Page 24 of The Black Key

BEING CORAL’S LADY-IN-WAITING IS AN EXERCISE IN patience.

I hope Annabelle never felt this way about me. She prattles on about anything and everything, who’s wearing a dress she wants or which old friend won’t speak to her now that she’s moved up in the Jewel. It’s enough to make me want to jam my fingers in my ears. And on top of that, while we’re in the garden I have to keep chasing after her. One second she’ll be gushing over a particular flower and the next she’ll see a bird and just have to run after it. Finally, she insists that she’s exhausted and demands to be taken inside.

By the time dinner arrives, I’m tired and frazzled and haven’t had even a second to spare to try and figure out a way to get into the medical room. When I was the Duchess’s surrogate, I took a private elevator from the second floor straight down to the basement. I remember the route exactly; down the hall of the flowers, through the open gallery, then a right, then a left, then down a short hall paneled in oak. But thanks to Coral’s incessant needs, I haven’t had a chance to even attempt to get there. Besides the fact that Maude told me I mustn’t be seen in the halls. Maybe there’s a servant’s entrance to the medical room? I try to remember if I noticed any other door during my doctor’s appointments, but all I can recall is the sterilized feel, the clusters of bright lights, the tray of shiny silver instruments.

Dinner brings a brief respite (after Coral tries on and dismisses seven dresses and makes me redo her hair twice) and I’m grateful for it. Was Annabelle always this tired? My feet and calves ache, and the beginning of a headache is forming at my left temple. After I walk Coral to the dining room, I decide to try and find the kitchen again and get lost in the maze of underground servant tunnels. I’m too embarrassed to ask for directions. Everyone looks so busy. I pass a Regimental and can’t help the way my chest seizes up, my pulse kicking into a sprint. He stops and introduces himself as Three, then very nicely points me in the right direction.

“So, you’re serving Coral?”

I nod. After what Garnet said, I’m afraid to speak in front of anyone. Not that the Regimentals would remember my voice.

“What circle are you from?”

He’s slim and brown-skinned, with big hazel eyes. He has the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen on a boy. I’ve never really taken the time to look closely at the Regimentals before—they’ve always blurred together.

“The Farm,” I lie.

“I’m from the Bank.” I wonder if he is the son of the Cobbler, the man who Lucien sent to fetch me from Lily’s house, the man who lost his son to the royalty to be trained as a Regimental. “What did they decide to call you?”

“Imogen.”

“That’s nice. I don’t think I’ve heard that one before. I’m about the millionth Three to walk these halls. The Duchess fired most of her previous guard after that whole business with the companion. I’ve only been here a few months.”

I smell the kitchen before I see it—the scent of ham and honey mixed with rosemary and thyme. My stomach growls and Three laughs.

“You’ll eat soon. After Coral has retired for the night.” He leans in. “Be nice to Zara. She’s the fat cook. Well, the fattest cook. If she likes you, she’ll let you snack.”

The kitchen is a madhouse. Pots banging down on stovetops and large serving dishes being laden with food, footmen running around, cooks shouting at maids to add more of this or a pinch of that to various dishes.

“We need the second course now,” one footman snaps.

“You’ll have it when it’s ready,” the fat cook who gave me a tart earlier snaps back. One look around tells me she must be Zara. She squeezes half a lemon over an enormous whole dorado nestled among lemon slices and fluffy greens. A kitchen maid sprinkles a bit of seasoning on it, then Zara hands the tray to the grumpy footman. Her eyes land on me and light up. “The new girl! Did they give you a name yet?”

“Imogen,” I say.

“I’m Zara,” she says. “You must be starved. Help yourself to anything on that cutting board over there.” Another kitchen maid drops a bowl of thick, white cream onto the floor and Zara starts shouting at her. I sneak off to the corner, desperate for food.

The board contains a hunk of blue-veined cheese and half a loaf of bread, a couple of small, firm tomatoes, a bowl of olives, half a dozen figs, some walnuts, and a few slices of cured meat. I shove as much of it as I can into my mouth, nearly choking on an olive pit.

The arcana in my bun begins to buzz and suddenly I’m desperate for a way out. I walk as quickly and casually as I can toward the door that leads to the garden, not wanting to attract attention. But everyone is so busy with dinner that no one notices me. I slip out into the cool April evening.

There is a large shrub, trimmed in the shape of a dancing bear, by the glass corridor to the east wing, and it’s big enough to hide behind. I crouch down and carefully extract the arcana.

“Lucien?”

“Garnet told me you made it. How are you? He said you did a remarkable job with your disguise.” The sound of his voice makes my insides melt with relief.

“I’m all right,” I whisper. “I’m successfully situated as Coral’s lady-in-waiting.”

“You know, you are infuriatingly stubborn, but this might not have been the worst idea after all. Maybe we can even arrange a way for you to see the Auction House before the big day. Get yourself familiar with it in real life.”

That’s all well and good, but right now I only want my sister. “I need to see Hazel, Lucien. They’re keeping her locked up in the medical room and I know where the elevator is but I’m not supposed to be seen walking through the halls and Coral always needs something from me and—”

“Calm down, honey. Take a breath. Every royal medical room has an underground entrance. You’ve seen the servants’ tunnels by now, I imagine?”

“Yeah,” I say. “It’s really confusing.”

“There are other tunnels as well, ones that are more private.”