Malice, page 11
She sits up straight. “You’re interested in Leythana as well?”
“Who wouldn’t be? A queen who earned her crown by right, not just inheriting it like some lazy—” I realize my mistake too late and skid to a stop. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“No.” She rises and moves to a column, tracing tiny diamond-shaped patterns in the gritty surface with a fingertip. “I know exactly what you mean. And I agree.”
“You do?”
“In fact, that’s why I’m here. In a way. I want to be like Leythana. Not just an ornament, as my mother is. I want to be fierce and worthy.” She pauses, looking as though she’s debating whether to continue. And then the next words come out in a breathless whoosh. “And so I come here at night to try to find something to break the curse.”
I’m certain from the way she worries with the edge of her sleeve that this is the first time she’s spoken her dreams aloud to anyone.
“You want to break the curse,” I repeat slowly. “Without your true love?”
“Yes.” Those violet eyes shine. “I want to earn my crown myself. Not hand it over to the first man who kisses me correctly.” But then her shoulders hunch. “You must think me a fool.”
“Not at all. I admire you. You’re nothing like…” I grapple for the right words, but they swish through my mind, slippery as eels. “What I thought.”
Her smile rivals the starlight. “I take that as an extreme compliment.”
“It is.” An inexplicable shyness nips at me and I fumble for a distraction. “Have you made any progress?”
“Not much,” she admits. “I’ve been poking around in volumes about the War of the Fae. Especially those about Vila. If any creature knew how to break the curse, it was them.”
A chill rumbles through me. My ancestors. Aurora doesn’t notice my sudden interest in a cracked magnifying glass I find on a side table. She glides away into the shadows. The light from the candle bobs and I can hear her mumbling to herself as she hunts.
“What are you doing?”
Instead of answering me, she reemerges with a huge black book tucked under one arm. Streaks of dust and dirt darken the hem of her nightdress and there’s a smudge of something gray on her face. An insane part of me wants to wipe it away. “This one’s in passable condition.”
She nudges it into my arms and I smear away the caked dust on the cover with my cloak. Vila in the War of the Fae, it reads. A barbed lump forms in my throat.
“Are you sure you should be reading this?” I doubt the royal couple would be pleased to find their daughter dabbling in this corner of the realm’s history.
Aurora ignores the question. She tracks one hesitant fingertip down a line of green on the back of my hand. “Are you the last one, do you think?”
My skin ignites beneath her touch. I step away from it, unsure how to answer. It was a Vila who cursed the royal family. Robbed her of her sisters. I grip the book so hard it might cave into itself. “I have no idea.”
She looks at me for a long moment. “I don’t care that you’re Vila.”
I half expect the floor to open up and swallow me whole. And I half wish that it would.
“You don’t mean that.”
No one could mean that. Not in Briar.
“You didn’t cast the curse,” she reasons.
“But it could have been—” Not my mother. Not even her mother. But somewhere down the line, I could be related to the Vila who did. The princess doesn’t let me finish.
“It happened so long ago, Alyce. All we can do is live with the consequences. I’m much more interested in breaking the curse than seeking vengeance.”
There’s no bitterness there. No vehemence. It puts the realm to shame, myself included.
“Besides,” she continues lightly, “you’re far too interesting to hate. Your power is fascinating. What you did with the fountain was incredible. What else can you do?”
Do I tell her? I know better than to tell Mistress Lavender or even Laurel about Kal. But what about Aurora? She trusted me with her secret. The words are on the tip of my tongue.
“Can you turn my guards into toads?” The question throws me off balance. “That would be very helpful.”
I consider this, wondering if I can use my magic to alter a human’s shape. I am part Shifter after all. Then again, things had gone so horribly wrong with the duke. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. But I can give them warts.”
“Perfect.” She beams. “Do so—they’ll be horrified, the vain creatures. And keep the book. See if you can spot something I missed. I’d love a second opinion, especially from someone with Vila heritage.”
