Where are Coral and Carnelian?
The picture forms in front of me like a jigsaw puzzle with some pieces missing. There’s a giant hole in the wall opposite me. Through it I can see broken tiles and melted hunks of copper, splintered wood and huge chunks of concrete. A man’s shoe. A broken lamp. And fire. Fire everywhere.
The bank. The Royal Bank next door.
Those are the targets the Society is hitting.
I scramble to my feet as the girl with the broken arm shrieks louder. The fire burning through the bank has caught on the carpet of the shop. I can feel its delicious heat from across the room. But it’s headed straight for Miss Mayfield and her charge, devouring every scrap of silk and lace in its path.
In the distance, I hear the faint wail of sirens. They’ll never make it here in time.
I join with Fire—an excruciating burst of heat accompanies the element. My skin boils, a pain that is unbearable and welcoming at the same time. Fire always makes me feel equal parts alive and frightened.
For a second, the flames flare higher, but I am in control now, and I calm it, slowly and steadily, focusing on my heart beating in my chest, forcing the fire to recede. It shrinks down to half its size, then a quarter, then it is nothing more than a few wisps of smoke wafting up from the remains of a charred carpet. A crackle of its heat echoes over my skin as I release my hold on the element.
I come back to myself and immediately search for the two royal girls. When I see the high heel hanging from a limp foot, my heart turns from fire to lead. Coral is pinned beneath a large hunk of plaster. Blood seeps out in a dark puddle from underneath her.
“Coral!” I cry. I try and lift the plaster but it’s too heavy. The sirens in the distance get louder. “Coral, no, no . . .”
I shake her shoulders. Her head bobs around, lifeless. Her eyes are closed, almost as if I’ve just tucked her into bed, except it’s concrete instead of blanket on top of her and she’ll never open her eyes again. I sit back on my heels, pressing my palms against my own eyes as if I can rub this horrible sight from my brain.
I hear a small moan from behind an overturned sofa. Forcing myself to move, I stand and leave the corpse of Garnet’s wife behind to find Carnelian trapped beneath the sofa, alive.
“I can’t . . . breathe . . .” she croaks.
“Just hold on,” I say. “I’m going to get this off of you.”
I connect with Air again—the initial swooping sensation in my stomach that accompanies the element doesn’t give me the same thrill it usually does. Instantly the air around me is ready, waiting. As I push my fingers underneath the edge of the sofa I can feel its entire weight, not just the smooth mahogany frame that I’m touching. I am aware of all of it. I am the air underneath it and around it and nestled in its cushions. I am everywhere.
Lift, I think. As I stand, Air pulls with me and the sofa is thrown into a mannequin with such force that its head comes off its body. Carnelian rolls onto her back, gasping for breath.
“Are you all right? Can you move? Are you hurt?” My hands flutter around her uselessly, afraid to touch her.
“My . . . ribs . . .” She clutches her side.
“Stay still. Help is coming.” The sirens wail again. I grab the remains of an indigo gown, balling it up and gently lifting Carnelian’s head to rest it on the makeshift pillow. “You’re going to be okay,” I say again, more for myself than for her. Her breathing is shallow and there’s a deep cut on her shoulder. I press another gown to it to stanch the bleeding.
“Is she . . . is she . . .” Carnelian stares past me, to where I know Coral’s body lies.
“Yes,” I whisper, and the guilt is agony, a hot knife twisting in my gut, a punch in the chest that leaves me breathless.
All those bombings. I knew it was violent. Of course. But this . . .
Carnelian begins to cry, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Shhhhh,” I say, taking her hand in mine. “It’s okay, we’re okay . . .”
“I don’t want to die,” she whimpers.
She looks so frightened, so young. I might not like Carnelian, but in this moment, we are the same. We’re just two scared girls.
“You’re not going to die,” I say. “Help is coming. You’re going to be fine.” I squeeze her hand. “I’m right here. I won’t leave you.”
She looks at me with an unfocused gaze.
“I—I know your voice,” she says. Her brows knit together for a moment before her eyes widen. “You,” she gasps.
