The Jewel (18 page)

“What's in there?” I ask.

Annabelle makes a face.

Duke's smoking room

“Where is the Duke anyway?” I ask. “I mean, what does he do, exactly?”

Annabelle smirks.

Whatever D tells him to

I laugh.

The last room she shows me is the library, and I'm immediately in love. It is enormous, with high ceilings and stained-glass windows, and it smells wonderfully of old paper, and binding glue, and leather. Long wooden ladders slide along the shelves, and golden spiral staircases lead up to the balcony.

There is an open reading area in its center, with leather armchairs and overstuffed couches scattered around an enormous circular table. The table is studded with little jeweled trinkets that at first I think are brooches—but as I get closer, I see that they're crests. I recognize the circle-and-trident of the House of the Lake.

“What's this?” I ask.

Royal Houses of Jewel

“All of them?” There must be hundreds of crests, arranged within circles of thin silver lines. In the center is the crowned flame of the Royal Palace. The four closest to it must be the four founding Houses. But the others . . . “See, this is why I never paid attention in royal culture and lifestyle,” I say. “There're just too many Houses to keep track of.”

Annabelle suppresses a smile. She points to the center crest.

Exetor

“I got that one,” I say. “And those four are the founding Houses, right?”

She nods and indicates the next circle, maybe forty or so crests.

1st tier Houses

Then the secondary circle, with about a hundred.

2nd tier

And finally, the outer circle, with the largest number of crests.

3rd tier

“Yes, but . . .” I point at a crest in the second tier, a glittering red oval crossed with two white lines. “This one looks just like”—I point to a third-tier crest, a white oval crossed with two red lines—“
that
one.”

Annabelle raises one eyebrow and shakes her head, indicating the second tier, the red oval.

House of the Flame

She points to the third tier, white oval.

House of the Light

“Fine, then,” I say. “If you know so much . . . what's that one?”

I point out a silver circle in the first tier, crossed with two golden feathers.

House of Downs

“Okay, that was easy. What about that one?” Third tier, a pale green rectangle crossed with two curved, luminescent lines.

House of Veil

I shake my head. “I give up. You win.”

Annabelle smiles ruefully.

She takes me through the stacks, showing me where the art and history books are, and the romance novels, and children's stories. There is an entire row dedicated to music, and I search through it eagerly, discovering old favorites and exciting new pieces that I can't wait to try.

“Am I allowed to borrow these?” I ask.

Of course

I pull out a thick sheath of paper and sink to the floor, spreading pages and pages of notes across the carpet, deciding which ones I'll take with me.

“Who are you?”

A thin, reedy voice startles me, and I look up to see the girl I saw in the window, the day of Dahlia's funeral. Her beady eyes take in the scattered sheets of paper.

“I'm—” I'm about to say “Violet,” but Annabelle holds up her slate. I imagine the word
surrogate
printed on it.

“Oh.” She studies me critically, the way the Duchess sometimes does. “You better clean up that mess.”

“Who are you?” I ask sharply.

The girl smirks. Her chin and nose form sharp points, and her eyes are set a little too close together. “I don't have to tell you anything. You're just a surrogate.”

My cheeks flush, and I go back to sifting through the music, ignoring her command. I can see the hem of the girl's skirt out of the corner of my eye—she stands and watches me for a moment. I spread more papers out. The Duchess can order me around, but not this girl.

The skirt disappears and I look up.

“Who was that?” I whisper to Annabelle.

D's niece

“Is she visiting?”

Lives here

“She's not very nice, is she?”

Annabelle shakes her head.

Servs hate her

Then she puts her finger to her lips and winks at me. I grin.

After a few more minutes of watching me flip through sheet music, Annabelle seems to get that I might be here for a while. She points to herself and writes:

Art books

“All right,” I say. “I'll meet you over there.”

When I finally have a stack of music an inch thick—and there's still more to look at, more to discover—I put the rest of it away and head off to find Annabelle. I must take a wrong turn, though, because I come out by one of the staircases to the balcony. I turn back, down a long row of leather-bound volumes, and find myself in front of a plain door, slightly ajar. Light leaks through it, sending a long sliver of pale gold across the carpet. I hear the rustling of pages from inside. Curiosity propels me forward, and I push open the door.

The room is small, its shelves filled with books that have ancient, crumbling spines, and piles of faded, yellowing parchment. There is a lone wooden table, and leaning over it is a very familiar figure.

“Lucien!” I squeal.

He looks up, his face blank with shock. “Oh my goodness,” he says. “What a very pleasant surprise. But come. You can't be in here.”

He takes me by the arm and leads me out of the room. I catch a glimpse of the parchment he was studying—it's all blue lines and measurements, like a blueprint of some sort. Then we're back in the main library and he's closing the door behind us.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“I was delivering a message to the lady of the house.”

“From the Electress?”

He inclines his head. “The Duchess has the most extensive library in the Jewel. She was kind enough to allow me to peruse it before returning to the Royal Palace.” His gentle eyes turn serious. “How are you faring so far?”

