Garnet's Story (2 page)

I
LEAVE MY CHAMBERS THE NEXT MORNING FEELING
refreshed and mildly curious.

Perhaps I should have seen this coming. The Exetor and Electress have a son, and he will have to find a match soon—the Royal Palace can't have an unengaged child for long. And I'd heard that this year's Auction was the largest in recent history. Mother always acts so above all the gossip and schemes, it never occurred to me that she would be right in the thick of things. A careless oversight on my part. Mother loves to scheme, more than most in this circle.

Another child. I wonder what this house will be like with a baby in it. Then I shrug off that thought, because I will most likely have minimal interaction with my little
sister. I bet Mother would fear I'd infect her with my unruly ways. Which is fine with me. Babies are loud and messy.

I check to make sure the coast is clear before I leave my room, because I'm not ready to face my mother yet. I still can't believe I drove my car into the lake.

I'm creeping down the hall when I hear the dulcet tones of my mother's “disappointed” voice. Or maybe it's her “infuriated” voice. They're so similar, I confuse them sometimes.

“And just where do you think you're going?”

I turn and see her descending the staircase that leads to her private chambers. From the glint in her eyes, I'm going with infuriated.

“Good morning, Mother,” I say cheerfully. “Thought I'd take my breakfast in the dining room today. I heard you had a big night last night. Where's the lucky surrogate?”

“Don't speak to me as if this were any other day. Do not stand there in the clothes I provide, in the house my family built, the House that you constantly besmirch with your childish antics, and act as though you have not crossed a very serious line.”

My mother has the ability to maintain a calm exterior while shredding you apart with her words. It's the one thing I wish I had inherited from her.

“I'm sorry about the car,” I say. “That was . . . irresponsible. If you want to take my keys away for a week or something, that seems reasona—”

“You think this is about a
car
?” She is practically hissing and I feel a cold dread creep into the pit of my stomach.

“Not anymore,” I say hesitantly.

“Lucien came to see me this morning. He's in the library,” she says. She's standing right up close to me and even though she's short, I still feel like a little kid under that cold gaze. “I think it might be better if he explains it. If I look at you any longer, I may do something I'll regret.”

Then she brushes past me and goes down the main staircase, so I head to one of the back ones and make my way to the library. My mind is racing, sorting through the blurred memories of the night at The Prize Jewel, but nothing new is coming to me.

I can't find Lucien at first—Mother's library is huge, something she takes an insane amount of pride in, and I wander through the maze of shelves until I come upon him sitting in a leather armchair in one of the back reading areas.

“Garnet,” he says, standing and giving me a bow. “Thank you for taking the time to see me.”

“My mother didn't really phrase it as optional,” I say. Lucien has always made me a little uneasy and not just because he's a eunuch—there are lots of male ladies-in-waiting. He has this way about him, like he knows everything, like nothing surprises him. He's so polite and genteel, you can't really say he's a jerk but . . . he's sort of a jerk. I don't like being around someone who makes me feel like I'm being dissected from the inside out.

Even now, he smiles this knowing smile. “No,” he says. “I'm afraid it really isn't.”

He sits down and indicates that I take the armchair beside him. I pause for a long moment before I sit, just to prove a point—that it's my house, not his. I don't think he notices.

“Were you at The Prize Jewel two nights ago, with other various members of royal families and several young ladies from the Bank?”

“Yes,” I say. Like he didn't know the answer all along. “Marver Curio was there as well.”

“Marver is irrelevant,” Lucien replies with a wave of his hand. “They are all irrelevant except one young lady, a Miss Cyan Grandstreet. Do you remember spending time with her?”

My ears begin to burn. This is not good.

“Yes,” I say again, and don't elaborate this time.

“How much of the time you spent together do you remember?”

“Just spit it out whatever it is,” I say. “I haven't got time for riddles.”

Lucien raises one perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Oh, I think you've got time for this one.” He leans forward. “Do you remember being caught by her father on his drafting table in various states of undress?”

I feel like someone's punched me in the gut, but the little man keeps going.

“Do you remember promising to marry her, to make her the next Duchess of the Lake?”

My head falls between my legs, the room spinning. I can't get enough air. What did they put in the whiskey at that place? I should file a complaint. I should have it shut down. How could I have done that? I remember her smile, the faint glimmer of tears in her eyes, the breathlessness as she said, “Really? Oh, Garnet . . .”

“But that was just . . . me being me!” I cry. “She must
have known that, right? She can't have
actually
believed that I'd marry her.”