I nod. I don’t even consider lying.
Carnelian’s lips part, she lets out a little huff, then her eyes roll back in her head and she sinks into unconsciousness.
Minutes later, Regimentals run into the ruined shop. One immediately heads for the screaming girl while two more move to help Miss Mayfield and her charge.
“Help the royals, help the royals!” Miss Mayfield cries, pointing to where I sit by Carnelian. A young Regimental rushes over.
“Are you hurt, miss?” he says.
“No,” I say. “But she is. Her ribs, I think, and her shoulder.”
“Medic!” he calls, and a man in a gray coat with a black bag comes over to look at Carnelian. The head girl is taken away, cradling her broken arm. Four Regimentals manage to get the hunk of plaster off Coral. The entire lower half of her body has been crushed.
I close my eyes and hate myself for my cowardice. I should watch this. I deserve to see what the Society of the Black Key is doing. I gather my courage and open them again. Coral is being put in a black bag, like the one they put Raven in when they sent her to the morgue. Two Regimentals carry her out of the store.
Carnelian has been put on a stretcher.
“She’s from the House of the Lake, isn’t she?” the young Regimental asks. I nod.
“She’ll be all right,” the medic says. “I’d guess a couple of broken ribs and that laceration on her shoulder will need stitches. Best get her back to the Jewel. She’ll be safest there.” He glances at the sofa smashed against the wall. “Was she underneath that?” I nod again. “And you lifted it off her?”
I stare at him blankly. Of course I did. He looks impressed but I don’t feel very impressive right now. I feel hollow.
“Come, miss,” the Regimental says, putting a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Let’s get you out of here.”
He leads me to an ambulance waiting outside. Carnelian is slid in after me, along with the medic and another Regimental.
Right away, he starts asking me questions. Did I see anyone suspicious near the bank when we arrived? Did anything seem off? Do I think Miss Mayfield could have had something to do with it? Or one of her assistants?
I answer no to everything as the ambulance tears through the streets.
“Where’s Coral?” I ask.
“She’s well taken care of, don’t you worry.” The Regimental pats my knee.
The conductor is shocked when we pull up at the station.
“Get this train ready to leave now!” the medic yells at him. “And let the Jewel know. Carnelian of the House of the Lake has been injured in a Black Key bombing.”
“Where is Miss Coral?” he asks, but the Regimentals blow past him with Carnelian and he pales at the sight of her unconscious form. He jumps into the driver’s seat and I rush into the carriage behind everyone. The train lurches forward as I stumble into the statue of the woman with the bird. The Regimentals have moved aside one of the couches so that Carnelian’s stretcher lies out on the floor.
I can’t believe she and Coral were in this train car, snapping at each other, only an hour ago. It doesn’t seem real.
When we arrive in the Jewel, there is a glamorous motorcar waiting, with an extra-large backseat. A chauffer opens the back of it and the Regimentals slide Carnelian inside.
“Just . . . just the one?” the chauffeur asks.
The medic nods, and repeats what he told me about Carnelian’s condition.
I ride in the front with the
driver as he peels through the streets of the Jewel. Gravel flies from under the tires as he pulls up to the palace of the Lake. The doctor is waiting by the garage with One and Six.
“This way, this way,” he says as they rush to get Carnelian out of the car. He pulls down on the branch of a shrub that I thought was real, but instead slides aside to reveal a dark tunnel and a set of stone stairs. The secret passage to the medical room I couldn’t find. They vanish down into the darkness and the shrub glides into its original place. The chauffeur goes to park the car in the garage and I find myself alone.
I don’t know where to go, what to do. Everything feels like a dream. My feet take me wherever they want and I end up in the kitchen. The servants are huddled together in groups, talking worriedly. Even Rye is there.
The silence that falls as I enter is abrupt, like someone pulling the needle from a gramophone. Maude is the first to spring into action.
“Imogen!” She rushes over. “Are you all right? Are you hurt? What happened?”
