The Black Key (15 page)

“Well. Hasn't this day just been full of surprises.”

“It's all really happening, isn't it?”

“Yes, honey. It is.”

“I have to go,” I say. I want this night to be over. I want to sleep, to lose myself in blissful oblivion.

“Of course.”

I hold my hand out for the arcana to drop, but it stays hovering in the air.

“Violet?” Lucien says, and his voice is timid.

“Yes?”

“I am so very proud of you.”

The arcana falls into my hand and I clench my fist around it, squeezing it tight before setting off down the cold, quiet hall.

I
T IS SO STRANGE, BEING BACK IN THIS PARLOR.

I open the secret door, behind the oil painting of the man in the green hunting jacket with the dog at his side, and find Rye standing by the window, waiting for me. The room is dark, the only light coming from the moon outside.

“I didn't know if you'd come,” he says as I shut the painting behind me. “After what happened today.”

“I told you I would,” I say. “And there isn't much time left, anyway.”

“No,” he agrees. “There isn't.”

We stand in awkward silence for a moment.

I'm almost afraid to ask about Ash, even though he's
why I'm here. Rye moves to sit on the sofa. I take the armchair by the window.

“Ash managed to contact one of our friends who wasn't working at the time, a guy named Trac. Found him on the Row. You've seen the Row, right?”

I nod, remembering the sleazy strip in the Bank filled with cheap taverns and brothels.

“Trac's been in pretty bad shape for a while. He drinks too much and cuts himself. He was probably gonna get Marked soon.”

Ash explained to me about Marking—if a companion fails to be perfect in every way, they are tattooed with a black X on their right cheek and kicked out of the companion house with only the clothes on their backs. All their earnings revert back to their madam.

“So,” Rye continues, “Ash told him all about you, and the Society, and the rebellion, and how things could change . . . how they already were changing. He offered Trac the chance at a new life, painted a picture of what was possible. He gave him—”

“Hope,” I say softly, my throat swelling up. “He gave Trac hope.”

Why was it so hard for me to see it back then, at the White Rose, when I brushed aside his desire to help the companions because it was too dangerous?

“Yeah, and it caught on like wildfire. There are tons of companions who hate their lives, as I'm sure he's told you. And I include myself in that category.” Rye tugs at his curls. “I was killing myself with blue. Now, at least if I die, it might actually mean something. I won't just be another
anonymous companion overdose.”

I'm glad to hear he's not using anymore.

“Then Trac got assigned to the House of the Light and I saw him at one of the thousand parties I've gone to with Carnelian.” Rye smiles, his teeth a flash of white in the darkness. “Ash told him to look out for me. He told him I should contact Coral's lady-in-waiting. I didn't get it at first, until I overheard you talking to Zara. It wasn't even the sound of your voice so much as the way you spoke.” He throws his arm over the back of the sofa. “I guess you made an impression on me at Madame Curio's.”

“I'm flattered.”

“We've been making contact with other companions in the Jewel, too. Ash is famous now.”

“I know,” I say, smiling myself this time.

“So it all goes down at the Auction, right?”

“Yes. You should talk to Garnet. He'll be able to give you some advice about what to do.”

“Garnet?” Rye says incredulously. “Garnet-of-the-House-of-the-Lake Garnet?”

I nod.

He whistles. “This thing is deeper than I realized.”

“I'm surprised Ash didn't tell you.”

“I'm not. He didn't talk to me directly, remember?”

“Right.” I gaze out the window. The moonlight sparkles off the surface of the lake in front of the palace. “This room was where he told me what he did, what being a companion was really all about. This was where we fell in love.”

It's such a personal sentiment, and I immediately regret saying it out loud.

“Sorry,” I say, blushing. “You don't need to hear that.”

There's a pause. I look at Rye and see his posture has changed. He leans forward, staring down at his hands. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I do.”

I'm not sure what to say.

“We are unloved,” he continues after a moment, “and unlovable. That's what they train us to think. We are objects of sexual and monetary value. Who could love someone as filthy as a companion? We are made to look pretty, but we are rotten on the inside. I don't think you understand just how important you are to him. I don't think you understand the value of your love. Because let me tell you.” He looks me right in the eyes. “It is priceless.”

