Malice, page 15
And there were other creatures who called Targen’s court home. The Goblins, who were driven out of the caves of the Etherian Mountains by the light Fae and forced to flee. The Imps, who were captured and used as slaves in the Fae courts. And then there are the Shifters. I can’t drink in those words fast enough. Shifters were essential to the courts of Malterre. With their changeable bodies, they were perfect for serving as the Vila’s spies in Etheria and even in the realms across the Carthegean Sea—which is what Kal must have done. It was a high honor to employ a Shifter in a court. In most places in the world, Shifters were tortured and executed if caught. But in Malterre, they were celebrated, valued, something I know little about. In fact, in Targen’s court, every race was allowed to select a representative to sit on the small council. Every voice was heard.
I trace the words of Grimelde’s dedication: To Mistress Targen, whose dark power fuels the hearts of so many.
Kal claims I shouldn’t trust the information I read in Briar’s books. But should I trust this one? I wonder if he’d given it to my mother as well. If she’d touched these pages and tried to answer the same questions that tumble through my mind. I’d give anything to be able to ask her.
But I can’t. And if Kal is to be believed, it’s because someone in Briar killed her. They would likely kill me, too. Endlewild would if he knew I possessed this book.
As the weeks pass, I read and reread the volume until the ice of my fear and doubt begins to thaw, replaced with a growing curiosity about the other half of my magic. The Shifter in me. The key to escaping Briar.
There’s only one person who can tell me how to use it.
* * *
—
“Teach me to Shift,” I tell Kal as soon as he surfaces from the shadows. It’s early evening, and I’d muttered an excuse to Delphine about fetching enhancements as soon as my last patron left. I settle Callow on the remains of a rotting table.
“Happily. Though, if I may ask…” Kal studies me, his shadows curving into question marks. “What brought this sudden desire? The last I remember, you were unsure of your Shifter heritage.”
“You were right. I’ve lived the lies Briar fed me from the day I drew breath. But I’m tired of being treated like a caged pet, let out only to entertain those who despise me.”
That’s how they treated me at the dinner. Pearl and the others—looking at me like I was an animal allowed indoors. Aurora is the only one who ever—
But no. The queen made it clear that I won’t be seeing her again. There’s no point remaining in Briar now.
“Did something happen?” Kal asks carefully.
“Nothing that hasn’t happened a thousand times before.” But it’s so much more than that. Aurora was—no. It’s no use dwelling on what might have been. “I thought I had a friend,” I admit. “I don’t.”
Kal crouches, extending a tentative hand to Callow. She nips it in her I will tolerate you fashion. “One of the Graces?”
I shake my head. Those amethyst eyes surface, filled with laughter and mischief. The dawn-colored silk of her hair set against that flawless skin. “The Princess Aurora.”
“The—” A stray piece of glass cracks as Kal abruptly straightens. I never told him about my summons to the palace. Or about the abandoned library. Callow flaps her wings in disapproval. My fists clench at my sides, expecting him to begin berating me. Reminding me of the royals and their history with our kind. He doesn’t. “The crown princess.”
Gulls cry in the distance, as if even they think it’s a ridiculous idea.
“That’s what I said.”
“Forgive me, Alyce. That is—given your heritage—a strange choice of friend.”
“I know that.” The back of my neck heats. “And I said we’re not friends.”
Kal’s shadows draw closer. They nibble at my ankles. Wend around my waist. Ice dances down my torso as his hand lands on my shoulder. “She was cruel to you.”
“Not her,” I answer automatically, cutting him off. “She would never…” But I can’t finish. “It was Queen Mariel.” And so many others.
“Ah. That does not surprise me.” Kal tucks a lock of hair behind my ear and I’m tempted to lean into him, starving for the connection of another person. The need is so much greater now that I’ve experienced what it’s like. “But it is for the best.”
I jerk away from him. Callow returns to my side and clacks her beak, sensing the downturn in my mood.
“Hear me, Alyce.” Kal’s chest appears in front of my nose. I inhale the scent of winter nights and frostbitten trees. “Perhaps the princess is kind. Perhaps she even cares for you. But she will never understand you. Not as I do. And when the time comes, she will turn on you.”
“She would not.”
“Alyce.” He says my name gently. Almost like a caress. “Which of them has not?”
The truth slices through me, quick as a hot blade. I think of Mistress Lavender, who acted as though I was the cause of the animosity between myself and the other Graces. Even Laurel, though she speaks up for me from time to time, did nothing when Rose revealed my identity at Aurora’s birthday masque. Hilde is kind enough when I visit her shop, but could I run to her if I needed help? Would she stand by me if the king decided Briar had no more use for a Dark Grace? I don’t know.
“Au—” Her name snags and I clear my throat. “The princess isn’t like them.” I parcel the words out carefully, watching him for signs of disagreement. Of anger. “She wants to abolish the Grace Laws and the Grace Council when she’s queen. She wants a new Briar.”
