The White Rose (20 page)

“Do I ever come here without one?” she says. Her forehead crinkles in concentration as she recites, “Third from the right, fourth from the left. Westing’s Inn. Looks like gin.” She nods appreciatively at herself. “That’s it. And don’t write it down this time. That’s missing the whole damned point.”

The barman nods, muttering the cryptic message over to himself.

“I’d better be off,” she says. She slaps a couple of diamantes on the bar. The two glittering silver coins are engraved with the face of Diamante the Great, the Electress who started the first Auction.

“No charge,” the barman says, waving the money off. But Sil leaves it, and we walk out into the cold air. I grab the paper on my way out.

“What was that about?” I ask as we climb back into the cart and start off down the busy thoroughfare.

“Weapons,” Sil grunts. “Lucien’s got some people making them in the Smoke and shipping them here. But it’s hard. Can’t make or ship more than a few at a time. Slow going for a revolutionary force made up of farmers and factory workers. And forgetful barmen.”

I think about the Seamstress and the Cobbler and the Thief, the only other members of the Society that I’ve met. Without them we would never have made it to the farm but . . . while immensely helpful in espionage and escape, they don’t seem like the makings of an army. Certainly not one
that could win against the united force of the Regimentals.

Sil seems to read my mind. “Not your job,” she says, cracking the reins to send Turnip into a trot. “We’ve got a train to catch.”

“What did you give him for that boy?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Powdered red willow bark and clove. Should help numb the pain some.”

“What will happen to him?”

“He’ll live.” She doesn’t sound optimistic.

I open the paper and flip through it. There was a party at the Lady of the Light’s palace that got a bit out of hand—a few royal sons started throwing fists at one another. The paper notes that “it was a scene worthy of Garnet of the House of the Lake, but marriage seems to have tempered the Jewel’s most-notorious bad boy’s disposition.”

I scan the other pages. There’s a birth announcement that sets my teeth on edge. “The House of the Willow welcomes a baby girl. Name to be announced.” No mention of the surrogate. Another girl dead because of them.

I turn the page and my breath catches in my throat. The Duchess’s face stares out at me. Her dark hair is swept up and studded with pearls, and she wears a dress with a plunging neckline. It’s like I can feel her eyes on me, and their cold cruelness sends a chill up my spine. The headline reads,
DUCHESS OF THE LAKE GRANTED PRIVATE AUDIENCE WITH EXETOR
.

This must have to do with the letter Garnet said she delivered. But what is she up to?

Bartlett Station is about thirty minutes outside the town, in a narrow gully surrounded by hills. There must be
a lot of deliveries on this train, because there are about ten or fifteen carts waiting at the station. Several of the men eye me and Sil as they puff away on hand-rolled cigarettes. I’m grateful for my hat and goggles.

I hear the train before I see it—two whistle blows that echo off the surrounding hills. The train, big and black, jetting thick white smoke, rounds a bend. It pulls up to the station with a deafening screech, as men with soot-darkened faces jump off, opening the doors on the boxcars, and haul out crates and sacks and packages wrapped in brown paper.

I look for anything marked with a black key, and find it drawn on a crate being unloaded. I wince as two men drop it unceremoniously on the ground.

“That’s us,” Sil says.

The crate has two handles on it, but it’s quite heavy. As we struggle to hoist it onto the cart, a gust of air rises up, pushing the bottom of the crate so that it thumps onto the back of the cart. Sil gives me a wink.

“Helpful,” I say. I wish we could open it now.

“And to think,” she says, patting the crate, “this could have been your journey to me. As simple as a few drops of serum and a train ride.”

It takes a lot of effort not to roll my eyes. “You sound like Lucien,” I say.

Sil huffs.

R
AVEN AND
A
SH COME OUT ON THE FRONT PORCH TO
greet us as we arrive back at the White Rose. Ash is in better spirits, to my relief.

