Page 17 of The Black Key

Six

THE IRON DOORS SCREECH WHEN THEY OPEN.

I hold my breath as the train slowly chugs through the wall that separates the Bank and the Jewel. When I came here for the Auction, nearly seven months ago, I was drugged and unconscious for this part of the journey. Now I can see just how thick this wall is, maybe even as thick as the Great Wall that surrounds the entire island. We are plunged into darkness and all I can think is, Will eighty-one surrogates be enough to bring it down?

Not surrogates, I remind myself. Surrogates are slaves. We are eighty-one Paladin.

After a full minute of pitch black, I stare out the window in awe as the Jewel comes into view. I’d forgotten just how deceptively beautiful it is.

The buildings that line the inside of the wall are not palaces, but they are glamorous all the same. We pass a restaurant made entirely out of glass, three tiers of people eating and drinking and laughing. There’s a croquet pitch—two teenage girls are knocking around brightly colored balls while their ladies-in-waiting (one male, one female) look on. In the distance I can see a rose-colored, domed building with golden spires.

The Auction House.

The train creeps toward the station, which is by far the nicest one I’ve ever seen. There is a comfortable little house beside it where people can wait for their trains. Motorcars line the road.

We are instructed to stay put and be silent until the other travelers have left and the train is empty. Then we file out in a neat line. There are three wagons waiting for us. The woman in charge begins to sort us into them, depending on which House we are going to. I’m waiting nervously for my turn when I hear a familiar voice.

“Not that one, it’s got to have the crest of the House of the Flame on it.”

The last time I saw Lucien was at the White Rose, when I asked him to save Sienna for me. That was over two months ago. He looks angry, impatient, his mouth turned down, his forehead wrinkling. His hair is in its usual perfect topknot, and he tugs at the lace collar of his white dress as two men haul the crate onto the back of a glossy coach with the Exetor’s crest on it—a crowned flame crossed with two spears.

“Be careful, I said,” he snaps at the men. I knew Lucien ran the Exetor and Electress’s household, but I’ve never seen him like this. He seems . . . mean.

But then his gaze sweeps over the line of girls being sorted into the wagons, scanning them, looking for a familiar face . . . and when his eyes land on me, they register not even the slightest hint of recognition. His face falls ever so slightly.

I suppose I should be relieved. It’s a good thing if I’m not recognized. But it stings a little all the same.

“That’s the last one, sir,” one of the men says.

“Very good,” Lucien says, handing him a few diamantes.

“House?”

I start. The woman in charge is staring down at me.

“House?” she says again.

“The Lake,” I say.

“Wagon three.” She points to the wagon on the far right and I duck my head meekly, hurrying over to it and climbing into the back. It’s covered with a brown canvas and there are two benches. I sit beside a heavy girl with frizzy black hair.

“Which House are you serving?” she asks me.

“Oh, um, the House of the Lake.”

“I’m going to a Founding House as well!” she exclaims. “House of the Rose. Is this your first time in the Jewel?”

I nod.

“Mine too. I’m Rabbet, what’s your name?”

The wagon fills up around us. Some girls keep to themselves; others whisper to each other.

I almost blurt out my real name but stop myself at the last second. “I’m Lily.”

“That’s a pretty name,” Rabbet says. “Which circle are you from?”

“The Farm,” I say as the wagon lurches forward. Part of me wishes Rabbet would stop talking because I’m so nervous, but in some sense it does provide a nice distraction. “What about you?”