The Jewel (34 page)

But when I look into his eyes, the eyes that saw me first, I see everything that Lucien is trying to save. Because what is a life without love? Ash and I were never meant to happen, but against impossible odds, we found each other—and more importantly, we chose to be together.

After I've left this place, when I look back on these last few weeks, amid all the memories and tangled-up emotions there will be a gaping hole of regret in my life, the empty echo of what could have been, if I'd only had the courage to stand up and say, “I want you for as much time as I can possibly have.”

Ash deserves to be with someone as brave as he is.

“Ash, don't leave.” I take a tentative step forward. “I was wrong. I'm sorry. Stay with me.”

He doesn't move. “I don't know if I can, Violet. I don't know if I can trust you anymore.”

“What, because I was trying to be responsible? Because I made a mistake? Well, guess what—I'm human. I'm not perfect. I was
trying
to do the right thing, but you know what? I don't care anymore. I don't want to be right, I don't want to be good. I wasn't supposed to have you anymore than you were supposed to have me. And if you can't forgive me for having a moment of weakness or a second of uncertainty, then maybe you're right, maybe I don't know you at all. But don't think that I don't want you, because I do and maybe I'm just not as good at saying it out loud. I want you forever, Ash, but that's not going to happen and I get that. But I'll take you for as much time as I can have, and I won't waste a single second of it.”

There is a long silence. We stare each other down, my brain working furiously to think of something else to say.

A slow smile creeps across Ash's face. “For someone who's not good at saying it out loud, that was . . . pretty impressive.”

I flush. “Well, you made me mad.”

“Oh, really?
I
made
you
mad?”

“Okay, I might have started it, but—”

Ash reaches out and presses his finger against my lips.

“You're allowed to end this,” he says quietly.

“I know,” I say. “I don't want to. You make me feel whole, too. In this place that takes little bits and pieces of us, you remind me of who I am. Of who I was.”

He wraps one arm around my waist and pulls me close. It's like I can finally breathe again. He smells like dry leaves and wool.

“Don't ever do this to me again.”

“I won't,” I promise. Guilt twinges in my stomach, but I ignore it.

“I'm serious, Violet. Because I can't—”

“Ash,” I say. My skin is on fire, my nerves are thrumming, because he is so very close and yet not close enough. “Please. Shut up and kiss me.”

He smiles a tiny smile and presses his lips softly against mine. But I don't want soft.

I throw my arms around his neck as if I could pull him even closer, as if I could fuse us together. He holds me tighter, and I feel the shift in both of us. Our kiss becomes rough and wild, unpracticed, and I know I will never forget what this feels like, not if I live to be a hundred years old.

This is what it feels like to belong with someone.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

Twenty-Five

T
HE NEXT FOUR WEEKS ARE THE HAPPIEST OF MY LIFE IN
the Jewel.

Happy, because the doctor has promised not to impregnate me again and the Duchess keeps her distance and lets me be, busy arranging Garnet's wedding. Dr. Blythe and I visit the oak tree once a week, but I never make it grow again without the force of the stimulant gun.

I speak to Lucien every Sunday at midnight through the arcana. I tell him I'm being perfectly obedient, which is mostly true—as far as the Duchess is concerned, I am the model surrogate. He is relieved by the news of the delay of my next impregnation. He won't give me any more information about where it is I'm supposed to end up hiding for the rest of my life, or what his ultimate goal is, though I press him a lot on that point. I get the feeling that whatever it is, it's too dangerous to talk about in this circle, even over the arcana. But he does reassure me that plans are being finalized, and that he will shuttle more girls out of the Jewel after me. I just wish there was more I could do to
help
.

I see Ash nearly every day—he leaves me notes in
Essays on Cross Pollination
with a date and time, and it's easy enough to find excuses to go to the library on my own and slip down the secret passage. It's only ever for an hour, maybe less, stolen moments when Carnelian is at a lesson and I'm not with the doctor. We talk about Before—about our homes, our families, our friends. I teach him how to play Halma. Sometimes, we read to each other. Other times we just lie on his couch, with no need for conversation. Just to be together.

Raven and I communicate as often as we can, using the ivy. We give each other trinkets that look meaningless to anyone else. A scrap of lace. A lock of hair. A marble from my Halma set. A watch spring.

But to us, they say, “I'm here. I'm okay.”

O
NE CLOUDY
D
ECEMBER AFTERNOON,
A
SH AND
I
LIE ON
his couch, my head on his chest, his fingers twined in my hair. My skirt spreads out like a fan over us, and I can feel his heart beating against my cheek.

There is only one more week until the Longest Night. Seven short days left before I leave the Jewel forever. I wish I could tell him. I hate lying. Every time he makes a reference to “next year,” or muses about how long we might have together, or mentions how grateful he is that Carnelian is proving so difficult to marry off, guilt hits me like a punch in the gut. Once or twice, I've been tempted to just blurt it out and tell him I'm leaving, but Lucien's voice always whispers in my ear, holding me back.

