The Black Key (7 page)

“Someone's coming,” I hiss.

The arcana drops, silent and lifeless, into my open palm.

“. . . don't even know where she came from,” a girl is saying. “She just showed up.”

“I thought for sure the Duchess would make you the new lady-in-waiting,” a second voice says. I peer through the branches and see Mary, Carnelian's maid, with another servant.

“I know,” Mary replies. “But it wasn't the Duchess who hired her. It was Garnet.”

“Do you know what I bet it is?” the second girl says slyly.

“What?”

“She's really here for
him.
A little plaything for the royal son. I can't imagine Coral is all that exciting behind closed doors.”

Mary stops and raises an eyebrow. “Oh yes.” She giggles. “Elizabeth, I think you might be on to something.”

Elizabeth shrugs. “So the Duchess will probably take care of her the same way she did the mute.”

The two girls laugh, and it takes all my effort to remain rooted in my spot, not to join with Earth and have the ground open up beneath their feet or the trees tear them to pieces.

“Let's get inside,” Mary says.

I wait a full minute before returning, head spinning, to the kitchen.

T
HE END OF DINNER IS SIGNALED BY
M
AUDE RUSHING
into the kitchen and demanding to know where Imogen is.

For half a heartbeat, I look around for someone else before remembering that's me.

“Get upstairs,” she hisses.

“Sorry!” I say, following her out into the stone halls. “I didn't realize dinner was over.”

“You have about three minutes before it is,” Maude says. “I rang the bell.”

“I was in the garden. I needed some fresh air. It won't happen again,” I say quickly, withering under her gaze.

“I certainly hope not. You are to escort Miss Coral upstairs, prepare her for bed, and then report to Cora. She will be your direct supervisor in this house.”

“Y-yes,” I stammer. “Of course.”

We climb the set of stairs behind the tapestry and come out in the hall by the dining room. Cora is already waiting there. The sight of her brings back another flood of
memories—a plate of grapes and soft cheese, the soothing feel of the ice ointment she applied after the Duchess hit me. Putting on my veil for Dahlia's funeral. The way the keys that hang from her belt would clink together. Her auburn topknot is exactly as I remember it, as are the crinkles around her eyes. She gives me a curt once-over.

“And Garnet hired her?” she asks Maude.

“Yes, ma'am.”

I keep silent.

“Hmm.” Cora's mouth turns down. “I heard Coral gave you a name.”

I nod.

“Imogen,” Maude says.

“Hmm,” Cora says again. “You will report to my chambers after Coral has retired for the evening.”

I drop into a curtsy just as the doors open. I look up and find myself face-to-face with the Duchess.

The panic that grips me is so complete, the fear so overwhelming, that for an instant it's like I no longer exist. My body is gone and my mind is blank and there is nothing left but terror.

I'd forgotten just how beautiful she is. Her caramel-honey skin, her ebony hair, the way her purple silk gown hangs perfectly off her thin frame, revealing her shoulders and collarbone. But it's her eyes that I remember the most. The way they used to study me, critical and impassive. How they could shift from vulnerable to cruel in an instant. The look in them when she ran the knife across Annabelle's throat, as easy as if she were slicing through a stick of butter.

The Duke is by her side. He looks drunk.

“Fabulous dinner, Maude,” he roars. The Duchess winces. “You must send Zara my compliments.”

“Yes, my lord,” Maude says.

“What is this?” the Duchess asks, stopping short to look at me. It doesn't escape my notice that she says
what
instead of
who
. Sweat drips under my arms, and my knees shake, but I force myself to keep my gaze steady, my face neutral, the same way I did the very first time I met her, before she hit me.

It was harder then. I didn't know anything, about where I was or who I was or what I had the potential to be. I'm not that girl anymore.

“New lady-in-waiting, your ladyship,” Maude replies.

At that moment, Garnet and Coral appear behind them.

“Mother, have you met Imogen?” Garnet says. He looks a bit intoxicated himself. “I got her for Coral. She must have a proper lady-in-waiting, right?”

The Duchess gives me a long, lingering look. Perhaps I'm imagining it, but she seems particularly focused on my eyes. Then the moment passes, and she turns to her son, an icy smile on her face.

“Why, darling, how marvelous. I never thought you capable of hiring help.”

“Isn't she perfect?” Coral coos. “She looks just like me, doesn't she?”

I really wish she hadn't made that particular comparison. I don't need the Duchess looking at me any closer than she already is. I feel like she can see through this thin veil, my Auguried disguise.

