The Jewel

  “Where is Garnet?” I whisper. Annabelle grins and shrugs.

  Two motorcars are waiting in the driveway. The air is chilly, the sky a deep, inky blue, and I pull the cloak tighter around me. The Duke and Duchess move to the first car, and Cora directs me, Ash, and Carnelian to the second one.

  The ride to the Royal Palace seems to take forever. Carnelian and I sit next to each other, Ash on the opposite seat facing us. I stare very hard out the window and try to tune Carnelian out as she asks about this palace or that, or giggles at things that Ash says. But he is always there, in the corner of my vision, a black-and-white outline that I can’t erase or ignore.

  The palaces are even more incredible at night than they were during the day—soft colored lights make them glow like jeweled candies. The Royal Concert Hall is luminous, all pale pink and gold. Ash mentions the Stradivarius Tanglewood concert to Carnelian, who makes me cringe by asking, “Who?”

  When we reach the forest, and there is no light other than the motorcar’s headlamps, I look up at the sky. Hundreds of thousands of stars are nestled in the darkness. I remember that night when I looked up at this sky and took comfort in the thought that Hazel and I would always be under it together. I wonder if she’s looking at it now. I hope she is.

  It occurs to me then that I’ll be seeing Lucien again tonight. What an idiot I am, not to have thought of it sooner. All these stupid thoughts about Ash have completely taken over my brain. I shake my head a little, as if that will actually clear it. I need to be focused. I will find a way to talk to Lucien tonight. Alone.

  We pass through the topiary, the hedge-creatures dotted with hundreds of tiny white lights, and emerge out onto the square with the fountain in its center.

  The Royal Palace glows like liquid fire, its domes and turrets and spires searing the darkness, casting a red-gold light across the square. The driver stops at the broad steps, where footmen wait to open our doors and offer their assistance. Ash, Carnelian, and I follow the Duke and Duchess up the stairs to the open front doors. Another servant takes our cloaks, and a footman leads us down a gold-carpeted hallway hung with enormous oil paintings. I hear the faint strains of music coming from somewhere close by.

  I can’t wait to see Raven, too. It’s been nearly a month since the last time I saw her, at Dahlia’s funeral. It feels like ages ago. She must be here with the Countess of the Stone.

  We reach a set of ornate double doors, which the footman opens with a flourish. Another servant, an old man with a large staff, stands just inside. He bangs the staff on the floor three times and announces loudly, “The Duke and Duchess of the Lake.”

  The ballroom is packed with men in tuxedos and women in brightly colored dresses, their skirts swirling as they cross and recross, spin out and turn in, dancing to the waltz being played by a small orchestra on an elevated platform on the far side of the room, in front of a wall of windows. At the other end, the Exetor and Electress sit side by side in matching thrones. They are such a strange pair—she looks like a little doll beside him, beaming and laughing, while he sits stone-faced, a wineglass clutched in one hand.

  The Duchess leads the way through the groups of men and women clustered around the dance floor, many of whom bow or curtsy to her. The Duke takes two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and hands one to his wife. I see the coffee-skinned Duchess of the Scales eyeing my Duchess. The iced cake stands beside her, docile and silent. I search for Lucien and Raven. The Countess of the Stone is huge, I should be able to spot her easily . . .

  The ballroom is lit by an enormous chandelier with glowglobes hovering in the air around it, like planets revolving around a jeweled sun. The walls are papered in gold and copper and bronze, and the floor is a jigsaw of polished wood. Another waiter passes with a tray of champagne, and Ash takes two glasses, one for him and one for Carnelian.

  “It’s incredible,” Carnelian says, gazing up at the ceiling. “Have you been here before?”

  “A few times, yes,” Ash says. There is a hint of something in his voice, sadness maybe, or regret, and I wonder what memories this hall brings back to him.

  “I’ve always wanted to go to a ball,” Carnelian gushes, oblivious. “But my aunt has never allowed me before.”

  “That is why I’m here,” Ash says. “You needed an escort.”

  “Garnet escorted me to a party once, for the Longest Night,” Carnelian says. “In the Bank. It wasn’t anything near as nice as this.”