Lucien fixes me with such a discerning look, he doesn't even need to tell me that, yes, she did believe it. Then he cocks his head. “It's quite a bit like the situation with your aunt, isn't it?”

Except I'm not like Aunt Opal. I don't want to throw away my fame, my inheritance, my money. I'm not in love with Cyan. That's ridiculous. Insane.

I have to put my head between my legs again.

“Though, unlike with Opal, I don't imagine you actually love the girl,” he continues, like he's reading my mind. “Nor that you ever intended to keep that promise. In fact, judging by the expression on your face and your difficulty breathing, I would be willing to guess you do not even remember promising her those things.”

“No,” I gasp. “I don't.”

“I assume it would dismay you further to learn that her father plans to publish her story in his paper,” Lucien continues. My chest seizes up. This is a scandal the likes of which I could never recover from. I'm shocked my mother didn't simply lop my head off when she saw me in the hall.

“So what are you here for?” I ask, sitting up. “To rub it in?”

Lucien's mouth curls into a superior smile. “Oh no, Garnet,” he says. “I am here to help you. On one very large, very important condition.”

I can't imagine what he'd possibly want from me, or that I'd be able to refuse him anything. “And what is that?”

Lucien puts a slender finger to his lips. Then he takes
something off the key ring on his belt. It looks like a small, silver tuning fork. He taps it once on the table between us and it hovers in the air, vibrating slightly.

“What's that?” I ask.

“Something that will prevent us from being overheard,” he says, like that explains anything. “Listen to me very carefully. I have spoken with your mother and assured her that this scandal will never be heard about in the papers, or even in the whispers in the Bank's back alleys. Cyan will never speak of you again, nor will her father.”

“How did you pull that off?” I hate that I'm so impressed.

“It does not matter. Your mother is appeased, and has offered me a very sizable sum of money as a . . . thank you gift.” The look on Lucien's face tells me very clearly that the last thing he cares about is my mother's money.

The most dangerous types of people, Mother always says, are the ones who can't be bought. I find myself on edge again.

“Well, thank you,” I say. “For both of us.”

“I do not need your thanks,” Lucien says. “I need your help.”

“
My
help? With what?”

“Your mother has recently purchased a surrogate. I want you to keep an eye on her while she is under this roof.”

I stare at him blankly, uncomprehending. He could ask me for anything, anything at all, and he wants me to watch a
surrogate
?

“Why?” I ask bluntly.

“She is of some concern to me. You will follow her movements and report them back to me. When she sees the
doctor, how your mother is treating her, if she is allowed outside, how much freedom she has, who is assigned to serve her.” He frowns. “I assume that will be Annabelle.”

“But Annabelle's
my
servant,” I say without thinking. I mean, technically I'm supposed to be waited on by footmen, but Annabelle and I have known each other since we were kids—I remember when she was born, how small and silent she was. And then she threw up all over my new suit the first time Cora let me hold her. She knows what I like to eat and wear and she knows not to wake me before nine.

Lucien ignores me. “I want detailed reports once a week. And under no circumstances are you to tell your mother about our arrangement. That is imperative. Or else the whole city will know of your indiscretion and you will quickly turn from royal to no one.”

No one.
The thought makes me shudder.

“You know I can't refuse,” I say.

“I do. But I would like your word all the same.”

I'm not sure what my word is worth—no one has ever asked me for it before. Usually I just give people money, or buy them presents, or get them tickets to things. But Lucien seems to think it has a higher value than any of that.

“All right,” I say. “You, uh, have my word.”

“You will not speak of our arrangement to anyone?”

“No.”

“Especially your mother?”

“Right.” He'd have to be insane to think I'd ever tell Mother about any of this. If she knew I agreed to secretly watch her surrogate, I think she'd disown me without a second thought.

“And you will keep an eye on the surrogate? You will watch over her and report her movements to me?”

“Yeah.” I pause. “How am I supposed to report to you, though?”

He reaches into the pocket of his dress and takes out another tuning fork.

“This is called an arcana,” he says. “It is of my own design. Mine connects with yours. I can call you on it, for lack of a better word. Keep it on you at all times. And do not show it to anyone, under any circumstances, or our deal is off. Do you understand?”

I nod and take the tuning fork warily. It's small and light and . . . unremarkable.

This is such a bizarre turn of events. I think I've spoken six words to Lucien my entire life. He's always been this muted presence in the background at balls and parties and such. And now he's given me some sort of homemade technology and I'm completely under his thumb.

He takes the floating one and puts it back on his key ring.

“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me,” he says, bowing low. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

Then, with a swish of his white dress, he's gone.

I
KNOW WHERE THE SURROGATE QUARTERS ARE IN THIS
palace, so I decide to start there.

