Page 82 of The Black Key

What happens next is a blur. Crunches and shouts and thuds, Ash’s sword sings through the air, guns go off, and all the while I fill the room with wind so fierce and biting it makes my own eyes burn and water.

When I hear Ash shout, “Stop!” I release my hold on the element and everything settles. Regimentals are splayed out everywhere, some dead, some only unconscious. The room has an arched ceiling painted with murals depicting the four seasons, and stained-glass windows as tall as Garnet, their jewel tones spilling across the black-and-white tile floor. In the center of the room is a dais on which sit two immense, opulent thrones. The arms are scaled and end in snake heads with rubies for eyes. Enormous golden wings spread out from either side of each throne, and their seats are covered in crimson velvet.

The Duchess sits in one, her skirts tangled about her legs, looking utterly nonplussed at this latest development. Her fingers grip the snakes like claws when she sees her son.

“Garnet?” she gasps. Hazel is on the floor beside her, still leashed. Her face lights up when she sees me. Cora and Carnelian are behind her—Cora gapes at Garnet, but Carnelian only has eyes for Ash.

“Hello, Mother,” he says, as if they’ve just sat down to breakfast. “Not your typical Auction Day, is it?”

“You . . . you’re with them?” The Duchess spits out the word. Her gaze lands on Raven, then Ash, then me. “Fighting with whores and servants?”

“You mean fighting alongside human beings?” Garnet says. “Yes, Mother. I am.”

The Duchess sneers. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re more like your father than you ever were like me.”

Garnet pretends to consider for a moment. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You’d rather be a weakling?”

“Better a weakling than a murderer,” I say, stepping forward.

The Duchess stands and I see she holds a dagger in one hand, presumably the same one the Exetor gave her. Its handle is studded with gemstones, its blade engraved in swirling lines of silver. “I will not suffer a mere lady-in-waiting to speak to me in such a manner. When this ridiculous rebellion is over, I will have your tongue cut out. I will have your head on a spike. I will—”

“You will have nothing,” I say, walking forward slowly. “You have no power in this city. And I am no mere lady-in-waiting.”

I will not be afraid of her anymore.

And she will see me for who I truly am.

Once to see it as it is. Twice to see it in your mind. Thrice to bend it to your will.

My scalp tingles as my hair turns from blond to black. My nose aches as it returns to its normal size, my forehead shrinking. I save my eyes for last. They burn like hot embers sizzling in my skull, but I force myself to keep them open while they revert back to their natural violet. I want to see the Duchess’s face as she realizes it’s me.

I am not disappointed.

Her mouth falls open. The dagger clatters to the floor, just out of Hazel’s reach—she makes a grab for it but the chain holds her back. The Duchess snatches the dagger away and grabs Hazel by the hair, yanking her upright and pressing the blade against her throat.

“Stay back,” she says.

“Violet,” Hazel croaks.

“You will not hurt her,” I hiss. I consider joining with Air and throwing the Duchess off the dais, but that could end in Hazel with her throat cut.

“So,” the Duchess says, looking more comfortable now that she’s got my sister’s life to hold over me, “you have returned. I wondered if you would. That’s part of the reason I took her in the first place. I thought perhaps you might get caught trying to save her.” She raises one eyebrow. “You disguised yourself well, I’ll give you that.”

Ash, Raven, and Garnet have formed a loose half circle around me. Cora watches my every step eagerly, waiting for her own revenge.

“And the rest of the reason?” I ask.

The Duchess shrugs. “Well, I was hoping she’d have your abilities, of course, but it became evident rather quickly that she was not the surrogate you were. A child was not possible.” Something flickers in her eyes—regret maybe?—but it vanishes before I can make sense of it.

She pulls Hazel’s head back farther. “When you escaped with the whore, I thought I was finished. I thought I would never get the thing I truly wanted, for my daughter to rule as I should have. But . . . what is that quaint saying you have in the lower circles? When all you have left is lemons, make lemonade? I saw an opportunity. Why give a child the life that should have been mine? The Electress is so simple and stupid, so easy to manipulate. Why not use that to my advantage? After all, she did such a lovely job of shouting to anyone and everyone in the Jewel about how she hated me, how she did not wish a match with my House. She was jealous. Jealousy is a petty emotion. It pollutes the mind. It makes you rash. Because she had everything and she did not appreciate it. Even worse, she did not deserve it in the first place.”

“So you stole my sister and went over the Electress’s head to make a match with the Exetor?”

“Well deduced,” the Duchess says with a sneer. “And once Onyx realized there was a chance to be together again . . . well, we would do anything for each other. Even kill his Bank-trash wife. That is the depth of our love.”

“Where is he, then?” I ask, gesturing around. “It looks like he’s abandoned you.”