  I continue to look for Lucien or Raven, also keeping an eye out for any trays of canapés that might pass by—I bet the food here is outstanding. The Duke has disappeared, and the Duchess is in deep conversation with the Countess of the Rose.

  The music shifts.

  “Would you care to dance?” Ash asks Carnelian.

  She turns bright red. “I-I’d love to,” she stammers.

  Ash leads her out onto the dance floor. I feel an irrational surge of anger as I watch him wrap his arm around Carnelian’s waist, their faces inches apart.

  The Duchess isn’t paying any attention to me, so I grab a glass of champagne and take a large swallow. Bubbles fizz in my nose.

  Another couple is announced at the door. I can’t hear their names, but the woman leads a surrogate on a leash. Before entering the ballroom, though, she takes it off and hands it to the footman. I turn away—I’ve had enough of those leashes to last a lifetime.

  There are other young couples dancing, and many of the boys are very handsome; I wonder if they’re companions, too, or just surrogate-enhanced royalty. I study the crowd. The royalty hold themselves with a casual arrogance, their eyes darting around the room as though looking for a better conversation, or someone to gossip about.

  The surrogates are easy to spot—we all stand mildly to the side of our mistresses, looking uncertain and out of place. The lioness is close by, her braided hair fashioned into an elegant crown. Her eyes narrow at the glass in my hand and I quickly down the rest of my drink and set the flute on a passing tray. I notice the iced cake staring dreamily at the dancers on the ballroom floor. But I still can’t find Raven or Lucien.

  The Duchess’s conversation suddenly catches my attention.

  “Soon enough,” she’s saying to the Countess. “Dr. Blythe has been very pleased with the test results so far.”

  The Countess laughs. “Yes, Sapphire is telling anyone who will listen about her last visit. I heard your surrogate destroyed quite a collection of glassware.”

  The Duchess shrugs. “Trifles, really, nothing that can’t be replaced. And certainly worth it. I hope the tale reaches the appropriate ears.”

  “I overheard the Duchess of the Scales saying to the Lady of—”

  “Alexandrite is of no concern to me,” the Duchess says dismissively. “She is not truly of a founding House, and she only married the Duke two years ago. No, it is Ebony I am worried about.”

  Ebony—that’s Raven’s mistress. I move a little closer to the Duchess, listening hard.

  “Yes, she’s being very secretive,” the Countess agrees. “Not a good sign.”

  “It will be fine as long as my daughter is born first,” the Duchess says. “That is the most important factor. It cannot be overlooked. She will be unique even as she takes her first breath. The Exetor will not be able to ignore that.”

  “And what of the Electress?” the Countess asks.

  “In the end, it is not her decision to make,” the Duchess replies. “It is his. And no matter how she lies, and parades herself around, and pretends she is equal to us, she is not, and never will be.” The Duchess turns, her gaze sharp and chilling as it falls on the Exetor in his throne. “Remember this, Ametrine. No one knows him like I do.”

  The Countess of the Rose shifts uncomfortably. I feel awkward, too, like the Duchess is having a private moment and I’m intruding.

  “Tell me,” the Countess says, changing the subject. “How are the marriage arrangements going?”

  The Duchess groans. “Which
one? The House of the Downs should be giving me an answer this week. At least Garnet comes with a title. Carnelian . . .” I follow their gazes to the dance floor, where Carnelian is looking hopelessly uncoordinated in Ash’s arms. “I mean, there is simply no upside to her, is there?”

  “The companion you procured for her is quite agreeable,” the Countess says. “One of the best I’ve seen in years.”

  The Duchess smirks. “Oh yes, quite.” She has that hungry look in her eye again as she watches Ash; it makes me uneasy. For lack of anything better to do, I steal another glass of champagne and gulp half of it down. My head feels pleasantly light. A tray of crackers with cream cheese and smoked salmon comes my way and I pop one in my mouth while the Duchess’s attentions are focused on the dance floor. I keep the champagne flute hidden in the folds of my dress.

  The dance finishes, and Ash leads Carnelian back over to us.

  “Oh, what fun!” Carnelian gushes. “Mr. Lockwood says we will work on my dancing skills this week.”

