The White Rose Page 2

  “Will you shut up?” he says. “We’ve got to get you out of here.”

  A familiar smell assaults my nose, and without thinking, I open the door to the Duke’s smoking room and pull Garnet inside.

  “What are you doing?” he says through clenched teeth.

  “We’re not leaving him here,” I say.

  “He’s not part of the deal.”

  “We leave him here and he dies.”

  “So?”

  “I just watched Annabelle be murdered and bleed to death.” A tightness crawls across my chest. “She was one of the kindest, sweetest people I have ever known and she died because of me. What if she was in that dungeon? Would you leave her there to be executed? I’ve seen you two together. You were nice to her. She liked you. Does her life not matter to you?”

  Garnet shifts uncomfortably. “Look, this isn’t part of my job description, okay?” he says. “I’m not here to reunite some tragic love.”

  “That’s not the point. This is about someone’s life. So why are you here?”

  “I owe Lucien. I promised to help you.”

  “Then help me,” I say.

  “I don’t get it,” he says. “He’s just a companion. There are hundreds of them.”

  “And Annabelle was just a servant. And I’m just a surrogate,” I snap. “You sound just like your mother.”

  Garnet freezes.

  “Look at this,” I say, grabbing a handful of bloody nightdress in my fist. “This is her blood. Your mother did this. When does it stop? How many more innocent people have to die because of her?”

  He pauses. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll help you. But don’t expect me to take the fall if we get caught.”

  “Why would I ever expect that,” I mutter. We slip out of the room and back down the hall, past the library. There is a broad door to the left of it, with a sturdy handle.

  “Hold this,” Garnet says, handing me what appears to be a large black marble, about the size of an egg. Its surface is unnaturally smooth.

  “What is this?” I ask.

  “It’ll knock out the guards,” he says. “Don’t ask me how; Lucien made it. It’s how I got you out without those Regimentals seeing me.”

  Garnet takes out a ring of keys and slips a large iron one into the lock. The door opens with a muffled groan. He turns to me and takes the marble back.

  “I’d say ladies first,” he says, “but in this situation I think we should dispense with common courtesies.”

  The hall reminds me of the secret passage to Ash’s room—its walls and floor are stone, cold under my bare feet, and pale glowglobes illuminate the way. A long set of stairs cuts down in front of me and I take them slower than I should, listening for any sound other than Garnet’s boots and the padding of my feet. By the time we reach the bottom, I’m shivering in the chilly, stale air. Another door, wooden with iron slats in the top, stands ajar ahead of us.

  Garnet is frowning.

  “What?” I whisper.

  But when I push the door open, all thought of stealth and secrecy is lost.

  “Oh!” I cry.

  Ash is lying in a crumpled heap on the floor of a cell a few yards in front of me. I rush forward and fall to my knees, gripping the cold steel bars.

  “Ash,” I say. Blood has congealed on his face and in his hair. His cheekbone is badly bruised and there is a gash on his forehead. He’s only in his cotton pajama pants, his chest and feet bare. He must be freezing. Or, he would be if he was conscious.

  “Ash,” I say louder. “Ash, wake up.” I reach my arms through the bars but he’s too far away to touch. “Garnet, where are the keys?”

  He appears at my side. “I don’t know,” he says. “The keys for the cells aren’t on this ring.”

  A wave of despair rises up and threatens to crush me, but I grit my teeth and hold it back. I don’t have time to lose hope. “There has to be something we can do. They’ve got to be here somewhere. Ash!” I pull at the bars, a useless effort. “Wake up, please!”

  “Looking for something?”

  My insides turn to stone as Carnelian emerges from the shadows behind the wooden door. In one hand she holds a small golden key.

  “Carnelian, what did you do?” Garnet asks, his eyes wide, but not focused on her. I follow his gaze to the bodies of two Regimentals, piled behind the door next to an empty cell.

