The House of the Stone

“Raven!”


She’s here! Her voice makes my knees weak, but my heart pumps in my chest with sweet, unabashed hope. Strong. Brave. Immediately, I’m running in the direction of her voice, pushing past surrogates who take up my mantle, calling out names of their friends.

“Fawn!”

“Scarlet!”

“Ginger!”

But I can still hear my name—Violet’s voice getting closer—and then there she is and I’d know her anywhere, even with a stupid veil over her face. We collide into each other, and I wrap my arms around her, feeling her familiar form, and I don’t ever, ever want to let go.

“Are you all right?” she asks.

Without thinking I reply, “I’m all right, are you—”

Gunshots rip through the air as the Regimentals fire their weapons, and Violet and I break apart as the crowd of surrogates huddles together. She grabs my hand, and I clutch hers like it’s a lifeline.

“How is the palace of the Lake?” I ask. “Does the Duchess treat you well?”

“I . . . I don’t know,” Violet says. “She hit me.” My stomach clenches. “But then she gave me a cello. And the food is great.”

I let out a laugh for the first time in what feels like years. Violet is a terrible liar. She is not being subjected to the same treatment as I am—she’d never be able to hide something like that. She is all right. She has food. She has a cello.

Violet is all right.

I am filled with an overwhelming sense of relief. She smiles at me.

“What about the Countess of the Stone?” she asks.

I give her my best everyone-can-go-screw-themselves snort. “No. I don’t think the Countess and I are going to get along very well.”

Her face crumples.

“Why?” she asks. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t worry about me, Violet.” I curl my lips into what I hope is a confident grin. “I’m going to make her rue the day she bought me.”

“Raven, don’t,” she pleads. “She could hurt you.”

“Yeah. I know.” My mother’s melted face appears in my mind. “Have you seen a doctor yet?”

“No.”

“You will. And then you’ll see. Or maybe not,” I say, because she’s looking even more concerned. “Maybe the Duchess is different. But the Countess is . . .” I choose my words carefully. “There’s something wrong with her, Violet.”

“Raven, you’re scaring me,” she says.

And then I see that I can’t tell her the truth. I can’t share this burden with her.

I won’t take her hope away.

But I have never felt so alone in my entire life.

I squeeze her hand to reassure her.

“I’ll be fine,” I say, and I’m proud at how true it sounds. “Don’t worry about me.”

She opens her mouth, looking like she’s going to press for more information, when I’m mercifully saved by another volley of gunshots as the royal women begin to trickle out of the palace.

“I don’t want to leave you,” she whispers.

“Me neither,” I say. A sob wells up in my throat, but I choke it down and hitch a brave smile on my face. “But we’ll see each other again. Founding Houses, right?”

“Right,” Violet says. Women begin collecting their surrogates, and I easily spot the Countess’s enormous figure. Her threats are real and I’d like to keep my tongue where it is.

“She can’t see me talking to you,” I say. And before Violet can say anything else, I’ve released the warmth of her hand and melted into the sea of black veils.

I keep the hand she held clenched tight into a fist, as if I could hold the feeling of her hand in mine, as if it were something tangible. The Countess finds me and reattaches my leash to her wrist.

Do your worst to me, I think as she leads me back to the motorcar. You can’t hurt my friend. Violet will be all right.

I keep that thought close to me as she puts the muzzle back on.

I keep it close as I’m led back to my cage.

I nurture it like a candle flame, keeping it safe and warm and bright.

Because if I don’t . . . I’m not sure I’ll survive this place.