.”

“How embarrassing,” the Duchess says. “Do you think she's trying to show off?”

The women burst into malicious laughter. The Duke, the Lord of the Glass, and Garnet are engaged in a debate over a new tax the Exetor plans to levy on the Farm, and Carnelian is prattling away about her plans for the weekend to Ash. I feel incredibly lonely.

“What lot did she end up with?” the Duchess asks.

“102,” the Lady of the Glass replies.

“102? And she parades her around like she was in the top ten?”

“I know. Someone should speak to her.”

“It's not as if safety is an issue, I suppose—I can't imagine anyone who matters bothering with the surrogate of a third-tier House. It's just a lack of class.”

“Perhaps she's trying a new strategy to gain the Electress's attention,” the Lady of the Glass suggests, and the two women begin laughing again.

“She's having a daughter, too, I suppose?”

“Of course. But I can't believe the Exetor would ever consider an alliance with the House of the Locks.”

“Speaking of,” the Duchess says, “did you get your dress for the Exetor's Ball?”

“I did. I was so afraid the Electress might make him cancel it after the whole business with her surrogate. What a disappointment that would be!”

I grit my teeth at the casual mention of Dahlia's death. I wonder if the Lady of the Glass knows that she's speaking to the woman who was responsible for it. I doubt she'd even care.

The footmen clear our plates and serve the next course, lamb with mint jelly and roasted potatoes. The food is delicious, but I can't enjoy it. I'd rather be eating in my rooms with Annabelle than listening to these women talk about surrogates as if they are pets or a new pair of shoes.

My eyes keep wandering to Ash, and I really wish they wouldn't. It's like they're on a mission to notice as much about him as possible. The way he sometimes smiles like he's keeping a secret. How his eyes almost seem to change color, shifting from gray to green. He is patient as he listens to Carnelian, never looking bored or interrupting. His fingers curl around his wineglass and all I can think of is how they felt against my skin. What is wrong with me? He's just a boy. Just an incredibly good-looking boy who knows music and talked to me like a person for a few minutes and made me feel all buzzy and . . .