The Black Key (6 page)

“She probably didn't believe Garnet either,” I say.

Maude chuckles. “You're right, my dear, she likely did not. Well, I suppose it falls to me to show you around a bit, then.”

I smile. No Cora and no Duchess and a tour of the palace? This is the perfect time to look for Hazel. Maude might even lead me straight to her.

“That would be lovely,” I say. “Lead the way.”

I
FEEL CONFIDENT THAT
I
'LL MASTER THE TOUR QUICKLY
—after all, I lived in this palace for three months.

But once we reach the end of the servant's wing and pass through the glass promenade that connects it to the main part of the palace, Maude pulls back a tapestry depicting some former Duchess of the Lake, which hangs on the wall by the dining room. A set of stone steps are behind it, leading to, I presume, the series of corridors I saw earlier.

“I'm sure you know the rules about being seen,” she says as we descend. The air is noticeably cooler, and I'm reminded of the secret passageway from Ash's parlor to the library. I wonder if these halls connect with that one.

“Why don't you just go over everything,” I say. “I'm sure
both Garnet and the Duchess would want me fully briefed.”

This seems to impress Maude. “Smart girl. Very well. We may use the main corridors only at meal times and when the Duchess is out. You may be seen in various rooms—I'll give you a list later—as long as you are cleaning. The Duke's quarters will be off-limits to you, as are the Duchess's and surrogate's.”

“Is she all right?” I ask. I can't let any opportunity to find out about Hazel pass. “The surrogate, I mean. After that companion raped her and all.” The lie bites at my throat—it's the Duchess's lie, the one she told the world when Ash escaped. It's strange to think that, as far as Maude knows, the surrogate is still
me
.

Maude stiffens. “The surrogate is fine. That's all you need to know.”

“Of course,” I say quickly.

We reach the bottom of the stairs and Maude begins to rattle off hallways.

“The dining room, the library, the ballroom, the main gallery, the drawing room . . .” Everything looks the same down here. When I was living in the plush surrogate quarters, I nicknamed the hallways based on what they contained—the hall of flowers, the hall of portraits . . . for the servants, every hall seems to be the hall of stone.

However, unlike the ones I nicknamed, these halls are bustling with people. Chambermaids and laundry maids and scullery maids and footmen and that old butler (James, that was his name) and I even see a Regimental. He is big and burly and he nods to Maude.

“Six,” she says. “How are things with the newlyweds?”

He smirks. “The same. I think Garnet would rather have married a turtle to be honest.”

“This is Coral's new lady-in-waiting,” she says with a wink. The Regimental's eyes pop.

“They finally got one for her, did they?”

“Garnet arranged it himself,” Maude says.

“Good luck,” the Regimental says to me.

Then he turns and walks off down the corridor.

“What did you call him?” I ask.

“I should have introduced you. He's Six. The Duchess has six personal guards.” I must look confused because she frowns. “Didn't they number the Regimentals at your former palace?”

I straighten out my expression. “Yes, of course. I just . . . he looked like someone I used to know.”

Maude's eyes twinkle. “A lover?”

“No,” I say firmly.

“Good,” she says. “The Duchess won't tolerate any of that nonsense here.”

“She won't need to worry about that from me,” I say.

Maude looks pleased. “Just watch out for William. Devilishly handsome footman. The Duchess has fired three girls because of him. Oh, and there's a companion here, so make sure you avoid all contact with him. Especially after the last one.”

I wonder again if it would be safe to reveal myself to Rye. A companion, in the Jewel, on our side, could potentially be great help.

It's exactly what Ash wanted. He just wanted to do it himself. I feel a tiny stirring of guilt and squash it down. I
am here and Ash isn't. I won't deny a possible ally.

We reach the end of the main corridor and Maude leads me up a set of steps, still doling out instructions.

