Page 42 of The Black Key

It does seem as though the Electress has glued herself to Hazel’s side. Her closeness hasn’t escaped the Duchess’s notice either. Cora hovers behind them. When our eyes meet, she gives me a curt nod.

I feel better knowing that I’m not the only person looking out for Hazel tonight.

The party moves into the garden as the sun begins to set, decorating the sky with streaks of pink and orange. The ladies-in-waiting keep on the fringes, and I find myself enjoying this party more than any of the ones I attended as a surrogate. Probably because no one is staring at me or talking about me like I don’t exist. I watch Rye feed Carnelian a chocolate-covered strawberry and my heart aches thinking of Ash again. And Ochre now, too. I hope they’re all right, wherever they are. The only consolation I have is that, if Ash had been caught, I surely would have heard by now. The Duchess would be ecstatic.

I spend quite a bit of time with Emile and find myself enjoying his company immensely. He is kind, and smart, and has a quick wit. I feel bad that he has to live in that horrible palace. I can’t wait to tell Raven I met him.

The Duke gets staggeringly drunk. He keeps making elaborate toasts that no one wants to listen to. The Duchess tries to stay as far away from him as possible, Hazel by her side. Hazel and I have exchanged a few glances, but there’s simply no way to talk to her here. The Electress keeps petting the top of her head, like she’s a dog.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” the Duke says, raising his glass for the third time. “I would like to make a t—”

Suddenly a loud voice booms out over the music.

“The House of the Lake is a poison to this city!”

A Regimental stands in the middle of the crowd. He’s smaller than most of the other ones I’ve seen, with a haggard face. There is a moment of shocked silence among the partygoers.

“Their blood shall never sit on the throne!” he shouts. Then he draws his pistol and points it straight at Hazel.

And with a loud pop, the shooting begins.

Fourteen

HAZEL.

That’s all I can think.

I have to get to Hazel.

After the first shot rings out, chaos erupts. More shots are fired and it seems like they’re coming from everywhere. Someone yanks me to the ground and I realize it’s Lucien.

“Stay down,” he growls in my ear, before rushing into the fray. I’m on my feet as soon as he’s gone. Rye runs past me with Carnelian, her face pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped protectively around her.

Hazel. I have to find Hazel. That man was pointing the gun right at her.

As I shove through the crowds fighting for the exit, I stumble on something and fall to the ground, scraping my palms.

The Duke’s eyes stare up at me, unblinking, a red spot in the center of his chest growing bigger and bigger. I scoot backward and see One and another Regimental standing over the body of the haggard man beside another dead Regimental—his accomplice I would guess, judging by the way One is glaring at him.

“Search them,” One spits. “Then get them out of here.”

The garden is emptying out now. The Exetor and Electress are nowhere to be seen—they must have been the first ones the Regimentals protected when the shooting started. Then I see a fine silver chain in the grass, its end broken off the wrist it was once attached to. I crawl on the ground toward it, and find a pair of little feet poking out from underneath a white-clad body.

Cora is prostrate over Hazel. I grab her arm and pull her off my sister. She moans.

Blood has seeped through her dress, staining her shoulder bright red. Hazel coughs and sits up.

“She . . . she pulled me down,” she says, staring wide-eyed at Cora, who has sunk into unconsciousness.

“Protect my surrogate, you fools!” the Duchess shrieks, crawling out from behind a table. Three comes bounding out of nowhere, scoops Hazel up, and disappears with her.

It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to scream after her.

“Cora!” the Duchess cries, seeing her cradled in my arms. She runs over and sinks to her knees, her dress billowing out in sparkling waves around her. “Give her to me,” she snaps, grabbing Cora’s limp figure from my grasp and holding her to her own chest. “Oh, Cora, Cora, what did they do to you . . .”

I’ve never seen the Duchess look like this before. Tears spill down her cheeks as she rocks her lady-in-waiting back and forth, blood dripping through her fingers.

“Help me!” she screams, and more Regimentals swarm her. I get up and stumble backward as they lift Cora up and carry her, I presume, to the medical room. I bump right into Garnet, who is staring down at the body of his father.