“Here,” he says, hopping up on the back of the cart with a crowbar. He pries the lid off the crate. The smell of packing hay and stale sweat fills the air.

The lioness is curled up in the fetal position. She wears a brown woolen dress—I assume Lucien had to dress her in the morgue. She is so thin, almost as thin as Raven used to be, her skin stretched tight over her bones. There are shadows under her eyes, black against her chocolate skin.

Ash takes her gently by the wrists and pulls her up over his shoulder.

“Where should I put her?” he asks.

“In Raven’s room,” I say. “I’m going to stay with her until she wakes up.”

T
HE LIONESS SLEEPS FOR MOST OF THE DAY.

As the sun starts to set, the serum begins to wear off.

The sky is quiet tonight, muted in burnt oranges and faded yellows. I’m staring out the window when she lurches up, gasping. I grab the bucket I brought for this very purpose.

“Here,” I say, holding it out and keeping one hand on her back as she vomits. Lucien’s serum has a pretty nasty side effect.

The lioness coughs and I hand her a cloth to wipe her mouth. She blinks around unsteadily, like her eyes are unsure whether they want to stay open or closed.

I pour her a glass of water from a jug on the nightstand. “Drink this.”

Now that she’s awake, I find myself jittery with nerves. This girl is from a part of my life that feels so far away. I
don’t know how to act around her.

She drinks in silence and hands the glass back to me without a thank-you.

“You,” she says, pushing herself up into a sitting position.

“I’m Violet,” I say. “What’s your name?”

“Where am I?” Her eyes narrow. “How did I get here? What do you want?”

“You’re in the Farm,” I say. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by her attitude. “I want to help you. And . . . I need your help, too.”

I wish I had planned out what I wanted to say better.

The lioness’s smirk looks all wrong, too much sarcasm on such a sunken face. “Right. So you kidnapped me? How did you even get here yourself? I thought you were locked up in the palace of the Lake.”

I ignore her questions. “You talked to me about power once,” I say. “At Dahlia’s funeral, you told me that we have more power than the royalty because we make their children.”

“I’m glad I made an impression,” she says.

“You have no idea the power we actually have.”

Air is the easiest element to connect with because it’s always present. I release myself into it, embracing the heady weightlessness that comes with joining this element. I push it out, circling the room, slow at first, but then faster until it feels like I’m flying. The lioness clutches the bed sheet to her chest.

I let go of the connection. The room settles. I feel exhilarated.

“What
are
you?” the lioness asks.

“I’m . . .” I’m not quite sure how to answer. “I’m like you. We’re the same.”

“Are you saying I can do what you just did?”

“Something like that. I hope.”

The lioness snorts. “You
hope
? What did you bring me here for?”

“Would you rather be back in the Jewel?” I say.

She hesitates. I can see pain in her eyes. I wonder what memory is playing behind them right now. “No,” she says.

“All right then.”

“So are you going to tell me why I’m here?”

“Like I said, I need your help. Overthrowing the royalty.”

The lioness’s dark eyes widen so that I can see the whites all around. “You’re serious.”

I feel that this moment is crucial. I need her to believe me, and yet I have nothing to convince her here except a circling of wind around a bedroom. How can I explain the truth about the Auguries, and the Paladin, and this island, about who we really are? I take a deep breath.

“There is so much I can show you and tell you. If you’re willing. But first, I’d like you to tell me your name.”

For half a second, I don’t think she’s going to answer me. Then she smiles.

“Sienna,” she says. “My name is Sienna.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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

S
IL IS MAKING DINNER WHEN
I
BRING
S
IENNA DOWNSTAIRS
.

Raven sits in the rocking chair reading a book. They both look up at our approach.

“I remember you,” Sienna says, taking a step back. “The Countess of the Stone, right?”

“My name is Raven Stirling,” she says.

“Did she kidnap you, too?” Sienna asks.

“She saved my life,” Raven replies.

“They said you were dead. Put on a big show, funeral and everything.” Sienna looks Raven up and down. “You were pregnant, weren’t you?”