“The Duke never gets up until after eleven and it's always best to avoid him,” she is saying. “Terrible temper. The Duchess is very particular about her meals, they must be at certain times and always in the dining room. Unless she's attending a dinner party or luncheon. Garnet and Coral eat with her in the evenings, so you'll have to make sure Coral is dressed and ready, usually by eight.”

I hope I can remember enough of what Annabelle used to do to pass as a proper lady-in-waiting. I should have asked someone back at the White Rose, but really, the only person who would know anything about how to properly dress for dinner would be Ash.

I wonder if he's still mad. I picture him, alone in our hayloft, stewing over where I am, if I'm all right, why I had to leave him. I think about how I would feel if the situation was reversed and then I don't because I'd be so upset with him. I've already made my choice so there's no point in regretting it now.

The door at the top of the stairs is wooden and doesn't have a knob—Maude slides it to the side, and we step out into a hallway I recognize. The hall of portraits. The eyes in the paintings stare at me as Maude slides a wooden panel back into place, concealing the door.

“Now, here is the concert hall—it hasn't been used since Garnet's engagement party but the Duchess likes to keep it clean.”

I peek inside, the warm, rich air bringing another wave
of memories. This room holds so much meaning to me. It was where I used to play for Annabelle, just me and my cello onstage, a way to take myself away from the reality of my life.

It was where I kissed Ash for the first time.

It's also where I miscarried, bleeding so much that Lucien had to carry me off the stage and down to the medical room where he saved my life.

We're near my old chambers now, and Maude seems to have loosened up a bit, so I make another stab at finding Hazel.

“What's down there?” I ask.

“Those are the former surrogate chambers.”

“The surrogate isn't staying there anymore?”

Maude hesitates. “The Duchess keeps her in the medical room day and night. As a precaution. She nearly died at Garnet's party. Bled all over the stage.”

“Yes, I . . . remember hearing about that.” It is so bizarre to talk about Hazel as though Hazel is me. I hate thinking of my sister locked up in that cold, sterile place.

Before I can ask anything else, Maude leads me away from the surrogate chambers to the east side of the palace. I remember Annabelle telling me that this is where the men's quarters are.

“Luckily, Lucien was there to save her. I don't think there's been a mind like his in the history of the ladies-in-waiting.”

“Yes, I've heard he's very smart,” I say.

“Brilliant, more like. Though he does have a bit of a temper. I suppose that's to be expected. The bigger the brain,
the bigger the ego, the shorter the fuse. Ah, here we are.”

She stops at the entrance to the east wing. It is carpeted in maroon, with portraits of previous Dukes of the Lake hanging on the walls. I wonder which one is the Duchess's father. From the way Sil talked about him, he seemed even crueler than the Duchess.

Sil was the Duchess's surrogate. The Duke forced her to focus all her Augury power on only one of his twin daughters before she gave birth to them. The Duchess is that daughter. Sil was strong enough to withstand the death that usually accompanies surrogate childbirth but only with the help of Paladin magic.

The hall we're on meets the men's quarters in a T shape, so we can only go left or right. Beside me, a staircase curves up and out of sight. The stairs are crafted out of mother-of-pearl, the banister a gleaming gold.

“The Duchess's private quarters,” Maude whispers. “Never, under any circumstances, go up there.”

I nod. I don't need telling twice.

“The Duke's chambers are down that way,” she says, pointing to the right, “and he keeps several footmen tasked with the maintenance of his own personal quarters.” Maude raises an eyebrow and adds, “He keeps the footmen
very
close, if you catch my meaning.”

This palace is like a beehive of secrets and lies. Maude laughs at my shocked expression and beckons me to follow her. She knocks on the door and opens it with a “Hello? Miss Coral? Garnet? It's Maude. Your new lady-in-waiting has arrived.”

Garnet and Coral's chambers are quite similar to the
ones I used to occupy in this palace. They have a drawing room, painted and decorated in shades of blue and gold, and a tea parlor with pink wallpaper and red-and-white trim. It doesn't look at all like Garnet.

