The Black Key (8 page)

“Forgive him?” I spit. “Is he insane? I won't get the chance! He'll be dead before he makes it five feet in the Bank. He'll be—”

“Violet.” Raven's voice is soft and steady. “He's gone and all the shouting in the world won't change that.”

“But he . . . he . . .”

“Ran off without listening to you? Yeah. He did. You two are pretty well suited for each other, to be honest.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “I had a plan. I have people helping me. What's he going to do, bang on doors and ask if any Society members are home? Walk up to Madame Curio's and ring the bell?”

“We already know he can get into the companion house without being seen,” Raven says. “And as for the rest . . . well, he's not stupid. Why are you so sure he'll get caught?”

My shoulders slump. She's right. I'm refusing to believe Ash is capable of surviving on his own. “It's just . . . if I lose him now . . .”

“I know,” she says gently. Then she sighs. “You should try and get some sleep. Sounds like you have a big day tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” I say, but my thoughts are far away, with Ash, wherever he is. Still in the Farm? On a train? In the Smoke already?

“We'll talk to you again soon,” Indi says, clearly feeling it's safe enough to join the conversation.

“If you see the Countess of the Rose, stab her for me with a fork or something,” Sienna says, referring to her former mistress.

“If you see the Lady of the Stream—”

“Good night,” I say firmly, before Olive can get started.

“Good night,” Sil says.

The arcana falls with a tiny thump onto the bed and I think of how fragile the connection to my friends is, this little silver tuning fork keeping us together.

“Be safe,” I whisper. Then I settle down into the pillows, sleep taking me quicker than I would have thought, exhaustion overcoming my anger and fear for Ash.

A
BELL IS RINGING SOMEWHERE NEAR MY HEAD.

I swat at it sleepily, wondering why Turnip's harness is making so much noise. My hand connects with metal and then falls onto something soft.

The bed. The palace. The Jewel.

I sit bolt upright. Coral's bell is ringing wildly. I scramble out of bed, throw on my lady-in-waiting dress, and shove my hair up into a hasty bun with the arcana inside. I scratch at the lace collar as I run down through the servant's quarters, slowing my pace when I reach the end of the glass corridor. The halls of the main palace are vacant. I slip behind the tapestry and run down the stone steps, finding my way to the kitchen much faster than I did yesterday.
Cora is leaving as I enter, carrying a tray laden with a cup and saucer, cutlery, and a covered dish.

“You're late,” she says.

“Yes, ma'am,” I say. She gives me the briefest once-over and leaves for the Duchess's chambers.

“Sleep late?” Zara says kindly. Her face is smudged with flour, her arms up to the elbows in a giant mound of dough.

“I forgot where I was,” I say in a moment of blunt honesty.

Zara laughs at that.

There are breakfast trays laid out on a counter. I assume Coral's is the one with the pink cup on it. The nice Regimental, Three, and a footman are standing together by the door to the garden, reading the morning paper with identical frowns. For a moment, I panic. Has Ash been sighted? Caught already?

Three looks up as I pass. “Morning, Imogen.”

“Bad news?” I ask casually.

“Those Black Keys killed a magistrate last night,” he says. “One of the top ones, too, in the Smoke. The Exetor will have to replace him quickly.”

“Oh,” I say, grabbing the tray, grateful that Ash seems to have survived the night. It's only when I'm back in the stone corridor that I realize I don't know where I'm going. Two seconds later, Mary brushes past me with Carnelian's tray.

“This way,” she says in a clipped, aggravated tone.

We climb back up the staircase to the tapestry but don't go through the woven fabric—instead I see that another set of stairs leads up to the second floor of the palace.

We emerge from behind a large pedestal holding a bust of one of the former Dukes of the Lake. I recognize the corridor to the men's quarters.

I get to the door and pause. Do I knock? I don't remember Annabelle knocking. Taking a deep breath, I balance the tray in one hand and open the door.

No one is in the blue-striped drawing room but I find Garnet sitting at the breakfast nook in the horrifically pink room. A handsome footman is laying a napkin in his lap.

Garnet gives me only a cursory glance. “Go on in, she's in bed.”

Coral is still pulling on the fabric by her nightstand when I enter. Her whole face lights up when she sees me.

“Where would you like your breakfast, miss?” The tray is starting to hurt my wrists.

“On that table there. And pick me out a dress. I'm going to visit Mother today.”

