Misrule, page 12
Mistress Lavender was the only house mistress brave enough to take me in after I was discovered in Briar. But it wasn’t out of the kindness of her heart. She received a healthy stipend for the expense of housing a half-Vila, and made sure my patron schedule was booked to the gills so that I would earn as much coin for her as possible. It should come as no surprise that my former mistress had not been one of the Graces I’d plucked from the ruins of the districts. Her escape seemed unlikely after I plugged the windows and doors of Lavender House with fire.
“Would you like to reminisce?” I grip my staff tighter. “Or would you like to hear what I’ve come to propose?”
One pink eyebrow rises. The other Graces murmur in their cells. I inhale the smell of unwashed bodies and damp mold. “What is it?”
I let my hand dip into my pocket, fingertips skimming over the chains of stranded white gold twined together like brambles. An expensive piece, set with diamond thorns and ruby Briar roses, which I’d selected from my own jewels.
“Princess Aurora is awake.”
Noises of disbelief from the others. I throw them a scathing glare and they retreat back into darkness. “Awake. You mean—she’s alive?”
“She’d have to be alive to be awake, wouldn’t she?”
Rose sucks her teeth, and I take a moment to enjoy how the power dynamic between us has reversed. Perhaps I was too hasty in stopping my visits to the Garden. It is immensely satisfying to play the part of tormentor.
“It was her curse, wasn’t it?” Rose says, brow furrowed. “The enchanted sleep allowed her to survive all this time. And if she’s awake, then the curse must be lifted…” Her signature snide smirk takes residence on her dry lips. “Which means someone kissed her. Someone who wasn’t you. How absolutely thrilling. Does she see you for what you always were now—a mongrel?”
Rage builds and snaps behind my sternum. I’d forgotten how much I despise this Grace. Mortania’s presence rumbles. And before I know it, my power leaps out and pummels into Rose. She chokes and sinks to her knees. I wait long enough that she will wonder whether I will actually kill her, and then I release her magic.
“It was a mistake for me to come here.”
Graces whimper, scampering away from my shadow as I make to leave the Garden.
“Wait!” It’s more croak than word. “Please. You said you had an offer.”
I’m not sure I’ve ever heard Rose beg before. “Apologize, and I might reconsider.”
“I…” This might pain her more than when I held her magic in my fist. “I’m sorry. Please. If the princess is awake, I want to help her.”
“Would you?” My staff taps against the slippery stone as I walk back to her cell. “Even if it means shedding your blood again?”
The wheels behind her gilded eyes spin. “You want me to…craft elixirs? But I haven’t done that in years.”
“I’m concerned about Aurora’s health. Her body wasn’t meant to live as long as it has, and I’m worried…” I swallow, loath to dwell on the idea. “Could you do anything to help her? You’re not a healing Grace, but…”
“No. They’re all dead.”
I rub my thumb over the bramble band of my signet ring. “It will not trouble me at all to let you languish down here until you die with them. Can you craft the elixirs, or do you lack the skill? Perhaps you’re close to Fading?”
It’s a simple spot to irritate her with, which strikes me as funny. Rose shouldn’t care whether her blood is turning silver, signifying the end of her gift. There aren’t any Grace competitions anymore. And certainly no coin to be earned. But she crosses her arms and scowls. “You know that I’m not. And I might be able to bend my magic for the princess’s benefit. With the right elixir recipe, of course.”
“You’ll have access to all the relevant books in my library.”
“Fine. But I’m no fool,” Rose says. “There’s always a catch with you. What is it?”
I tug out the necklace. Ruby Briar roses dazzle, and rainbows dance along the dungeon walls as torchlight strikes diamond thorns. Rose stares at it hungrily. She was always like a magpie with her wardrobe, collecting the best and brightest fashions, and she hasn’t worn anything decent in a hundred years.
“If you leave this cell, you’ll be wearing this. It’s cursed. If you betray me, such as tell Aurora anything about the sleeping curse or attempt to poison her mind against me, it will strangle you.”
