The Black Key (9 page)

O
VER THE NEXT WEEK,
I
ADJUST TO LIFE AS A LADY-IN-WAITING
.

I sneak down to the medical room to see Hazel late at night. I bring her food when I can and fill her in on everything that's happening in the city outside the Jewel. I tell her about the White Rose, the Auguries and their true purpose, and all about the Society of the Black Key.

“Ochre used to talk about them,” Hazel says, chewing on a pastry. “I didn't believe that it was a real thing. He told me he and Sable Tersing would draw keys on walls in the Farm.”

“That's how the Society found him,” I say.

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah. He's in the Farm. He's happy there.”

Hazel smiles. “Good.” She sighs. “Mother didn't believe him either. She probably wouldn't have let him out of the house if she knew he could get pulled into a secret society. She was always telling him to keep his head down.” Hazel sniffs. “She needed the money he made so badly, especially after you were sold and we didn't get the surrogate compensation anymore.”

Worry creeps into my stomach like a cramp. How is my mother surviving with all her children gone?

“Mother is strong,” I say, more for myself than my sister. “And smart. I'm sure she'll figure something out.”

“Yes,” Hazel agrees, but without real enthusiasm. “Hey, do you think, when this is all over, we could live with you and Ochre in the Farm? I think I'd like the Farm. And Mother would, too.”

I nudge her with my shoulder. “You would both love it. The White Rose especially.”

I also tell Hazel about Ash. There's still no word from him. I am pulled back and forth between fear for his life and fury at his actions. Every time I see the paper I search for his face. I still remember the signs that hung in every circle of this city after he escaped.

Raven contacts me the night they leave Westgate, to let me know everything is going smoothly, except for Sil.

“We might have Sil wait outside for the rest of the facilities,” she says. “You're a whole lot better with the ‘let's be a team' thing than she is.”

I grin. “Yeah, I can imagine. When do you get to Northgate?”

“A few days. We're testing the waters here, seeing if we can subtly rustle up some rebellious vibes.” There's a pause. “And we're trying to help. With little things. We sneak around at night and make people's gardens grow bigger. We refill rain barrels and clean up streets a bit. If it's a cold night, we try and make sure people have fires.”

My heart swells with pride. This revolution doesn't have to be all death and destruction. There can be kindness in it, too.

I talk to Lucien on the arcana most nights, before I see Hazel. Sometimes he's too busy to talk at all. I wonder if he ever sleeps.

“I have good news for you,” he says one night. The Auction date is fast approaching. I am sitting in bed, brushing my hair, the arcana hovering near me.

“That's always refreshing to hear,” I say.

“Ash made it to the Smoke.”

I sit up straight, dropping the hairbrush. “What? When? How do you know?”

“I believe you remember my associate the Thief.”

My heart warms at the memory of a young pickpocket with a soot-blackened face and a cavalier attitude. He helped us escape the Smoke. He helped Ash say good-bye to Cinder.

“He told me he made contact with Ash last night,” Lucien continues. “Quite close to his old house.”

“What?” I hiss, torn between relief that he is all right and anger that he's gone back to that awful place. “What is wrong with him? Why would he go back?”

“Yes, it can be quite frustrating when the people you care about, the people you have sacrificed so much to
protect, act without caution or regard to that protection, isn't it?” I can picture the wry smile on his face. “But that is not all. Apparently, your brother is with him.”

“Ochre?” I gasp. “What . . . what's he doing with Ash?”

“From what I gather, he discovered Ash leaving the Farm and insisted on accompanying him. It appears that acting without caution runs in your family.”

“Ugh!” I run my hands through my hair, yanking a few strands out in my frustration. “What is he playing at?”

“The same thing you and I and every Society member are. Freedom. Choice.”

“But you'll help them, right? You can't just leave them out there on their own.”

“Do you expect me to magically appear in the Smoke and offer Ash and Ochre sanctuary? I do have one or two things going on at the moment.” I open my mouth but he speaks again before I can say anything. “Of course they will be helped, Violet, they are Society members. For now, do your best not to worry too much about them. Your job is here. Watch over your sister. And when the time comes, bring down the wall.”

“You make it sound so easy,” I say. But the news that Ash is safe seeps into my chest, a knot of fear dissolving. Part of me is furious that Ochre is now at risk, too, but another part of me is grateful that Ash isn't alone, that he has someone with him. I fall asleep that night feeling lighter than I have since I returned to this circle.

T
HE NEXT DAY, THOUGH, THE PALACE IS IN TURMOIL.

The kitchen is always bustling but this morning it's a madhouse. Maids scrambling everywhere, steam issuing
from pots, pans sizzling, dough being rolled out. Zara is shouting orders like a drill sergeant.