“I can’t.” I thrust it back at her. A book like this, stolen from the royal library and detailing how my ancestors nearly defeated the Etherians in the War of the Fae, could not be discovered in my rooms. I don’t have the protection of a crown. “And you know more about my heritage than I do.”
“I insist.” She crosses her arms, stubbornly refusing to accept it. “If I know more about the Vila than you do, it sounds like you have some reading to do. And I insist that you return the book as well. It gives us an excuse to meet again.”
I should leave the book, no matter what she says. It’s too dangerous to keep. But fool that I am, I hug it to my chest, thinking only of the fact that she wants me to read it. That she cares about what I think.
And that she wants to see me again.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I don’t leave Aurora until the silver moonlight blushes to the pale peach of dawn. The sleeplessness of these past nights is beginning to wear on my bones, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. We talked for hours. Aurora told me about her days in the palace, the suitors and the parties and how badly she wishes her life could mean more than flaunting new gowns, favoring the right courtiers, or obsessing over the best Grace elixirs. She wants Briar to be as it was during the reigns of the early queens—no districts dividing the poor and the wealthy. Women serving on the small council and in other key government positions. Like Laurel, she believes the Graces are little better than servants, wasting their gifts for Briar’s greed. She vows the Grace Laws and even the Grace Council will drastically change when it’s her turn to rule.
I didn’t divulge much about my own life, wanting to leave it behind me for a few precious hours. Instead, I entertained Aurora with little demonstrations of my magic. Now that I understand better how my power works, it’s easier to control. With it, I can make the candle flame burn green. Grow a fleeting pair of horns on a mouse we catch. For Aurora’s benefit, and to keep my true gifts hidden, I make a show of using the elixirs in my kit. But I’m not sure she would have noticed if I hadn’t, she’s so enchanted with every trick. It is both a relief and a terror to be around someone who doesn’t consider me an abomination. Applauds my power instead of shrinking from it. And I find myself daydreaming about the possibility that the princess will become Queen Aurora. A Leythana for the new age. Perhaps the world could be different. For everyone.
But these hopes smolder to ash when I return to Lavender House.
I sneak through the early-morning bustle of the kitchen, glaring at any curious looks the servants throw my way. Starving, I toss two fresh pastries into a cloth, licking the cinnamon glaze from my fingertips as I tiptoe up the stairs.
But I don’t manage a single creaking footstep before I come face-to-face with Mistress Lavender. She doesn’t look much better than she did last night. Her hair is coiled at her nape, but wisps of it escape the pins and writhe in the currents of air. Her clothes are slightly askew, the bodice crooked and improperly buttoned.
“Alyce.” Her eyes burn molten steel. “You’re just coming back from the palace?”
“I’m not taking any patrons today.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and the boldness sends adrenaline rushing through me.
Mistress Lavender drums her fingernails against the balustrade, the sound like shots firing. A cloud of her cloying namesake scent floods the stairwell, suffocating to the point that my eyes water.
“I should say not.” She brushes a silver strand out of her face. “It’s barely past breakfast and yet Delphine informs me that they’ve all sent word canceling their appointments. Would that have something to do with Duke Weltross?”
The shame from last night creeps up my spine. “You know.”
“Of course I know. Dr. Renault came herself, in the dead of night, to tell me what you did.” She pauses. Tension snaps between us. Damn that weasel-faced doctor. “And then I’m sure she spent the rest of the small hours spreading her gossip. What were you thinking, Alyce? The Weltross family has been loyal to this house for decades, though they could easily afford one of the Royal Graces. I won’t be surprised in the least if your sisters suffer because of your inexcusable lapse of judgment, not to mention the coin you will lose us. The next Grace Celebration will be upon us before we know it. We cannot afford such a stumble.”
“They’re not my sisters.” I begin to crush the pastries in my grip.
“How can you say that?” Mistress Lavender descends a step, looming over me. “You share the same magical blood. You work together for the good of this house—”
“The same blood? I’m part Vila. And you saw what Rose did to me at the ball.”
