The Jewel by Amy Ewing

room.
    â€œAnd that, ladies, is why I feel this city should be left in the hands of a woman!” the Electress exclaims. The Duchess of the Scales and the Countess of the Stone explode with laughter.
    For a second, I meet Raven’s eyes. She raises an eyebrow, as if to say, “What is wrong with these people?” I press my lips together, fighting a smile, and give her a tiny nod.
    â€œBut that decision is not up to you,” the Countess of the Rose interjects. She is the only one not amused by Garnet’s bizarre entrance. “It is the Exetor’s choice, since the line passed through him.” She takes a small bite of frisee. “Of course, you are only a recent addition to the Royal Palace. Perhaps the subtleties of royal succession have not fully been explained.”
    The Electress stiffens. “Clearly it has been too long since there has been any pleasure in your bedchambers, Ametrine, but there is no more powerful weapon of persuasion than a woman’s body. I am quite capable of changing my husband’s mind.”
    I blush at the turn the conversation just took. Footmen come in to clear our plates, and I take advantage of the Duchess’s absence, shoveling a few extra pieces of duck into my mouth.
    â€œI meant no offense, Your Grace,” the Countess of the Rose says. “But remember that surrogacy is a very strange thing. You never know precisely what you are going to get. The Augury scores only tell you so much. Perhaps you will end up preferring for your son to succeed to the throne.”
    â€œDoubtful,” the Electress replies. She beckons to one of the footmen. “Fetch Lucien. Now.”
    My ears prick and I sit up straighter.
    The servants begin serving the next course—smoked salmon with capers and candied lemon—and the Duchess returns.
    â€œMy apologies, Your Grace,” she says with a low curtsy.
    â€œOh, no need to apologize. It was rather exciting,” the Electress says. “In comparison, dinners at the Royal Palace are positively dull.”
    The Countess of the Stone’s wide mouth curves into an unpleasant smirk. I take a sip of wine and wait for the Duchess to sit down. I’m starving, and I hope she likes the salmon more than the other dishes, so I can actually eat a substantial amount of something.
    Then I see a white dress and a topknot and my heart somersaults. Lucien glides into the room, holding a walnut and a silver bowl.
    â€œThank you, Lucien,” the Electress says. “Wait here.”
    â€œOf course, my lady.” Lucien places the walnut and the bowl on the table and moves back to stand against the wall. Dahlia’s eyes are wide with fear, almost pleading, as she looks back and forth between the bowl and the Electress. I hold my breath, wondering what the Electress is going to make her do. Across the table, I see that Raven’s expression mirrors mine. The iced cake and the lioness watch intently.
    â€œShe was showing me the most magnificent trick earlier,” the Electress says. She turns to Dahlia eagerly. “Go on.”
    Dahlia’s lower lip trembles as she picks up the walnut in her small hand. Nothing happens. The Electress’s eyes harden.
    â€œGo on,” she repeats in a sharper tone.
    Dahlia’s fingers close around the walnut, and when she opens them, it has a slightly transparent look, like it’s been turned to brown glass—she’s using the second Augury, Shape. Her eyebrows knit together as she concentrates, and suddenly the walnut ripples, shifting and stretching like it’s made of water.
    I expect her to turn it into a simple shape, like a star or a flower, but instead she molds it into a miniature statue of the Electress. It’s an incredibly difficult feat; Dahlia must be in an extreme amount of pain.
    As if in response to my thought, Dahlia cries out and drops the statue—she grabs the silver bowl, coughing up a mixture of phlegm and