There are more thumps and scrapings as the other barrels are loaded onto what I imagine is a cargo train.
There is another shrill whistle and the train begins to move.
My heart lifts. We are on our way to the Farm.
It’s impossible to get comfortable in this barrel. Beads dig at me everywhere, and I long to stretch my legs. My stomach twists with hunger. When was the last time I ate? It must have been at Lily’s. That feels like months ago. I begin to dream about the food I used to have in the Jewel. Soft-boiled eggs in little cups with toast. Smoked salmon and cream cheese on crackers. Lamb with mint jelly. Duck and figs over a salad of frisée.
The chugging of the train and the hum of the engine lulls me to sleep. I wake with a start to the clang of a door sliding open.
“Bartlett Station,” a voice calls in the distance.
“Which ones, sir?” a young man, close by, says.
“Those three.” Lucien’s voice brings tears to my eyes. “Careful,” he says, as my barrel slides across the train and I’m once again lifted into the air, landing with an unpleasant bump.
“That’s the last one,” the unfamiliar voice says.
“Very good. Here you are, that’s for you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
I hear the clinking of metal on metal, then the crack of a whip and whatever mode of transportation I’m in starts to move. After a few minutes, I hear Garnet’s voice.
“Should we let them out?”
“Not yet,” Lucien replies. “Let’s get to the woods first.”
The road we’re traveling on is bumpy and rutted, and I bounce around in my barrel, bruising my elbows, beads rattling around me. I hope these woods aren’t too far away. All the fear from the past few days is slowly leaking out of me, replaced by the tiny hum of excitement. I’m in the Farm. Lucien is here. And Ash and Raven.
“You did very well,” Lucien says after a while.
“I want to see this place, wherever it is,” Garnet says.
“Yes, I believe you have earned that right.” There is a pause. “Of course, Sil won’t like it.”
“I’m not afraid of her.”
Lucien chuckles softly. “You should be.”
We turn onto a smoother road, then onto another one that is rougher than the first. I’m just thinking that surely it must be safe enough now, that maybe I could risk calling out to Lucien and reminding him that we’ve been stuck in these barrels for who knows how long, when we finally come to a stop.
My heart kicks into a sprint as the top of my barrel is pried open and Garnet’s face pops into the space above me.
“Hi, Violet,” he says.
“Get me out of this thing,” I say, reaching my hands up so he can pull me out.
As I step onto solid ground, my legs shake so badly they can’t support my weight and I fall into him.
“Okay,” Garnet says. “Let’s get you down.”
He practically carries me to the edge of the cart and helps me off it to where Lucien stands, a thick fur cloak wrapped around him.
I can’t help it. I start to cry. Big, embarrassing sobs tear through my chest and escape my throat in ragged gasps, my stomach heaving.
“Oh, honey,” he says as I fall into his arms. “I’m so proud of you.” I want to argue with him, insist I didn’t do anything except possibly make this whole thing more difficult, but I don’t have the energy. I hear Garnet opening the other barrel and the crate.
Ash climbs down off the cart and I throw my arms around him.
“That was certainly not my favorite way to travel,” he murmurs and I laugh.
Garnet helps Raven down. She looks around with a rapt expression on her face.
“The air here,” she says. “It’s so clean.”
I hadn’t noticed but now that she’s mentioned it, I take a deep breath and look around.
It’s nighttime—two lanterns hang from the driver’s seat of the cart, giving a golden glow to the trees that surround us. That’s all I can see. Trees. I turn slowly on the spot, my mouth gaping. Big trees and small trees, skinny trees with delicate branches, trunks as thick as the old oaks I’d seen in the Jewel, in the forest we had to drive through to get to the Royal Palace. I remember it being orderly and well manicured before it gave way to a garden of topiaries. But there is something even more beautiful about this forest and it takes me a moment to pinpoint what it is.
This place feels natural. It feels old. It has been allowed to grow as it pleases without the interference of man.