  Carnelian holds up her other hand and shows him a syringe. “You know, it’s funny the things you can do when no one cares about you. The places you can go. The people you can manipulate. The doctor showed me some things once, when I pretended to have an interest in medicine.” She looks at the needle fondly. “They’re not dead,” she says, “only paralyzed. And unconscious. They underestimated me, too. I could see it in their eyes. Poor little Carnelian. Poor, ugly, stupid Carnelian.”

  “Mother will kill you for this,” Garnet says.

  “She’ll kill you, too,” Carnelian replies. “What are you doing here with her?”

  “Open the cell,” I say.

  Her eyes flash. “You weren’t supposed to be with him. He was supposed to be mine. Why did you have to take him from me?”

  “I didn’t take anything from you,” I snap. “He’s not a puppy or a piece of jewelry. He’s a human being.”

  “I know who he is,” she says. “I know him better than you.”

  “I highly doubt that.”

  “He told me things he’s never told anyone before! He said so himself. And I . . . I . . .” Red spots bloom on her cheeks. “I trusted him with my secrets. He was going to stay with me forever.”

  “Carnelian, he was never going to stay. He would have left anyway, once you got engaged.”

  “I was figuring out a plan,” she says. “I was going to find a way.”

  “Well, none of that matters now because if you don’t open this door, he’s going to be executed.” My gaze flickers to the key in her hand. “Is that what you want?”

  “I don’t want him to be with you.”

  “So you’d rather he be dead?”

  A soft moan from Ash’s cell effectively silences the room.

  “Ash,” I gasp, turning to press my face against the bars. Ash’s eyelids flutter, once, twice, then open. He sees me and a smile breaks across his battered face.

  “Violet?” he croaks. “Where are we?” He tilts his head back, taking in his surroundings. “Ah, right.”

  “It’s okay, I’m here to save you.” I don’t sound as confident as I’d like.

  “That’s nice,” he breathes. His eyes lose focus for a second, then they come back to me. “What happened to your face?”

  “I’m fine,” I say as Ash gingerly pushes himself up off the ground. He winces and puts a hand to his swollen cheek.

  “So,” he says, crawling over to the door of his cell. “How do I get on the other side of these bars?”

  I glance behind me, and Ash seems to notice for the first time that we have company. His brow furrows as he takes in Garnet, then Carnelian. She has lowered the syringe.

  “Carnelian has the key,” I say. Then, against every impulse I have, I get up and back away. I can’t make Carnelian open the door. But Ash can.

  She walks forward slowly, her eyes locked on Ash’s face. When she reaches his cell, she sinks to her knees exactly where I was a few seconds before.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, wrapping her hand around his where it clutches the metal bar. “I thought if I could get her out of the way, we could be together.”

  Ash manages another smile. “I know.”

  “I thought . . . I had a plan . . .”

  “I know,” Ash says again. “But it wouldn’t have worked.”

  Carnelian nods. “Because no matter what, you can’t stay with me.”

  “No,” he says softly. “I can’t.”

  “Can I ask you one thing?” The key hovers by the lock.

  “Of course.”

  “Was there anything between us that was . . . r
eal?”

  Ash brings his face so close to hers I want to scream. He whispers something I can’t hear, and Carnelian’s whole face brightens. After a moment, she pulls away, turns the key in the lock, and opens the door. I’m at Ash’s side in an instant, helping him to his feet. Carnelian glares at me.

  “I won’t tell for his sake,” she says. “Not yours.”

  I don’t get to retort before Garnet jumps in.

  “Yes, well, while this has all been bizarrely entertaining, it really is time to go.”

  “Are you okay?” I whisper to Ash. His chest is cold against my thin silk nightgown, but his arms feel strong when they wrap around me.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he whispers back.

  “Cheer up, cousin,” Garnet says. Carnelian is staring at Ash and me with a half-furious, half-broken expression. “Think about Mother’s face when she finds out they’re both gone.”

  The corner of Carnelian’s mouth twitches.

  Garnet nods. “Thanks for the help,” he says with a wave of his hand. He turns to us. “Now let’s go.”

  Three

  WE RUN UP THE STAIRS AND OUT OF THE DUNGEON AS quickly and quietly as we can.

