Part 8 (2/2)
”The night before,” I say, panting. ”Before the second time that the doctor tried . . .”
The d.u.c.h.ess glares at me, seething with rage. ”Have you been intentionally destroying these pregnancies?”
I can feel the blankness on my face. ”I-no. How would I even do that?”
”Oh, I don't know, Violet. You're clearly such a resourceful girl. I'm sure you could find a way.”
”No,” I say.
The d.u.c.h.ess's hand slams into Annabelle's face again.
”Please,” I beg. ”I'm telling you the truth.”
One of Annabelle's shoulders is hunched up as if to try to cradle her swollen cheek. Our eyes meet and all I see is fear. Confusion. Her eyebrows knit together and I know she's trying to ask me something but I can't figure out exactly what.
”Here is my dilemma, Violet,” the d.u.c.h.ess says, pacing back and forth in front of me. ”You are a very valuable a.s.set. As much as I might want to kill you for what you've done, it wouldn't be a very good business practice. Obviously, your life in this palace will be different from now on. No more b.a.l.l.s, no more cello, no more . . . well, anything, I suppose. If I have to, I'll keep you tied to the medical bed for the duration of your stay. I've sent an emergency pet.i.tion to the Exetor for the companion's execution, so he should be dead in an hour or so. That will serve as some punishment. But is it enough, I ask myself?”
I try to swallow the whimper that climbs up my throat, but the d.u.c.h.ess hears it and smiles.
”Such a waste, really-he is so very handsome. And quite skilled, from what I've heard. The Lady of the Stream raved about him at Garnet's engagement party. Pity I didn't get the chance to sample his talents myself.”
A cold, slippery feeling squirms around inside me. The d.u.c.h.ess's smile widens. ”Please, tell me,” she continues, ”what exactly did you think would happen with him? That you two would ride off into the sunset together? Do you know how many women he's slept with? It's disgusting. I would have thought you'd have better taste. If you're going to get all love-struck in this palace, why not choose Garnet? His manners might be atrocious, but he's good-looking enough. And he comes from an excellent bloodline.”
At this, I can't help choking out a raspy, bitter laugh. ”His bloodline? Do you honestly think that matters to anyone in this city besides the royalty? You people wouldn't even need surrogates if you didn't care so much about stupid bloodlines!”
The d.u.c.h.ess waits patiently for me to finish. ”I would think you would choose your words more carefully,” she says. This time when she hits Annabelle, the skin breaks open below her right eye. Tears stream down Annabelle's cheek.
”I need you to understand,” the d.u.c.h.ess says. ”You are mine. The doctor will not stop until my baby is growing inside you. I will no longer have any consideration for your pain, or discomfort, or frame of mind. You will be like a piece of furniture to me. Is that clear?”
”I'll do whatever you want,” I say. ”But please don't hit her anymore.”
The d.u.c.h.ess becomes very still. Her expression softens, and she sighs. ”All right,” she says.
She walks to where Annabelle is bent over. In one fluid motion, she yanks Annabelle upright, holding her head back by her hair.
”You know, Violet,” the d.u.c.h.ess says. ”I cared about you. I truly did.” She seems sincerely sad as she holds my gaze. ”Why did you have to do this to me?”
I don't see the knife in her hand-just a flash of silver as it whispers across Annabelle's throat. Annabelle's eyes widen, more in surprise than in pain, as a crimson gash opens on her neck.
”NO!” I scream. Annabelle looks at me, her face so lovely and frail, and I can see the question now, clear enough on her face that she wouldn't need her slate to express it.
Why?
Blood spills down her chest, staining her nightdress a brilliant scarlet. Then her body crumples to the floor.
A wild, guttural wail fills the room, and it takes a second before I realize it's coming from me. I thrash against my bonds, ignoring the pain in my back and wrists, hardly feeling it at all, because if I can just get to Annabelle I can make this right; if I can hold her in my arms I can bring her back. There must be a way to bring her back, because she can't be dead, she can't be . . .
Annabelle's eyes are open, vacant, staring at me as blood pours from the wound on her neck, seeping toward me across the carpet.
”You needed to be punished for what you did,” the d.u.c.h.ess says, wiping the blood from her knife on the sleeve of her dressing gown. ”And so did she.”
As casually as if it were nothing, she steps over Annabelle's body and opens the door. I catch a glimpse of my tea parlor and the two Regimentals guarding me before the door closes and I am left alone with the corpse of the girl who was my first friend in this palace.
About the Author.
AMY EWING earned her MFA in Writing for Children at The New School and received her BFA at New York University. The Jewel started off as a thesis project but is now her debut novel. She lives in New York City. Visit Amy online ator on Twitter @AmyEwingBooks.
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Books by Amy Ewing.
The Jewel.
The White Rose.
The House of the Stone.
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