“It's a bit much, isn't it?” Maude whispers. “Coral enjoys the color pink.”

There are pink flowers in pink glass vases on the tables, and every chair and couch has been upholstered in varying shades of magenta, fuchsia, and rose. One entire wall is covered with glass-paned cabinets filled with miniature tea sets.

“Wow,” I say, moving to get a closer look. “That's . . . a lot of china.”

“Yes, Coral is rather particular about them. She won't let any of the maids touch them.”

There are tiny cups and saucers and teapots in various colors and patterns—purple flowers and hummingbirds, horseshoes, glittery green vines, a golden sun and silver moon, stripes and solids and everything in between. I'm examining a blue cup with a bunch of grapes painted on its exterior when a door opens.

“Oh, hello, Maude, I thought I heard you,” a girl's voice says.

I whirl around as Maude sinks into a low curtsy. Coral is frail and small, her blond hair curled and pinned in a very pretty fashion over one shoulder. I drop into a curtsy of my own.

“My apologies, Miss Coral,” Maude says. “This is your new lady-in-waiting. She was merely admiring your collection.”

“What?” Coral's whole expression brightens. “But I thought the Duchess dismissed my last candidate.”

“It was Garnet, miss, who hired her.”

“What a lovely surprise! Garnet is so busy, I didn't think . . . what is your name?” she asks me.

“She hasn't been given a lady-in-waiting name yet, miss,” Maude says. “Cora is still out.”

“Nonsense,” Coral says. “I can name her just as easily as Cora. I've lived around ladies-in-waiting all my life. Besides, she's mine, isn't she?”

I forgot how awful it feels to be spoken about as if you're property.

A muscle in Maude's jaw twitches. “Of course, miss.”

Coral cups my face in her hands, an uncomfortably intimate gesture given that we've only just met. She turns my head from side to side.

“Hmm . . . I think you'll be . . . Imogen,” she says with a smile. “That was my grandmother's lady-in-waiting's name.” She turns to Maude. “What do you think?”

“An excellent choice, miss.”

“Coral, have you seen my cuff link—” Garnet enters the room and is brought up short at the sight of us.

“Maude,” he says as she sinks into another curtsy. His eyes skim over me and I can see him working out if I am who I am, given that I look so different. “Is this her?”

Fortunately, Coral helps out. “My own personal lady-in-waiting at last!” she exclaims, running over to kiss his cheek. “Darling, how thoughtful.”

Garnet shoots me the barest hint of a smile. “How do you like her, sweetling?”

“She's perfect.”

He chuckles and turns to Maude. “See to it she has a room made up for her in the servant's quarters.”

She curtsies again. “Of course, sir. I'll have it done right away.”

“Excellent. That gives all of us some time to get acquainted before dinner.”

Maude hurries out of the room.

“What should we do first?” Coral says, coming over to clasp my hands in hers. “Shall you do my hair? Or maybe we can choose a dress for dinner? Or you could read to me!”

“Darling, I'm going to need a moment to speak to . . .” Garnet's voice trails off, unsure of what exactly to call me.

“Imogen,” Coral says. “I named her myself.”

Garnet's smile looks so sincere. “Lovely. I need to speak to Imogen for a moment in private, just to make sure she's filled in on everything. Why don't you go out to the garden and I'll have her meet you there? I know how you love looking at the flowers.”

“All right,” Coral says. “Don't keep her too long.”

“I won't.”

Coral makes a big show of having me help her with her coat and pin a tiny hat into her curls. She pecks Garnet on the cheek and walks out, leaving the two of us blissfully alone.

A
S SOON AS THE DOOR CLOSES BEHIND HIS WIFE,
G
ARNET'S
smile vanishes, replaced with a look of awe.

“Wow,” he says. “Raven told me you looked different, but . . . wow.”

