The House of the Stone

“My lady,” he says. “An urgent message has just arrived. The Electress requests your presence at the Royal Palace at once.”


A hint of annoyance flashes across the Countess’s face, and she glances at the torture wall. Then she sighs.

“Childish imbecile,” she mutters. “Frederic, have the car brought around and send William and Bernard to my chambers. Something in my colors.” She gazes at me longingly. “And tell the doctor to be ready when I return.”

My insides shrivel at the word doctor.

Frederic is already gone, but the Countess stops at the door.

“It stays where it is, Emile,” she says, a warning in her voice.

He bows. “Yes, my lady.”

It’s only after she has gone that I realize I’m shaking. Shaking so hard my teeth chatter and my vision goes blurry. I sink back against the wall and slide to the hard, cold floor. My head throbs. I can still taste the Countess’s blood in my mouth.

I don’t even see Emile until I smell his flowery scent. He wipes the blood from my mouth gently.

“I cannot give you a blanket or fresh clothes or food,” he says softly. “But I can give you a pillow for a while.”

I nod furiously, and keep nodding as his hands press lightly against my shoulders. He moves me closer to the floor until my head hits something warm. His thigh.

He smooths my hair back from my face and I suddenly remember Violet’s first night in Southgate, after she’d spent all day trying to turn that stupid block yellow. I heard her crying and snuck into her room and rocked her back and forth, and she told me about Hazel and Ochre and her father, and how now she’d left her mother with one less family member and she just wanted to go home.

I never thought I’d look back at Southgate and think of it as home. But I want to go home.

I lie on the cold ground and try and conjure up every good memory I have about Violet. Hearing her play the cello for the first time. The look on her face when she bit into a lemon, even though I told her not to. Begging me to play Halma with her and Lily because sometimes, though she’d never admit it, she just loves winning. Brushing out her hair at night. Laughing together.

I so desperately wish she were here now. She always knew exactly what to say to make me feel better. I want to tell her about this awful palace. And maybe she will hug me and tell me everything will be okay. Even if it won’t.

“What is going to happen to me?” I whisper to Emile.

I’m not expecting a response. And I don’t get one.





Six


I MUST HAVE DOZED OFF BECAUSE WHEN I OPEN MY EYES, Emile is gone.

The light in the room is different. Darker. Richer. Afternoon, I’d guess. My bones ache as I push myself up into a sitting position. My stomach growls. I hug my knees to my chest.

And wait.

I can’t hear anything except the occasional chirp of a bird or buzz of an insect from outside. But the noise is so faint I think I might be imagining it.

I meticulously examine the chains that tether me, every link, the screws that keep them bolted to the wall, the manacles around my wrists. I search for a weakness. There isn’t one. Unlike the shiny instruments of torture, these chains are old. But sturdy. I wonder how many surrogates have been tied to this wall before me.

Then I wish I hadn’t thought that because it just makes my chest sink and my stomach pinch, and it doesn’t really matter anyway. I’m here now.

When I can’t stand the silence anymore, I begin to sing quietly—the stupid Marsh song Lily sang on the train to the Auction.

“Come all ye fair and tender ladies . . .”

I sing the whole song, making up the words where I’ve forgotten them. Then I sing it again. And again.

I’m on my fourteenth time singing it when the door opens. Immediately, my body is alert, my sore muscles tensing.

Frederic walks in, accompanied by four footmen. I hug my knees tighter.

He carries a folded piece of fabric in his hand and it makes me ache with longing.

Please, I think, let that be for me.