“She’s been punished for that.” A manicured nail jabs at my chest. “And you are forbidden to do”—she splutters, flustered—“whatever it was you did last night.”
For a heart-stopping moment, I want to tell her that I won’t be Briar’s puppet anymore. That I will not be controlled. But I only bite my lip. The truth is that I don’t want to do what I did last night. Don’t want to cause that kind of torture to anyone, ever again. And so I nod.
“Good.” Mistress Lavender smooths her skirts, relief softening her shoulders. “I assured the doctor that this was nothing but an accident. And it will never happen again.” She tips my chin up with two fingers. “With any luck, your patrons will return.”
“And what of the damage to our house’s reputation?” A draft of summer rose and calla lily floats down the stairs and I cringe.
Mistress Lavender turns. “This does not concern you, Rose.”
“It most certainly does.” Slippers crusted with what looks to be a thousand minuscule seashells tap impatiently on the top landing. “I won’t sacrifice my standings because of her stupidity. She should have to compensate us for the lost income.”
“I don’t blame you for worrying about income,” I feign sympathy, “when you’re paying for the dress you ruined.”
Rose blanches beneath her gold rouge, her lips drawing into a tight line. I can see the wheels behind her eyes spinning, contemplating her next move.
“That’s enough.” Mistress Lavender angles her body between us. A Grace bell chimes in a parlor. She checks the watch she wears on a chain at her waist. “Rose, that’s yours I believe. We don’t need to add tardiness to the litany of this house’s recent faults.”
Rose says nothing, just stomps down the stairs, checking my shoulder as she passes. Her blush-colored skirts swish and I step on a pair of embroidered sea horses on her hem. She yanks herself free with a curse.
“This feud between the two of you must stop.” Mistress Lavender rubs her temples. Creases web out from the corners of her eyelids. “It’s bringing nothing but shame and ill will. Do you want to be the lowest-ranking house? Because we’re on our way to that, I assure you. We have nine short months until the final house standings are determined.”
“Tell her that.” I jerk my chin at the door of Rose’s parlor.
“I have. And now I’m telling you. It ends. Today. Aren’t you tired of it? The constant battles and sniping? None of the other housemistresses have to deal with such nonsense.”
I highly doubt that, but say nothing. And I am tired. But making peace with Rose won’t ease my pains. Only leaving Briar can do that. Even so, arguing with Mistress Lavender will get me nowhere. “I’ll try.”
“Thank you.” She pats my shoulder awkwardly, then starts down the stairs. “Rose said the same. I’m sure between the two of you, we’ll have a much better arrangement.”
I roll my eyes behind her retreating back, stuffing an entire cinnamon roll into my mouth. It’s gone cold, the glaze slimy. Yet another disappointment for the day.
But as I trudge up the stairs, laughter trills from a parlor. Rose’s. I press myself against the balustrade, leaving sticky fingermarks on the polished wood. I can just hear her chatting with her patron, effervescent and charming as always. I eat the other pastry, chewing slowly, considering.
I learned my lesson with the duke; I’m no healer. I am Vila. And perhaps it’s time to use my power the way I was born to do.
Holding my breath, I slink down the steps, avoiding the noisy planks of wood I’ve catalogued over the years. I hug the wall, pressing myself so close to the green-striped paper that I can see Rose fully through the slit in the door. She’s beaming her brilliant Grace smile, complimenting her patron on inane things like the shape of the woman’s eyebrows and the shade of her face powder. The patron coos and china clinks as she sips her tea.
Rose fusses with her mixture. Reaches for the long rose-headed pin she will use to draw her blood. Three sparkling drops fall like liquid sunlight amid the other ingredients. A puff of ocher smoke erupts from the bowl, and then Rose pours everything into a goblet and passes it to her patron.
