The White Rose (7 page)

I am stunned. “What if your mother sees it?”

Garnet looks embarrassed. “She won’t. And even if she did, she’d think it was some stupid prank or that I did it on a dare. She wouldn’t take it seriously.”

“I was wrong about you,” Raven says. I didn’t realize she’d been listening. She looks at Garnet with a single-minded ferocity. “You aren’t a coward.” Her eyes become glassy. Double-focused, as I suppose I’ve come to think of it. “You’ve never had real friends. You just needed something to fight for.”

For perhaps the first time in his life, Garnet seems uncomfortable taking a compliment. “Sure,” he says. “Whatever you say.”

Raven keeps staring. “If you admit you need people, you can lose them.” Her gaze sharpens, returning to the present. “But needing people can save your life.”

“We have to get to the Farm,” I say. I’ve trusted Lucien this far, I may as well trust him when he says the Farm will be safe. “We’re all part of this group . . .” I remember the Cobbler’s words. “The Society of the Black Key. Even if we’re not marked as such.”

“Sorry, the what?” Ash says.

I hold up a hand. “I can explain it later, or maybe Lucien is the one to explain. At any rate, let’s think. We can’t stay here.”

“Do you have any ideas?” Garnet asks. “I’m all ears.”

“Actually,” Ash says, stepping forward. “I think I do.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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

“I
KNOW THIS CIRCLE
,” A
SH CONTINUES
. “B
ETTER THAN
any of you. And I think there’s one train that can get us out of here undetected.”

“Where?” I ask. “All the trains are suspended.”

“At Madame Curio’s,” he replies. “And that train always runs.”

The name sounds vaguely familiar, and obviously means something to Garnet, because his mouth pops open. “Are you
insane
?”

“What’s Madame Curio’s?” I ask.

“It’s my companion house,” Ash explains. “She’s . . . well, she
was
my Madame. I told you about her, remember? She recruited me.”

And then it clicks. She was the one who found Ash when he took his sister, Cinder, to the free clinic. When Cinder was diagnosed with black lung—the reason why Ash became a companion at all.
I bet you drive all the girls crazy.
That’s what Madame Curio had said to him.

“What, um, does she do there?”

Garnet snorts with disgust.

“She runs the house,” Ash says. “She oversees the companions, our education and training, and she matches us with our clients.”

But there’s a pink flush creeping up his neck that makes me think it’s something more than that.

“All the companion houses have a private train station,” he continues, changing the subject. “Their trains won’t be monitored in the same way as the public ones. If we can get on that train, maybe we can make it to the Farm.”

“So, we’re supposed to stroll into your former companion house and ask to use the train?” Garnet says. “I thought they educated you guys in that place. This is the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard of.”

Ash throws him a sharp look. “There’s more than one way to get onto the grounds.”

“But, Ash,” I say hesitantly, “are you saying there won’t be any Regimentals on the train at all?”

“No, there probably will be,” he says. “But it won’t matter.”

“And why not?” Garnet asks.

“Because,” Ash says, “not everyone who works at a companion house is a companion. Many of them don’t come willingly.”

“What, you mean, they’re kidnapped?” I ask. “Why?”

“The boys are taken for sparring practice, fencing, sword fighting, manual labor, any job Madame sees fit.” The idea of Ash sword fighting is strange. “The girls are taken for . . .” Ash clears his throat and the blush on his neck climbs up to his cheeks. “For . . . practice.” He is looking determinedly at Garnet, avoiding my eyes.

Garnet raises an eyebrow.

“Wait, so—” I begin, but Ash cuts me off.

“There are secret compartments in the train. It’s how they smuggle them in. And that’s how we can get out.”

A long silence follows. I can’t help thinking about all those girls, kidnapped and brought to the companion house. Held against their will. Like I was.

“So how do we get you guys in?” Garnet asks.

“We’ll have to wait until tonight,” Ash says. “And we’re going to need some new clothes . . .”

A
SH GIVES
G
ARNET A LIST OF ITEMS TO GET.

There’s nothing to do but wait. I sit beside Raven—she hasn’t moved from the wall. Ash sits on a wooden box by the front door, lost in thought.

“How are you feeling?” I ask her.

Raven looks at me with a deadened expression. “I’m not in that palace anymore. This is the best I’ve felt in a long time.” She blinks. “Did I thank you?”

“For what?” I ask.

“For saving my life.”

I smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

Her fingers thread through mine—hers are so thin and
frail I worry that if I squeeze too hard they’ll break. “Thank you,” she whispers. Her gaze travels down to her stomach. “Sometimes I forget,” she says, putting a hand on it—the little bump is barely visible under her dress. “It used to hurt all the time.”

“When did it happen?” I ask.

Raven closes her eyes. “I—I don’t know. Emile, my lady-in-waiting, took me out for a walk in the garden one afternoon. I’d wanted to see whether you’d sent another flower, but you hadn’t sent me anything. Then I went to the doctor . . .” A tear slides out from under her eyelid. “They made it grow so fast. It ate me up from the inside. My bones ached and shriveled and it grew and grew and wouldn’t stop.”

That would have been only three or four weeks ago.

“How?” I whisper.

She opens her eyes. “Did they ever use the stimulant gun on you?”

I nod. “Once.”

The stimulant gun was created to incite the Auguries against the surrogate’s will. I remember the all-consuming agony when the doctor used it on me, the blinding pain, the thick green vines covering the medical bed, crawling up to the ceiling. Dr. Blythe’s words echo in my head, from the day I made the oak tree grow.

The stimulant gun heightens your abilities, but it weakens you physically. If overused, it can have some very nasty side effects.

Raven’s smile is a tiny crack across her face. “The doctor used it all the time, especially after I got pregnant. Three
or four times a day. The Countess didn’t care how much blood I threw up, or how much I screamed. She just wanted results.” Raven flinches at some memory. “She got what she wanted. He said . . . he said I was twelve weeks along? Fourteen? I don’t remember. I didn’t want to listen.”

“So she was trying to make you have a baby fast,” I say. “That’s what the Duchess wanted from me, too.”

“The Countess liked experimenting,” Raven says coldly. “To see what she
could
do. She wanted to pull the strings, to have complete power over my mind, my memories, the Auguries, everything.”

“Is that what . . .” I swallow. “Is that what those scars are from?”

Raven probes her skull with one hand. “She liked cutting into me. She liked making me see things that weren’t real.” Something glitters in Raven’s eyes, a fragment of her old mischief. “She didn’t know about the whispers, though. They tried something new one day. The doctor thought it would be an ‘interesting experiment.’ They cut me somewhere different and they thought nothing happened. But that was when the whispers started.”

“Wait, you hear voices now?” I pause, watching her, wondering if it would hurt or help to press for more information. “What do they say?”

“All kinds of things. I can hear when someone is afraid or when they’re pretending to like someone, but they really hate them. I know when someone is lying or if they’re secretly in love. The whispers tell me. They come and go. The Countess has very dark thoughts. About her mother. About her husband. About the surrogates.” Raven rubs her eyes.

“It’s like the Countess unwittingly gave you an extra sense or something.”

“I knew that blond boy would come back,” she continues. “He likes us. He feels connected to us. And . . .” She looks at Ash, her brows crinkling. “Ash,” she says finally. “He’s Ash, right?”

I nod.

“He hates himself,” she says.

A lump forms in my throat. I don’t know anything about Ash’s life in the companion house. He’s never shared that with me.

“I don’t want to be this person, Violet.” Raven’s face softens and she leans her head back. “Emile was kind to me. He used to sneak me extra food sometimes. And he took me out to the garden often, letting me send you messages. But he also told me things. He told me the Countess buys a surrogate every year. She doesn’t care about having an heir. She cares more about seeing what we’re capable of. How much we can
take
.” Her face falls into a mournful expression. “He probably thinks I’m dead now.”

“I’m sure he’ll be all right,” I say.

“You don’t understand,” she says. “All I had in that place was him and you. I held on to the hope that you were safe, that the Duchess wasn’t torturing you, even when they put me in the cage or stabbed me with Frederic’s weapons or used the muzzle. But it was so hard when they started cutting into my brain. She took my memories and used them against me and I couldn’t tell what was true and what wasn’t. Emile helped me. He reminded me. He’d say your name sometimes when I started to forget.” A tear slowly
runs down her cheek. “He couldn’t say my name but he could say yours.”

“She’ll pay for this,” I say. “Raven, I promise.”

“How, Violet? How are we supposed to do that? Look at me.” She gestures weakly to herself. “I am broken now. And I’ll never be the same. I am damaged beyond repair.”

I sit up on my knees and look her straight in the eye. “Listen to me,” I say. “You were there for me in Southgate when I was scared and when I was weak. You gave me courage. If you think I’m not going to do the exact same for you, then you’d better think again. You were with me every single day I was in that palace.
You
were my strength. Now let me be yours.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “I’m going to help you get better. I’m going to protect you.”