  “A wise idea,” the Duchess says dryly.

  “You two make a very charming couple,” the Countess says, barely concealing her sarcasm.

  I can’t help rolling my eyes. For a second, I swear I see a flicker of amusement cross Ash’s face, but then he turns to address the Duchess.

  “I wonder if you might give me the honor of a dance, my lady?”

  The Duchess accepts and Ash leads her out onto the floor.

  Perfect. It’s bad enough seeing him with Carnelian, but watching him dance with the Duchess is creepy. I drain my glass just as the lioness raises one to her lips—she’s stolen a flute of champagne, too. I raise an eyebrow. She shrugs and takes an enormous swallow.

  Suddenly, someone crashes into me, followed by a burst of raucous laughter. I drop the glass and nearly topple into Carnelian. Some of the pins come loose in my hair; several curls tumble down my back.

  “Oh!” I cry, the champagne making me even more unsteady.

  “Garnet,” the Countess of the Rose snaps.

  Garnet’s bow tie is askew, his cheeks flushed. It looks like he’s gone through quite a bit of champagne himself already. He’s with four other boys his age and, by the looks of it, all equally as intoxicated. They attempt to appear sober before the Countess, but don’t quite pull it off.

  Garnet, on the other hand, doesn’t even try. “My sincerest apologies, Your Ladyship,” he says with an elaborate bow. “I didn’t see you there.”

  “Really, is it so difficult to behave yourself?” the Countess asks. “Don’t you think your mother has enough on her mind?”

  “You mean my impending nuptials? Or lack thereof?” Garnet laughs and turns so he’s in profile. “Who would have thought that this”—he indicates his face—“would be so difficult to sell?”

  Carnelian grins. “You are a pig,” she says.

  “And you, cousin, are a public relations disaster, but who’s counting?” Garnet grabs a glass of champagne. “I will bet you ten thousand diamantes that she finds a match for me before she finds one for you.”

  Carnelian’s face falls. “I don’t have ten thousand diamantes.”

  “True.” He turns to his friends. “Let’s get out of here before her royal ladyship gets off the dance floor. There’s a garden out back.”

  “Garnet,” one of his friends says, with a quick nod in my direction. “Aren’t you going to apologize?”

  “For what?” Garnet asks. His unfocused gaze falls on me. “Oh, that’s just my mother’s surrogate. Come on.”

  They push their way through the crowds, their laughter carrying over the music. I touch the back of my head where the pins came loose.

  “Is everything all right here?” a familiar voice asks. I whirl around to find Lucien, smiling pleasantly. I open my mouth, but he moves his head just a fraction, and I quickly snap it shut.

  “Garnet has just been his usual charming self,” the Countess replies. “He seems to have upset this surrogate.”

  “Oh dear,” Lucien says, examining my hair. “How embarrassing. Not to worry, I’ll fix her up as good as new before the dance is finished. You,” he says sharply, and I jump. “This way.”

  I follow him through the crowds, keeping my head down and trying to look as meek and unassuming as possible. Lucien leads me out of the ballroom and down a hallway, keys jangling as he unlocks the door to a small powder room. One whole wall is mirrored, and there is a sink and a stone counter littered with makeup and hairpins and perfumes.

  “Lucien!” I cry as he shuts the door. “Where have you—”

  Lucien puts a finger to his lips and I purse mine together. He takes the tuning fork off his key ring and taps it on the counter; it rises in the air, humming faintly. Then he smiles at me.

  “You look stunning.”

  I can’t help smiling back, just a little. “Thanks. I’ve been checking the library for you. Where have you been?”

  “It is unwise to meet in the same place twice in the Jewel,” Lucien says.

  “Were you serious about getting me out of here?” I press.

  “Yes. But there’s no time for answers now.” Lucien studies my hair, lifting the stray curls. “I had a whole plan worked out to get you alone, but the Duchess’s son and his ghastly manners offered me a better opportunity.”

  His eyes meet mine in the mirror and he holds up another tuning fork, like the one that’s revolving in the air right now. Very carefully, he secures the fork in my hair and pins up my curls to cover it. “Hide it when you return to the palace. You will need it tomorrow at midnight,” he says softly in my ear. “Now, let’s get you back to your mistress.”