I put the tray down and head over to her closets, perusing the various colors and styles. I bet Ash would know exactly what to choose. I see a peach-colored dress that reminds me of one Annabelle put me in, so I grab that and lay it out on Coral's bed.

“So,” Coral says, crossing her legs and looking at me over her cup of coffee. “What's the gossip?”

I blink. “I beg your pardon, miss?”

She puts the cup down and begins salting her fried eggs. “From downstairs. What's happening with the servants? Any trysts? Broken hearts? Fights among Regimentals? Tell me, I must know.” She sighs. “I miss my old home sometimes. My maid would always fill me in over breakfast.”

I busy myself by opening her curtains and tying them back. What sort of gossip am I meant to know about?

“A magistrate was killed last night,” I say. “In the Smoke.”

“Imogen, that's so depressing. Mother never let me read anything about the lower circles. She says they are dull and sad and nothing I need concern myself with.”

Dull and sad? My hand clenches around the velvet curtain and I tie it extra tight.

“Oh! I forgot to ask Garnet if he'd come with me to Mother's today,” she says, taking a bite of her eggs. “Will you—”

“I'll go ask him, miss.”

Grateful for the excuse to leave, I slip out of Coral's bedroom, closing the door behind me, and find Garnet still at the breakfast nook.

“How long was she ringing that bell for?” he asks with a grin.

“Ages,” I say.

“She's nothing if not persistent.”

“She wanted me to ask you if you're coming with her to her mother's house today.”

Garnet wipes his mouth and puts down his napkin. “Ah. No, I think I'll skip out on lunch with my mother-in-law. Society business and whatnot. But do let me know how the food is at lunch. The House of the Downs is famous for their poultry. I wonder if it will be duck this time.” He winks.

“I'm not going,” I say, taking a piece of toast off his plate. I have to find Hazel. Maybe I can sneak down to the
medical room when the Duchess is eating her lunch. Or I could look for the secret passage Lucien told me about.

Garnet gives me an incredulous stare. “Violet, if she's going, you're going. What do you think being a lady-in-waiting is? You follow her around wherever she goes.”

“But Annabelle never came with me anywhere when we left this palace.”

“You were a surrogate. Coral's a royal.” He stands up, takes the arcana out of his pocket, and rubs it affectionately with his thumb. “They haven't left yet, have they?”

I know he means Raven.

“No,” I say, only half paying attention. “Tomorrow night. Did she tell you about Ash?” I add angrily.

He chuckles. “Yeah.” Then he holds up his hands when he catches sight of the expression on my face. “Hey, I think he can do whatever he wants, and you know, he is sort of right.”

“About running off to the Bank like an idiot?” I say.

“About getting the companions to our side. It's not like approaching factory workers or lower circle Regimentals. The companions are
smart
. They're well trained and perfectly placed—imagine if we could have a whole slew of companions in addition to Society members waiting on the other side of the wall when it comes down? And they won't listen to anyone but one of their own. Their lives revolve around secrets and lies. I'd be shocked if they even trusted one another all that much. So hey, this might actually be good for us.”

I wish everyone would stop defending Ash, like he's done this great thing. They're not in love with him. They
don't have to worry about their heart being smashed into a million pieces if he dies.

“Imogen!” Coral calls from the bedroom.

“Don't keep her waiting,” he says.

I roll my eyes, then fix a pleasant smile on my face and head back to the bedroom to help Coral get dressed.

L
UNCH AT THE PALACE OF THE
D
OWNS IS A TEDIOUS
affair.

You'd think they didn't even know there was a whole city out there. Not once do they mention the bombings, the fighting, the Black Key. Coral and her mother prattle on about the Duchess and Garnet and what it's like being part of a Founding House. Coral is very excited about her first Auction. Lucien was right—it really is the event of the year, with every single married royal attending.

The only interesting part is when Hazel is mentioned, briefly.

“Did you know,” the Lady of the Downs says, “the Electress has not seen the surrogate carrying her future daughter-in-law since she became pregnant? Her own physician has not even been allowed to examine her. The Duchess has not permitted it thus far.”

“Oh, Mother, I can't believe it. How could the arrangement have been made otherwise?” Coral asks.

“It would seem the Exetor has met with the girl, but the Electress has . . . yet to be invited. If someone could arrange a meeting, I'm sure it would reflect favorably. On every House involved.” She gives her daughter a significant look.