“Not anymore,” Raven says through clenched teeth.

Sienna smirks. “They do love their lies, don’t they?” She looks at me. “My mistress pretended to adore your Duchess but really she couldn’t stand her. Jealous. Talked about her all the time behind her back.”

The back door opens and Ash walks in. His face is smudged with dirt and he brings the faint scent of hay and manure.

“Soup smells good, Sil,” he says, then stops short when he sees Sienna.

Sienna yelps, taking a step back. “You’re—you’re the rapist.”

“They love their lies,” I say, echoing her words. “You said it yourself. This is Ash. He’s . . . my friend.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” he says, with a polite nod. I can see him working hard not to seem offended.

Sienna looks back and forth between us. Then something clicks in her expression. “Oh,” she says slowly. “I see. What, did you two get caught together or something?”

I feel the heat of a blush in my cheeks.

“Yes,” Ash says, “we did.”

“They said you did terrible things to her,” Sienna says. “The Duchess says that’s why she can’t be seen in public. Lots of royals offered up their companions to be interrogated by Regimentals. Just to make sure there weren’t any more like you.”

A shadow of guilt passes over Ash’s face.

“The Countess of the Rose didn’t have a companion,” Sienna continues, “but she wanted one. Too bad she doesn’t have a daughter. She was so envious of the Duchess hiring you.” Sienna’s eyes travel over Ash’s arms and torso.
“Apparently, you had quite a—”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Ash says in a hard tone, before stalking past us and up the stairs. A few seconds later, I hear the water turn on in the bathroom.

“He
is
very good-looking,” Sienna says, eyeing me.

“He’s more than that,” I snap. “And he’s not your concern.” I point to the dining-room table. “Sit down. There are some things to explain.”

Sil, who has been uncharacteristically silent for this whole exchange, brings over bowls of steaming black bean soup and sets them on the table without a word. The aroma of garlic and cooked vegetables is mouthwatering. She walks past Sienna and mutters to me, “I don’t like this one.”

The food has drawn Sienna to the table, and she digs in as Raven and I sit beside her. Raven shoots me a look that echoes Sil’s words. While Sienna eats, I explain as best as I can about how surrogates die giving birth, how the Auguries have been twisted from something natural to something that serves the royalty, and how we can potentially use this force against them. I tell her that we have a chance to save all the surrogates in this city.

“Why should I care about other girls?” she says. “I’m here now. You got me to safety. Why should I risk that for people I don’t know?”

“Don’t go throwing that attitude around here, girl,” Sil says, from where she stands with her arms crossed in the kitchen. “And don’t pretend like there isn’t someone in that circle you care about.”

I think of the iced cake, the blond surrogate, who was clearly Sienna’s friend, bought by the Duchess of the Scales.
Judging by the look on Sienna’s face, she is thinking of her, too.

“If what you say is true,” Sienna says, putting down her spoon, “she’s dead anyway.”

I swallow. The iced cake must be pregnant.

“Don’t you want to at least try to help her?” I say. “And what about all the other girls at your holding facility, the ones who haven’t been auctioned yet, who still have a chance?”

Sienna shifts in her chair. “You don’t know anything about my holding facility,” she mutters.

“It was Northgate, right?”

She looks up at me, surprised.

“Dahlia told me,” I say softly.

“Who?”

“She came with you on the train to the Auction,” I say, frowning. “She was Lot 200.”

“Oh.” Sienna shrugs. “I didn’t know her name. There are a lot of surrogates at Northgate. And she was only a kid.”

“That’s a lie.” Raven’s eyes go double-focused. The “whispers,” as she calls them, have grown fainter since she’s no longer pregnant, but sometimes Raven still hears things. “You were mean to her,” she says, her voice taking on a dreamlike quality. “She was so good at the Auguries, but she was younger than you. That isn’t fair. You were supposed to be the best.
You
were supposed to be Lot 200.”