“Does she?” Kal’s stance remains fluid and easy. His tone light. But I detect the undercurrent of disdain in the way his shadows jerk. “I hope she succeeds. But I think you will find that much is lost in the ascension of a princess to a queen. Especially a Briar Queen.” He picks up a diamond-shaped pane of charred glass and sends it sailing out of the tower, a spark of bottle-green against the backdrop of the sea. “She may not even survive to her coronation.”
That ugly thought rears its head. Queen Mariel was adamant that Aurora would find her true love and secure Leythana’s line. But what if she doesn’t? No. I don’t want to think about that. And it shouldn’t matter. I’ll be gone by then. But I can’t stop thinking about it—about her. The way she called me Vila without revulsion. Took my arm in front of everyone.
“Do you know who cursed her?” The question wriggles its way free of my heart. “The name of the Vila wasn’t in the book you gave me.”
One eyebrow quirks. “I was wondering when you were going to ask me about that book. You have been so silent that I worried you might have sent it to join the other.” He gestures at the gap in the wall. “Could this be the reason you are embracing your Shifter magic.”
I shrug and move past him, looking out at the sea. “I’m still not sure what to believe. I only know that denying my power has brought me nothing but misery. And I won’t be a prisoner here any longer.”
“Good. But the book from Malterre was written before the war. The Vila in question was not notable then. And you will not find her in any of the books in Briar, either. She was stricken from the annals of the realm.” His shadows sharpen to spikes. Callow scuttles out of his way. “After the curse was enacted, it was treason to even utter her name.”
“But you know.”
“Even I cannot speak it.” A grim smile stretches tight across his lips.
“It’s part of the binding enchantment.” Disappointment rushes through me. “And you’re sure there’s no way to break the curse?”
“Quite sure.” Kal nods, tossing a flat stone from hand to hand. “She was a powerful one, that Vila. Bent on vengeance. Only she could undo the curse. However, even if she wanted to, it would be risky.”
“Why?”
“You know that Vila magic hinges on ill intent. Breaking a curse, even one cast with their own power, is an act of mercy. She could have tried to retract her work. But it might not have ended well.”
The briny tang of the wind smells suddenly like copper. Like the duke’s blood on my face. His death was caused by the best intentions. “And now she’s dead.”
“Not even Vila are immortal. Most of the time, their magic outlives them—as with the curse on the princess.” He holds out his arms, indicating the shadows around his wrists. “And my own enchantment.”
I blink in surprise. Had he just told me it was Vila who bound him here? But why would they have done that when their courts treated Shifters with honor?
“Do you mean…”
“That is quite enough for one evening. I would much rather spend our time teaching you how to Shift.”
I don’t want to let the subject go, but the enchantment won’t let him tell me anything else. And the curse won’t be my concern for much longer.
Kal begins pacing the perimeter of the tower. “Shifting is easy once you know how to do it. It will be more difficult for you, as a half-Shifter. But I am certain you will thrive.”
“That makes one of us,” I grumble.
“Doubt will only weaken you.” He motions for me to join him, rolling his shoulders back. “Like everything else I taught you, Shifting is about intent. Think of what you want and command your magic to do it.”
“Impossible. I would have Shifted a hundred times by now if it were that simple.”
“Why?”
“Because…because I’ve wished so often to appear…different.” Gooseflesh rises under my sleeves, recalling the hours spent in front of my mirror, detesting the reflection inside. The thousand wishes I’d whispered as a child, desperate for my looks to alter. To wake up one day and resemble the Graces. Even a regular human. Anything but what I was.
“Those are wishes. Flimsy, hollow things.” He flicks his long fingers, as if shooing an annoying gnat. “Think. Young Shifters manifest their gifts in strange ways before they fully grasp the magic, as your own blood did when you described what happened with the fountain at the palace. Has there ever been a time when you changed? Even in the slightest?”
“No.” But the answer is too immediate and my mind starts wading back through memory without my bidding. My ability to hold my breath underwater when Endlewild and the healing Graces were testing my power. The way the servants glance right over me when I eavesdrop, as if I have blended into the very walls. Even gathering the damn carrion crows’ eggs, when I can climb higher than any human ought to.
My breathing shortens. Kal reads the lines of my face.
“I thought so. You change now when you need to, at your power’s unwitting command. But you are in charge of your power. Not the other way around.”
Kal must scent my uncertainty. He circles me.
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes.” Kal has cultivated my gifts. Not tried to drown or bleed them out of me. The puckered half-moon scar on my stomach sears as though freshly made, the phantom pain hitting every nerve. I grit my teeth against it.
“Then try.”
Mustering the dregs of my confidence, I find the cord of my magic, the scent of loam and woodsmoke swelling. At first, my grip slackens, unsure of what I want and how to wield this new ability. Then I look down at my hands. The reptilian blood and nearly translucent skin that has plagued me since the day I was born. Marked me as a monster. As an other no one wanted.
“Tell it what to do,” Kal coaxes from beside me. “Do not wish. Command.”
