The House of the Stone

Don’t do it, I think. Don’t give her what she wants.

Nothing happens and for a second I think maybe this girl has somehow heard my thoughts. Then the Electress’s eyes narrow and I understand. She’s not being defiant. She’s simply terrified.

“Go on,” the Electress says in a sharper tone, and I picture this tiny thing locked in a cage with a barb sticking in her foot. I cross my fingers under the table and hope that whatever Augury she performs, she performs exceptionally.

The girl’s fingers close around the walnut, and when she opens them, it’s turned slightly transparent, like brown glass.

The second Augury, then. Shape.

Her face wrinkles in concentration. The walnut ripples, shifting and stretching as she focuses on the shape she wants it to take. When she holds up a miniature figurine of the Electress, perfect in every detail, my mouth literally falls open. It’s an incredibly difficult feat. She must be in a lot of pain.

Sure enough, she cries out, drops the statue, and grabs the silver bowl, vomiting.

As if that weren’t horrific enough to watch, the royal women begin to clap.

“Isn’t it marvelous?” the Electress says gaily. Her lady-in-waiting glides forward to collect the bowl and the walnut figurine. As he bends down, I see him slip her a handkerchief to clean up the blood from her nose and mouth.

Kind, Violet called him. Kind, indeed.

“That will be all, Lucien,” the Electress says.

“Yes, my lady.” As he turns to leave, his eyes rest on Violet and I think the shadow of a smile pulls at his lips. I find myself wishing he worked for the House of the Stone.

“An impressive exhibition,” Violet’s mistress says, cutting into her salmon. “Though you may want to keep your best linens away from her.”

“Oh, that doesn’t happen every time,” the Electress says dismissively.

Violet’s mistress dabs at her mouth with a napkin. “You may want to warm her up a bit before forcing her to sprint.”

It’s getting harder and harder not to scream at these people. It’s as if they had no idea what it means to be a human being.

I may not have their wealth or power or fame. I may be forced to play by their rules. But no matter how they treat me, they can’t make me less than I am.

I am a person. I am Raven Stirling.

They are monsters.

“I will keep that in mind,” the Electress says. She pats the top of her surrogate’s head like she’s patting a dog.

“Does she have any special skills?” Violet’s mistress asks. “They don’t always, you know. But I do prefer a surrogate with a bit of talent.” She sips her wine. “Mine plays the cello.”

I glare at this woman, waiting for her to produce a cello and force Violet to play in front of everyone. Violet’s music is beautiful and personal and hers. It does not belong to these women.

“That is something I would very much like to hear,” the Electress says. Violet glances at the door with a petrified expression. I imagine her thoughts are in line with mine.

But no cello appears and her mistress merely smiles. “I am certain, Your Grace, that someday you will.”

As relieved as I am that Violet isn’t being forced to perform like a trained monkey, a small part of me is disappointed. Because hearing her play would feel like home right now.

The tears that well up in my eyes catch me off guard and I blink them back. This is no time for crying.

The conversation continues about our abilities. It turns out Blondie is a dancer. Cranky Face doesn’t seem to have any skills, but the Countess brags about my talent at mathematics as if she actually knew something about me besides the fact that I don’t like pain and I have a temper. They talk about us like we can’t hear them, like we’re not there.