Raven’s hand slides once more over her stomach. “Can you protect me from this?”

I look down. The lump in my throat is so big it’s hard to breathe.

She rests her cheek on my fingers. “I’m so tired, Violet. Can I go to sleep now?”

“Of course,” I say. My voice is rough and low.

“You won’t leave, right?” she asks, panic rising in her tone.

“No,” I say. “I’m going to be right here.”

I stretch out my legs as she settles down so she can use my thigh as a pillow. Within minutes, her breathing has slowed, her body relaxing. I brush her hair away from her face. She looks like my Raven from before.

She still is
, I tell myself.

“Is she all right?” Ash asks softly, from his seat by the door.

“I don’t know,” I reply.

Gradually, the light fades, night usurping day. The warehouse grows dark and cold. I fold my arms across my chest and try to stop shivering. Ash comes over and puts an arm around me. I lean into him, grateful for his presence as much as his warmth.

“You’ve saved a lot of people recently,” he says.

“Not yet,” I remind him.

“I think you might be selling yourself a bit short.”

I don’t say anything because I’m not feeling particularly proud or saviorlike at the moment.

“Will your plan work?” I ask. “Can we get out through the companion house train?”

“I don’t know, Violet. But I don’t know what else to do. Like you said, we can’t stay here.”

I nod and we sit in silence. I should probably sleep but my mind is racing. So many things I don’t want to think about—Raven in a cage, Lily being pregnant, Annabelle lying lifeless on the floor of my bedroom . . .

“What was it like?” I ask Ash after a while. “At the companion house. You’ve never talked about it.”

His body stiffens and I know he wishes I hadn’t asked. But after a moment, he says, “It was very pleasant. They took extremely good care of us.”

I smile. “You’re lying.” I shift under his arm. “You’re using your companion tone. The excessive politeness. You only use it when you’re lying.”

There is another long moment before he whispers, “It was awful.”

I sit up so I can look him in the face. The dim light creates shadows around his eyes. He won’t meet my gaze, but I don’t look away. The seconds tick past.

“You don’t want to know,” he says finally. “Trust me.”

“If I didn’t want to know, I wouldn’t have asked. You’re talking about boys being kidnapped and girls being used for sex and I feel like there’s this whole part of your life I don’t understand. What happens in that place?”

Ash’s whole body seems to harden again. “You want to know what life in a companion house is like?” he says, and his voice is sharper than I’ve ever heard it. “Fine. After I was bribed away from my family at the age of fourteen, I was trained for a year, educated in art, history, mathematics, music, dueling . . . It was nice, at first. Then on my fifteenth birthday, I was called to Madame Curio’s room, where she taught me some things I hadn’t learned yet. That was the first time I had sex.”

An unpleasant prickle crawls up my spine.

“Then my lessons changed. They brought girls to me. Madame said I had to please them. I didn’t want to—the girls were so scared. I was scared. But you don’t go against Madame. My teachers watched. They judged and instructed me. It was humiliating. Then they sent me off to charm daughters during the day and sleep with their mothers at night. I’ve slept with women old enough to be my grandmother. All because Madame Curio saw me outside the clinic and thought I was handsome.”

Ash stands abruptly. He starts pacing back and forth,
his mouth twisted, his hands clenched.

“Do you understand how much I
hate
how I look, hate my face?” he says bitterly. “Do you know how many times I’ve put a razor to my eye and thought about using it? But I always had Cinder to keep me sane. Cinder needed me. If I ruined my face, I would lose my position, and with it, the money for her medicine. I’ve seen it happen many times. Do you know what the suicide rate is for companions? No one does, because it’s not talked about. Because who cares, right? But I have known six boys who have taken their own lives—and those are only the ones I’ve known personally. The ones who don’t kill themselves cut their bodies, but not in places you could see—usually behind the knees or between the toes. Or they dope themselves with opiates, until their addiction is noticeable and then they’re Marked and tossed out onto the streets. Some develop violent predilections for sex, abusing the House Girls or consorting with common prostitutes. And for every friend you make, you lose three, and it doesn’t matter how, and it doesn’t matter why, because there are always new boys being brought in, and you’re just one in a hundred, as disposable as the latest fashion trend.” He looks at me with a viciousness I’ve never seen before. “So
that’s
how it was in the companion house.”

I am speechless. I want to arrange my face into some kind of calm or understanding expression, but I can’t make my muscles work. I assumed the companion house would be similar to Southgate. But drugs? Violent sex? Suicide? “That’s not who you are, though,” I say.