The woman’s plump, greedy hands grab for the glass, jeweled rings glinting in the morning light that streams through the tall windows of Rose’s parlor. She takes no pains to appear ladylike. Two gulps and I know it’s gone. I think I even hear a muffled burp.
I release a shaky, silent breath. Close my eyes and concentrate the way I did when I sent my power out to find the heart of the storm. It will be harder this time. I have no idea what I’m looking for. Do I focus on Rose or the patron? What will the magic in the elixir feel like? I wish Kal were here to guide me.
But it doesn’t take long. Perhaps because my magic recognizes that of the light Fae. Or because Rose’s gift is actually as potent as she believes. But my own darkness bumps against the silken gold almost instantly. Unlike the duke and the storm, Rose’s magic isn’t like a heart. It’s a thrumming cord, like mine. A riot of glittering sparks. If I breathe deeply, I can just catch the honeyed floral scent that must be the light Fae power. In a moment, it will find the heart of the patron’s magic and shape it as the elixir bids.
But not yet.
I wind the dark limb of my magic around the shimmering strip of Rose’s power. Hers is warm and solid. But it’s malleable. I bid the bands of my magic to burrow like snakes into Rose’s gift. Exhilaration swells as my power obeys. I inhale woodsmoke and charred iron. Weaken, I push the command with all my might. Become ugly. Monstrous.
Rose’s gasp is all the confirmation I need that it worked.
“What’s wrong?” The patron sets the glass down.
Even through the gap in the door, Rose’s shock is evident.
“I—” She fumbles with the instruments on her table, upsetting a jar of crushed mint. “We did not quite achieve the right balance.” A smile plasters itself on her face, her voice too high. Too desperate.
“Let me see.”
“Not yet. Allow me—” There’s a plea beneath her words the patron doesn’t miss.
She snatches up a hand mirror before Rose can stop her. There’s a moment of jagged-edged silence, shattered by a shriek. And then a dull thunk as something drops to the ground.
“What have you done?” The question feels like a slap, even to me.
“I—I don’t understand…” Rose is close to tears. “It’s never—”
“The rumors about this house are true.” There’s a rustle of silk as the patron rises. A smack of wood as her chair topples. “You are cursed. Either that, or your power is Fading.”
“No, please—”
But it’s too late. Angry footsteps storm across Rose’s parlor and I melt into the nearest corner. In her haste to leave Lavender House, the patron looks right past me. But I certainly see her. Her skin has thickened and puckered, mirroring the exact shade and texture of an orange. Craters the size of pinpricks are visible from her hairline, over her face, and down her neck. I clap a hand over my mouth, hardly able to contain my glee.
I did that. With my power. Stole Rose’s Grace magic. Made a patron speak to her the way they all speak to me, contentious and spiteful. A delicious mix of elation and wonder surges as Aurora’s question from the library comes soaring back.
What else can I do?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
No one can figure out what went wrong when Rose gave her patron the skin of an orange. Or when the next patron leaves with hooves for feet. Or when the next sprouts hay instead of hair.
Rose is beside herself. She blames me. I can hear her tantrums even in my attic room. But she has no proof. Healing Graces have been to the house twice to examine her for signs of poisoning, the only thing they believe could be the culprit. But her blood is as golden as ever. They give her healthy doses of Etherium just in case, and I have shown her nothing but sugarcoated concern, clicking my tongue and murmuring condolences whenever our paths cross. Mistress Lavender is quite pleased at my change of heart.
But two days and a handful of sabotaged patrons later, I catch Rose alone in her parlor after half her day’s list canceled. Her hands are shaking as she tries to practice her craft and her eyes are limned scarlet from weeping. I decide she’s had enough.
For now.
Done with wreaking havoc on Rose’s appointments, I turn my attention instead to the book Aurora let me borrow. I keep it in the locked chest hidden in my wardrobe so the snooping maids won’t find it. Its pages are in terrible condition. Whisper-thin and cracking at the edges. My head aches with the effort of squinting at the faded, cramped ink.