Coral nods eagerly. “I will speak to the Duchess.”

Coral is probably the last person in the palace of the Lake who could convince the Duchess to do something like that. Even Carnelian would have a better shot.

We arrive home just as Carnelian herself is walking down the front steps to a waiting motorcar, Rye on her arm. I haven't seen her since that night in the dungeon when she helped set Ash free. She looks even more dour than usual. Rye is just as handsome as I remember, smooth dark skin and black curls. His eyes skim over me with no trace of recognition, his expression a mask of politeness, just the way Ash always used to look in this palace.

“Hello, Carnelian,” Coral says. “Where are you off to?”

“Some stupid party,” Carnelian grumbles. Her eyes land on me and I stiffen. “She finally got one for you, did she?”

“Garnet did,” Coral replies, beaming. “I named her Imogen.”

“How nice,” Carnelian says sarcastically. Coral doesn't seem to notice, preoccupied by the Duchess, who is sweeping down the stairs, followed by Cora and the Duke.

“Come on, Carnelian, we don't want to be late,” the Duchess snaps. I can't help how my heart stutters at the sight of her, how my legs seem to freeze up. “I'll never get you married and off my hands if you can't even show up to a simple party on time.”

“Mother, I—” Coral begins, but the Duchess cuts her off.

“How many times have I asked you not to call me that?” the Duchess says as the driver opens the door for her. The door shuts before Coral has a chance to respond. Carnelian looks miserable as she gets in on the other side. Then the
motorcar is trundling down the drive and Coral watches it, a frown on her face.

I couldn't be happier.

The Duchess is gone for the evening. This is the perfect chance to find my sister.

I
SEIZE THE OPPORTUNITY TO SEARCH WHILE
C
ORAL IS
having her dinner.

The evening is cool when I slip out into the garden, a light breeze tickling the back of my neck. I skirt by the glass promenade and head to the garage. This is where Lucien said the secret passage to the medical room would let out. The problem with secret passages is that unless you know where they are, they're nearly impossible to find. I spent three months in this palace, never knowing about the maze of servant halls hidden within it.

After twenty minutes of examining rocks and shrubs, I give up and decide to try the one way I do know.

The palace is quiet so I chance the use of the main halls.
I hurry up to the second floor. Down the hall of the flowers, through the gallery . . . but when I find the oak-paneled hallway, my heart sinks.

The elevator with the golden grate has a new door on it, metal with a keypad installed beside it. I approach it anyway, pressing my palm against the cold surface. Hazel is right below me. I hear a noise from down the hall and jump, scurrying away and diving into the first secret passage I can find. I wander down to the first floor and emerge by the ballroom.

I have only one other option left to try—the passage in the library, the one I used with Ash.

The way to Ash's secret passage is as familiar as the house I grew up in. I walk down row upon row of books until I find the one I need—Cadmium Blake's
Essays on Cross-Pollination
. I pull it and the hidden door swings open. The corridor that stretches out before me brings another wave of memories. Ash's hand in mine. Sneaking down here late at night. Our entire relationship contained in this shadowy hall.

And I may never see him again.

No.
I push Ash aside and close the bookshelf behind me. Just to be safe, I decide to make sure I'm really alone in here. Sil taught me this trick a month ago. I connect with Air and send it away from me, through the halls, then draw it back in a gust. It brings nothing but silence and the scent of stone and dust.

I slip down the hall toward Ash's former chambers. I remember that there were halls branching off this tunnel but I've never taken any of them. The first corridor I try
leads me up a set of stairs and opens out into a second-floor study I haven't seen before. It's a comfortable room, with lots of bookshelves, a plush couch, and a small writing desk. A framed photograph catches my eye—a man, a woman, and two little girls, standing on the steps of what is unmistakably the palace of the Lake. I recognize one of the little girls as the Duchess immediately. The other one must be her sister. Even as a child, the Duchess has all the arrogance of her adult self—she stares into the camera with a haughty expression.

This room suddenly feels too private, almost dangerous. I put down the photograph exactly where I found it and leave.

I retrace my steps and take the next one. It's a dead end.

The third hallway proves much better. I can feel the floor sloping downward, and the air grows stale and cold. My palms itch and my breath quickens. I reach a set of polished stone stairs and creep down them, my footsteps sounding louder than they should in my ears. When I reach the bottom, a black door waits for me.

I know Hazel is behind it. I can feel it. The hairs on my arms prickle.