A simple feat, the work of moments. My blood shed and guzzled up by the diamonds, the same as when I cursed items for Tarkin.
Rose considers it. “Why not simply demand that I swear to you? Or bleed me like you used to do and craft your own elixirs?”
I’d entertained that course. But I lack the time to experiment with the recipe. And if Rose swore like the mortals did, Aurora would see her mark and guess what I’d done.
“Because Aurora needs to trust you. In addition to the elixirs, you’ll be her companion. But you’ll be reporting to me.”
She huffs a laugh. “So you want me to spy on the princess? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. And what am I supposed to tell her when I show up from thin air? I assume you don’t want her knowing about this particular ‘wing’ of the palace.”
No, I do not. “You’ll think of something, or you’ll wish you had. But if you’re not up to the task…” My fist closes around the braided metal.
Rose steps forward quickly. “I’ll do it.”
“You’re sure? You’ve witnessed my magic at work. I’m not bluffing about this necklace. And I’ll not shed a tear if I find you with your throat sliced open by these thorns.” A diamond winks in the torchlight.
She smiles at me, as if we were both back in the parlor of Lavender House and she was ordering me to fetch ingredients from the apothecary. “I would expect nothing less, Nimara.”
* * *
—
I wait a day—long enough for me to deposit Rose in the Imps’ care and have her scrubbed and made presentable—before taking her to meet Aurora. The Imps are morbidly delighted at the thought of a Grace among the court, especially after I let them know that Rose is not much different from the human servants. The look of pure terror on Rose’s face when they started devising various “games” they wanted to play with her was worth more than a pile of Goblin treasure.
“Remember what I said,” I warn the Grace as we walk to the princess’s chambers. “Nothing about the Garden, nothing about when you helped to ‘soften’ the curse, or how it could be lifted.”
“Yes, Malyce.” She fingers the necklace, which cannot be removed by anyone but me and would not react to so small a slight as my old nickname. I can’t curb Rose’s temperament too much without raising Aurora’s suspicions.
The Imps have replaced Rose’s grime-stained rags with a pastel pink taffeta gown, accented with floral embroidery. I marvel at the way she’s transformed. There’s a golden blush on her cheeks and her hair is styled into flawless ringlets. She could be on her way to one of Briar’s famous royal parties.
I stop us outside the doors to Aurora’s chamber. “I’ll expect your first report tomorrow. Find a discreet way to send them to me. She’s never to know of our agreement.”
“Why not?” Rose stops fluffing the ivory lace at her neckline. “You don’t think she would approve?”
I exert a small amount of pressure on the magic in the necklace. The thorns lengthen enough to graze Rose’s neck. “Keep testing me. We’re not in Lavender House anymore.”
“Maybe not, but I see that you’re exactly the same. The Dark Grace, eager to win the love of a princess. One who could never love you back.”
A shiver runs through me. And a terrifying part of my soul whispers that she’s right. That underneath everything, I am still that ugly half-Vila. Despised by a realm. My fists clench, nails digging into the flesh of my palms.
You are not, pet. Mortania’s voice skates along the curve of my skull. And I lean into the scent of her magic—steel and loamy earth—twined with mine. An anchor.
“Would you like to return to the—”
The doors to Aurora’s rooms swing wide, and she’s standing between them. She’s dressed in a silk robe embroidered with trailing Briar roses. Her hair is mussed and her eyes swollen and red-rimmed. My heart clenches. She looks terrible. But I can’t tell if it’s the result of the curse lifting or simply unhappiness. And the uncertainty makes it worse.
“What do you—” But then her focus drifts. “Is that…Rose?”
The Grace dips into an elegant curtsy, though I can tell that she’s also unsettled by Aurora’s appearance. “Your Highness. After all this time, I am relieved to see you well.”