“You’ve made it this far,” Lucien says, wrapping a thick cloak around my shoulders, “and I know it’s been difficult, but you’ve got to help us the rest of the way.”
“What do you mean?”
Lucien points to a nearby tree with a pale gray trunk. A symbol has been carved into it, a C overlapping an A. “This is as far as I can get on my own.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“A marking Azalea left for me,” he murmurs. “The place we’re going is nearly impossible to find without the help of someone who has the power of the Auguries.”
“I don’t understand,” I say. I glance at Raven. She shrugs.
“I know,” Lucien says. “But you will. Come on.”
He leads me to front of the cart, where a shaggy horse is shaking its mane, its breath puffing out in white clouds. Lucien unhooks one of the lanterns and holds it out to me.
“Walk ahead of us,” he says. Ash moves to walk with me, but Lucien holds up a hand. “No,” he says. “She has to do this alone.”
“Which way do I go?” I ask.
Lucien shrugs. “Follow your instincts.”
My instincts? My instincts are telling me this is impossible, and I’m ready for someone else to take control. I thought once we got to the Farm it would be easy. Lucien is the one with all the plans and schemes. I just want to be safe. I want my friends to be safe, and I don’t want to run anymore. I think about everything that’s happened since that horrible night Ash and I were caught, the promises Lucien made, the close calls, Cinder dying, and Lily, too, eventually, and tears spring to my eyes and I snatch the lantern out of his hands and storm off into the trees.
I don’t want anyone to see how terrified I am. I can’t let them down.
But I’m so afraid that my instincts mean nothing.
I hear the clop-clop of the horse’s hooves and the slow creak of the cart’s wheels and I know they are following me. I clutch the cloak tight around my neck and hold up the lantern. The trees appear like ghostly apparitions as I move through them, their branches reaching out for me.
The farther into the forest I go, the denser the trees become. They curve and stretch in unnatural ways, their trunks bent at odd angles, their branches sometimes diving right into the earth. I worry the cart won’t make it through them if they get any thicker. I worry I’m going in the wrong direction. There’s no path to follow, nothing to guide me.
But then, right as I’m about to turn around and tell Lucien this whole thing isn’t working, I feel it. A small, faint tug in my chest, like something has hooked around my rib cage and yanked on it.
“Violet, did you feel that?” Raven calls.
Not wanting to lose my concentration, I ignore Raven’s question and make a sharp left. The pull gets stronger. It leads me through the trees and I’m suddenly sure of my way without knowing where I’m going, as if I’d been to this place before.
A light snow begins to fall. Delicate white flakes filter down through the soft light and the twisted trees. I look up at the sky and feel as if I were in a snow globe, a miniature world contained within a single glass ball. And when I look back at the trees, I see a light. A tiny twinkle in the distance.
I stumble forward, swerving around trunks and ducking branches until I find myself standing on the edge of a huge clearing. At its center is a large, redbrick farmhouse, two stories high with a wide front porch. Behind it, in the distance, I can make out the shadowy shape of
a barn.
A light shines through one of the windows on the first floor of the house.
“Well done,” Lucien says as the cart comes into view. Garnet is sitting beside him, his eyes wide. Ash and Raven lean over the edge of the cart to get a better look.
“Like I said—it’s nearly impossible to find.” Lucien is smiling at me. “Believe me. I’ve spent hours on my own, wandering around these woods looking for it.”
“But . . . what is it?” I ask.
“Your new home.” His smile widens.
“Welcome to the White Rose.”
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
Fourteen
THE DOOR TO THE FARMHOUSE OPENS. A SHORT FIGURE, silhouetted in the light, walks out onto the front porch.
“Lucien!” a gruff female voice calls. “Stop skulking out there like a damned burglar.”
“That’s Sil,” Lucien says as he helps me up to sit beside him on the cart and sets the horse at a trot toward the farmhouse. There’s a little path that leads us there, and I see a weathered sign sticking up from the grass. As we pass it, the lantern illuminates the faded lettering: THE WHITE ROSE. I glance back at Ash and Raven. Ash looks confused and a little suspicious, but Raven’s face is joyous as she takes in our surroundings.