  The halls are empty. Ash keeps one arm wrapped around his ribs, clutching his left side. His free hand grips mine.

  “Are you all right?” he asks, with a nod to my nightgown. Annabelle’s blood has nearly dried. It stains my knees and shins. A lump swells in my throat.

  “That’s not mine,” I whisper.

  Ash’s eyes widen. “Who—”

  I shake my head hard. I can’t talk about that right now.

  We pass the dining room and emerge into the glass promenade that connects to the east wing, where Ash’s quarters are. It’s like this night is replaying itself in backward fashion. But Ash is with me now. I squeeze his hand to remind myself.

  “What’s his story?” he breathes in my ear, his eyes trained on Garnet.

  I shrug.

  “His story is he’s trying to get the two of you out of here without ending up dead,” Garnet replies. “So shut up and keep close.”

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “We need transportation,” Garnet says.

  “Right. So what’s the plan?”

  “Seriously, Violet?” he says, stopping for a moment. “Does it look like I’m following an instruction manual? I’m making this up as I go. If you have a better idea—”

  “No, no,” I say quickly. “Whatever you think is best.”

  “He knows your name,” Ash murmurs as we continue down the hallway.

  “Lucien,” I say. Ash mutters something I can’t hear.

  Past Ash’s former living quarters, left turn, right turn, left again, we move deeper into the east wing than I’ve ever been.

  “How do you know the servants’ wing so well?” Ash asks Garnet.

  Garnet raises an eyebrow and shoots me a leering grin. “I get around.”

  I cringe, thinking of all the unsuspecting kitchen maids that Garnet might have preyed on, but Ash is unfazed.

  “No you don’t,” he says.

  Garnet snorts. “How would you know?”

  “I would,” Ash replies. “And I do.”

  Garnet’s mouth turns into a sneer as we reach a door at the end of a hall. He unbuttons his Regimental coat and tosses it to me. “You’ll need this,” he says. I slip it on. The sleeves fall well past my fingers and I’m inexplicably reminded of my mother’s bathrobe, how huge it was when I used to wear it around my house in the Marsh, back when the scariest thing I could imagine was leaving my home for Southgate Holding Facility.

  Garnet opens the door and I’m hit with a blast of frigid air. My teeth are chattering before we step outside. I move to offer Ash the coat, since he doesn’t even have a shirt on, but he holds it tight around me. Icy grass crunches under my bare feet, and my toes are numb in seconds. The night has turned cloudy, no moon or stars to light our way, but Garnet is sure of his direction. A black shape—a low, boxy structure—appears in the darkness. When we reach it, I hear Garnet fumble with the key ring.

  A lock clicks, and we move from the freezing night air to a chilled, quiet place.

  The door closes behind me and a light flicks on. A row of gleaming motorcars stretches out in a cavernous space. I see the white one the Duchess and I took to Dahlia’s funeral at the Exetor’s palace, and the black one I took to all the balls, but there is a bright red one, a silver one, and pale blue and lemon yellow as well.

  Garnet heads straight to the red motorcar and opens the trunk.

  “Get in,” he says.

  I never imagined I’d be willing, if not eager, to climb into the trunk of a car.

  “Don’t you think someone will notice if a car is missing?” Ash mutters as he climbs in beside me. I scoot back to make room for him.

  Garnet grins. “This is mine. It won’t be the first time I’ve taken her out for a late-night joyride.”

  Then he slams the trunk shut.

  Panic tackles me with a ferocity that leaves me breathless. The darkness is too close, too confining. My palms slam against the top of the trunk until Ash’s cold hands find my face.

  “It’s okay, Violet,” he whispers. “Breathe.”

  My lungs expand and the weight of everything overwhelms me. A torrent of tears pours out of me as I bury my face in his chest. The car starts, a low vibration running through my body. I hear the muffled sounds of a garage door opening and closing, and then I’m slammed against Ash as Garnet backs out of the driveway. The car circles in a dizzying movement, and my back is thrown against the other side of the trunk, Ash’s body crushing mine.

  “You know,” Ash gasps, “I think he’s enjoying this.”