“She’s in shock,” Rye says, and then Zara is by my side, a bowl of broth in one hand and the end of a baguette in the other.
“Sit down,” she says gently, and I realize there’s a stool beside me. I wonder if it’s been there this whole time or if I only just noticed it.
“Clara, bring a wet washcloth,” Zara commands. Mary and Elizabeth gaze at me with fearful eyes, as if I’m something unreal and dangerous. I clutch the baguette like a lifeline. It’s still warm, and the scent reminds me of my mother. Hot tears fill my eyes.
“You’re all right, child,” Zara says, wiping my face with the cloth. “Be still now. You’re safe.”
I didn’t realize how badly I was shaking.
“Back up, back up,” Maude says. “Give the poor girl some room to breathe.”
All the room in the world won’t make breathing any easier. I look down at my dress and for the first time have some idea of what I must look like.
The white fabric has turned a mottled brownish gray, covered with dust and bits of rubble. There is a large tear in one sleeve, and blood on the other. My hands are crusted with dirt and more blood.
Coral’s blood on my hands.
When I’m finally calm enough to breathe normally, Zara begins spoon-feeding me a bit of the broth. I’m surprised at how quickly it helps steady me and clear my muddled head.
“Now,” she says, taking my hands in hers. “Tell us what happened. All we know is that there was an explosion in the Bank.” I nod. “And Coral and Carnelian were injured.” I close my eyes.
“Dead?” Rye gasps.
“Just Coral,” I croak. There are more gasps and murmurs.
“Was it the Black Key?”
“Yes,” I say. “There was a Royal Bank next door. I don’t think they intended to hurt . . . I don’t think . . .”
I don’t know what I think. The fact is, the Society did intend to hurt people. I just never thought about it being people I knew personally.
“Poor Garnet,” Maude says. “First his father, now his wife . . .”
I hadn’t even thought about Garnet. I wonder how he’ll feel. Probably the same way I do. He might not have been in love with Coral, but he didn’t hate her.
Suddenly, a bell begins to ring in the kitchen, a tiny golden bell that I’ve never seen ring before. All the servants stare at it, dumbstruck. Then Cora appears in the doorway.
“The Duchess wishes to see everyone in the ballroom. Immediately.”
Her gaze lingers on me for a moment. Then she turns and we all traipse after her, Mary and Elizabeth whispering together, Maude’s face wary, William looking more ruffled than I’ve ever seen him.
We file into the ballroom, where the Duchess stands waiting for us, resplendent in black satin with long gloves that come up over her elbows.
“As you may have heard,” she says without preamble, “there has been another vicious attack on our House. This time, from the Society that calls itself the Black Key. They have killed our beloved daughter-in-law, Coral, and severely injured our niece. This will not stand. The Regimentals are doing everything in their power to stop these rebels. But we will not let them dampen our spirits. We will stay strong and unified in the face of our aggressors. I have sent an emergency petition to speak with the Exetor. I am hopeful he will be able to make time to see me tomorrow. I want everything spotless. I want smiles on faces and pep in your steps. I want to see you proud to serve this House that helped found our great city. Do I make myself clear?”
Everyone nods in unison.
“You.” The Duchess points a finger directly at me. “Come with me. The rest of you are dismissed.”
Twenty
I’M SURPRISINGLY CALM AS I FOLLOW THE DUCHESS OUT of the ballroom.
Maybe there’s simply nothing left in me to feel. After the day’s events, I wonder if I’ll ever be able to muster up any strong emotion again. I should be terrified right now. I should be worried the Duchess could discover me, could recognize my voice. Could kill me.
But as she opens the door to a small study, a grim determination sets in. Hazel is still in danger. So are Ash and Ochre. Raven, Sil, Sienna, Indi, Olive, all the girls in the holding facilities are counting on me, on this plan, on the fact that this year, at this Auction, they will not be sold as slaves. They will declare themselves free citizens of the Lone City. I hate that Coral died but she is not the first person who’s died because of this cause. And she certainly won’t be the last.