There's no knob, no handle, nothing to show the way to open it. I don't know what material it's made of but it feels unnaturally cold against my palms. I slide my hands along its outer edges and feel a slight indentation on the left side. Gripping it with my fingers, I pull and the door slides open.

A gust of antiseptic-tinged air washes over me as I enter. The medical room is just as I remember. The clustered, insect-like lights, the pristine white walls, the tray of silver
instruments. The doctor is not here, though there are papers littered all over his desk.

But I only have eyes for the bed in the center of the room. There is a figure lying on it, covered up to her chin in a white sheet.

“Hazel?” My voice comes out like a croak. Then I'm running, but when the figure on the bed comes into view, I stop short and gasp.

She's different. They've done something to her. Altered her chin, made her nose pointier. And her hair is thicker, though it's still black and long and wavy, like mine. She's sleeping, her whole body covered with the sheet. I pull back the covers and a sob rises in my throat as I see the straps that hold her down, across her shoulders, her torso, her hips. Even her hands are strapped down at the wrists.

But her chest rises and falls. She is alive.

And even more important, her stomach is flat. There is no trace of a bump, like Raven's stomach when she was pregnant.

“Oh, Hazel,” I murmur, putting my hand on her forehead and brushing a stray hair out of her face. She stirs, her eyelids fluttering open, and what I see makes my stomach turn.

Her eyes. Her beautiful, hazel eyes.

They're violet.

“What have they done to you?” I whisper.

Hazel's strange purple eyes widen and then she opens her mouth and lets out a bloodcurdling scream.

“Stop!” I cry, clamping my hand over her mouth, but she bites me hard.

“No more!” she screams. “No more, no more, no more!”

“Hazel, it's me! It's Violet!”

Hazel is thrashing around as much as she can against the straps. I hold her head between my hands to keep it still.

“Look at me,” I say fiercely. “My hair is different and my eyes are different but it's me. Listen to my voice. It's Violet.”

Hazel stares at me, panting, panicked.

“Listen to my voice,” I say again.

“Violet?” she gasps.

A fat teardrop leaks from the corner of my eye and splashes onto her cheek.

“Yes,” I say. “It's me.”

And my sweet, strong little sister bursts into tears.

“You're here,” she sobs. “You're real.”

“I'm here,” I say over and over as her chest heaves against the straps.

“Oh please,” she says. “Get me out of here. They hurt me so much, Violet. Dr. Blythe and the Duchess, they . . . first they were putting something inside me every day and every day I would bleed and then they stopped but they started cutting into my face and they won't let me outside and I'm always so cold . . .”

“Shhhh,” I say, smoothing back her hair.

“They took me because you left,” she says. “That's what she said. She said I was your punishment.”

Guilt clamps down on my heart. “I'm so sorry,” I whisper.

“I want to go home,” Hazel moans.

“Me too,” I say, my voice cracking. I look for a way to
get the straps off her, but they are secured right into the medical bed.

“There's a button,” Hazel says. “On the wall.” She points to the left with her strapped-down hand. I hurry to the wall, slide back a silver white panel, and find a pad with six buttons. “It's the blue one,” Hazel says. “I've watched the doctor do it.”

As soon as the straps are off, I'm at her side again. She throws her arms around me, her whole body trembling.

“I've got you,” I say. I wish I could whisk her out of here right now, fly her to the Marsh with my mother, or to the White Rose, somewhere the Duchess wouldn't be able to touch her.

“I need to ask you something,” I say, my voice muffled by her hair. “Are you pregnant?”

Hazel's arms tense. She pulls away from me, her violet eyes dark. “No,” she says. “They don't think . . . it's not working. They tried. They tried for . . . I think it was a month? Maybe more? I don't know. Time is so strange here . . .”

Tears fill her eyes and I brush an errant one away with my thumb. “It's all right,” I say. “Take your time.”

Hazel takes a deep, shuddering breath. “They came for me at night. Mother was—” She squeezes her eyes shut. “Mother was screaming and crying, but there were so many Regimentals. The doctor tested me on the train here. He said . . . he said I was a surrogate and if we were ‘lucky' I'd be just like you. He told me about the Auguries. He told me I had to give the Duchess a baby, but fast, faster than I was supposed to.”

Hazel's hand goes to her lower back, and dread fills my lungs. “He said I didn't have time to learn the Auguries,” she whispers. “He said . . .”

