The Jewel (9 page)

“There, there,” the woman says mechanically. “It's all right.”

It is definitely not all right. I don't know if I've felt less all right in my entire life. I press the heels of my hands against my eyes, not caring if I smudge Lucien's makeup. I want to go home.

A pair of cold hands wrap around my wrists.

“Listen to me.” The woman's voice is different, almost gentle, and I look up. She is kneeling in front of me, her face close to mine. “Whether I agree with this or not, it doesn't matter, you understand? I don't make the rules around here. But the royalty says that no surrogate is allowed to see her way into or out of the Auction House.” I feel queasy as she stands and unwraps the black cloth, revealing first a blue vial, then a syringe. “I'm telling you right now, this won't hurt you. We can do this the easy way or the hard way, it's up to you—I know they don't give you a choice on your way in. The easy way is, you let me put you to sleep. The hard way is, I press a button and four Regimentals come through that door and hold you down, and then I put you to sleep anyway. Do you understand?”

I swallow the bile that rises in my throat and nod.

“So, what will it be?”

I suppose I should be happy that I have a choice at all. “If it's all right with you, I think I'll do the easy way.”

The hint of a smile plays at the edge of the woman's lips. She fills the syringe with blue liquid from the vial, then turns my arm over to find a vein in my elbow. I wince as the needle pierces my skin—needles were a part of life at Southgate, but I never got used to them. “You're a smart girl. Maybe smart enough to survive this place.”

Her words are ominous, but the blue liquid floods my veins, making my legs heavy and my eyelids droop, and before I can ask her what she means, darkness swallows me up and I sleep.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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

Seven

“S
HE
'
S WAKING UP.
G
O FETCH
H
ER
L
ADYSHIP.
”

I hear footsteps, then a door opens and closes, but it sounds far away. I shift my head and it sinks deeper into something very soft. I'm extremely comfortable, and warm. When I open my eyes, at first all I can see is a hazy yellow glow.

“How are you feeling?” a voice asks. It sounds like it's coming from the end of a tunnel. I blink and rub my eyes, and the world sharpens—hope blossoms inside me when I see a long white dress with a high lace collar and a topknot. But it isn't Lucien. This lady-in-waiting is a woman, older, her eyes bright and scrutinizing, her topknot a rich auburn color. It's strange to see a woman with a partially shaved head. A thin leather belt is fastened around her waist, a full key ring hanging from it.

“Where am I?” I ask, sitting up, my voice still thick with sleep.

“In your new bedroom, of course.”

At first, I think she must be joking. The room is enormous. Glowglobes cast a warm light on the walls, papered in pale green, and the furniture scattered about the room is upholstered in shades of green and gold. There are dressers, an armoire, a vanity, plush armchairs with footstools, a sofa, a small breakfast table, and a large fireplace. Dark green curtains cover the windows, gold tasseled ropes hanging at their sides—they block out the light completely, so I can't tell whether it's day or night outside.

It is more beautiful than any room I could have ever imagined. And this woman said it's mine. I can't help the giggle that escapes my lips.

The lady-in-waiting smiles, and her eyes crinkle at the corners. “Welcome to the palace of the Lake.”

“This is all for me?” I always imagined my living situation would be similar to the austere conditions of my bedroom at Southgate.

“Not just this, of course. Your private chambers include a powder room, tea parlor, drawing room, and dressing room.”

“You mean there's
more
?”

She gives me a condescending look. “Child, you were bought by the Duchess of the Lake. Not some merchant family.”

I try to remember what I know about the Duchess of the Lake. She's from one of the four founding Houses, but I always get the two Duchesses and two Countesses confused. Hundreds and hundreds of years ago, before there was a Jewel or a Marsh or a Farm, this island was divided into two cities—the Duchesses ruled one, and the Countesses the other, and the cities were always fighting against each other. Then an arrangement was made, and the daughter of a Duchess married the son of a Countess and became the first Exetor and Electress, the two cities became one, and the Lone City was formed—divided into five circles with the Jewel at its heart.

I think Lily mentioned the Duchess of the Lake recently, tied to some sort of scandal that I wasn't interested in hearing about. I'm beginning to wish I'd spent less time rolling my eyes at Lily's gossip and more time listening to it. I was so determined to resent the royalty that I never considered there might be benefits to living with them. But as I look around my room, for the first time I think maybe my life in the Jewel won't be so bad.

“Come on, up you get,” the lady-in-waiting says. “Her Ladyship will be here shortly.”

A handful of butterflies flutter in my stomach.

My bed is so big, I literally have to crawl across it. I have a sudden, childish desire to jump up and down on the mattress, but the woman's presence holds me back. The emerald bedspread is velvety under my hands and knees, and I brush aside the gauzy canopy that floats down from each of the four posters. I realize, as my bare feet sink into the plush carpet, that my clothes have been changed. I'm wearing a white silk nightdress, not unlike the one I wore at Southgate, embroidered with green and gold thread. The lady-in-waiting holds up a jade dressing gown, and I slip into it. Now I match this room.

My room.

A thrill runs up my spine.

“Thank you,” I say. “What's your name?”

“Cora,” she answers.