Sienna jumps up from the table. Raven comes back to the present. “Don’t lie around me,” she says to Sienna. “And don’t waste your time worrying. It saved your life.”

“What did?” I ask.

“She can’t have children,” Raven says.

“How did you . . .” Sienna’s hand drops to her stomach.

Raven shrugs.

“It doesn’t make you any less of a person,” I say to Sienna.

“It makes me less of a surrogate,” she snaps.

“Sienna,” I say. “You’re not a surrogate anymore.”

Sienna sinks back onto her chair and stares morosely at her soup.

“All my life has been about one thing. How is it that I never had that power all along? It doesn’t make sense. It isn’t fair.”

I put my hand on her arm. I can feel the bones of her wrist poking out under her skin. “You’re capable of so much more. You’re part of something bigger than you could have imagined.”

“Come on,” Sil says, opening the back door. “Enough talk. It’s time to show you.”

I grab a blanket off the back of the couch, in case Sil is going to do what I think she is going to do.

“Be right back,” I say to Raven, who looks quite pleased to be rid of Sienna for the moment.

Sienna trails behind me and Sil warily as we walk toward the forest.

“Where are you taking me?” she calls.

Sil ignores her.

“Are you planning to do what you did to me?” I mutter. “Tie her up out here?”

“It worked for Azalea.”

“Yes, but . . . it took a long time, didn’t it? And we need her on our side, Sil, not thinking we’re the enemy.”

“Well, unless you want to try killing your best friend and having this new one revive her, I don’t see another option.”

She has a point. My experience with this power was so fraught with emotion, so heightened, it created an instant understanding, a sudden connection.

But I don’t know how to find it again.

As we pass under the first yawning branches of the trees, Sienna stops.

“Where are we going?” she demands.

Sil puts her hands on her hips and turns around. “You need to learn how to do what we can do. We’re going to teach you.”

I feel like Sil should reconsider her use of the word
teach
.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” I assure her, because Sil is looking like she’d very much like to club Sienna over the head before tying her up. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

I connect with Earth, and roots spring out of the ground, twining themselves around Sienna’s legs, up over her knees to the middle of her thighs.

“Get them off me!” she screams, but the roots are too strong. I know. I can feel them. Even as I release the connection, they hold Sienna where she is. “Are you two crazy?”

“Why’d you pick this one, anyway?” Sil grumbles, watching Sienna struggle with a pitiless expression.

“She was Lot 199,” I say. “She’s strong.”

“She’s bullheaded.”

“So am I,” I say.

“No,” Sil says. “You’re different. You’re . . .” Her nose wrinkles like she’s smelled something bad. “Nice,” she finishes.

I have to laugh.

Sienna has calmed down and is holding on to one of the roots with a focused expression. I see what Sil meant when she snapped at me that first day, when I tried to use the Auguries. I recognize the look of concentration in Sienna’s eyes, and the wrongness that emanates from her makes me queasy.

“What, are you going to change their color?” Sil says with a chuckle. “You can make them purple or green or fuchsia but it won’t do any good. You’re stuck out here until we say so.”

Sienna glares at us. “You people are insane.”

“I’ve been called worse,” Sil says.

“Here,” I say, holding out the blanket. “Take this. You’ll need it.”

Sienna looks like she’d rather bite my hand than accept charity, but it’s cold, and survival wins out. She snatches it away from me and wraps it around herself.

“So what am I supposed to do out here exactly?” she asks.

“Listen,” Sil says. “I know it might be a first for you.”

“I’ll check on you later,” I say.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me here,” Sienna says.

“Rather be back in that comfy palace?” Sil says. “Remember—if you can’t bear children, they’d kill you anyway. Would you rather spend the night outside or end up
with a knife in your back, or poison in your wine? Come on,” she says, tugging on my arm.

Sienna hugs the blanket tight around her and watches us walk away, her expression furious, her eyes glittering like onyx in the dark.