“Who is Sil, exactly?” I ask Lucien.
He hesitates. “I’m going to let her explain that herself.”
As the farmhouse comes closer, I see a wild garden, dead now in winter, spreading out in front of the porch. Brown garlands of ivy wrap around the railings and climb up the redbrick façade.
Lucien stops the cart. The woman—Sil—doesn’t come out to greet us. Instead she stands in the doorway, the light from inside the farmhouse obscuring her features.
“How many damned people did you bring?” she snaps.
“This is Violet,” Lucien says, gesturing to me.
“I know who she is,” Sil says. “Who are they?”
“They’re my friends,” I say.
“They’re not welcome here.”
“I’m not going anywhere without them.”
Sil snorts. “You don’t like to make things easy on yourself, do you?”
I don’t say anything. I haven’t come all this way to abandon Ash and Raven now. I won’t.
“Sil—” Lucien begins, but she waves him off.
“Get inside, all of you,” she says. “Before we freeze to death.”
I’m not sure what to make of this woman, and from the looks on Raven’s, Ash’s, and Garnet’s faces, they don’t either. But we follow Lucien up the steps of the porch and into the house.
The first floor of the farmhouse is completely open—one large room that contains a living room, dining room, and kitchen. The floor is covered with handmade rugs in a variety of colors and patterns. Some are animal skins, others woven out of dyed wool. A loom sits by the wall to my left, the beginnings of something blue and purple at its base. Much of the furniture looks handmade, too—though not as high quality as the furniture my father used to make. An overstuffed sofa. A rocking chair, next to a fireplace that flickers with a dying fire. A dining room table. The kitchen hosts a large cast-iron stove, a massive sink, and a rack on the ceiling from which hang an assortment of pots and pans. A set of stairs in the far corner leads up to the second floor.
It’s strikingly different from the opulence of the Duchess’s palace, with its plush carpets, and chandeliers, and canopied beds. But I like this house better. It’s cozy in here. It feels lived in and cared for. It feels like a home.
Something bubbles in a pot on the stove, filling the whole room with the scent of cooked meat and vegetables. My stomach growls.
“Well.” Sil’s voice brings me back to the present. “Let’s have a look at you, then.”
I turn and a pair of piercing blue-gray eyes, so pale they’re practically silver, stares back at me. Sil is old, older than my mother, with skin the color of coffee mixed with cream. There are deep wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. Her hair is kinky and black, except for brilliant streaks of gray at her temples, and it frizzes out in a cloud around her face. She wears a pair of men’s overalls, like what a gardener might wear, over a long-sleeved shirt. Her right hand, I notice, is severely scarred.
She’s quite a bit shorter than me, but she studies me with a keen and critical eye. I’m reminded strangely of my first meeting with the Duchess, though I’m not nearly as afraid as I was then.
“So, you’re the latest perfect score, are you?” she says, referencing the perfect 10 I received in the third Augury, Growth. Then she glances at Lucien. “She doesn’t look as tough as Azalea.”
“She is exactly what you asked for,” Lucien says dryly.
I turn to him in shock. “What? What do you mean?”
“Didn’t tell her, did you?” Sil says.
“Tell me what?” I demand.
“I said the only way this damned fool scheme was going to work was if we found a surrogate with a perfect Growth score,” Sil says. “And that’s you, isn’t it?”
“But . . . I thought . . . Lucien?” I don’t know what to say. Lucien never told me that. He said he chose me because I reminded him of his sister.
“Violet,” he says, taking a step toward me. I instinctively take a step back. “What I told you was true. You remind me so much of her, of Azalea. And you also happened to have a perfect Growth score.”
“You should have told me,” I say.
“Would it have made a difference?” Lucien asks. “Would you have been any more or less willing to trust me?”
I don’t want to answer that.