Very gently, I lift up the back of my sister's nightdress. There is a welt at the base of her spine, the size of a walnut, a spiderweb of bluish-red veins radiating out from it.

The stimulant gun. Dr. Blythe must have been using it a lot, since Hazel never learned how to use the Auguries on her own.

“The Duchess was so mad,” Hazel says, staring at her hands. “She screamed and threw things when Dr. Blythe told her I wouldn't . . . that I couldn't . . .”

“It's a good thing,” I say. “Childbirth kills surrogates.”

“What?”

“There's so much to explain. But for right now, can you tell me what she wants?” I ask. “If she isn't trying to get you pregnant anymore?”

Hazel shakes her head. “I don't know. The next time I saw her she was calm and said I had to be . . . changed. That's when the doctor started cutting my face.” She probes her cheek and nose with one hand. “What do I look like?” she asks fearfully.

I try and put on a brave smile. “You look fine,” I reassure her. “You . . . well, actually, you look like me.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

“Everyone in the Jewel thinks you
are
me,” I say.

“So . . . did you come back to take my place?”

She looks so eager and a guilt I wasn't prepared for rears up.

“Listen to me,” I say, cupping her face in my hands. “If
staying down here meant that you could go back home to Mother, I would do it in a heartbeat. But . . .” The words burn as they leave my mouth. “I can't take you away, Hazel. Not yet.”

“Wait, what? You're just going to . . . to leave me here?” she cries.

“I'm living in the palace,” I say. “I'll be watching over you all the time, I promise. But if I let you go, they'll catch you and they'll know someone is helping you. And then we're both dead. There's so much going on in this city right now. I wish I could explain it all to you.”

Hazel crumples, her head dropping into her hands. The seconds tick past in silence.

“So . . . you would have died here?” she whispers.

“Yes,” I whisper back.

“Am I going to die here?” Her voice is so small and frightened. I wrap my arms around her.

“No,” I say firmly. “I'm not going to let anything happen to you.” I bite my lip, tears welling up again. “Remember those first few weeks after Father died?”

She nods against my chest.

“Remember how frightened you were, because Mother was barely speaking and Ochre kept getting into fights at school?”

Another nod. We don't talk about that time much. I haven't thought about it in years, because it's just too painful. But I need my sister to know that she is family, and I will never ever give up on her.

“What did we do together?”

“We lit a candle every night,” Hazel says. “You said
Father could see us through the light. And you told me you could hear him. He would say that family is forever, and that we were always together, really, because he was watching me and he was proud. He would tell me he missed me and he loved me and . . . but, Violet, you made all that up, and I was a kid then, so I believed you.”

“Who says I made it up?” I say. “Father did watch us through that candlelight. He does miss you and he loves you. He's watching over you right now. And so am I. Family is forever. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. And I
will
get you out of this place. I promise.” A lump rises in my throat. “I let you believe I'd forgotten you once before. I told myself I'd never let you believe that again.”

“I'm scared.”

“Me too.”

“Mother must be scared, too,” Hazel says. “And sad. We're all gone now.”

The lump in my throat gets bigger. “Father's watching over her as well,” I say.

Finally, I know it's time to leave. I've stayed too long.

“I have to go,” I say. “But I'll come back, I swear.”

“Can you bring me food?” she begs. “They only feed me through tubes. I miss chocolate.”

“My little sweet tooth,” I say, giving her nose a teasing pinch. Hazel smiles at the old nickname Father used to call her, when she'd go searching through his pockets for a treat, a piece of licorice or a hard candy.

I help her lie down so I can put the straps back, pulling the covers up to her chin and kissing her on the forehead.

“Do you know,” I say, “that I said good night to you
every night I was living in this palace? It always made me feel better.”

“Really?”

“Really. And now I can say it to you in person. Good night, Hazel.”

Hazel's answering smile is brittle. “Good night, Violet.”

Then I turn and run as fast as I can out of the room before I lose my nerve and stay with her forever. I slide the door shut behind me, collapsing on the staircase, tears streaming down my cheeks.

What did they do to her face? To her eyes? And why? The Duchess clearly knows Hazel can't get pregnant, so there's no reason to keep her locked up in the medical room. There's no reason to keep her alive at all. And yet she's told the entire city Hazel already is pregnant.

So what is her endgame?
I think as I pick myself up and make my way back to my room.
What is Hazel's role in her plans?