Page 39 of The Black Key

THE CEREMONY IS HELD ON THE LAWN OUTSIDE THE REGIMENTAL headquarters in the Jewel.

The day is unseasonably hot, and the ladies-in-waiting have to stand way in the back, so I can’t really hear or see anything. My mind is consumed with thoughts of the party and why, after all this time, the Duchess would allow Hazel out in public.

Once the ceremony ends, there is a small reception, but the Duchess sweeps over to Cora, her family trailing behind her. “We’re leaving,” she says. “Now.”

I ride back in the motorcar in silence with Coral, Garnet, Carnelian, and Rye. When we arrive, the front doors to the palace are open and the halls are bustling with servants. Coral drags me to the ballroom and gasps in delight.

The garden has been transformed.

Little colored lanterns have been strung up in the trees. There is a fountain of chocolate with piles of plump red strawberries beside it, trays of canapés waiting to be served, and bottles of champagne cooling in silver ice buckets. A string quartet is warming up off to one side. My heart squeezes at the sight of the woman tuning her cello. There are extra Regimentals stationed everywhere. The entire back wall of the ballroom is made of many little glass doors, so that the parquet floor leads right out to the garden. Several drinks tables have been set up around the room, clearly meant to serve as a first stop on the way to where the main party will take place.

After rushing around to get a look at every decoration, Coral whisks me away to change her clothes. I choose a shimmery, sea-green gown with capped sleeves, though she can barely stand still as I lace her into it.

“The garden is gorgeous,” Coral gushes. “How does the Duchess do it all, and so quickly? Her taste is impeccable. And my hair looks fabulous today, you are simply the best. Have I told you you are the best, Imogen? Because you are!”

I can’t help smiling through my nerves. “Thank you, miss.”

She continues to babble on until I pronounce her finished; then we walk back down the main staircase to the ballroom.

My eyes are immediately searching for Hazel, but only Garnet and his father are in the ballroom. The guests have yet to arrive.

The Duke is well into a glass of whiskey. Garnet looks relieved to see us.

“Coral, you are an absolute vision,” he says.

She beams. “Where is the Duchess?”

“You know Mother. She loves to make an entrance.”

“Look who’s talking,” Carnelian says as she joins us, Rye by her side. He is dashing in his tux. I’m reminded so much of Ash, of the parties he used to attend on Carnelian’s arm.

“Now, Cousin, you know I haven’t made a big entrance in at least five days,” Garnet says with a wink.

Rye laughs. “Quite the achievement.”

“What I want to know is,” Carnelian says, “where’s the surrogate?”

It occurs to me then that Carnelian knows I am not the surrogate. Does she think the Duchess just stole a random, unsuspecting girl to fill my place? Or does she know what Hazel means to me? I can’t see how, unless Garnet told her. And why would he do that?

Just then several royal couples arrive, ushered into the ballroom by one of the footmen. Garnet offers his arm to Coral to go and greet them.

“Come on,” Carnelian says to Rye. “I need a drink.”

They walk off toward one of the many tables laden with champagne and wine and whiskey. I’m left to stand awkwardly against a wall.

Soon, though, the guests begin to arrive and I’m joined by other ladies-in-waiting. Many of them know one another—they cluster together and whisper while their mistresses chat and sip champagne. The string quartet plays softly in a corner. The open back wall lets in a warm April breeze, scented with jasmine and honeysuckle.

“Hello,” a young male lady-in-waiting says to me. He has dark skin and blue eyes, a striking contrast, and he can’t be more than a few years older than I am. His smile is warm and genuine. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Emile.”

Emile! This is Raven’s lady-in-waiting, the kind one who took care of her. He helped her keep as much of her mind for as long as he possibly could. Which means . . . now I see the Countess of the Stone, her large figure cutting a wide path through the partygoers in the ballroom as she makes her way over to Garnet and Coral. Hate curls in my stomach like a fist. This woman tortured my friend.

“Where’s Frederic?” I ask bluntly. Frederic is the Countess’s lady-in-waiting, and even more of a sadist than the Countess herself. Raven told me about the wall of torture equipment in the dungeon where the Countess kept her, and how Frederic crafted each instrument himself.

Emile chuckles. “I see my House precedes me. Frederic is ill. Spring cold. The Countess abhors germs. He’s been quarantined in the medical room until it passes. So that leaves me.” He gives a little bow.

I wish I could tell him how grateful I am that he helped Raven. I wish I could let him know she’s still alive.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say. “I’m Imogen, Coral’s new lady-in-waiting.”