“And you.” Aurora rushes to her and clasps her hands. “Where have you been? How did you survive…”
Aurora seems to remember that I’m present and trails off. There are dark smudges beneath her violet eyes, and tight lines bracket her lips. Her Imp companions are busying themselves by hopping over one another’s shoulders and headbutting in the room behind her.
“I’ve brought her for you,” I explain. “Rose has offered to serve as a more…familiar companion to you. And as your maid.”
Rose bristles at that impromptu addition, but her beatific expression doesn’t falter. “I’m happy to assist Briar’s princess in whatever capacity she might need.”
Aurora nods, grateful. And there are clearly a thousand other questions she wants to ask, but she holds them back. She doesn’t even thank me for my efforts.
In another instant, Rose is ushered inside, and the doors to Aurora’s rooms close. I hear the bolt slide into place, shutting me out. Pride stinging, I smooth my skirts and turn away.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
In the throne room, the Vila are practicing their knife skills—using apples balanced on the Imps’ heads as target practice. Black sludge splatters in every direction whenever a hit lands. Regan and a few others are laughing and showing off their tricks. A few Imps get bored and start pelting the fruit at unsuspecting Vila. Part of me wants to join them. Release some of my frustration about Aurora with the physical exertion and surround myself with those who accept and love me. I keep imagining what might be happening now that Aurora and Rose are alone—the Grace comforting her. I might have been jealous of Rose’s status while we both lived in Lavender House, but it’s nothing compared to this.
Worry not, pet, Mortania soothes. You are in control now.
It doesn’t feel that way.
Movement snags my attention, and I see a Fae steed streak across the window. I never did have that discussion with Derek, regarding how he found himself in the library, kissing Aurora. Perhaps now is a good time to do so. I rise from my seat and head to the stables.
* * *
—
Paladay, the late King Tarkin’s home, was renowned for its horse trade. And though Briar never experienced another military threat following the War of the Fae, Tarkin was only too happy to spend the realm’s inexhaustible coin on building up a cavalry to vanquish imaginary enemies.
But the horses are long dead, and the stables were badly damaged during my siege. Even if they hadn’t been, a century of foul weather and disuse crumbled the pink stone, bent sturdy columns, and caved in the roof. The remaining marble dragon heads snarling down from the eaves sport snubbed and blackened snouts, and the Briar rose badges stamped into the brick are unrecognizable. But now that we have a string of Fae steeds in residence, the Imps and Vila have worked to restore the place. It’s nothing like what it was—larger than a row of ornate Grace District manor houses and strictly managed by dozens of ostlers—but it suffices.
Derek hasn’t yet returned from his flight. I take a look around anyway. Hooves thump fiercely behind locked stall doors. Steam plumes from the Fae steeds’ nostrils. Gently, I extend my palm to a mount the color of quicksilver. Currents of bronze and ruby traverse its hide at every movement, and its mane sparkles like the tail of a shooting star. The massive beast sniffs me and doesn’t recoil. And that same feeling from when I bound the first steed resurfaces. That the creature belongs to me. But something about this beast is different. Stronger. I dare to place my palm on its forehead, which feels silken and somehow charged, like there might be lightning in its veins. It angles closer, nosing my body.
“Your former Fae master would not approve of us being so friendly,” I tease. After the tension of the last week, it feels good to enjoy such a simple interaction.
The steed snorts and twitches its ears, as if dismissing the need for anyone’s approval, then starts lipping the skirts of my gown. I can’t help but laugh.
“I’m afraid all I have for you is dried beetles.” I fish one out and offer it. The creature sniffs it and thumps its hoof in distaste. “They’re good enough for Callow, I’ll have you know.”
“Here—try this.”
I’d been so absorbed with the steed that I didn’t hear Derek approach. He stands a few feet away, half an apple cupped in his outstretched palm. I accept it without comment, trying to disguise my embarrassment at being caught in such a candid moment. The beast’s huge teeth crunch noisily through the apple’s flesh, head nodding as it chews.
