The Jewel (38 page)

“Then I was looking through the photographs for the Auction and I saw you.” His eyes meet mine. “You look so much like her. And if I had to choose a surrogate to help, why not the one who would always remind me of why I'm doing this.” He smiles. “Once I met you, you reminded me of her in other ways, too. She was stubborn, and determined, and compassionate. And she had a good heart.”

“So you think, somehow, I can help change the system?” I ask incredulously.

Lucien sighs. “I think you can help
end
the system. But I am not the one who can explain how. For that, you will need this.”

Lucien takes my hand and slips a ring on my finger, a large oval topaz surrounded by tiny diamonds. “The serum is inside. There's a secret compartment in the stone.” He shows me a tiny clasp, hidden by the diamonds. “Take it tomorrow at midnight.”

I run my fingers over the jeweled surface.

“Thank you, Lucien,” I say numbly.

He kisses my forehead. “We can do this. Trust me. Now, let's get you back to the Duchess.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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

Twenty-Nine

I
WAKE THE NEXT MORNING WITH A WEIGHT IS PRESSING
against my chest.

Today is the day. I will take the serum tonight. I'll leave Ash and Raven behind, because if I stay here, I will die.

I stare at the ceiling and wait for Annabelle to come with the breakfast tray.

But when my bedroom door opens, it isn't Annabelle who enters. It's Dr. Blythe.

“Good morning, Violet,” he says cheerfully, placing his black bag on my bedside table. “Did you have a nice time at the ball?”

A nice time. No, Doctor. I did not.

“Yes, thank you,” I say automatically.

“It's a very exciting day for us,” the doctor says, rubbing his hands together. I am barely aware of him as he takes out a needle and syringe, and a flat square of plastic with two felt circles on it. He sinks the needle into my arm and draws a small amount of blood. Suddenly, I become more alert—he hasn't taken a blood sample in a while.

“Yes, a very exciting day indeed,” he says, holding the syringe over the plastic square and soaking one of the felt circles with my blood. “If the other circle turns green, it indicates a positive result. If it stays white, a negative.”

My lungs contract and my heart fills my throat. The doctor and I stare at the small circle of felt.

The seconds tick by.

A thought occurs to me then, a thought so glaringly obvious I'm surprised I didn't think of it before.

If it turns out I'm pregnant . . . what if the baby isn't the Duchess's?

Ash's darkened bedroom flashes before my eyes.

What if the baby is mine?

Suddenly, I think I might throw up.

“Excuse me,” I gasp. Dr. Blythe moves aside quickly as I scramble out of bed and run to my powder room. I make it just in time to vomit in the sink.

I turn on the tap and rinse out my mouth, then wipe my face with a soft blue towel. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My skin is even paler than usual, and clammy, strands of black hair sticking to my forehead and cheeks.

I look terrified. I
am
terrified.

The baby could be mine.

I've never wanted to be pregnant, and I've certainly
never
envisioned a scenario in which the pregnancy was my own. Having something of the Duchess's inside me was such a hateful idea, and always the only option.

I move my hand down and press it gently against my stomach.

I don't
want
to be pregnant. But if the baby is part me and part Ash . . . how could I hate that?

Everything is all mixed up. I feel nauseous again.

“Violet?”

I jump. Dr. Blythe stands in the doorway. “Are you all right?”

I manage a nod. He holds up the pregnancy test. “Negative,” he says sadly.

All the air whooshes out of me, leaving me dizzy. For once, Dr. Blythe seems to understand exactly what I need.

“I'll leave you alone for a minute. Her Ladyship must be informed at once.”

I sink down onto the plush blue bathmat.

Negative.

I start to laugh, a heady, breathless laugh. I lean against the sink and laugh and laugh until my stomach hurts.

“Annabelle,” I call. I hear the door to my bedroom open.

“Good morning.” The Duchess's voice makes me jump, as she appears in the doorway.

I scramble to my feet. She wears a gold dressing gown, and her hair is hanging loose down her back. It's a strange contrast to the harsh look on her face.

“I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up,” she says. I can't think of a response to that. We stand in silence.

“When my sister and I were born,” the Duchess says, “my father said he knew immediately that I would be the one to do great things. I was his favorite. He spent his whole life preparing me to take the throne—he was a hard man, but he taught me many things. Strength. Cunning. Ambition. Determination. All the qualities that he admired, I possess. And look at me now.” She smiles sadly.

“You are royalty,” I say, frowning. What a ridiculous thing for her to say. “You have everything. What more could you possibly want?”

The Duchess's eyes flash. Her hand whips out and pain explodes in my cheek and eye. “I am exactly the woman my father wanted me to be and it is still not enough. You must try harder. I have risked everything on you.”

Slowly, I straighten up, square my shoulders, and glare at her. I barely feel the pain. It doesn't matter. I will take the Duchess hitting me a thousand times. Because she cannot truly hurt me anymore.

When she realizes I'm not going to respond, she says, “I'm hosting a luncheon this afternoon. Annabelle will get you ready. Be in the dining room at two.”

A
NNABELLE BUTTONS ME INTO A PALE PINK BEADED
dress, her eyes fixed on her work, sensing that I don't feel like talking.