“Thank you,” I say, “for helping me get here. Lucien wasn't a huge fan of the idea.”

“I know,” Garnet says. “I think you might actually irritate him more than I do.”

“But you're an upstanding citizen now,” I remind him. “Regimental officer and everything.”

“True. They're even promoting me to Master Sergeant in a few days. There'll be an official ceremony. Like I've done anything to warrant a promotion except turn a lot
of Regimentals to our side.” He cocks his head. “I'll have access to more information though. That's a bonus.”

“Garnet, that's amazing,” I say. “Really helpful. What else has been happening in the Jewel?”

“You'd think the bombings would have put a damper on all the parties and cotillions and whatnot, but people here are either ignoring it or assuming it's something that will never touch them, that will just go away on its own.” He plops down onto a pink striped armchair. “I swear, the arrogance of some of them. . . . You know that barracks that got blown up in the Smoke two days ago?”

I think about the headline I saw on the train. “Yes.”

Garnet's cheeks flush. “There were people on our side in there. And I get it, we have to make sacrifices, but to hear my royal friends talk, you'd think those Regimentals brought it on themselves. One of them even said to me, ‘They just don't make them like they used to.' How did they
used
to
make
Regimentals? The more I work with the men in red, the more I see that most of them have been conscripted against their will or just need a job to feed their families. The ones in the Jewel are the worst. They're the real die-hards. That's what makes the Auction so tricky—it'll be all Jewel Regimentals guarding the Auction House. We really need the surrogates to bring that wall down. We need to get the people in here, to fight.”

I swallow my doubts, and say, “We can do it. We've got so many girls willing to help already.”

Garnet is lost in his own world. “You know, I can't even reach out to most of those Regimentals personally. It's too dangerous. I have to use other people, mostly privates and
specialists and the like. No one will open up to a royal. I'm like the Lucien of Regimentals.” He rubs his temple. “I sort of understand why he's so grumpy all the time.”

Looking at him now, I can't believe this is the same man who wandered into my first dinner at the palace of the Lake, completely intoxicated, with no care other than where his next drink was coming from.

“I'm proud of you,” I say shyly. “For whatever that's worth.”

Garnet's face turns an even darker shade of red and he clears his throat. “Only a few more weeks to go, right?” he says. “Then we won't have to sneak around anymore. I'm tired of playing at being a royal.”

“I'm tired of being treated like property again. Already,” I grumble.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I can't really—”

I hold up a hand. “Like you said, a few more weeks and then this will be over, one way or another.” An uneasiness settles over us as that thought sinks in. We could be dead in a month. “Is it true that your mother is keeping Hazel in the medical room?” I ask, changing the subject.

“My mother doesn't talk to me about the surrogate at all. Is that what Maude told you?”

“Yes.”

Garnet scratches his chin. “Then it's probably true.”

I take a step toward him. “And you haven't heard or seen anything that might make you think her life is in danger?”

“I haven't, but like I said, no one talks to me about surrogates.” He frowns, as if he's just realized something. “You
should be careful. You shouldn't speak around Mother or Cora, they could recognize your voice. Oh, and Carnelian.”

Carnelian. I'd nearly forgotten her. The Duchess's niece, whom Ash was hired to escort. She found out about Ash and me, and told the Duchess. She got Ash thrown into a dungeon and nearly killed. Anger rises in my mouth, hot and bitter, like bile.

“This is so weird,” Garnet says. “I know it's you, but you don't
look
like you. I mean, I know Violet's angry face and it's almost like . . . like seeing that expression on a stranger.”

“That's a good thing, right?”

“Yeah. It's just . . .
weird
.” He stands and glances toward the door. “You should probably be getting out to the garden.”

“Right.” I have no idea what to do, how to be a lady-in-waiting.