“Yes,” the Duchess says after a moment. “I suppose
she does.” Her eyes flicker to mine one last time before she strides off down the hall in the direction of the main staircase. My entire body feels like it's deflating from the tension. Cora follows after her, their heads close together as the Duchess whispers something I can't hear.

“Sure you won't join me for a brandy?” the Duke says to his son.

“No, Father, I think I'll pass.” Garnet barely hides his disdain as the Duke staggers off toward his smoking room.

“Come on, Imogen,” Coral says. “It's time to get me ready for bed.”

We retire to her chambers after Garnet makes some excuse about needing to use the library. I run a bath for Coral and find scented salts under the sink. Soon the air smells like lilac and freesia. I want to climb into this bathtub and never get out.

“Is it ready?” Coral says. She stands in the doorway wearing a thick white robe. As if it's nothing, she slips off the robe and hands it to me. She is completely naked. I don't know where to look, but Coral seems perfectly at ease.

“Shall I wait outside, miss?”

“Yes, that would be fine. Go arrange my best nightdress on the bed for me.”

I curtsy and run out of the room. Coral has three closets, an armoire, and two dressers plus a vanity. I think Annabelle kept all my nightclothes in a drawer, and sure enough, I find a wide variety of silky undergarments and sleepwear. As I sift through the contents, wondering what exactly her best nightdress might be, it occurs to me that I haven't seen any of Garnet's clothing in these closets.

“Imogen!” Coral shouts. “The water's gone cold, bring my towel now!”

What did she do before she had a lady-in-waiting?
I wonder to myself.

After Coral has been dried off and her hair has been brushed out and her face and arms moisturized and the blankets have been tucked right up to her chin, I am finally released from my duties.

“Good night, Imogen,” Coral says.

It wouldn't surprise me if Garnet has never spent a night in that bed.

“Good night,” I say, closing the door behind me.

Now for the real challenge.

It's time to face Cora.

C
ORA'S CHAMBERS ARE BEHIND THE FIRST DOOR IN THE
east wing. Maude pointed them out earlier.

I take a steadying breath before knocking.

“Enter,” she calls from within.

The parlor is lit with a soft glow—pretty sconces hang on the walls giving off a pinkish light. There is a fireplace and a large couch that curves in the shape of a smile and a thick gold rug. Oil paintings hang on the walls and golden curtains cover the windows.

It reminds me very much of Ash's old room in this palace, the parlor I used to sneak into when Carnelian was at her lessons.

Cora sits in a rocking chair by the window, a position
that is so reminiscent of Sil it makes my heart throb. She doesn't stand as I enter.

“Sit,” she says, indicating the couch.

I do as she commands.

“When did Garnet hire you?”

I try to keep my voice low and husky, and answer as honestly and succinctly as possible. I don't need to get myself tangled up in any more lies than necessary. “Yesterday.”

Her eyes narrow. “You will address me as ma'am. What House did you work for?”

It's like all the royal Houses have vanished from my brain. I can't think of a single one, but somehow, “The House of the Flame, ma'am,” comes out. Cora nods as if that makes sense to her. I make a mental note to tell Garnet later, in case she asks him.

“He should have told me you were coming. This is a terrible time to be training new help, what with all the commotion in the lower circles, and the new Auction date, and the engagement, and Garnet's promotion . . .” Cora trails off and picks up a glass of water from the table beside her and takes a sip.

“Your primary function over the next few weeks will be preparing Coral for the Auction and making sure she stays out of the Duchess's way. It will be her first time attending and she is quite eager about it. Her ladyship does not have the time to waste on frivolous questions, so you must keep Coral occupied. As a lady-in-waiting, you should be able to manage this without issue.”

She says this with such a conspiratorial smile, I respond in kind.

“Where were you trained?” she asks.

“I—beg your pardon?” I thought I'd already answered that.

“Who trained you?” Cora says, exaggerating the words.

“Lucien,” I say, without thinking.

She raises an eyebrow. “Really. I didn't think he was instructing anymore.”

“I was his last student,” I say, hoping against all hope that that makes sense.

Cora takes another sip of water and puts the glass down. “Garnet is more competent than he seems, it would appear.”

“He's certainly grown up a bit.” As soon as the words are out, I clamp my mouth shut. What a foolish thing to say. Imogen the lady-in-waiting should not be talking about Garnet so casually.

Cora stares at me for a long moment before answering. “Yes,” she says. “He has.”

“I—I only meant he had quite the reputation, ma'am,” I say.

“I know what you meant. What circle are you from?”

“The Farm, ma'am.”

She taps her finger against the arm of the chair. “Very well. That will be all for tonight. You are dismissed.”