I'm about to say “I know,” when I realize I don't. Being a surrogate never made me feel unlovable. It made me feel cheap and used and angry. But I had Raven and Lily, I had my mother and Hazel and Ochre. Ash had Cinder and then nothing. And even Cinder wasn't enough to stop him from hating himself.

I remember his words the night we fought before I came back to the Jewel.

And what do I have, Violet? You. Just you.

I'd thought it was an exaggeration at the time. I never thought Ash would find it difficult not just to love but to
be
loved as well.

“And now he's passed that hope to us,” Rye continues. “That we might actually be able to live a life of our choosing, with someone who wishes to be with us, not someone who pays for the pleasure of our bodies. Companions are smart. We are well trained, and extremely disciplined. Give
us a purpose, a single-minded focus, a cause that unifies us . . . well.” Another flash of teeth in the night. “We're a force to be reckoned with.”

“Yes,” I say. “You are.”

“What's your role in this whole thing?”

“I'm going to bring down the wall that separates the Bank and the Jewel. I'm going to let the people into this circle once and for all.” The words come out easily, with a confidence I haven't heard in my voice before.

Rye's mouth falls open. “By yourself?”

“No,” I say. “I'll have some help.”

“Who—”

I hold up a hand. “I'll explain another time.” I can't muster the energy to tell him about the surrogates and the Paladin tonight.

“Of course. It's late. You must be exhausted.” Rye stands as I do, ever the gentleman. I walk over and wrap my arms around him. He hesitates at first, then returns the hug.

“You deserve to be loved,” I say. “You all do.”

He doesn't say anything, just squeezes me once, and I release him.

By the time I make it back to my chambers, I barely have the energy to slip my dress off over my head before I collapse onto the bed and fall into a dreamless sleep.

W
HEN
I
WAKE THE NEXT MORNING, THERE'S A CRICK IN
my shoulder from sleeping on it wrong.

I groan and roll onto my back, sunlight streaming through my open windows.

I gasp and sit up. The clock on the wall says it's nine forty-five.

“Crap!” I yelp, throwing on my spare lady-in-waiting gown and shoving my hair into a bun. The Exetor is coming today. I need to have Carnelian dressed and ready in an hour.

I skip the kitchen, figuring I can bring her something after she's dressed, and dive through the tapestry of the Duchess by the dining room. I pound my way up the stairs, slowing my pace when I enter into the main halls, and knock three times on her door.

“You're late,” she calls, and I take that as permission to come in. She sits up in bed, a tray of half-eaten waffles beside her. “Mary brought me breakfast. My bell doesn't connect with your room.” She smirks. “Mary
hates
you, by the way.”

I bristle. “She hates you, too.”

Carnelian flushes, then shrugs. “Everybody hates me.”

I don't have time to feel bad, or even argue with her, right now. “Come on,” I say. “Get up. You can boss me around all you like today. That's got to count for something.”

A broad smile spreads across her face. I have to help her out of bed because her chest is taped up. The doctor gave her pain medication so her ribs and shoulder don't hurt, but the tape makes maneuvering her into a dress take longer than usual.

Somehow, we manage to make it to the foyer by 10:42. Rye meets us at the top of the main staircase, all in black. He doesn't even glance at me, smiling at Carnelian and offering his arm.

“How are you feeling?” he asks as they descend the stairs. Carnelian leans on him heavily.

“I'm all right,” she says. “Whatever the doctor gave me is working. I don't want to go to any parties tonight, though.”

“As far as I know, our schedule is completely clear. We can do whatever you wish.”

We reach the foot of the stairs and I slink into line beside Cora. Rye and Carnelian stand with Garnet and the Duchess, who are already waiting at the front doors. The fountain twinkles merrily, surrounded by black-clad servants and maids. Even Zara is in attendance, looking strange out of her apron. The red coats of the Regimentals and the white dresses that Cora and I wear are the only splashes of color.

The minutes tick past. At eleven o'clock on the dot, an opulent motorcar pulls up. Little flags whip in the wind from their perches above the headlights—the Royal Crest is emblazoned on them, as well as on the motorcar's doors.