Garnet's expression softens. “Do whatever she says. Pick out dresses and stuff. And bring her breakfast if she wants it. That's all the job is. I'm sure you remember.” I know he's talking about Annabelle. “Here,” he says, heading over to a closet and handing me a soft, pink shawl. “Sorry about the color. Coral likes pink.”

I give him a weak laugh. “You think?”

My hands tremble as I wrap the shawl around my shoulders.

“Hey, Violet?” Garnet says. “What you did was reckless and all that, but for what it's worth, I think your sister is lucky to have you.”

“Thanks,” I whisper, my throat tight. I point a finger at
him. “It's Imogen now. Don't forget. I might.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he says with a grin.

My legs tremble as I make my way back downstairs and out into the garden.

B
EING
C
ORAL'S LADY-IN-WAITING IS AN EXERCISE IN
patience.

I hope Annabelle never felt this way about me. She prattles on about anything and everything, who's wearing a dress she wants or which old friend won't speak to her now that she's moved up in the Jewel. It's enough to make me want to jam my fingers in my ears. And on top of that, while we're in the garden I have to keep chasing after her. One second she'll be gushing over a particular flower and the next she'll see a bird and just
have
to run after it. Finally, she insists that she's exhausted and demands to be taken inside.

By the time dinner arrives, I'm tired and frazzled and haven't had even a second to spare to try and figure out a way to get into the medical room. When I was the Duchess's surrogate, I took a private elevator from the second floor straight down to the basement. I remember the route exactly; down the hall of the flowers, through the open gallery, then a right, then a left, then down a short hall paneled in oak. But thanks to Coral's incessant needs, I haven't had a chance to even attempt to get there. Besides the fact that Maude told me I mustn't be seen in the halls. Maybe there's a servant's entrance to the medical room? I try to remember if I noticed any other door during my doctor's appointments, but all I can recall is the sterilized feel, the clusters of bright lights, the tray of shiny silver instruments.

Dinner brings a brief respite (after Coral tries on and dismisses seven dresses and makes me redo her hair twice) and I'm grateful for it. Was Annabelle always this tired? My feet and calves ache, and the beginning of a headache is forming at my left temple. After I walk Coral to the dining room, I decide to try and find the kitchen again and get lost in the maze of underground servant tunnels. I'm too embarrassed to ask for directions. Everyone looks so busy. I pass a Regimental and can't help the way my chest seizes up, my pulse kicking into a sprint. He stops and introduces himself as Three, then very nicely points me in the right direction.

“So, you're serving Coral?”

I nod. After what Garnet said, I'm afraid to speak in front of anyone. Not that the Regimentals would remember my voice.

“What circle are you from?”

He's slim and brown-skinned, with big hazel eyes. He has the longest eyelashes I've ever seen on a boy. I've never really taken the time to look closely at the Regimentals before—they've always blurred together.

“The Farm,” I lie.

“I'm from the Bank.” I wonder if he is the son of the Cobbler, the man who Lucien sent to fetch me from Lily's house, the man who lost his son to the royalty to be trained as a Regimental. “What did they decide to call you?”

“Imogen.”

“That's nice. I don't think I've heard that one before. I'm about the millionth Three to walk these halls. The Duchess fired most of her previous guard after that whole business
with the companion. I've only been here a few months.”

I smell the kitchen before I see it—the scent of ham and honey mixed with rosemary and thyme. My stomach growls and Three laughs.

“You'll eat soon. After Coral has retired for the night.” He leans in. “Be nice to Zara. She's the fat cook. Well, the fattest cook. If she likes you, she'll let you snack.”

The kitchen is a madhouse. Pots banging down on stovetops and large serving dishes being laden with food, footmen running around, cooks shouting at maids to add more of this or a pinch of that to various dishes.

“We need the second course now,” one footman snaps.

“You'll have it when it's ready,” the fat cook who gave me a tart earlier snaps back. One look around tells me she must be Zara. She squeezes half a lemon over an enormous whole dorado nestled among lemon slices and fluffy greens. A kitchen maid sprinkles a bit of seasoning on it, then Zara hands the tray to the grumpy footman. Her eyes land on me and light up. “The new girl! Did they give you a name yet?”

