The White Rose (13 page)

I don’t want anyone to see how terrified I am. I can’t let them down.

But I’m so afraid that my instincts mean nothing.

I hear the
clop-clop
of the horse’s hooves and the slow creak of the cart’s wheels and I know they are following me. I clutch the cloak tight around my neck and hold up the lantern. The trees appear like ghostly apparitions as I move through them, their branches reaching out for me.

The farther into the forest I go, the denser the trees become. They curve and stretch in unnatural ways, their trunks bent at odd angles, their branches sometimes diving right into the earth. I worry the cart won’t make it through them if they get any thicker. I worry I’m going in the wrong direction. There’s no path to follow, nothing to guide me.

But then, right as I’m about to turn around and tell Lucien this whole thing isn’t working, I feel it. A small, faint tug in my chest, like something has hooked around my rib cage and yanked on it.

“Violet, did you feel that?” Raven calls.

Not wanting to lose my concentration, I ignore Raven’s question and make a sharp left. The pull gets stronger. It leads me through the trees and I’m suddenly sure of my way without knowing where I’m going, as if I’d been to this place before.

A light snow begins to fall. Delicate white flakes filter down through the soft light and the twisted trees. I look up at the sky and feel as if I were in a snow globe, a miniature world contained within a single glass ball. And when I look back at the trees, I see a light. A tiny twinkle in the distance.

I stumble forward, swerving around trunks and ducking
branches until I find myself standing on the edge of a huge clearing. At its center is a large, redbrick farmhouse, two stories high with a wide front porch. Behind it, in the distance, I can make out the shadowy shape of a barn.

A light shines through one of the windows on the first floor of the house.

“Well done,” Lucien says as the cart comes into view. Garnet is sitting beside him, his eyes wide. Ash and Raven lean over the edge of the cart to get a better look.

“Like I said—it’s nearly impossible to find.” Lucien is smiling at me. “Believe me. I’ve spent hours on my own, wandering around these woods looking for it.”

“But . . . what
is
it?” I ask.

“Your new home.” His smile widens.

“Welcome to the White Rose.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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

T
HE DOOR TO THE FARMHOUSE OPENS.
A
SHORT FIGURE
, silhouetted in the light, walks out onto the front porch.

“Lucien!” a gruff female voice calls. “Stop skulking out there like a damned burglar.”

“That’s Sil,” Lucien says as he helps me up to sit beside him on the cart and sets the horse at a trot toward the farmhouse. There’s a little path that leads us there, and I see a weathered sign sticking up from the grass. As we pass it, the lantern illuminates the faded lettering:
THE WHITE ROSE
. I glance back at Ash and Raven. Ash looks confused and a little suspicious, but Raven’s face is joyous as she takes in our surroundings.

“Who is Sil, exactly?” I ask Lucien.

He hesitates. “I’m going to let her explain that herself.”

As the farmhouse comes closer, I see a wild garden, dead now in winter, spreading out in front of the porch. Brown garlands of ivy wrap around the railings and climb up the redbrick façade.

Lucien stops the cart. The woman—Sil—doesn’t come out to greet us. Instead she stands in the doorway, the light from inside the farmhouse obscuring her features.

“How many damned people did you bring?” she snaps.

“This is Violet,” Lucien says, gesturing to me.

“I know who she is,” Sil says. “Who are they?”

“They’re my friends,” I say.

“They’re not welcome here.”

“I’m not going anywhere without them.”

Sil snorts. “You don’t like to make things easy on yourself, do you?”

I don’t say anything. I haven’t come all this way to abandon Ash and Raven now. I won’t.

“Sil—” Lucien begins, but she waves him off.

“Get inside, all of you,” she says. “Before we freeze to death.”

I’m not sure what to make of this woman, and from the looks on Raven’s, Ash’s, and Garnet’s faces, they don’t either. But we follow Lucien up the steps of the porch and into the house.

The first floor of the farmhouse is completely open—one large room that contains a living room, dining room, and kitchen. The floor is covered with handmade rugs in a variety of colors and patterns. Some are animal skins, others woven out of dyed wool. A loom sits by the wall to my
left, the beginnings of something blue and purple at its base. Much of the furniture looks handmade, too—though not as high quality as the furniture my father used to make. An overstuffed sofa. A rocking chair, next to a fireplace that flickers with a dying fire. A dining room table. The kitchen hosts a large cast-iron stove, a massive sink, and a rack on the ceiling from which hang an assortment of pots and pans. A set of stairs in the far corner leads up to the second floor.

It’s strikingly different from the opulence of the Duchess’s palace, with its plush carpets, and chandeliers, and canopied beds. But I like this house better. It’s cozy in here. It feels lived in and cared for. It feels like a home.

Something bubbles in a pot on the stove, filling the whole room with the scent of cooked meat and vegetables. My stomach growls.

“Well.” Sil’s voice brings me back to the present. “Let’s have a look at you, then.”

