Page 34 of The Black Key

“How nice,” Carnelian says sarcastically. Coral doesn’t seem to notice, preoccupied by the Duchess, who is sweeping down the stairs, followed by Cora and the Duke.

“Come on, Carnelian, we don’t want to be late,” the Duchess snaps. I can’t help how my heart stutters at the sight of her, how my legs seem to freeze up. “I’ll never get you married and off my hands if you can’t even show up to a simple party on time.”

“Mother, I—” Coral begins, but the Duchess cuts her off.

“How many times have I asked you not to call me that?” the Duchess says as the driver opens the door for her. The door shuts before Coral has a chance to respond. Carnelian looks miserable as she gets in on the other side. Then the motorcar is trundling down the drive and Coral watches it, a frown on her face.

I couldn’t be happier.

The Duchess is gone for the evening. This is the perfect chance to find my sister.

Eleven

I SEIZE THE OPPORTUNITY TO SEARCH WHILE CORAL IS having her dinner.

The evening is cool when I slip out into the garden, a light breeze tickling the back of my neck. I skirt by the glass promenade and head to the garage. This is where Lucien said the secret passage to the medical room would let out. The problem with secret passages is that unless you know where they are, they’re nearly impossible to find. I spent three months in this palace, never knowing about the maze of servant halls hidden within it.

After twenty minutes of examining rocks and shrubs, I give up and decide to try the one way I do know.

The palace is quiet so I chance the use of the main halls. I hurry up to the second floor. Down the hall of the flowers, through the gallery . . . but when I find the oak-paneled hallway, my heart sinks.

The elevator with the golden grate has a new door on it, metal with a keypad installed beside it. I approach it anyway, pressing my palm against the cold surface. Hazel is right below me. I hear a noise from down the hall and jump, scurrying away and diving into the first secret passage I can find. I wander down to the first floor and emerge by the ballroom.

I have only one other option left to try—the passage in the library, the one I used with Ash.

The way to Ash’s secret passage is as familiar as the house I grew up in. I walk down row upon row of books until I find the one I need—Cadmium Blake’s Essays on Cross-Pollination. I pull it and the hidden door swings open. The corridor that stretches out before me brings another wave of memories. Ash’s hand in mine. Sneaking down here late at night. Our entire relationship contained in this shadowy hall.

And I may never see him again.

No. I push Ash aside and close the bookshelf behind me. Just to be safe, I decide to make sure I’m really alone in here. Sil taught me this trick a month ago. I connect with Air and send it away from me, through the halls, then draw it back in a gust. It brings nothing but silence and the scent of stone and dust.

I slip down the hall toward Ash’s former chambers. I remember that there were halls branching off this tunnel but I’ve never taken any of them. The first corridor I try leads me up a set of stairs and opens out into a second-floor study I haven’t seen before. It’s a comfortable room, with lots of bookshelves, a plush couch, and a small writing desk. A framed photograph catches my eye—a man, a woman, and two little girls, standing on the steps of what is unmistakably the palace of the Lake. I recognize one of the little girls as the Duchess immediately. The other one must be her sister. Even as a child, the Duchess has all the arrogance of her adult self—she stares into the camera with a haughty expression.

This room suddenly feels too private, almost dangerous. I put down the photograph exactly where I found it and leave.

I retrace my steps and take the next one. It’s a dead end.

The third hallway proves much better. I can feel the floor sloping downward, and the air grows stale and cold. My palms itch and my breath quickens. I reach a set of polished stone stairs and creep down them, my footsteps sounding louder than they should in my ears. When I reach the bottom, a black door waits for me.

I know Hazel is behind it. I can feel it. The hairs on my arms prickle.

There’s no knob, no handle, nothing to show the way to open it. I don’t know what material it’s made of but it feels unnaturally cold against my palms. I slide my hands along its outer edges and feel a slight indentation on the left side. Gripping it with my fingers, I pull and the door slides open.

A gust of antiseptic-tinged air washes over me as I enter. The medical room is just as I remember. The clustered, insect-like lights, the pristine white walls, the tray of silver instruments. The doctor is not here, though there are papers littered all over his desk.

But I only have eyes for the bed in the center of the room. There is a figure lying on it, covered up to her chin in a white sheet.

“Hazel?” My voice comes out like a croak. Then I’m running, but when the figure on the bed comes into view, I stop short and gasp.

She’s different. They’ve done something to her. Altered her chin, made her nose pointier. And her hair is thicker, though it’s still black and long and wavy, like mine. She’s sleeping, her whole body covered with the sheet. I pull back the covers and a sob rises in my throat as I see the straps that hold her down, across her shoulders, her torso, her hips. Even her hands are strapped down at the wrists.

But her chest rises and falls. She is alive.

And even more important, her stomach is flat. There is no trace of a bump, like Raven’s stomach when she was pregnant.

“Oh, Hazel,” I murmur, putting my hand on her forehead and brushing a stray hair out of her face. She stirs, her eyelids fluttering open, and what I see makes my stomach turn.

Her eyes. Her beautiful, hazel eyes.