“Is this because of Garnet's party?” I ask Mary, because she's the only one who doesn't look too frazzled to talk to me. I know today is the day of Garnet's promotion ceremony.

“Yes. The Duchess just told Maude that the party for Garnet will probably be bigger than she expected. ‘Probably,' she said. Zara and Maude don't know what that means.” Mary looks worried. “The Duchess always gives exact numbers for events. She's quite particular about it.”

I chew on this bit of information as I head up the stairs. I pass Three and One, a bulky Regimental with a shaved head, in close conversation with each other. I hear Three say, “. . . posted at all entrances, so at least twelve extra men,” before they disappear down another hallway.

“The kitchen is going crazy,” I say to Coral when I arrive, because she likes it when I fill her in every morning. “The Duchess is planning quite the party for your husband.”

“I know, it will be even bigger now,” she says, taking a sip of orange juice. “Is Elizabeth still mooning over William?”

“Why will the party be bigger now, miss?” I ask, sensing there's more to that comment.

Coral gives me a conspiratorial smile and I lean toward her, eager in the way I know she likes when she is telling a secret. “I spoke to the Duchess last night before dinner and I said, wouldn't it be just
so
lovely if the Jewel could see the surrogate again? I mean, she is carrying the future Electress of this city, after all. It would be such a boost to morale,
what with everything happening in the lower circles. And the Duchess said it was very thoughtful of me and of course, it seems so cruel to deprive this city of celebrating the next generation of its leaders. So the surrogate is coming to the party after the ceremony! Isn't that exciting!” She gives me her most serious look. “I wasn't supposed to tell anyone, but you'll keep this a secret, won't you, Imogen? Promise me.”

I can't breathe. I can't think. Why? Why now, after keeping Hazel locked up all this time? She's not even pregnant—won't people notice that? Coral's pleas had nothing to do with it, I'm certain. The Duchess suddenly
wants
Hazel in public. There is a threat there, a very real, potent one and I can't
see
it, I can't understand it.

All I can do is force out a lie to the girl looking up at me earnestly.

“Yes,” I say. “I promise.”

T
HE CEREMONY IS HELD ON THE LAWN OUTSIDE THE
R
EGIMENTAL
headquarters in the Jewel.

The day is unseasonably hot, and the ladies-in-waiting have to stand way in the back, so I can't really hear or see anything. My mind is consumed with thoughts of the party and why, after all this time, the Duchess would allow Hazel out in public.

Once the ceremony ends, there is a small reception, but the Duchess sweeps over to Cora, her family trailing behind her. “We're leaving,” she says. “Now.”

I ride back in the motorcar in silence with Coral, Garnet, Carnelian, and Rye. When we arrive, the front doors to the palace are open and the halls are bustling with servants.
Coral drags me to the ballroom and gasps in delight.

The garden has been transformed.

Little colored lanterns have been strung up in the trees. There is a fountain of chocolate with piles of plump red strawberries beside it, trays of canapés waiting to be served, and bottles of champagne cooling in silver ice buckets. A string quartet is warming up off to one side. My heart squeezes at the sight of the woman tuning her cello. There are extra Regimentals stationed everywhere. The entire back wall of the ballroom is made of many little glass doors, so that the parquet floor leads right out to the garden. Several drinks tables have been set up around the room, clearly meant to serve as a first stop on the way to where the main party will take place.

After rushing around to get a look at every decoration, Coral whisks me away to change her clothes. I choose a shimmery, sea-green gown with capped sleeves, though she can barely stand still as I lace her into it.

“The garden is gorgeous,” Coral gushes. “How does the Duchess do it all, and so quickly? Her taste is impeccable. And my hair looks fabulous today, you are simply the best. Have I told you you are the best, Imogen? Because you are!”

I can't help smiling through my nerves. “Thank you, miss.”

She continues to babble on until I pronounce her finished; then we walk back down the main staircase to the ballroom.

My eyes are immediately searching for Hazel, but only Garnet and his father are in the ballroom. The guests have yet to arrive.

The Duke is well into a glass of whiskey. Garnet looks relieved to see us.

“Coral, you are an absolute vision,” he says.

She beams. “Where is the Duchess?”

“You know Mother. She loves to make an entrance.”

“Look who's talking,” Carnelian says as she joins us, Rye by her side. He is dashing in his tux. I'm reminded so much of Ash, of the parties he used to attend on Carnelian's arm.

“Now, Cousin, you know I haven't made a big entrance in at least five days,” Garnet says with a wink.

Rye laughs. “Quite the achievement.”

“What I want to know is,” Carnelian says, “where's the surrogate?”

It occurs to me then that Carnelian knows I am not the surrogate. Does she think the Duchess just stole a random, unsuspecting girl to fill my place? Or does she know what Hazel means to me? I can't see how, unless Garnet told her. And why would he do that?