I turn and a pair of piercing blue-gray eyes, so pale they’re practically silver, stares back at me. Sil is old, older than my mother, with skin the color of coffee mixed with cream. There are deep wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. Her hair is kinky and black, except for brilliant streaks of gray at her temples, and it frizzes out in a cloud around her face. She wears a pair of men’s overalls, like what a gardener might wear, over a long-sleeved shirt. Her right hand, I notice, is severely scarred.

She’s quite a bit shorter than me, but she studies me with a keen and critical eye. I’m reminded strangely of my first meeting with the Duchess, though I’m not nearly as afraid as I was then.

“So, you’re the latest perfect score, are you?” she says, referencing the perfect 10 I received in the third Augury, Growth. Then she glances at Lucien. “She doesn’t look as tough as Azalea.”

“She is exactly what you asked for,” Lucien says dryly.

I turn to him in shock. “What? What do you mean?”

“Didn’t tell her, did you?” Sil says.

“Tell me what?” I demand.

“I said the only way this damned fool scheme was going to work was if we found a surrogate with a perfect Growth score,” Sil says. “And that’s you, isn’t it?”

“But . . . I thought . . . Lucien?” I don’t know what to say. Lucien never told me that. He said he chose me because I reminded him of his sister.

“Violet,” he says, taking a step toward me. I instinctively take a step back. “What I told you was true. You remind me so much of her, of Azalea. And you also happened to have a perfect Growth score.”

“You should have told me,” I say.

“Would it have made a difference?” Lucien asks. “Would you have been any more or less willing to trust me?”

I don’t want to answer that.

Sil laughs again. “Not the perfect father figure you were hoping for, is he? Azalea thought the same thing.”

Pain flickers across Lucien’s face.

“Don’t say that,” I snap.

“It took her dying for him to see—really see—that things need to change,” Sil says.

“And what’s your excuse for hiding out here for four decades?” Lucien retorts. “Was that some strategic planning
move? You were as scared as I was. She changed you, too.”

Sil’s pale gray eyes narrow. “You have no idea what I went through to get here.”

“You have no idea what
we
went through,” I say. “And all the while Lucien’s been telling me that I have some mysterious power and you’re supposed to be the one to show me what it is, so can we get on with it, please, because I’m sick of the mysteries and the lies.”

The hint of a smile twitches on Sil’s lips. “Whatever you wish, Your Royal Grace.” I grit my teeth. She turns to Garnet, Lucien, and Ash. “You three, take the horse to the barn and unload the rest of the supplies.” She looks Raven up and down, something in her expression softening. “How many months?” she asks.

Raven glances at me.

“I don’t know,” she says, fiddling with her bulky sweater. “Three, maybe?”

Sil walks forward and rests her hand on her stomach. Raven flinches.

“What did they do to you?” Sil murmurs.

“Everything,” Raven replies.

She nods, then turns. “What are you still doing here?” she snaps at the men still hovering in the doorway. “Out! No food until that wagon’s unloaded.”

Ash raises an eyebrow at me. I shrug. This is what we’ve come for. This woman might be unpleasant but I don’t think she’ll hurt me. We are safe here. I feel it. The three of them walk out into the night.

“Sit,” Sil instructs, pointing to the dining table. Raven and I obey as she heads into the kitchen and comes back
with two bowls of stew—beef and carrots and onions in a rich brown sauce. I can barely wait until she slams the spoon down next to me before digging in. Raven and I eat ravenously. The only sounds are the clinking of cutlery against ceramic and the occasional sigh of contentment. The bowls are empty in minutes. When we’ve finished, Sil looks at Raven.

“There are bedrooms upstairs,” she says. “You look like you could use some sleep.”

Raven hesitates.

“You’re safe here, child,” Sil says. “I promise you that.”

“I’ll be up soon,” I say. Whatever Sil has to say, I have the feeling it needs to be said to me alone.

Raven rubs her eyes. “All right,” she says with a sigh. Her footsteps are heavy as she walks up the stairs. I’m grateful we can all sleep in beds tonight.

Sil has gone back into the kitchen, returning with two steaming mugs of tea.

“Here,” she says, shoving one into my hand and settling herself into the rocking chair.

I move to sit on the sofa near her and take a sniff of the liquid, which is dark and has an earthy tang.

“Go on, it’s not poison,” Sil says before taking a deep drink.

I raise the mug to my lips and sip—it tastes like bark and cinnamon.

“Which holding facility were you in?” she asks.

“Southgate,” I say.

“Ah, a southerner.” Sil takes another drink and rocks back in her chair. “I was in Northgate. What a nightmare,
that place. Like a damned prison.”

I nearly drop my mug. “
Northgate?
You were a surrogate?”

Sil chuckles. “I don’t know how that man keeps all his secrets straight,” she says, with a hint of grudging respect in her voice. “He said he wouldn’t tell you a thing about me, but, oh, the way he talks about you, I was sure he’d let the cat out of the bag.”