The Exetor emerges from the car and climbs the steps to the palace, trailed by two members of his private guard. The entire foyer bows and curtsies as he enters.

“Pearl,” he says, in a commanding voice. “I am deeply sorry for your loss. As you said in your letter, it is truly a tragic time for the House of the Lake.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” the Duchess replies. “I am honored you took the time to visit me here.”

The Exetor smiles. It's a surprisingly nice smile. His beard is close-cropped and streaked with hints of gray, but you can see the strong jaw underneath.

“You wished to meet with me,” he says.

“Yes,” the Duchess replies. “If you will accompany me to my private study, we can speak there. Cora can bring us refreshments.”

“That won't be necessary,” the Exetor says, stopping Cora in her tracks.

“As you wish.” The Duchess curtsies again. I've never seen her be so deferential. “Please follow me.”

They begin to ascend the staircase. The Exetor's guards shadow him, but he waves them off with a hand. “You will wait for me here.”

They reach the second floor and disappear.

It's like everyone in the foyer was holding a collective breath. The Regimentals break ranks, One and Two moving to stand by the main stairs, Four and Five going over to greet the Exetor's guards. Zara claps her hands and all the scullery maids follow her down to the kitchen. Garnet turns to Rye and Carnelian.

“I'm off to the library. We'll have to be back here soon enough when he leaves.”

“I'll come with you,” Carnelian says. “I need to get a new book.” She glances at me with a smug smile. “Come along,
Imogen
.”

I bob my head and try to look docile.

“Are you sad?” Carnelian asks Garnet as we walk through the halls. “About Coral?”

“Of course.”

“But you didn't love her.”

“That doesn't mean I wanted her to die.” We pass the dining room and make a right. “I'm glad you're all right,” Garnet adds.

“Thanks.”

This whole quartet is so strange. I know about everyone. Garnet knows about Rye but not Carnelian and vice versa. Carnelian knows about me but not Garnet and Rye.

Is this how Lucien feels all the time?

“What do you think they're talking about?” Carnelian asks.

Garnet shrugs. “Not a clue. Mother is probably angling to use Coral's death”—he stumbles over the word—“to some advantage or another.”

When we reach the library, Garnet spreads out onto one of the leather couches and throws an arm over his eyes. Carnelian peruses one of the shelves with Rye.

“Imogen, it's hot in here and I forgot my fan,” she complains. “Go get it for me from my room.”

I can tell she's enjoying her position of power.

“Yes, miss,” I say with a strained curtsy.

I turn to leave, passing the table with all the crests on it and then a family portrait of Garnet with his father and mother, when an idea occurs to me.

The Duchess said she was going to her private study. When I was first looking for Hazel, I discovered a hidden staircase that led me to a study with a photograph of the Duchess's family in it. It was a place that felt intensely personal. What if she and the Exetor are there now?

I pretend I'm leaving the library, then make a sharp left and dart behind the shelves. Silent as a ghost, I make my way to Cadmium Blake's
Essays on Cross-Pollination
and slip down the tunnel. I find the staircase and climb it quickly. Murmured voices tell me my suspicions were right.

I reach the door to the study and am shocked into stillness by a sudden burst of laughter.

“Oh, Onyx,” the Duchess says. There's a silence, and then the unmistakable sounds of kissing.

The Duchess. Is kissing. The Exetor. I knew they were engaged once, but . . .

“I'm tired of this charade,” she says.

“I know,” the Exetor replies. “So am I.”

“Did you bring it?”

There is a rustling and then the sound of something clattering onto a tabletop. “From her personal library,” he says.

“And no one saw?”

“Not a soul. Not even Lucien. I think he believes she is behind the shooting. At least, he doesn't suspect you or me.”

“That is excellent news.”

I'm trying to make sense of what she's saying. The Duchess and the Exetor were the ones who planned the attack on Hazel. But why?

“It really is a beautiful piece,” the Duchess says with a sigh.

“I gave it to her for the Longest Night two years ago. Very publicly.” There is a pause. “I don't think she appreciated it.”

“She is too pedestrian to understand it.”

The Exetor laughs. “She doesn't have your love of history. Or your passion for fine weaponry.”