I'm barely able to contain my relief as I hurry to the door.

“Oh, Violet?” Cora's voice stops me and I turn.

“Yes, ma'am?” It's only when I see a cruel smile twisting on her lips that I realize what I've done. My hand claps over my mouth as if that will help, as if I can change my own body's reactions.

“I knew it was you,” she says, standing in one fluid
movement, “when you talked about Garnet. Your voice changed. Like you knew him. Because you did, didn't you?”

I can't move. Where would I go? Cora runs this house. She knows every inch of it. There is nowhere to hide and massive walls surround me on every side. Sure, I could call on Earth or Air, but that would give everything away and I'd still be stranded in the Jewel. I won't do that to all the Society members who are counting on the Paladin, who are waiting for Auction Day, for their chance at freedom.

I think of Hazel. I didn't even get to see my sister one last time. This whole plan has collapsed before it had a chance to begin.

Cora saunters over to me with all the confidence of someone who knows she has her prey trapped. When she is close enough, she grabs my face in her hand, much like the Duchess did the night she killed Annabelle.

“How did you do it?” she asks, turning my cheek to the side. “Your eyes, your hair, your
face
. . . was it the Auguries?”

I nod.

“It's very well done,” she murmurs. “How did you get back here? Or have you been hiding in the Jewel this whole time?” My eyes widen and she laughs. “You think I don't know the Duchess is keeping your sister locked up in your place?”

“Please.” The word is garbled through her grip.

“Please what? You came back here to save her, I assume.”

I don't respond. Her fingers dig into my skin.

“I can help. I can help you save your sister.”

That is not what I was expecting. Cora laughs at my expression. “For a price, of course.”

“I'll do anything.” The words sound fuzzy.

“I'm sorry? I didn't quite catch that.” She releases her hold a fraction.

“I'll do anything,” I mumble.

“I was hoping you would say that.”

She lets me go and moves to sit on the couch. “Come here,” she says, patting the spot beside her. I sit in a daze.

“I will not reveal your presence in this palace. I may even be able to help you get to your sister. But you must do one thing for me first.”

I wait. She knows I have no other response to that than yes.

Cora's smile is terrifying. “I want you to kill the Duchess.”

“What?”
I gasp. “But . . . but . . . why?”

Her face goes very still. “Do you really need to ask? She murdered my daughter.”

It takes me a second to wrap my head around this. “Annabelle? I never saw you treat her like anything but a servant.”

“Just because I couldn't act like her mother doesn't mean I didn't love her,” Cora snaps. She turns away, her gaze falling on a small portrait in an oval frame on the mantelpiece. “I remember the day the Duchess came to me and told me I had been authorized to have a child. I was so happy.”

The word
authorized
makes my skin crawl.

“And when she came out she was so tiny and so . . . silent. At first I was terrified she was a stillbirth, but Dr. Blythe assured me she was perfectly healthy. She just . . . she would never speak a word.” Cora brushes at something on her cheek. “I always wondered what her voice might sound
like.” She stands and walks to the mantel, picking up the picture. “Another House might have had her drowned for being defective. The Duchess cared for me, though. She let me keep her, let me train her. As long as she proved useful.”

“She was more than that,” I murmur.

Cora's head whips up. “You don't think I know that? I brought something
good
into this circle. I brought something pure and innocent and it was destroyed. I was powerless to do anything to stop it. She promised me. She
promised
. And then you came along and fell in love with that stupid companion and got her killed.”

“I'm so sorry.” The words feel hollow, meaningless. Feeling sorry won't bring Annabelle back. “I loved her too, you know.”

“I know.” Cora puts the picture back on the mantel. “That's why you will do this for me. For the love you bore her and the debt you owe me.”

“Why do you need me to do it? Why not some other servant in this palace?”

“Because another servant would turn me in for money or higher status. You don't have that power. I could have you arrested right now. The Duchess could have your head cut off, or simply tie you up in the medical room with your sister. Either way, you're dead.”

She makes a good point. “Why don't you do it yourself?”

Her expression is pained. “I can't. I have been with the Duchess since she was ten years old. No matter how much I might want to, I . . . I cannot kill her.”

I might hate the Duchess, I may want revenge for
Annabelle, but cold-blooded murder is not something I can see myself doing either. But I see only one option here—to agree to Cora's plan. And if I can wait until Auction Day . . . I might not have to kill the Duchess at all.

“All right,” I say. “I'll do it.”

“Of course you will.”

“And the Auction will be the perfect time,” I say.

She frowns. “The Auction is a month away.”