I’m still in shock. Sil can’t be a surrogate. She’s too old—she should be dead by now. Unless she escaped from Northgate? Or she had a protector in the Jewel?

I rub my eyes. There’s too much in my head, and not enough space for it all.

Sil drains her mug and smacks her lips together. “Don’t think too hard, you’ll pop a blood vessel. I’ll tell you my story from the beginning. But I’m going to need something stronger than tea.”

She stomps back into the kitchen and returns with a full mug of something that carries a strong whiff of alcohol before settling into the rocking chair. The flames in the fireplace leap up, as if someone had added more wood or maybe put a bellows to them. I jump.

“It’s cold,” Sil says, as if that explained it. She takes a long drink.

“I was born,” she begins, “in the North Quarter of the Marsh, oh, about sixty years ago. I was diagnosed when I was eleven. My mother had died of fever when I was six. My father worked in the Smoke—he died when his factory caught on fire and burned to the ground. My grandmother raised me and my three older brothers, until I was shipped
off to Northgate.” She scratches her chin. “We heard that some facilities let the surrogates see their families one last time. Is that true?”

“Yes,” I say. “It’s called Reckoning Day. The day before the Auction.”

“Reckoning Day,” she mutters. “In any case, that’s not how things worked at Northgate. I did not get to see my family again. I was sixteen when the head caretaker informed me it was time for me to be sold. There were only twenty-two lots in my Auction—I suppose the royalty were not interested in having children that year. I was Lot 22. My scores were nearly perfect—in the case of the third Augury, they were.” She levels me with a cold stare. “I was bought by the Duchess of the Lake.”

I suck in a breath. But it couldn’t be my Duchess—Sil is too old. She must have been bought by my Duchess’s mother. My fingers go numb. I feel like my head has been stuffed with cotton, the world muted, my senses dulled. Sil smiles a cruel smile.

“Yes,” she says. “I thought that would interest you. The House of the Lake can’t seem to hold on to its surrogates, can it?”

She takes another drink. I get the sense that she is enjoying herself. “The Duchess was a frail woman. Always sickly. The Duke . . .” Sil pauses, and her eyes darken from silver to slate. “He ruled that house with an iron fist. Cold and spiteful and full of ambition. Usually it’s the woman who deals with the surrogates, but not in the palace of the Lake. No, he had plans for me. He kept me much longer than is usual to keep a surrogate. All around me, girls were getting pregnant.
Or dying. Or both. Then the future Electress died.”

I remember that from my old history classes. Originally, the Exetor’s sister was named to succeed the throne. But she died from a fall off a horse when she was eight. And the Exetor, only two at the time, became the new heir.

“That’s when the doctor started . . . well, I don’t need to explain any of that to you, do I?” Sil says grimly.

I press my lips together in a tight line.

“I got pregnant. It wasn’t until my second trimester that they discovered I was carrying twins. Don’t know how the doctor missed that. And the Duke, damned evil bastard, wanted to get rid of one. His wife wouldn’t let him. He told me I had to choose, to focus all of my Auguries on only one child, probably hoping the other would die as a result. And I did. I did exactly as I was told.”

I put my tea on the floor and hold my head in my hands. The room is spinning. If what Sil is telling me is true, then she was the surrogate for
my
Duchess.

“One week before I was due to deliver, they took me away. There’s a place where they kept us until we gave birth. All sterile, cold and white with bright lights. It was awful. There were three girls with me. One by one, they were taken away. And they never came back.”

Sil stares into the fire. The lines around her eyes and mouth seem deeper, aged with the telling of this story. She and I both know what happened to those other girls. But it still didn’t explain what happened to
her
.

“When it was my time, they took me to the delivery room. The doctor was there. He told me to push. A nurse held my hand. She was fat and her palms were sweaty. But
mostly what I remember is the pain. Pain like nothing I’d ever known. Worse than learning the Auguries. And then the first baby was out.” Sil’s eyes sparkle like crystals, and she rubs her scarred hand against her jaw. “I remember thinking it strange how something could be so beautiful and so ugly at the same time. She was screaming at the top of her lungs. Her sister came out a minute later. She was smaller. Quiet. Then they took them away. They left me alone. Waiting for me to die.” She takes a drink and mutters, “Bastards.”

“But how?” I ask. This is the point, I feel, the purpose, where everything began. This is what Lucien brought me here to learn. “How did you survive?”

“Because I’m stronger than them!” Sil shouts, slamming her fist down on the arm of the rocking chair. “We have a power they can’t possibly understand. They’ve twisted it, manipulated it to suit their bidding, but they can’t pervert it completely. Oh, no. It is
ours
to comprehend.” She rocks back and forth for a moment, her chair creaking. “What do you think the Auguries are, exactly?”

“I don’t know. A genetic mutation, aren’t they?”

“Don’t recite that royal line of crap at me. Think. Think for yourself. What are they?”