“Imogen,” I say.

“I'm Zara,” she says. “You must be starved. Help yourself to anything on that cutting board over there.” Another kitchen maid drops a bowl of thick, white cream onto the floor and Zara starts shouting at her. I sneak off to the corner, desperate for food.

The board contains a hunk of blue-veined cheese and half a loaf of bread, a couple of small, firm tomatoes, a bowl of olives, half a dozen figs, some walnuts, and a few slices of cured meat. I shove as much of it as I can into my mouth, nearly choking on an olive pit.

The arcana in my bun begins to buzz and suddenly I'm desperate for a way out. I walk as quickly and casually as I can toward the door that leads to the garden, not wanting to attract attention. But everyone is so busy with dinner that no one notices me. I slip out into the cool April evening.

There is a large shrub, trimmed in the shape of a dancing bear, by the glass corridor to the east wing, and it's big enough to hide behind. I crouch down and carefully extract the arcana.

“Lucien?”

“Garnet told me you made it. How are you? He said you did a remarkable job with your disguise.” The sound of his voice makes my insides melt with relief.

“I'm all right,” I whisper. “I'm successfully situated as Coral's lady-in-waiting.”

“You know, you are infuriatingly stubborn, but this might not have been the worst idea after all. Maybe we can even arrange a way for you to see the Auction House before the big day. Get yourself familiar with it in real life.”

That's all well and good, but right now I only want my sister. “I need to see Hazel, Lucien. They're keeping her locked up in the medical room and I know where the elevator is but I'm not supposed to be seen walking through the halls and Coral always needs something from me and—”

“Calm down, honey. Take a breath. Every royal medical room has an underground entrance. You've seen the servants' tunnels by now, I imagine?”

“Yeah,” I say. “It's really confusing.”

“There are other tunnels as well, ones that are more private.”

I pause. “Like the one I used to sneak into Ash's room?”

I can hear Lucien smile. “Yes. Look at that, your tryst had its uses.” His tone is gently teasing.

“So one of those tunnels might lead to the medical room?”

“Definitely. Royals do not like wheeling pregnant surrogates through their gilded halls when they are ready to be sent to the birthing facility. Or dead surrogates to the morgue. They prefer a subtler exit. Many of these are close to the garages, so you might want to start there.”

“Thank you, Lucien,” I say fervently. “Any more news on . . . on the Electress's plans?”

“None, though if you recall before you so suddenly decided you had to come back here, I never had concrete proof. Only snippets of conversation between the Exetor and the Electress.”

“What were they saying?”

“I distinctly remember the Exetor saying something about a wedding and the Electress laughing and saying a shroud might be more appropriate than a dress.”

“That could be about anything,” I say.

“Yes, but you don't live with the Electress. She despises the Duchess. She's constantly asking me to check up on the Duchess's surrogate, to find out how she's doing, the state of her pregnancy. The problem is, since the engagement has been officially announced, any attempt on Hazel's life would be seen as an attempt on the future Electress's. It would be considered treason.”

“And you think the Electress would risk that?”

Lucien sighs. “I am not sure. She takes her situation entirely for granted. It would not surprise me to think that
she holds herself above the law. But remember, she is not truly royal. There are many in this circle who would turn on her in an instant, who would clamor to replace her with a true royal.” There's a pause. “The troubling issue is that she has not outwardly asked for my help. If anyone were to be able to accomplish a discreet surrogate killing . . .”

“Please,” I say. “Don't finish that sentence.”

“I would never do it, of course,” Lucien says. “But she has asked me before. Why does she not seek my help now?”

“Maybe because you haven't done it in the past,” I suggest.

“Maybe . . .”

A twig snaps near my hiding spot, followed by the sound of voices.