The House of the Stone

“And yet you bought a surrogate,” the old woman in red says. Her voice has more authority than her wrinkled skin and white hair would imply. “Why have a daughter so soon?”


“Well,” the Electress says, leaning forward a little, like this is a girls’ overnight and not a royal dinner. “It is my husband’s wish to see his line continue through our son, but I have always hoped for my daughter to rule when I am gone. I feel a woman would possess more sensitivity to the needs of her people. And I’d like to give some young man from the Bank the same opportunity I was given by our beloved Exetor. It only seems fair, to give back in some way to the circle I was raised in. Wouldn’t you agree, Pearl?”

She clearly aims her little speech at Violet’s mistress, but every royal at the table looks like they’ve just bitten into a lemon. A muscle in the Countess’s jaw is twitching. I prepare my last bite of duck with a gloating sense of satisfaction.

Violet’s mistress doesn’t take the bait. “Whatever Your Grace thinks is best,” she says in a deceptively warm voice. She looks at the Countess. “And what about you, Ebony? Will the House of the Stone be welcoming a daughter along with everyone else? Or will we be seeing you again at next year’s Auction?”

Again? That sounds ominous. How many surrogates has the Countess had? And . . . what happened to them? I pause, my fork on my plate, my stomach suddenly feeling uncomfortably full.

The Countess pops a fig in her mouth and chews it slowly. “Oh yes, I believe I will start with a daughter,” she says. “Boys can be so terribly difficult, don’t you think?”

Violet’s mistress blushes and the Electress giggles.

“Yes,” she says. “How is Garnet, by the way? Keeping out of trouble, I hope?”

Garnet. Another stupid Jewel name. You can’t even tell if it’s a boy or a girl.

“He is in his room at the moment,” Violet’s mistress says tersely. “Studying.”

Suddenly, the double doors burst open and a young man staggers in. His skin is pale and his blond hair is slicked back except for a few unruly locks that have fallen in his eyes. His shoulders are broad and his shirt is partially unbuttoned. He has the air of someone who knows how good-looking he is.

“Mother!” he cries, raising his empty glass toward Violet’s mistress, so I assume he’s her son. His gaze is unfocused as it slides around the rest of the room, like he’s only just noticed there are other people here. “I beg your pardon, ladies. Didn’t realize there was a dinner party tonight.”

His eyes land on Violet and I stiffen.

He’d better keep his hands off her.

“Oh, right,” he says. “The Auction.”

The Electress and that sad, not-popular Duchess are laughing into their napkins. The Countess looks smug, an expression that only accentuates the cruelness in her eyes and mouth.

“Garnet, my darling,” Violet’s mistress says in a voice like razor blades. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, don’t mind me,” he replies with a wave of his hand. “Just needed a refill.”

While I don’t particularly like this guy, I have to applaud his audacity. He swaggers over to the bar cart and pours himself a generous helping of what I’d guess is whiskey. Violet’s mistress is on her feet in an instant.

“Will you excuse me for a moment?” she says, gliding over to her son and grabbing his arm. I hear him mumble “Ow” as she marches him out of the room.

“And that, ladies, is why I feel this city should be left in the hands of a woman!” the Electress exclaims.

The unpopular Duchess and the Countess explode with laughter. The Countess laughing is similar to what I imagine a seal being clubbed over the head would sound like. It’s not a happy sound. It’s big and loud and painful to listen to.

Violet’s eyes meet mine. I give her a look that tries to say, “What is wrong with these people?” Her lips press together like she’s fighting a smile. She gives me a tiny nod.

That nod fills me up more than any pear salad or roast duck ever could.