Keeping a hold on my power, I picture Laurel. She is seamless and polished. Effortlessly elegant. I dare to imagine myself in the same fashion, and tell my magic to obey. At first, there’s nothing. No invisible limb curling out of me or a thrumming of power. But then the tips of my fingers begin to tingle. My ragged, bitten fingernails lengthen into identical pearly half-moons. The dry, scaly surface of my skin smooths and glows. It happens so quickly I jerk back in surprise, losing my control. The illusion vanishes.
“I— I Shifted.” I don’t know whether to be awed or horrified.
“Almost.” Kal puts both hands on my shoulders, directing my focus to him. “Try again. This time, change everything at once. You will know when it is done.”
My magic is waiting for me, warm and buzzing behind my sternum. Eager to be used.
I want to be beautiful, I tell it.
It only wiggles. That was too close to a wish. A mere suggestion. Setting my jaw and steeling my spine, I try again.
Beauty. I don’t picture anyone in particular. Just the idea, pushing it out with everything that I have. To my utter amazement, my magic responds like a horse spurred into a canter. Heat races from my toes to the crown of my head. My bones stretch, a gentle tugging sensation that feels almost comforting. My scalp prickles, hair rising and rearranging as if caught in a sea breeze. Muscles go warm and rubbery, the way they do in a hot bath. The scent of woodsmoke and wet earth wraps around me like a blanket, mixed with something else. Appleblossoms, I think. And spring rain.
And then everything stills. I can feel the cold, salt-soaked wind stinging my cheeks. I blink my eyes open, sleepy and disoriented. I’m taller, I think. Almost eye level with Kal. He is staring at me, his mouth hanging open.
“What is it?” My pulse speeds up. I flex my hands, finding that long, slender fingers have replaced my own. There’s no trace of my Vila blood. My shoes are too big. The bodice of my gown looser. The floor tilts and I think I will faint, but Kal catches me around the waist and guides me closer to the gap in the wall, where the russet-streaked sunset is lighting up a shallow puddle on the stones.
“Look,” he says, herding me forward when he gets too close to the light.
I am numb and shaking, but force one foot in front of the other. Lean over the molten amber mirror. The woman looking back at me widens her eyes. Opens her mouth in a soundless scream. And then the floor hurtles up, meeting my shoulder with a sharp crack before the world winks out like a snuffed candle.
Because it was not my face in the water.
It was Aurora’s.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The next day, all I can think about is Aurora’s reflection where mine should have been. The gentle slope of her nose. The hollow of her unmarred throat. I find myself looking for her in every mirror, startled when it’s my own sallow face in the glass.
I’m so distracted that I’m a half-hour late for one patron, and another has to ring the bell until it practically snaps off its cord before I answer. Three broken jars of enhancements later, I’m slogging through teatime, unable to eat a bite as Rose’s vapid court gossip washes over me.
“Alyce?”
When I look up, I find that the entire table is staring at me. My ears burn.
“Sorry,” I mumble, stirring another sugar cube into my tea and grabbing an apricot tart in the hopes that the jolt of sweetness will keep my mind from drifting. Marigold snickers.
“As I was saying,” Mistress Lavender continues, “Delphine will be rescheduling your afternoon patrons.” She slides an envelope across the table, her eyebrows arching up over her half-moon spectacles. “You have a summons from the palace.”
The flaky pastry crust balls in my mouth and glues itself to the back of my throat.
Day summons are rare, the court preferring me to ease their loved ones into death beneath the shroud of nightfall. Accidents happen, I tell myself. Sudden illnesses.
But then I see that the parchment bears a violet wax seal imprinted with a dragon in flight. The royal crest. The apricot jam sours on my tongue.
“Don’t keep them waiting,” Marigold croons.
I don’t bother to fire back a retort. And I don’t trust my voice even if I had one ready. I leave the rest of my plate and drag myself to my Lair to get my kit, then trudge through the streets of the Grace District. This autumn is colder than most. Everyone else is already wrapped in their early winter furs, but I feel nothing of the chill. Only the sharp-footed dread picking its way along my scalp. Is it Queen Mariel? Has she decided to do more than simply warn me away from her daughter? Or Endlewild—I shudder at the thought of what the Fae ambassador might want.
At the servants’ entrance, I present the summons. But I am not escorted through the usual halls. This time, we break right, directly into the royal wing. The dragon crest glowers at me from every column and windowpane. Other servants and courtiers abruptly change direction when they spot me. My escort unlocks a door to a set of back stairs, and we climb higher and higher, until sweat beads along the back of my neck and between my shoulder blades.
Unnervingly stoic, at last he slows, then ushers me through another narrow entrance. I stop short, face-to-face with a monstrous set of doors carved to look like the rough hide of a dragon. Stone wings flare out from either side of the frame, covered in golden armored scales. A neck as thick as my torso rears up from the tip where the doors meet, the ruby eyes on its head glinting in the torchlight. The handles are taloned feet, with Briar roses branded into the soles. Its jaws are opened in a scream, its mouth huge enough that it could snap me in half.
