The Jewel (28 page)

The Duchess's dress glitters in the light of the dying fire as she moves to sit on the sofa. She looks exhausted. When she speaks, her voice is quiet, almost gentle.

“Please,” she says, resting a hand on the empty space beside her. “Sit by me.”

The sofa is so small that our knees are only a few inches apart when I sit down. The smell of her perfume makes my stomach turn.

The Duchess smooths out her skirts. “I have been trying to go about this the right way, and I am not sure . . . I am having difficulty . . .” She shakes her head and smiles. “It is not often that I find myself at a loss for words. You are very important to me. Sometimes, I have a problem with my temper. I apologize for that.”

I can't think of anything to say. For some reason, this strange, soft-spoken Duchess unsettles me more than the cold, angry one.

“I envy you,” she confesses. “Your . . . abilities.” She must see the incredulity in my eyes, because she laughs. “Oh, you may not believe me but it's true. We all envy the surrogates. Do you not think that, if I could do this myself, I would? I have wealth, yes, and a title and power. But you have a power I do not.
I
cannot create life.”

I remember the lioness's words, at Dahlia's funeral.
We make their children. We have the power.

“So we turn you into property,” the Duchess continues. “We parade you around and dress you up and make you our pets. That is how the Jewel operates. Status is our sole occupation. Gossip is our currency.” She gives me a piercing look. “You can do this, you know. I read the doctor's report, I saw the results of the stimulant gun. Your abilities are far beyond what I had even dared to dream. Do you have any idea what we will accomplish together? We will make history, you and I.”

It is so hard to hold back the retort, not to snap at her that she has absolutely no role in this process except to provide an embryo. We are not doing anything
together
.

The Duchess studies me, as if she can read my thoughts. “I've angered you,” she says.

I take a breath before answering. “I just don't understand, my lady,” I say carefully. “This obsession. Being first. Why not just have a regular baby in a regular time?”

Her eyes grow distant as she stares at the embers of the fire. It's quiet for a long while. “I was meant to be the Electress, you know,” she says softly.

My eyes widen.

“I was a month old when the arrangement was made, sixteen when it was broken. The Exetor and I . . . we were very close. It was a perfect match. A founding House and the future Exetor. My life was meant for greatness.” She looks younger somehow, vulnerable, and I think I see something glisten in the corner of her eye. “My life was meant to be happy,” she whispers.

“What happened?” I ask tentatively.

The Duchess shrugs. “Men cannot be trusted. You are lucky you will never have to discover that for yourself.” She sniffs and plays with a charm on her bracelet. “What was your life like? Before Southgate, I mean. Was it happy?”

I don't want to share that with her. I don't want her touching any part of who I was before I came here.

“Yes, my lady. It was very happy.”

“Tell me about it.”

I look past her into the fire and pretend I'm in the sitting room at Southgate, talking to Raven. “I have a younger brother and sister. I used to take care of them when my parents were working. My sister and I liked to play tricks on my brother.” That should be enough.

“I had a sister, too,” the Duchess muses. “Carnelian's mother. We did not get along.”

I frown. “I thought the royalty could only have one boy and one girl.”

“Yes. But occasionally, twins do happen. Usually it's the simple matter of terminating one, but my darling mother wasn't strong enough to make that decision and my father indulged her.” Her mouth twists, like she's tasted something unpleasant. “You loved your mother, I imagine.”

“I still do.”

The Duchess smiles a broken, half smile. “Of course.” She looks at me with an unfathomable expression. “All I want is for my daughter to be happy,” she says. “I will do anything to give her a better life. Is that such a terrible thing?” She laughs, and there is no edge to it, no sharpness. “I sound awfully sentimental, don't I? My father must be turning in his grave.”

Abruptly, she stands, and the softness falls away, replaced with the rigid mask I'm accustomed to. “I wish for you to feel at home here. As such, you will no longer require an escort while within the palace. Your new cello will arrive tomorrow. I hope you find it satisfactory.” She sweeps to the door and pauses with her hand on the knob.

“Hope is a precious thing, isn't it,” she says quietly. “And yet, we don't really appreciate it until it's gone.”

She closes the door behind her, and I sink back against the couch, wondering what exactly just happened.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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

Twenty

M
Y CELLO ARRIVES THE NEXT DAY, AS PROMISED.

Though I don't tell Annabelle about my conversation with the Duchess, she already knows that I don't require an escort around the palace anymore. When I tell her I'm going to play in the concert hall, she simply smiles and nods, and continues changing the sheets on my bed.

I play for twenty minutes or so, but my mind isn't focused on the vibration of the strings or the movement of the bow. That stimulant gun made the doctor and the Duchess very happy—too happy. I should ask Lucien about it next time we speak.

I wonder if that's what Raven meant, when she asked me if I'd seen a doctor yet. Is the stimulant gun the cause of her hollowed eyes? Is she being tortured with it in the House of the Stone?

I have to check on my violet. I need to know it's still there for her.