  He puts the other tuning fork on his key ring and I follow him silently back to the ball, dazed by the turn of events and dizzy at the thought of a secret hidden in my hair.

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  Seventeen

  THE DUCHESS IS STILL ON THE DANCE FLOOR WITH ASH when we return to the ballroom.

  “Go back to the Countess and wait for your mistress.” Lucien instructs me in a sharp, commanding tone, now that we’re in public. I nod, and watch him wind his way through the crowd toward the Electress. When he reaches the royal podium, the Electress beckons him toward the throne. He leans down and she whispers something in his ear. I wonder what she’s saying to him.

  “Violet?”

  I jump at the sound of my name, spoken in a hoarse, whispered voice. Raven stands half hidden behind a pillar, in a beautiful scarlet gown with golden bracelets glittering on her wrists.

  “Raven!” I gasp, moving quickly and cautiously to her side.

  “Shhh,” she hisses. “She can’t know I’ve left her.”

  She jerks her head over her shoulder. I see the enormous back of the Countess of the Stone, talking with a woman I recognize as the Lady of the Flame. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Raven says.

  Once I get over the shock of seeing her, I notice how thin she is. Gaunt, even, her cheekbones more pronounced, and there are dark circles under her eyes.

  “Are you all right?” I whisper.

  Raven smiles, her lips stretched tight across her face.

  “You look beautiful,” she says. “Just the way I remember you.” Her gaze becomes unfocused. “Do you know, sometimes I wonder if I imagined my life at Southgate. Do you ever feel that way?”

  “No,” I say. “What are you talking about?”

  But Raven doesn’t seem to hear me. “There was another girl. She was our friend. She was pretty and silly and she had blond hair. What was her name?”

  A lump forms in my throat. “Lily,” I say. “Her name was Lily.”

  Raven sighs with relief. “Yes. Lily. I think I was mean to her sometimes.”

  She rubs one of her arms absentmindedly, and I see that the golden bracelets are actually handcuffs, attached to each other by a fine, l
inked chain.

  “What are those?” I say, aghast.

  Raven’s smile is frightening. “She doesn’t like me very much. I told her I wouldn’t give her what she wants. She thinks she can take my memories away, but I won’t let her. I won’t forget you. I promise, all right? I won’t forget you.”

  “Raven, you’re scaring me,” I say.

  “You won’t forget me either, will you Violet?” Raven says, backing away.

  “No,” I whisper, tears springing to my eyes. “Never.”

  Raven hurries to her mistress’s side just as the Countess of the Stone turns to take a canapé from a passing tray.

  A hand wraps around my arm and I jump.

  “I thought you’d have found your way back to your mistress by now.” Lucien appears at my elbow, a warning in his eyes. “Please allow me to assist you.”

  I follow him, my mind reeling with the images of Raven’s gaunt face, the golden cuffs around her wrists, her insistence that I don’t forget her.

  “Here she is, my lady,” Lucien says, and I blink—we’re back with the Countess of the Rose and Carnelian. “Good as new.”

  The dance ends and the couples begin to leave the floor. The Duchess and Ash will be here any moment. But I can’t seem to pull my face together.

  “Here,” Lucien says, grabbing a glass from a passing waiter. “Have a refreshment. There’s no need to look so embarrassed. Everything will be all right.”

  There is an edge to his voice, and I hear the double meaning in his words and wonder if he knows about Raven, but then he bows and disappears into the crowd.

  “You certainly know your way around the dance floor, Mr. Lockwood,” the Duchess says, laughing as they join us again.

  “As do you, my lady,” Ash replies.

  Carnelian pouts a little. The Duchess’s gaze sweeps the crowd. “I suppose I should find my husband. Ametrine, let us talk again before we leave.”

  “Of course,” the Countess says.

  The Duchess glances in my direction, and I’m grateful for the champagne—it gives me something to do with my hands, and an excuse to hide my face. And it explains the flush in my cheeks and the brightness of my eyes. She snatches the flute out of my hands.