Just then several royal couples arrive, ushered into the ballroom by one of the footmen. Garnet offers his arm to Coral to go and greet them.

“Come on,” Carnelian says to Rye. “I need a drink.”

They walk off toward one of the many tables laden with champagne and wine and whiskey. I'm left to stand awkwardly against a wall.

Soon, though, the guests begin to arrive and I'm joined by other ladies-in-waiting. Many of them know one another—they cluster together and whisper while their mistresses chat and sip champagne. The string quartet plays
softly in a corner. The open back wall lets in a warm April breeze, scented with jasmine and honeysuckle.

“Hello,” a young male lady-in-waiting says to me. He has dark skin and blue eyes, a striking contrast, and he can't be more than a few years older than I am. His smile is warm and genuine. “I don't believe we've met. I'm Emile.”

Emile! This is Raven's lady-in-waiting, the kind one who took care of her. He helped her keep as much of her mind for as long as he possibly could. Which means . . . now I see the Countess of the Stone, her large figure cutting a wide path through the partygoers in the ballroom as she makes her way over to Garnet and Coral. Hate curls in my stomach like a fist. This woman tortured my friend.

“Where's Frederic?” I ask bluntly. Frederic is the Countess's lady-in-waiting, and even more of a sadist than the Countess herself. Raven told me about the wall of torture equipment in the dungeon where the Countess kept her, and how Frederic crafted each instrument himself.

Emile chuckles. “I see my House precedes me. Frederic is ill. Spring cold. The Countess abhors germs. He's been quarantined in the medical room until it passes. So that leaves me.” He gives a little bow.

I wish I could tell him how grateful I am that he helped Raven. I wish I could let him know she's still alive.

“It's a pleasure to meet you,” I say. “I'm Imogen, Coral's new lady-in-waiting.”

His blue eyes brighten. “Oh, lovely. She seems like a sweet girl. Easy to care for.”

“She is,” I say, looking over to where she stands by the open glass doors beside Garnet, chattering away while the
Countess of the Stone looms over her, a fake smile plastered on her face. “I don't believe your mistress is enjoying the party much.”

“The Countess has eccentric tastes,” he replies. “I don't think most people would quite understand what she truly enjoys.”

I know exactly what he means, but I just nod politely.

“Really, she's here to see the surrogate,” Emile says, leaning toward me. “As most of them are.”

“Ah. Right.”

“Have you seen her recently?” he asks.

“No,” I lie. “The Duchess keeps her locked up.”

There is a sudden burst of laughter, the Duke and a few other royal men guffawing about something and slapping each other on the backs. I note the Lord of the Glass, the Duke's brother-in-law, among them. The Duke is laughing so hard he spills his drink and a footman rushes over with a fresh one, while a waiter cleans up the mess. One of the Regimentals by the ballroom door watches the Duke warily.

Emile sighs. “He really does know how to make a scene. Probably where Garnet gets it from.”

“At least Garnet is funny,” I say.

He laughs.

Just then there is the wailing cry of a baby and the Exetor and Electress's arrival is announced. A nurse accompanies them, carrying little Larimar, wearing a child-size suit. He is bigger than when I saw him at the Exetor's Ball, all chubby cheeks and dark curls. He's actually quite adorable. He squirms in the nurse's arms, rubbing his eye with a fat little hand. Lucien trails behind them, a shadow in white.

They make their way to the front of the reception line to congratulate Garnet. The Electress's voice is so high and loud, I can hear her easily.

“Why, I haven't been here since your engagement party,” she exclaims. “How are you two finding married life?”

“It's wonderful, Your Grace,” Coral gushes. “I adore being married.”

The Electress laughs her chirpy laugh. “So do I.”

Larimar spits up a little and the nurse wipes his chin with a cloth.

“Isn't he just the most precious thing you've ever seen?” Coral coos.

“Yes, darling,” Garnet says.

“I'm eager to see the girl carrying his future wife,” the Electress says, glancing around. Subtlety is not her strong suit.

“I'm sure we will shortly, my dear,” the Exetor says. Unlike his wife, he does not sound particularly eager to see Hazel. “Where is your mother, Garnet? I'm surprised she's not in the thick of things as she usually is.”

“She's probably in the kitchen shouting at the cook,” Garnet says lazily. “It's her second favorite pastime. Aside from shouting at me, of course.” He grins and the Electress and Coral giggle.

“You will be attending the Auction this year,” the Electress says. “Are you excited?”

“I can hardly wait, Your Grace,” Coral gushes. “I'm having a dress specially made for it.”

“Where are you getting it done?”

“Miss Mayfield's.”

“Oh! She's one of the best.”

“That's what everyone says.”