Sil laughs again. “Not the perfect father figure you were hoping for, is he? Azalea thought the same thing.”
Pain flickers across Lucien’s face.
“Don’t say that,” I snap.
“It took her dying for him to see—really see—that things need to change,” Sil says.
“And what’s your excuse for hiding out here for four decades?” Lucien retorts. “Was that some strategic planning move? You were as scared as I was. She changed you, too.”
Sil’s pale gray eyes narrow. “You have no idea what I went through to get here.”
“You have no idea what we went through,” I say. “And all the while Lucien’s been telling me that I have some mysterious power and you’re supposed to be the one to show me what it is, so can we get on with it, please, because I’m sick of the mysteries and the lies.”
The hint of a smile twitches on Sil’s lips. “Whatever you wish, Your Royal Grace.” I grit my teeth. She turns to Garnet, Lucien, and Ash. “You three, take the horse to the barn and unload the rest of the supplies.” She looks Raven up and down, something in her expression softening. “How many months?” she asks.
Raven glances at me.
“I don’t know,” she says, fiddling with her bulky sweater. “Three, maybe?”
Sil walks forward and rests her hand on her stomach. Raven flinches.
“What did they do to you?” Sil murmurs.
“Everything,” Raven replies.
She nods, then turns. “What are you still doing here?” she snaps at the men still hovering in the doorway. “Out! No food until that wagon’s unloaded.”
Ash raises an eyebrow at me. I shrug. This is what we’ve come for. This woman might be unpleasant but I don’t think she’ll hurt me. We are safe here. I feel it. The three of them walk out into the night.
“Sit,” Sil instructs, pointing to the dining table. Raven and I obey as she heads into the kitchen and comes back with two bowls of stew—beef and carrots and onions in a rich brown sauce. I can barely wait until she slams the spoon down next to me before digging in. Raven and I eat ravenously. The only sounds are the clinking of cutlery against ceramic and the occasional sigh of contentment. The bowls are empty in minutes. When we’ve finished, Sil looks at R
aven.
“There are bedrooms upstairs,” she says. “You look like you could use some sleep.”
Raven hesitates.
“You’re safe here, child,” Sil says. “I promise you that.”
“I’ll be up soon,” I say. Whatever Sil has to say, I have the feeling it needs to be said to me alone.
Raven rubs her eyes. “All right,” she says with a sigh. Her footsteps are heavy as she walks up the stairs. I’m grateful we can all sleep in beds tonight.
Sil has gone back into the kitchen, returning with two steaming mugs of tea.
“Here,” she says, shoving one into my hand and settling herself into the rocking chair.
I move to sit on the sofa near her and take a sniff of the liquid, which is dark and has an earthy tang.
“Go on, it’s not poison,” Sil says before taking a deep drink.
I raise the mug to my lips and sip—it tastes like bark and cinnamon.
“Which holding facility were you in?” she asks.
“Southgate,” I say.
“Ah, a southerner.” Sil takes another drink and rocks back in her chair. “I was in Northgate. What a nightmare, that place. Like a damned prison.”
I nearly drop my mug. “Northgate? You were a surrogate?”
Sil chuckles. “I don’t know how that man keeps all his secrets straight,” she says, with a hint of grudging respect in her voice. “He said he wouldn’t tell you a thing about me, but, oh, the way he talks about you, I was sure he’d let the cat out of the bag.”
I’m still in shock. Sil can’t be a surrogate. She’s too old—she should be dead by now. Unless she escaped from Northgate? Or she had a protector in the Jewel?
I rub my eyes. There’s too much in my head, and not enough space for it all.
Sil drains her mug and smacks her lips together. “Don’t think too hard, you’ll pop a blood vessel. I’ll tell you my story from the beginning. But I’m going to need something stronger than tea.”
She stomps back into the kitchen and returns with a full mug of something that carries a strong whiff of alcohol before settling into the rocking chair. The flames in the fireplace leap up, as if someone had added more wood or maybe put a bellows to them. I jump.