The Duchess sits in a leather armchair and studies me over steepled fingers. “You have done an adequate job as Coral’s lady-in-waiting,” she says.
I curtsy.
“And I like that you don’t prattle on like so many other maids in this house. You will stay here, as Carnelian’s lady-in-waiting. She should like that, she’s been asking for one for long enough.” She smirks. “And that way you can’t run off and sell your story to the papers or another House. I’ll have your tongue ripped out if you try.”
I hadn’t considered that I’d be dismissed from service. Coral hasn’t even been dead two hours.
“Yes, my lady,” I say huskily. “Thank you, my lady.”
The Duchess sighs and rubs her temple. She glances at the clock on the mantel and I realize I’ve been in this room before. The first time I ever wandered around the palace alone. The day I met Ash. There was a picture of the Duchess on a rolltop desk, a small, lifelike painting. In a moment of rebellion, I used the first Augury, Color, to change her skin from smooth caramel to garish green.
She nearly broke my hand because of that.
“You’re dismissed,” the Duchess says sharply. I curtsy again and rush out the door, heading in the direction of the servants quarters.
Cora is waiting for me outside the dining room. The halls are empty.
“Did she make you Carnelian’s lady-in-waiting?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Good. She was going to dismiss you. I tried very hard to convince her otherwise. Without tipping my hand, of course.” Cora fingers the keys on her belt. “I hope you have a plan for Auction Day.” I don’t miss the note of warning in her voice.
“I do,” I say. It’s not entirely a lie.
“The doctor is still seeing to Carnelian at the moment. You will attend to her in her room this evening.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She looks me up and down. “You could use a bath and a change of clothes.”
I look down at my ruined dress. “Yes.”
“You may use my private powder room if you wish. Oh and, Violet . . .” She leans in close to me so I can see the wrinkles around her eyes. “If you do not keep up your end of our agreement, then I promise you—your sister will be in very real danger. And not from the Electress.”
A chill runs down my spine.
She turns to leave and calls back over her shoulder. “The Exetor will be here tomorrow morning at eleven. Be ready and in the foyer at ten forty-five. Sharp.”
I LOOK IN ON GARNET THAT NIGHT AFTER I BATHE, BEFORE attending to Carnelian.
I find him taking Coral’s miniature tea sets out of their glass display case, wrapping them in brown paper, and putting them in a box.
“Hey,” I say. “Are you okay?”
He looks down at the saucer in his hand, a looping pattern of silver and gold etched around its edge. “I wasn’t really sure what to do with all these. But she loved them so much. I didn’t want Mother to get her hands on them. She’d probably have a good old time smashing them against a wall or something.”
“That’s really nice,” I say. “Coral would appreciate it, I’m sure.”
Garnet wraps the saucer up and places it in the box. “Are you all right? You weren’t hurt, were you?”
“No,” I say, remembering the way my instincts took over, joining with Air to protect me from the worst of the debris. “I’m fine.”
“She didn’t . . . I mean . . .” He clears his throat. “Did she suffer?”
“No,” I say quietly. “It was . . . instant.”
He nods.
“I’m so sorry, Garnet,” I say. “First your father, and now . . .”
“It’s . . . I’ll be all right.” He sounds dazed. “Everything is getting real, isn’t it? It’s not just a vague plan back at the White Rose anymore.”
“It isn’t,” I agree.
“Ash must be losing his mind.”
I frown. “Why do you say that?”
Garnet’s eyebrows shoot up. “Violet, he knows you are—sorry, you were . . . Coral’s lady-in-waiting. You can bet the entire Bank knows about the bombing and her death. He understands how the Jewel works—he’d know you’d have been with her at that fitting.”
“Oh no,” I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth.
“Lucien will find a way to tell him,” Garnet says.
“Or Rye,” I add.
“Rye?”
“He knows.” I fill Garnet in on what happened earlier.
“That’s really great,” he says. “He could be helpful at the Auction House.”
I know he means it but the sentiment comes out halfhearted. I understand the feeling. I’m so exhausted, all I want to do is curl up under the covers of my bed and not come out for a day.