“Darling,” the Electress says, pressing herself against the Exetor, “we must have Coral and Garnet over for dinner. They are a couple in their own right now; it only seems appropriate that we dine with the future Duke and Duchess of the Lake, don't you think?”

Coral's smile widens even more.

“Yes, of course,” the Exetor says. His gaze drifts around the room and I wonder if maybe he is interested in seeing Hazel after all.

“You are too kind,” Garnet says. “We would love to.”

Trumpets blare from out in the garden. The Duchess enters the ballroom wearing a beautiful gown of silver, diamonds stitched into the bodice and skirt so that she sparkles when she moves. She stops just inside the door. Those who have made their way out into the garden begin to crowd back toward the palace, necks craning, everyone eager to see the surrogate.

It's disgusting. I remember the way they stared at me at the Exetor's Ball when I was forced to play the cello. I hate that Hazel has to experience that.

“My friends,” she says, spreading her arms out wide. I notice a silver bangle on her wrist that makes my heart sink. “I am so pleased to present to you once again, after quite the whirlwind few months, my surrogate.”

She jerks the wrist wearing the bangle and Hazel shuffles into view. She is attached to the Duchess by a thin chain that is fastened to an ornate collar around her neck. Tension rolls over me in waves. Hazel is on a
leash
.

But even worse, her stomach protrudes from under her dress, a round curve that clearly shows she's pregnant.

But she's not. She can't be. I saw her two days ago. And they've stopped trying to impregnate her.

My thoughts are snarled up, and then, from across the room, my sister's eyes find mine and she gives me the slightest shake of her head. Reassuring me. Whatever is under her dress, it isn't real.

It is disconcerting, though, how easily she is able to pull off being me. The Duchess was very clever. Hazel must be in heels to match my height. They've padded the bodice of her dress so her chest looks like mine. She wears the exact same dress I wore to my first dinner in this palace—pale purple, with an empire waist. Her hair has been curled and pinned just how Annabelle used to do mine.

The only new addition, besides the pregnant stomach, is a veil. A shimmering layer of white gauze covers Hazel's face from the bridge of her nose to just below her chin. It is translucent, so her features are still partly discernible. Maybe the Duchess wanted a precaution against anyone realizing she isn't me. Or maybe it's just some new surrogate fashion.

Hazel's purple eyes are wide with a mixture of fear and wonder at the scene spreading out before her—I realize she's never actually seen this palace, or any other royal, before. Her gaze travels over the glittering fabrics to the glossy instruments of the string quartet and finally lands on the tables of food laid out in the garden, before returning to me.

The royals are watching her with interest, too. Their eyes all flicker between the Duchess and Hazel's stomach.

“She has been through a terrible ordeal,” the Duchess is saying. “So please, keep your distance. We don't want to overwhelm her too much.”

The Electress has already crossed the ballroom to stand in front of Hazel. The Duke makes his way unsteadily to stand beside the Duchess and they bow and curtsy as the Exetor joins them, the nurse trailing behind. The room watches with bated breath as the Electress looks Hazel up and down.

“She seems . . . thinner,” the Electress says.

“She is perfectly healthy, I assure you, Your Grace. The doctor visits her every day.”

The Electress opens her mouth, but the Exetor puts a hand on her shoulder and turns her to face the waiting crowd. He gestures for the nurse to hand Larimar to the Electress so that they are grouped together, the Duke and Duchess, Hazel, Larimar, and the Electress and Exetor, in a bizarre mockery of a family photograph.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says. “I present to you the future of the Lone City!”

The crowd erupts in cheers. The Countess of the Stone, I notice, claps unenthusiastically. The Electress's smile looks forced. Larimar begins to cry, reaching out for his nurse. I spot the gray-haired Countess of the Rose in the crowd, Sienna's former mistress. She watches the scene with a smug expression.

“Now let's celebrate with a drink!” Garnet says. The cheers turn to laughs, and the string quartet starts up again. Hazel is immediately surrounded by royal women who are clearly dying to get as close to her as possible without
inciting the wrath of the Duchess.

It makes me furious. Hazel looks terrified, all these unfamiliar ladies gawking at her, talking about her to the Duchess like she's not standing right there, a leash fastened around her neck.

Lucien glides over to where we are standing. “Emile,” he says. “Is Frederic still sick?”

“He is.”

“Do send him my best wishes for a speedy recovery.”

“I will.”

Lucien ignores me completely.

“The Electress must be very happy to see the surrogate,” Emile says.

“Indeed,” he replies. “I don't think she's going to let the girl out of her sight all evening.”

It does seem as though the Electress has glued herself to Hazel's side. Her closeness hasn't escaped the Duchess's notice either. Cora hovers behind them. When our eyes meet, she gives me a curt nod.

I feel better knowing that I'm not the only person looking out for Hazel tonight.