I open my mouth and find I don't know what to say. Lucien seems to understand. “Let's sit down for a moment,” he suggests.

I follow him to a corner of the library with a small table and two plush chairs. He pulls one out for me, the keys hanging from his belt jangling together.

“You know, I'm perfectly capable of pulling out a chair myself.”

He shrugs. “Habit.”

I sit and he moves to the opposite chair, taking something off his key ring that I realize isn't a key. It looks like a small silver tuning fork. Lucien puts his finger to his lips, then taps the fork lightly against the table and releases it. It floats an inch or two off the tabletop, hovering in midair, vibrating and emitting a faint hum.

“What is that?” I ask. The tuning fork revolves slowly on the spot.

“It will prevent us from being overheard,” Lucien explains. “When you've lived in the Jewel as long as I have, you learn to be careful.”

“How long have you lived here?” I assumed Lucien was born in the Jewel.

“Since I was ten.”

“Really? Which circle are you from?”

Lucien's smooth face tightens. “Why don't we talk about something a little more relevant? How are you doing?”

“I don't know,” I admit. “All right, I guess. Better than some.” My throat swells as I think of Dahlia. “Did you get to know her at all?”

Lucien doesn't need to ask who I mean.

“A little,” he says sadly. “She seemed very sweet.”

“Yes,” I say. “She was.”

“Was she at your holding facility?”

I shake my head. “I only met her in the Waiting Room.”

We are quiet for a moment.

“It was the Duchess,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. “She—she killed her.”

Lucien nods. “Yes. I know.”

I sit up, startled. “You do?”

“It was not difficult to guess.” He grimaces.

“Does the Electress know?” My heart starts pumping fast, fear flooding my veins. “Will there be . . . retaliation?”

He pats my hand. “No. The poison used was untraceable. The Electress cannot prove anything, and to attack one of the founding Houses would lose her favor. With her lineage, she can't afford to lose any of the alliances she's made. It isn't worth the risk.” His mouth twists. “Besides, she can just buy another surrogate next year.”

“What
is
this place?” I say. “How does no one know this goes on?” I would have remembered hearing if a surrogate had been assassinated while I was at Southgate. The news would have spread like wildfire.

Lucien gives me a pitying look. “Nobody cares about the death of a surrogate.” He falls silent for a second, his expression distant, his fingers tracing patterns in the grains of wood in the table.

“I saw the doctor yesterday,” I say.

Lucien looks up. “And how did that go?”

“The Duchess wants her daughter to be the next Electress.”

He sighs. “Yes, I'm sure she does. As does every other daughterless woman in the Jewel who bought a surrogate this year.”

“But the Duchess thinks I can do something the other surrogates can't. She expects me to deliver the baby faster—to, I don't know, somehow speed up the whole process. Is that even possible? Have you heard of that happening before?”

Lucien's body has frozen, his expression unfathomable. It's like he's trying hard not to reveal what he's thinking.

“Lucien?” I ask hesitantly. “Are you all right?”

His eyes meet mine, and I notice his are a rich, deep blue. “I would very much like to help you,” he says, and there is an urgency in his tone that makes the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. “And it seems I don't have the time I thought I would have.”

“Time for what?”

“To set things in motion. To be sure I can trust you.”

“You can trust me,” I say, sitting up straighter as if that will somehow prove my point.

Lucien smiles. “Yes, I believe I can.” He leans forward. “I can get you out of here,” he whispers.

The words hang in the air between us. “Out of the palace?” I whisper back.

“Out of the Jewel,” he replies.

Footsteps in the row of shelves make us both jump. In one swift movement, the tuning fork is back on Lucien's key ring—two seconds later, Annabelle appears at the end of the stacks, holding a large art book. She takes one look at Lucien and quickly sinks into a curtsy. Lucien stands.

“Ah, I see you've been elevated,” he says, with a bow. “You are the new surrogate lady-in-waiting?”

Annabelle blushes and nods.

“Your mother must be proud.”

Annabelle nods again. My heart is pounding and I try to keep my face casual as Lucien turns to me.

“It was nice to see you, 197.” His eyes burn with a silent promise as he says, “We'll meet again soon, I'm sure of it.”

I wince at his use of my old lot number, but I don't get the chance to say anything, because Lucien is already disappearing back into the small room. The door closes behind him, and I hear a lock click.

Annabelle gives me a questioning look.

“He was my prep artist,” I explain. “For the Auction.” I feel disoriented by our conversation, and its abrupt end. Part of me wants to wait in this chair until Lucien emerges again and demand more information. But I'm pretty certain I'm not supposed to be talking to Lucien at all. If he says we'll meet again soon, I'm just going to have to trust that we will. I'll have to be patient. “I—I've got everything I need. I'd like to go back to my room now.”

The walk back to my chambers is a blur.

Out of the Jewel.

Lucien has just offered me my freedom.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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Thirteen