I should probably know what she looks like if I'm meant to be watching her all the time.

Watching the surrogate. I can't decide if that's creepy or just plain boring. Why couldn't Lucien have asked me to watch over someone interesting? Another royal perhaps, or my mother?

Actually, not my mother. I don't think I want to know what she's up to.

I take the hall with all the stupid paintings of flowers in it and run into Cora just as she is walking down the short flight of stairs leading to the surrogate quarters.

“What are you doing?” she asks. Everyone always asks me that with a certain tone, like I'm up to something.

I shrug. “I just wanted to see the surrogate, I guess.”

Not my best excuse. I really should have thought this out more.

Cora rolls her eyes. “You know you're not allowed in her chambers. Do you want to push your mother even more today?”

Of course, she must know all about Cyan and The Prize Jewel.

“No,” I say. “You're right. I was just curious. We've never had a surrogate in this house before.”

She smiles at me gently. Cora pretty much raised me, and she's much more forgiving than Mother.

“We certainly have,” she says. “I remember your surrogate quite well.”

“Is this one anything like mine?” I ask.

She looks thoughtful for a moment. “No,” she replies. I'm not sure if I should be offended by that. “She's still sleeping,” she continues. “Perhaps you'll see her this evening before dinner.”

“I won't see her
at
dinner?”

She sighs. “Her Ladyship neglected to tell you—she is hosting a traditional post-Auction dinner tonight. For the first time in twenty years. The Electress is coming, as are all of the Founding Houses.”

“Even the Countess of the Stone?” I ask. My mother and the Countess
hate
each other.

Cora smirks. “Yes.”

I almost wish I were invited just to see the two of them
snipe, but snipe with all the grace and courtesy expected from royalty. I bet it will be masterful.

“Well,” I say, not quite sure what I'm supposed to do now. “I guess you can tell Annabelle to bring my dinner to my room.”

“Annabelle will be serving the surrogate now,” Cora says. “I'll have William tend to your dinner.”

So Lucien was right.

“Fine,” I say, like it doesn't bother me at all, even though it does.

But Annabelle might be able to help me with this whole surrogate thing. I won't tell her about Lucien, of course, but she could be a good source of information.

It's just after three and I bet I know where she is. I wander down to the first floor and head out into the garden, back to the little pond with the bright fish. Annabelle is sitting there watching them dart about in the water like fireworks, and she jumps up when she sees me, dropping into a curtsy.

“I hear you have a new charge,” I say. She nods. “I bet she'll be easier to deal with than me.”

Annabelle shrugs, and I realize she's nervous.

“You're going to be great,” I say. I can see in her eyes that she wants to believe me but she's frightened.

1st time

“Aw, what am I, chopped liver?”

Not in charge of you

“Please,” I say, sitting beside her on the bench. “You've been taking care of me since I was twelve.”

Eleven

“See?” She blushes. Annabelle blushes a lot around me.

Wasnt official l-i-w

“Oh, so are you an official lady-in-waiting now?”

She makes a so-so motion with her hand.

“Hey, have you seen her yet? The surrogate?”

Annabelle gives me a piercing look and shakes her head. I hold up both my hands.

“I'm just curious. Don't worry, even
I'm
not rebellious enough to get involved with a surrogate.” Which is true. I mean, do they even have normal parts? I've heard they have weird abilities. Maybe it changes their bodies or something. I picture a girl lying upstairs with two heads and webbed fingers.

Annabelle gives me another hard stare, then nods like she's decided to believe me.

“So it's me and William now, I guess,” I say morosely. “He always picks out pink ties for me to wear. And he never gets my coffee right.”

Annabelle chuckles silently.

George?

“Yes, George would be much better! Would you—”

She's already nodding. I kiss her on the cheek and she blushes deeper than before. “You're the absolute best, you know that?” I stand to leave, then turn. “Oh, can you tell me when the surrogate is on her way to dinner? I just want to see what she looks like, that's all. Promise.”

Annabelle narrows her eyes at me. I cross over my heart again.

Will try

“Thanks.” I give her my most charming smile and head
back to the palace to wile away the hours until dinner.

T
HE WAITING INEVITABLY LEADS TO DRINKING WHISKEY
in my room and playing music on my gramophone.

I've been really loving this one brass band called The Jolly Rogers—their trumpet player is incredible—and I'm lost in one of his solos when Annabelle knocks on my door.

S is at din

“What?” I yelp. “Already?”

She gives me a look that plainly says that she's not at fault and points to the clock on my wall. It's twenty-five minutes past eight.

