purpose for them. But I was able to put that fire out. Well, with Raven’s help.
Lucien takes my silence as an answer. “Exactly. You have more power than you think, but I am not the one who can show you how to use it.”
“And once I know how to use it, then what?”
“Help me. Help me tear down these walls that confine us, that separate us. Help me save not only the surrogates but everyone who is under the royalty’s thumb. The ladies-in-waiting. The servants. The factory workers who die of black lung, the farmhands who feed the royals but barely have enough to eat themselves. The children dying from lack of basic necessities in the Marsh. I am not the only one who thinks the royalty’s time is coming to end. We have all been bound to them in some way. We have all suffered for them.” He says that last part so softly, I barely hear him. “We deserve to be free.”
I think about Annabelle, so sweet and frail. I see the bloody gash across her neck and have to shut my eyes fora moment, swallowing back a sob. What was her crime? Nothing. Being my friend. Annabelle did not deserve to die. And no one will be punished for her death. The Duchess will go on as if it had never happened.
I think about Hazel—how much longer will my little sister be able to stay in school? How long until she has to join Ochre, working to keep my family alive?
How much longer before she is forced to take the blood test for surrogacy? The thought sets my stomach in knots. I picture Hazel ripped from my family, arriving at Southgate, alone, afraid. I see her nose bleeding as she learns the Auguries, see her standing on that silver X on the platform at the Auction House. Hazel cannot be a surrogate.
But I don’t see how I can help them. I hate that I’m stuck in this attic, alone and powerless. Lucien seems to sense my hesitancy.
“I don’t expect you to understand everything right now. Keep the arcana close. Someone will come for you.”
I open my mouth to argue but find I’m too tired. “Okay,” I agree.
“Get some sleep, honey. You’ve had a long day.” There is another pause. “And remember. Don’t trust anyone until they show you the key.”
The arcana drops into my open hands, leaving me with even more questions than I started. I sigh and secure it back into my hair.
I’ M IN THAT STRANGE STATE BETWEEN WAKING AND dreaming when Lily comes to see me.
It’s very late. There’s hardly any light in the attic, justa tiny sliver of moonlight on the floor by the window. I’m lying on the couch, my thoughts tangled up in dark tunnels and dying fires and Annabelle and wanted posters, when the hatch creaks open.
I sit up so quickly it makes me dizzy. A flickering light illuminates Lily’s face as it pops up through the hole in the floor. She climbs into the attic, carrying a tray laden with two small jars, a glass of water, a fat white candle, and—my stomach groans—a covered plate that brings the faintest scent of cooking.
“Hi,” she whispers, setting the tray down on the floor. I practically fall off the couch toward the food. Lily’s brought me several slices of pot roast smothered in thick brown gravy and cold boiled potatoes. I want to ignore the utensils and shove the food hand over fist into my mouth.
“When was the last time you ate?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I say through a mouthful of potato.
Lily lets me eat in silence until the plate is clean. I let out an involuntary sigh and lean back against the couch.
“Thank you,” I murmur, taking a huge gulp of water.
Lily moves the tray aside. “I brought these for your face,” she says, unscrewing the tops of the jars of cream. One she spreads on my cheek—it sends a pleasant, cooling sensation through the bruise. Ice ointment. I remember when Cora, the Duchess’s lady-in-waiting, used it, after the Duchess hit me for the first time. The second one smells sharply antiseptic, and Lily dabs it on the cut on my lip. It stings a
Lucien takes my silence as an answer. “Exactly. You have more power than you think, but I am not the one who can show you how to use it.”
“And once I know how to use it, then what?”
“Help me. Help me tear down these walls that confine us, that separate us. Help me save not only the surrogates but everyone who is under the royalty’s thumb. The ladies-in-waiting. The servants. The factory workers who die of black lung, the farmhands who feed the royals but barely have enough to eat themselves. The children dying from lack of basic necessities in the Marsh. I am not the only one who thinks the royalty’s time is coming to end. We have all been bound to them in some way. We have all suffered for them.” He says that last part so softly, I barely hear him. “We deserve to be free.”
I think about Annabelle, so sweet and frail. I see the bloody gash across her neck and have to shut my eyes fora moment, swallowing back a sob. What was her crime? Nothing. Being my friend. Annabelle did not deserve to die. And no one will be punished for her death. The Duchess will go on as if it had never happened.
I think about Hazel—how much longer will my little sister be able to stay in school? How long until she has to join Ochre, working to keep my family alive?
How much longer before she is forced to take the blood test for surrogacy? The thought sets my stomach in knots. I picture Hazel ripped from my family, arriving at Southgate, alone, afraid. I see her nose bleeding as she learns the Auguries, see her standing on that silver X on the platform at the Auction House. Hazel cannot be a surrogate.
But I don’t see how I can help them. I hate that I’m stuck in this attic, alone and powerless. Lucien seems to sense my hesitancy.
“I don’t expect you to understand everything right now. Keep the arcana close. Someone will come for you.”
I open my mouth to argue but find I’m too tired. “Okay,” I agree.
“Get some sleep, honey. You’ve had a long day.” There is another pause. “And remember. Don’t trust anyone until they show you the key.”
The arcana drops into my open hands, leaving me with even more questions than I started. I sigh and secure it back into my hair.
I’ M IN THAT STRANGE STATE BETWEEN WAKING AND dreaming when Lily comes to see me.
It’s very late. There’s hardly any light in the attic, justa tiny sliver of moonlight on the floor by the window. I’m lying on the couch, my thoughts tangled up in dark tunnels and dying fires and Annabelle and wanted posters, when the hatch creaks open.
I sit up so quickly it makes me dizzy. A flickering light illuminates Lily’s face as it pops up through the hole in the floor. She climbs into the attic, carrying a tray laden with two small jars, a glass of water, a fat white candle, and—my stomach groans—a covered plate that brings the faintest scent of cooking.
“Hi,” she whispers, setting the tray down on the floor. I practically fall off the couch toward the food. Lily’s brought me several slices of pot roast smothered in thick brown gravy and cold boiled potatoes. I want to ignore the utensils and shove the food hand over fist into my mouth.
“When was the last time you ate?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I say through a mouthful of potato.
Lily lets me eat in silence until the plate is clean. I let out an involuntary sigh and lean back against the couch.
“Thank you,” I murmur, taking a huge gulp of water.
Lily moves the tray aside. “I brought these for your face,” she says, unscrewing the tops of the jars of cream. One she spreads on my cheek—it sends a pleasant, cooling sensation through the bruise. Ice ointment. I remember when Cora, the Duchess’s lady-in-waiting, used it, after the Duchess hit me for the first time. The second one smells sharply antiseptic, and Lily dabs it on the cut on my lip. It stings a
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