“What's wrong?” Ash asks. He's gotten very good at sensing my moods. I tilt my head up to look at him.

“I don't want to be without you,” I say. It's the most honest answer I can give.

Ash kisses my forehead. “If we look on the bright side, Carnelian received another rejection this afternoon, from the House of the Leaves. It looks like you might be stuck with me for a little while longer.”

I always feel worse when he says things like that.

“What if the doctor succeeds and I get pregnant?” I say. “You won't want to be with me then.”

Ash frowns—we don't usually talk about the logistics of my surrogacy. “Violet, if you had webbed feet and a third eye, I'd still want to be with you. And it's not as if I'm unaware of your . . . position in this house.”

I roll my eyes. “Did they teach you how to be euphemistic in companion school, or is it a natural ability?”

Ash grins. “A little of both, I think.”

I fiddle with one of the buttons on his shirt, so tempted to open it, to feel his bare skin. We've been so close over these past weeks, and yet there is another closeness, a different sort of intimacy, that we haven't experienced. And now that I only have a few days left, everything seems more immediate.

We could do it, Ash and I. Right now. It's the perfect time. We're alone together. On this couch. You're supposed to do it lying down, right? My breath catches in my throat. I wonder what it will feel like. I wonder if it will hurt.

“What are you thinking about?” Ash murmurs. Heat floods my cheeks. Carefully, I loop the button on his shirt out of its hole, letting my fingers trace his skin. It is smooth and I can feel the hard muscle underneath tense.

“Violet?” he asks warily.

“Um . . .” I can't bring myself to say it out loud, so my hand moves to the next button. I'm shaking, but isn't it natural to be nervous? My fingers fumble a little, but I get the second button undone.

Ash's fingers close around my hand. “What are you doing?” he asks gently.

“I . . . Don't you know?”

“I have a theory,” he says, but he doesn't let go of my hand.

“And?” My heart is pumping in my chest.

“Violet, I don't think that's a good idea.”

Rejection washes through me, hot and prickly. “Oh,” I say.

In one swift movement, Ash sits up, keeping my legs draped over his lap, taking my chin gently between his fingers. I can't meet his eyes. “Hey,” he says. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, I lift my gaze. “You've done it before.”

“Yes,” he says quietly. “I have.”

Carnelian's face flashes across my mind. “You just don't want to do it with me.”

“No, Violet, that's not—you know I want to. You must know that.”

I shrug. How would I? I don't know anything about boys. “This is all new to me,” I mumble.

He smiles. “You may have forgotten, but it's new to me, too.”

“Then why not? Is there something wrong with me?”

I don't know why I'm pushing the issue.

Ash laughs sadly. “No, there is nothing wrong with
you
.” I stare at him, curious. He looks away, like he's regretting what he said. “Never mind.”

I nearly topple off the couch as he stands up and moves to the window, buttoning up his shirt.

“Ash,” I say. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“Trust me,” he says bitterly. “You don't want to know.”

I sit up straighter. “Trust me,” I insist. “I do.”

There is a long silence, but I have the sense not to break it.

His eyes are hard as he turns to face me. “It is forbidden for any companion to sleep with his client. But often the lady of the House takes a . . . special interest.”

The Duchess's face looms in front of my eyes. “What?” I gasp.

“Not the Duchess,” Ash says quickly, as if reading my thoughts. “No, her attentions are focused elsewhere.”

Relief washes over me, heady and strong. “Not the Duchess,” I repeat.

“No. But the other girls I've companioned for . . .” His jaw tightens.

“You slept with their mothers?” I ask timidly.

“Yes. I have to—I am theirs. They have . . . paid for me. This is how I must support my family. This is how I keep my sister alive.” He sinks into the armchair, his head between his hands. “I told you, that day in the garden. I'm not a good person.” His voice is so quiet. “I understand if you are disgusted. I disgust myself.”

I have no idea what to say. To be honest, the idea of Ash sleeping with the older royal women is horrifying. I think about the ones I know, the Countess of the Rose with her gray hair and wrinkles, the Countess of the Stone, her fleshy arms and cruel eyes . . . I shudder.

I don't realize Ash is watching me until he sighs. “I understand,” he says.

“What? Ash, no.” I hurry over and kneel beside him. “I'm not—just give me a minute, okay? This is . . . not what I was expecting.”

His expression is strained, and he nods once. I take his hand in mine. It feels the same as it did a minute ago, before I knew. Is what he's been forced to endure any worse than what I've been through? They are awful in their own unique ways.

“Ash, do you honestly think that what they've
made
you do affects who you
are
? You are a good person, and don't ever let anyone make you feel differently.” I press my hand against his cheek. “This, right here, is who we really are. I see you, remember? I know you. We have something they can't touch, something they can't take away. What they force us to do doesn't matter.”

He pulls me up into his lap and I kiss his forehead. He runs his fingers over the beaded design on my skirt.

“Violet,” he says, and when he looks in my eyes, my stomach somersaults. “I think . . . I think I love you.”

I feel myself dissolve into a thousand molecules, amazed at how three small words can completely alter my state of being.