  And then, like with the tears, I burst into hysterical laughter, my stomach contracting so hard it hurts, and Ash laughs, too, only his laughter dissolves into a spasm of coughing.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, kissing every part of him.

  “I’m fine—ow,” he says as my lips land on his bruised cheek. “What exactly happened? The last thing I remember is the Duchess coming into my room.”

  I tell him about the arcana with Garnet’s voice on the other end, and the Duchess tying me up, and Annabelle . . .

  “I left her there,” I say. “All alone.”

  “You had to,” Ash murmurs. “Violet, you had to.”

  We’re quiet for a moment. The guilt and pain and grief that I’d managed to suppress during our flight from the palace swells up inside me. I see her face in the dark, smell the lily scent of her hair.

  “It’s my fault,” I whisper. “If I hadn’t . . . if we . . .”

  “No.” The word is loud and authoritative in our cramped quarters. “The Duchess killed Annabelle, Violet. Not you. Not me.”

  I rest my head against his shoulder and make myself a silent promise. To not forget her, ever. To keep her alive the only way I can.

  “Do you know where we’re going?” he asks.

  “No.” Now that we’re on the road, the ride is very smooth. I wriggle out of the jacket and throw it over Ash.

  “Violet, I’m not—”

  “We’ll both use it,” I insist, snuggling as close as I can into his side. His skin is freezing.

  Ash strokes my hair. The vibrations of the car engine are a soothing, numbing sound.

  “You saved my life,” he whispers, his breath warm against my temple.

  “I wasn’t going to just leave you there.”

  He laughs softly. “I appreciate that.”

  “You would have done it for me.”

  We ride like this for what seems like hours before the car stops abruptly, and the trunk is thrown open. The moon must have come out again, because Garnet is silhouetted against its silvery light.

  “Did you two have a nice ride?” he asks with a grin.

  Ash climbs out of the trunk and helps me, throwing the coat around my shoulders. “Where are we?”

  I look around.
It’s some sort of dark alleyway, bordered by two plain, rectangular buildings.

  “The morgue,” Garnet replies.

  I shiver.

  He leads us to an iron door, painted white to match the building’s exterior.

  “It’s not locked?” I ask.

  “This is the morgue for servants and surrogates,” Garnet explains.

  “Right,” I mutter.

  The morgue’s interior is chilly and sterile. Garnet takes a small flashlight from his belt, illuminating several long hallways that are a dreary green and smell like antiseptic. My feet stick to the waxed floor.

  “Where are we going?” I whisper.

  He shines the beam of the flashlight to the left and then to the right. “Good question. Lucien didn’t happen to tell you where exactly you were going to meet him?”

  “I was supposed to be dead,” I say.

  “Right.”

  “We could always follow the arrows.” Ash is standing by the corner where two halls intersect, staring intently at the wall. “Garnet, bring the light.”

  Garnet shines the flashlight on the wall where there is a directional sign.

  SURROGATES

  LADIES-IN-WAITING

  SERVANTS

  We take the right hall, through a set of swinging double doors into another hallway. Ash tries the handle of a door across from us.

  “Locked,” he says.

  “This one isn’t,” Garnet says, opening the door. He flicks on the light and gleaming silver compartments come into view, lining the walls, row upon row of square doors. Everything is sharp and pristine.

  “Are those for the . . .” I can’t bring myself to say the word bodies.

  “Yes,” Ash says.

  “Are they all . . . full?” The thought of so many dead surrogates makes me colder than I already am. Annabelle’s blood pricks at the skin on my knees.

  “I hope not,” he replies.

  “Do you think Raven is here already?” I ask. When I gave her the serum at the Duchess’s luncheon this afternoon, Raven was practically catatonic. But she roused when she heard my voice. I have to hope she understood me.

  Ash swallows. “There’s only one way to find out.”

  “Who’s Raven?” Garnet asks.

  “My best friend,” I reply. My legs start to shake as I approach one of the compartments. “The Countess of the Stone’s surrogate. I gave her Lucien’s serum.”