I stand and find I've drunk quite a bit more whiskey than I intended to. Nothing I can do about it now.

Annabelle hurries out of my room, probably off to the surrogate quarters to turn down the bed. I take my tumbler with me and head down to the dining room. Men aren't invited to post-Auction dinners. I'm willing to bet Father is holed up in his smoking room.

There are no footmen guarding the doors to the dining room, so I'm guessing they're in between dishes. I press my ear against the door, thinking maybe I can at least hear something of interest. But it's all royals talking.

Of course. I don't think I've ever heard a surrogate speak more than a few sentences, unless she had a talent for singing.

Mother is saying something in her politest evil voice, so I'm guessing she's talking to the Countess of the Stone or the Electress. My suspicions are confirmed when the Countess's booming voice answers.

“Oh yes, I believe I will start with a daughter,” she says. “Boys can be so terribly difficult, don't you think?”

Ouch. Mother is not going to like that. I hear the Electress giggle.

“Yes, how is Garnet, by the way? Staying out of trouble?”

If only she knew. I hold my breath, waiting for Mother's response.

“He is in his room at the moment, Your Grace. Studying.”

Studying?
Does she honestly think anyone in that room will believe such a ridiculous lie?

Still, the opportunity is just too perfect. I know I shouldn't, but without really even making the decision, I burst through the doors and swagger into the dining room.

Ten pairs of eyes stare at me in varying shades of surprise. The royal women seem amused, the surrogates frightened (and dare I say, intrigued), and my mother . . . I think she could freeze water with her glare.

“Mother!” I cry, raising my tumbler. There are five surrogates in attendance. But which one am I supposed to be watching? Then I realize I'd better come up with a reason for bursting in pretty quick. “I beg your pardon, ladies. Didn't realize there was a dinner party tonight.” Mother can't fault me for that, since technically, she didn't tell me about it. I take in all the faces at the table again, and then I see her.

The girl seated to Mother's right. Her hair is black and curly, her skin pale as a pearl, her dress perfectly cut and fit (that's Annabelle's handiwork, I'm sure of it). But her
eyes . . . her eyes are a shocking purple.

“Oh, right,” I say. “The Auction.”

The Electress and the Countess of the Stone barely try to hide their laughter in their napkins.

“Garnet, my darling,” Mother says. She only ever calls me “darling” in public. “
What
are you doing?”

Well, I might as well play my part to the end.

“Oh, don't mind me,” I say with a wave of my hand. “Just needed a refill.”

I walk to the side table with the best booze and refill my tumbler. Mother is on her feet with an agility that belies her age.

“Will you excuse me for a moment?” she says, gliding to my side and grabbing my arm. Hard.

“Ow,” I mumble as she marches me out of the dining room. The door closes behind us but we can very clearly hear the Electress declare, “And that, ladies, is why I feel this city should be left in the hands of a woman!”

That seems a little unfair.

Mother puts her face so close to mine that I can see the pale freckle she tries to hide with makeup, just under her left eye.

“Go back to your room,” she says. “Do not leave it until I give you permission to. I will have Cora lock you inside if I must.”

“Really, Mother? Am I a seven-year-old boy again?”

“I don't know, Garnet,” she hisses. “You certainly act like one. And if you embarrass me in front of the Founding Houses again, you may find yourself following in the footsteps of my darling sister. That is not something you want,
is it?”

“No,” I say.

“Then get . . . to . . . your . . . room.”

She whirls around and I stumble backward. She gathers herself together, hitches a pleasant smile on her face, and walks back into the dining room.

I feel like I've done enough for one day.

I take the main staircase and find Carnelian standing at the top of it, looking sullen, as usual.

“Not invited to dinner either?” she asks.

“Why would I even want to be?” I say.

“Did you see her?” she asks. “The surrogate?”

“Yeah.”

She stares at me. “Well? What's she like?”

“She's like a girl sitting in a dining room eating dinner,” I say.

“Now she'll never get me a companion,” Carnelian grumbles. “Everything's going to be about the surrogate from now on.”

“Mother can afford a surrogate
and
a companion,” I say. “You won't get the latter because you clearly want it so badly.”

“It isn't fair,” she says. “All the other girls have one, and they make fun of me for—”

“I'm not in the mood for your complaining tonight, Carnelian,” I say.

“I only meant—”

But I don't want to hear what she meant. I push past her and stride down the hall. I slam the door to my chambers, acting for all the world like a seven-year-old boy, just as
Mother said.

So far, all this surrogate has done is stare at me like a deer locked in headlights, and get me into trouble.

I hate my new assignment already.