“He likes you,” Derek says. “And that’s a compliment. He’s never so docile with me. Nearly chomped half my finger off the first time I took him out of the pen.”
“A clever beast, then.” I smile, offering the other bit of apple.
Derek, to my annoyance, laughs. “His name is Oof.”
“Oof?”
“The Imps named them all,” he explains. “They call him Oof because that’s the sound they make when he throws them—which happens quite often.”
The steed tosses his head, apparently proud of earning such a name, and a real laugh climbs up my throat. “Well, we can’t call him Oof. How about…” I let my fingers play in the creature’s mane, which is as silky and as sparkling as his tail—threads of stardust. He blinks at me, and I see myself reflected in the dark, liquid pools of his gaze. “Chaos. For that is what he shall deliver to the High Court.”
Chaos’s nostrils flare, and he emits a low whicker. One that is unmistakably approval.
Derek grunts. “He’s certainly delivered enough of that already. The stubbornest creature I’ve ever met.”
I like that. But Chaos is not the reason I’ve come to the stables. “I believe we’re overdue for a chat,” I say to Derek. “About what you were doing in the abandoned library.”
His easy manner crumbles. “I don’t have a good answer for you. I saw the opening in the side of the palace during my flight and felt…drawn to it.”
“Drawn to it,” I echo. “Then why did you push the Imp from the saddle before you left the yard? One would think you wanted to be alone. Undisturbed.”
“Undisturbed is right.” He snorts a laugh. “Those Imps have developed a nasty habit of trying to make me fall when we’re above the palace. That day, one snuck on just as I was taking off. I knew better than to let him stay.”
Plausible—no, likely—that the Imps would invent such a game.
“And the kiss in the library? Was your mouth drawn to the princess’s mouth?”
He scuffs his feet, brushed-copper skin brightening to the color of a ripe strawberry. “I don’t know. It was almost as if…as if I were watching it happen outside myself. That’s the best I can explain it.”
I throw a glance at his forearm. The mark doesn’t react. He’s telling the truth, which is infuriating.
“I believe you,” I mutter to Derek, though I still don’t understand it. “But no more wandering the palace, poking your nose where it doesn’t belong. And the princess has made her opinion of you quite clear. Leave her be.”
He sets to work untangling ropes. “That won’t be a problem. I’ve plenty to keep me busy around here. Shouldn’t be too much longer until some of the steeds are trained enough to be ready for service. The Fae did most of the work, really. I’m learning more from the steeds themselves than anything else—which commands are best and all that.”
This is boring. But I’m not yet ready to leave Chaos and hope that Derek will go off with another mount and leave us alone. He dumps a bucket of oats into a trough, and I sigh.
“Malakar and his Goblins are impatient for them to be ready for the campaigns,” he says. And then, “You don’t really think he’ll fry me up in a vat of oil and eat me, do you?”
I laugh, and even Chaos flicks his tail in what could pass for amusement. “I’ve no idea. But better to hurry up with the steeds if you don’t want to find out.”
Derek makes something between a groan and a grimace. “How long until you’re ready to attack the High Court?”
I’m not sure. The siege of the Court of Dreams stretched on for an entire decade, as Oryn kept sending reinforcements to bolster Aelfdene’s army. The High Court itself is a much larger and stronger target. We’ll need to determine how best to breach Oryn’s protections, defensive enchantments that very well could have been what dismembered the Shifters.
Worry not, pet. Mortania swirls through me.
“That depends.”
Derek frowns at the vague answer. “And has the war really been waging for the last century?”
“No. We made that up to impress you.” I cross my arms. “Why do you care so much about the war? If you’re interested in military endeavors, wasn’t there an army you could have joined instead of sailing here?”
He heaves a saddle onto its peg. “Not much of one. My country hasn’t experienced any wars in my lifetime. Without the trade, no one can afford to wage them. But I read about some. They seem wasteful to me. Oh—” He realizes his blunder. I arch an eyebrow. “Not that this one is. I only meant…”