“Think about it. She'll be distracted then. Lots of commotion, dress shopping, dinners being planned . . .” I'm a little concerned at how convincing I sound, even to myself. “You've been waiting for months already, what's one more?”

Cora considers me for a moment. “I always thought you were a bit on the dim side,” she says. “I'm glad I was mistaken.”

“Thanks,” I say, bristling.

“Of course,” she says, taking a step toward me, “if you double-cross me in any way, or fail to complete this assignment, you will not live past the Auction. I may be unable to kill my mistress myself, but I have no qualms whatsoever about killing you.”

“Understood,” I say.

“Get some sleep,” Cora says. “You'll need it. There's a bell by your bed that Coral will ring when she's ready. One rings in the kitchen too. You must always be up and ready before she is. She takes her breakfast in bed and then you'll need to pick out something for her to wear. Make sure she looks classy.”

“I remember some things,” I say. “From Annabelle. She always knew what to dress me in.”

A muscle in Cora's jaw twitches. “Yes. She was very good at wardrobe.” She sits back in the rocking chair, but her posture is tense, her back ramrod straight. “You're dismissed for tonight. Try not to speak in front of her ladyship; your voice is altogether too familiar.”

“I will.” I stop at the door. “Cora?”

“Yes?”

“Do you have any particular . . . way that you'd like me to kill her?”

Her eyes are black stones, dark and cold. “I want you to cut. Her. Throat.”

I slip out the door, my mind racing.

“
Y
OU'RE SUPPOSED TO DO
WHAT
?”

“Kill the Duchess,” I whisper. “More specifically, cut her throat.”

Raven makes a noise somewhere between a gasp and a cough. It's muffled through the arcana.

“Don't worry, I told her I'd do it at the Auction, which, if all goes according to plan, should negate any murder pact I've made.”

It's after midnight. I know I should be sleeping, but I stayed up, hoping Raven would contact me. Sil has an arcana similar to Lucien's—meaning it can contact all other arcanas. Mine is only a receiver. Garnet's can only contact Lucien's and mine.

“So the servant is just as ruthless as the master,” Sil says. “Doesn't surprise me.”

“What's she like?” Raven asks. I know she means Coral.

“She's strange. Like an overgrown child. She's demanding
and babyish. I don't think Garnet likes her much.”

“Oh,” is Raven's only response, but I can hear the tiniest bit of relief in her voice.

“What about you girls? Are you all packed and ready for the final trip around the Marsh?” This day feels like it has lasted a week.

“We're more than ready.” I can hear the smile in Sienna's voice.

“Sil is coming with us, to Westgate and the other facilities,” Raven says.

“What?” I sit up.

“I'm not going to wait here with no idea what's going on,” Sil says. “The Whistler can take care of things in this part of the Farm. I belong with the surrogates.”

“You do,” I say. “I feel better knowing you'll be there.”

“You shouldn't,” Sil says. “This whole plan is like a house of cards. We have to rely on the surrogates at the facilities keeping quiet. We have to rely on the royalty to stay stupid. We have to rely on who knows who to plant the key bombs the night before the Auction. We need to rely on
you
to send up the signal to set those bombs off. Then we have to cross our fingers and hope that eighty-odd surrogates can break down that wall and that the Society forces are already in place on the Bank side, ready and waiting to flood the Jewel. We could all be marching slowly to our deaths.”

Seeing as Raven and I were already labeled to die being sold as surrogates, this idea doesn't bother me as much as it should. “It's like Ash said,” I remind her. “I'd rather die fighting the royalty than serving them.”

Sil snorts. “Brave words. Tell me that when bullets are flying through the air and people are dying around you.”

“Is Ash there?” I was too cowardly to ask for him earlier, but I want to hear his voice. I want to know he's not still mad at me.

So I'm completely unprepared for the silence that follows.

“What?” I ask. My heart kicks into a sprint. “Did something happen to him?”

“Ash is gone,” Raven says finally.

“What do you mean
gone
? Where did he go?”

“To the Bank,” Sienna says as Sil mutters, “Damned fool.”

It's like all the air has been sucked out of the room. The Bank. Ash has gone to the
Bank
.

“No,” I gasp. “Raven . . . tell me it's not true. Please. He . . . he'll die there.”

“He left a note,” she says, and I can hear paper crinkle. Then she reads aloud. “Violet. I'm sorry but I had to try. I hope you can forgive me. I couldn't just abandon them. I need to be worthy of a place in this new world we are fighting for. I love you more than my own life. I will see you again. I will be there on Auction Day. Stay safe. Ash.”