I leave my cello on the stage and hurry downstairs and out the back door into the garden. I didn't bring a coat and the wind whips my hair around my face and slices through the thin fabric of my dress. I make my way to the west wall and stare up at the violet, swaying in the breeze.

My breath catches in my throat. There's another flower wrapped around it. A lily, but instead of white, its petals are jet black.

Hope ignites in my chest. Raven saw my violet.

And now,
I think as I send a second violet up to join the first,
she knows I'm close.

I
GET BACK TO THE CONCERT HALL AS QUICKLY AS
I
CAN.

Lucien probably wouldn't approve of me sending flower messages to my best friend, but I don't care. No one else could possibly know what it means, or that it even means anything at all. And now I know Raven is all right.

I set up on the stage and breathe in the scent of velvet and floor polish. The cello fits snugly between my knees, and I play a few scales, just to make sure it's in tune.

I start with a sarabande in D Minor, then a courante in the same key, then another sarabande in F Major. As long as I'm playing, my mind is still. I don't have to think about the pain Dr. Blythe caused me or the demands the Duchess has put on me. As long as I'm playing, I'm not a surrogate. I can simply be.

I remember what Ash said, the night of the Exetor's Ball. How the royalty acted like they owned my music. As if they could ever
own
this.

As I finish the sarabande, a soft clapping begins and I look around, startled.

Ash stands offstage, just behind the curtain, and for a second, I think he might be a figment of my imagination. He stops clapping and puts his hands in his pockets.

I should leave. I need to leave now. I
cannot
talk to him—not out in the open here where anyone can see.

But my cello makes a tiny thump when I set it down, and my satin slippers whisper across the stage as I join him. The choice isn't a conscious one—it's comes from a place in me without logic or fear.

It's warm and dark behind the curtain. We are so close, it's like someone has spiked my veins with adrenaline. I feel lightheaded. My skin tingles.

“What are you doing here?” I ask. He wears a collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I have the strongest urge to run my fingers over his forearms.

“I wanted to see you play. I thought I was invited.” He sounds nervous.

“Oh.” My verbal skills seem to disappear when he's around. The foot of space between us feels charged with electricity. “Right. Did you like it?”

“Very much.”

He takes a step toward me and I'm surprised I can't see tiny sparks of light exploding in the air around us. This is wrong, I know this is wrong, but at the moment, I can't seem to remember why.

“I . . . I . . .” He shakes his head and looks down. “I can't stop thinking about you,” he confesses quietly.

We are so close, the hem of my skirt brushes the tips of his shoes. “Really?” I ask.

He laughs. “And I thought I was being obvious.”

“I—I don't have much experience with this.”

“No,” he says softly. “I don't imagine you do.”

“None, actually,” I admit.

“To be fair, I don't have much experience in this particular area, either.”

I frown. “Isn't this what you do with Carnelian?”

As soon as I say her name, I wish I hadn't. A shadow passes across Ash's face.

“You don't know what you're talking about,” he says.

“I just thought—”

“That I seduce every woman I see?” he asks wearily.

“No,” I say firmly. “It's just . . . I've seen you two together.”

His eyes blaze the way they did at the Exetor's Ball, like gray-green fire. “Do you ever obey an order from the Duchess even though you don't want to?”

“All the time.”

“And have you ever disobeyed her?”

I bite my lip, thinking of the ruined cello on my bedroom floor.

“I know. There are consequences.” His fingertips dust across the back of my hand. “Do you want me to leave?”

Be a model surrogate,
Lucien whispers.

“No,” I reply.

A tiny smile lights up Ash's face. “May I ask you something?”

My heart is so swollen I think it might burst. I inhale his scent of soap and clean linen and something that must be boy. “Anything.”

“What is your name?”

My heart explodes into a million glittering fragments that rain down like fireworks through my chest.

“Violet,” I whisper.

He closes his eyes and breathes it in, like it's the answer to a riddle or a secret key. “Violet,” he murmurs. Then his mouth is on mine.

I feel entirely new. Ash's lips are gentle, moving with mine in unfamiliar, exciting ways, and I discover a new Violet, a Violet I never imagined existed. How can my body contain all these feelings? It's like I didn't really know myself until this moment.

Ash pulls away, tenderly cradling my face in his hands, his forehead resting against mine. “This is dangerous.”

“Yes”.

“It's not safe here.”

“No,” I agree, though whether he's referring to the concert hall, or the palace, or the Jewel itself, I'm not sure.

“Can you meet me in the library in fifteen minutes?”

I feel like I could meet him on the moon if he asked me to. “Yes.”

“Be at the last stack on the east side by the windows. Look for Cadmium Blake's
Essays on Cross Pollination
.”

I laugh at his bizarre instructions. “What?”

He grins. “Trust me.” Then his face turns solemn. “Think about this carefully. It's your choice—I'll understand if you decide not to come.”

I nod, and he disappears out the backstage door.

To meet him in the library would not only get me in trouble with Lucien, but if the Duchess found out . . . I don't even want to think about what would happen. Something very,
very
bad. I shouldn't do it. I told Lucien he could trust me. I promised him I would behave.