I twist the topaz ring around my finger—I've put a couple of other rings on, and a bracelet as well. Not that anybody would notice anyway. I have more jewelry than anyone could keep track of. And I'm not letting this ring out of my sight today. Only ten more hours until I take the serum.

I make my way to the dining room. A footman bows to me and opens the door.

“The surrogate of the House of the Lake,” he announces.

It's the same crowd as the family dinner, except the Countess of the Rose is also in attendance, with the lioness. I move to stand beside the Duchess. The Duke is with her, looking like he'd rather be somewhere else. Garnet leans against a side table, a glass of amber liquid in one hand, a wry grin on his face—he toasts me with his drink. Carnelian stands beside him, her expression sullen.

And just behind her, is Ash.

I feel an odd, swooping sensation in my chest, like I've missed a step going down a flight of stairs. His eyes burn into mine for a half a second before they turn blank. He keeps up a pleasant smile, but from the tense set of his shoulders, I know that he is angry. My lips part slightly, but I can't speak to him here.

I can't speak to him ever again.

The Duchess and the Lady of the Glass descend on me.

“You must be so disappointed,” the Lady says in a hushed voice. “But she looks healthy.”

“Yes, the doctor agrees we won't have to wait so long before the next attempt,” the Duchess says.

The Countess of the Rose stumps over, leaning heavily on her cane. “Patience is the key,” she says. “Though mine is wearing thin, I must admit.”

She glances toward the windows where the lioness stands, dressed in black, hands clasped behind her, head down.

“Dr. Plume is worried she may not be compatible at all. It is so frustrating—I wish they could sort the defective ones out before the Auction.”

The Lady of the Glass nods sympathetically. The lioness does not look up, though I'm sure she can hear these women talking about her. I remember the girl I first saw in the Waiting Room at the Auction House, with the gold-threaded braids, and the rainbow tassels, and the fierce expression. The girl who bragged about a surrogate's power at Dahlia's funeral, and stole a flute of champagne at the Exetor's Ball. Now her shoulders hunch, like she's trying to make herself smaller, invisible.

The door to the dining room opens.

“The Countess of the Stone. And surrogate,” a footman announces. My heart leaps—Raven! Raven is here.

“What?” the Lady of the Glass hisses.

“I thought you rescinded her invitation,” the Countess murmurs.

“I did,” the Duchess replies.

The Countess of the Stone is so large, she blocks Raven from view. She wears an enormous fur cloak, which she sweeps off her shoulders and holds out for the footman to take.

“Pearl,” she says. “How kind of you to invite me.”

She bears down on the Duchess, kissing the air beside each of her cheeks.

“Oh, it was my pleasure,” the Duchess says with an icy smile. Two footmen hurriedly add more settings to the dining table.

The Countess of the Stone greets the Countess of the Rose in a similar fashion, but barely glances at the Lady of the Glass. Her eyes move to me—or more specifically, my stomach. “Still no luck, I take it?”

“Dr. Blythe is optimistic that the next—”

“Doctors are idiots,” the Countess of the Stone replies. “It's the surrogate that counts.” She snaps her fingers.

Raven shuffles out from behind the Countess. Seeing her makes my throat swell. Like the lioness, she keeps her head down, and her hair is longer than it used to be, hiding her face. But I can see that she is even thinner than she was at the Exetor's Ball, and her dress is tight, as if to accentuate it. Which is why, at first, I can't make sense of the small bump protruding from between her hips.

Not until Raven runs one bony hand over it tenderly.

I don't know how I keep my gasp inside, but I manage to stay quiet.

Raven is pregnant.

It doesn't make sense. Even if she got pregnant right after the Auction, she shouldn't be showing yet, should she? It's only been two months.

“You must be very excited,” the Lady of the Glass says.

The Countess of the Stone ignores her. “She took to it on the first try. The first try. Imagine!”

“Imagine,” the Duchess repeats dryly. “Though you might want to consider feeding her now and again.”

The Countess shrugs. “She's naturally thin.”

I can't stop staring at Raven. In a matter of months, my best friend will be dead.

I wish I didn't know. I wish Lucien had never told me. I blink back the tears that threaten to well up and spill over, because I cannot cry here. A bell rings and the Duchess claps her hands.

“Shall we sit?” she says.

I take my usual seat beside the Duchess—the lioness and Raven sit beside their mistresses as well. I try to catch Raven's eyes, but she keeps her head down. A frail, wispy man sits on the Countess of the Rose's other side, and I assume he must be the Count. How pathetic these royal men seem, compared to their wives. The Duke and the Lord of the Glass are on their way to getting drunk, laughing loudly and slapping each other on the back. The Lady of the Glass's eyes dart between her husband and the Countess of the Stone, as if afraid he's making a bad impression.

Footmen circle the table, pouring out glasses of wine and water, and placing the first course in front of us. Ash has not looked at me since I came in. Garnet is teasing Carnelian about something, make her face turn from pink to scarlet. Raven's head is still down. She hasn't touched her food. She hasn't even picked up her fork.

Then she looks up and I can't stop the sharp intake of breath at the sight of my once-beautiful best friend.

Her cheekbones stick out and the skin stretched tightly over them has a grayish tinge. She looks hollow, vacant. Our eyes meet but I see no flicker of recognition in hers, just a blank stare.