“I'm—”

“You are the surrogate of the House of the Lake,” Cora says, cutting me off. “That is all.”

It seems like Lucien isn't the only one who can't know my name. I'm tempted to just blurt it out anyway.

“Are you hungry?” Cora asks, and I'm immediately distracted, because now that she's mentioned it, I realize I'm famished. She leads me to the small breakfast table, where a plate of green grapes, a triangle of soft cheese, several slices of bread, and a crystal glass of water are spread out, waiting for me. I shove grape after tart grape into my mouth, smearing the bread with liberal amounts of cheese and washing it all down with cold water.

“How long have I been asleep?” I ask between swallows. Cora has retrieved a hairbrush from the vanity and starts brushing out my curls. “Oh, I can do that.”

I reach for the brush, but she pushes my hand away. “Eat. The Duchess will be here soon. You'll need your strength.”

Suddenly, I'm not hungry anymore. I take a sip of water and push the plate away.

“And to answer your question,” Cora says. “You've been asleep since you left the Auction last night. It is now six o'clock in the evening.”

I don't know what time I left the Auction, but it sounds like I've been asleep for an entire day.

“Are you finished with the food?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say, then add, “thank you.”

Cora leads me to an open space in the center of the room, the keys that hang from her belt clinking together as she moves. There are three different doors, one on my left, two on my right, all leading, I guess, to the rest of my “chambers.” “When the Duchess arrives, be sure to keep your eyes down, unless otherwise instructed. Always address her as ‘my lady.' That is very important, understand?” I nod. “Her moods can be unpredictable, so I'd suggest that, for now at least, you say as little as possible.”

I hear the clacking sound of heels on polished wood and my breath catches in my throat. Cora hurriedly puts the brush back on the vanity and stands behind me.

The clacking stops. One of the doors on my right opens. A man's voice announces, “Her Royal Ladyship, the Duchess of the Lake.”

Flanked by six Regimentals, the Duchess enters the room. I gape at her dress, folds of pale silver and pearls, before I remember I'm supposed to keep my eyes down. I stare at my toes, each nail polished to a shine by Lucien.

Though her heels make no sound on the carpet, I can sense the Duchess moving closer to me, until the embroidered hem of her dress comes into view. She stops. My skin prickles, and I fight the urge to look up. A hand reaches out and a finger, thin but strong, hooks under my chin. The Duchess raises my face to meet hers.

Raven's eyes. Again, that's the first thing I notice, their almond shape. Her skin, too, has the same caramel-honey tint as Raven's, though maybe a shade lighter. But as she studies me, I see her eyes are nothing like Raven's—there is no warmth, no laughter in them. They are hard and cold, and the reminder of my best friend fades in the face of this unfamiliar woman.

She's shorter than me by a few inches, and her black hair is swept up and studded with diamonds. She says nothing. Her eyes drift down, taking me in. She moves slowly, circling me, and I try to keep my face relaxed. My muscles are bunched into coils; it's a huge effort to remain rooted in one spot.

When she is in front of me again, she holds my gaze for a long moment.

And then she slaps me hard across the face with the back of her hand.

Pain shoots through my cheekbone as sparks explode in front of my eyes. I cry out and press my hand against my skin, which burns where she hit it. Tears blur my vision. I've never in my whole life been hit before.

For a second, I imagine hitting her back. My free hand even tightens into a fist. But the wall of Regimentals loom behind her and I only glare, clenching my teeth so hard it hurts my jaw.

The Duchess smiles, a bizarrely warm smile given that she just slapped me. “I don't ever wish to do that again,” she purrs, in a voice like velvet. “So I hope you'll remember how it feels.”

She folds herself delicately into one of the chairs. Her body is so graceful. I've never seen anyone move with such elegance. The Regimentals array themselves around her, like a red fan. I notice each of them has a tiny blue circle, crossed with two tridents, pinned to the left side of his uniform.

“Yes,” the Duchess murmurs, almost to herself. “I think you are exactly what I've been looking for. What do you think, Cora?”

“Time will tell, my lady,” Cora replies.

“Yes . . .” The Duchess runs a manicured finger down her cheek. “I've been waiting for you,” she says, her dark eyes fixed on mine. “For nineteen years. Your timing couldn't have been more perfect.”

I have no idea what she's talking about, and I'm glad I'm not expected to say anything.

“I'm told you play the cello,” she says.

When I don't respond, her face turns stony, and I quickly stammer out, “Y-yes.” A slight intake of breath from Cora reminds me to add, “My lady.” The words turn sour on my tongue. My cheek throbs.

The warm smile comes back, and she stands in one fluid movement. “I will see you at dinner in one hour. My own lady-in-waiting will ensure you are prepared correctly. Won't you, Cora?”

“Yes, my lady,” Cora replies.

The folds of her skirt rustle as the Duchess moves across the carpet. She pauses at the door. “You really do have the most extraordinary eyes,” she says. There's something in her expression I can't understand—hope, maybe? Then she's gone, the Regimentals trailing after her.

I feel my muscles begin to crumble, and tears prick my eyes again. The left side of my face is throbbing. I sway on my feet a little, until Cora's strong hands grip my arm and elbow.

“You're all right,” she says. “Let's sit down.”