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It occurs to me then how little I truly know about Lucien.

“How long have you been collecting them?”

He slowly begins to unroll the coil in his hands. “Since I was twelve. This is the seventh iteration of my wall of clocks. Some I’ve kept. Most are new. The clockmakers in the Bank adore me. Fortunately, neither the Electress nor the Exetor seem to notice or care that we order so many new ones each year.” He sighs. “They would not understand if I ever had to explain it to them. These clocks comfort me. They remind me of someone I used to be. That would sound foolish to them.”

“It doesn’t to me,” I say.

“I know, honey.” The coil has entirely unrolled into a thin line of copper. Lucien bends it in half and tosses it aside on the table. “I remember the first time I heard you play the cello. At the Exetor’s Ball. The intensity of your playing, the simplicity of the music, the expression on your face . . . I remember thinking, I know that feeling.”

“That seems like ages ago,” I say.

“Yes, I imagine it does to you.”

“And not to you?”

Lucien shrugs. “I have lived in this circle a very long time. I suppose I’ve become used to the way time passes here. It ages you. It changes you.”

Silence falls, broken only by the bubbling of beakers and the ticking of the clocks on the wall.

“Hazel escaped,” I say. “She somehow got out of the medical room and ran up to the kitchen. She said . . . someone is trying to kill her. I think she meant Cora. But that can’t be right, can it? And Cora denied it, said Hazel was drugged or something.”

“She escaped the medical room?” Lucien says, raising an eyebrow. “Impressive.”

“She said someone was trying to kill her,” I say again. I’m not feeling like he’s grasping the severity of the situation.

“We know someone is trying to kill her, Violet,” he says patiently. “That’s why you came back to the Jewel in the first place.”

“So what do I do?” I ask, slamming my fist down on the arm of the chair. “She was right there, Lucien, right in front of me begging for help, and I . . . I couldn’t do anything.”

He purses his lips. “I fear there is nothing for us to do now except let this whole thing play out. I imagine the Duchess has increased security around her, after the shooting. That is the best we can hope for—all we can hope for, really. The plans of this Society will come together on Auction Day, or they will not. Time will tell.”

“Do you think the Electress was behind the shooting?” I ask.

“It is certainly the most popular theory.” I give him a look. “Yes,” he admits. “I do.”

I shudder. “It’s so strange,” I say. “That palace . . . it’s gone completely back to normal. Like the Duke never existed.”

“He was not well loved, I’m afraid.” He smacks his hand against his chest. “I forgot to tell you! Ash has made contact with a group of his former colleagues. They are eager and willing to join our side. What a boon! A group of highly trained young men with access in and out of the Jewel. I could not have planned it better myself.”

“He’s all right?” I ask, jumping to my feet. “What else did he say? Is Ochre okay? When did you speak to him?”

“He is fine, as is your brother. I have not spoken with either of them myself. They made contact with another one of my sources two days ago—I believe you met the man during your time in the Bank. The Cobbler, he is called.”

“Yes, I remember him.” I sit back down, my heart beating fast. Ochre and Ash are still together. They are all right.

“He is attempting to coordinate as many companions as he can—both inside the Jewel and out. I believe he’s created some sort of code. He will lead those in the Bank, joining the Society members by the wall near the Auction House on the day of the Auction.”

I remember what Ash’s note to me said. I will be there on Auction Day. He’s keeping his promise.

Lucien is still talking. “Anyone on our side will wear a piece of white fabric tied around their left arm, to identify them.” He pats my knee. “That was Ash’s idea, and quite a smart one. I will spread it to the rest of the Society. It will make it easier for us to identify our friends.”

“Won’t it make us easier to be identified by the Regimentals?”

“I do not believe the Regimentals who are against us will care much if they shoot a member of the Society or a random shop owner. And for those Regimentals who are with us, it will be extremely helpful for them to see who they can trust.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t choose black fabric. For the Black Key and all.”

“I believe it is meant to symbolize the White Rose,” Lucien says. “Which has been just as important, if not quite as well known, as the Black Key.”