Malice, page 27
Grace-grown Briar roses in honor of the occasion are wound around railings and climb up trellises and are suspended from the high ceiling in tight clusters. So many that the ballroom is redolent with their heavy scent. Live hummingbirds flit among the pearl and lavender petals like tiny gems flashing. Musicians keep up an endless barrage of waltzes and minuets, the dancers never tiring as they bend and twirl and swoop. Among them, I see Lord Arnley, his handsome face tipped back as he laughs and slings his arm around another man’s waist. Part of me wants to ask him to dance again. To make him want me and then cast him off. To jeer when he feels exactly as I did that night—disgusting and worthless. My cord of magic hums and I tear my gaze away. This is not the night for that.
Just as the last time I visited the palace in disguise, hardly anyone pays me a passing glance. I’ve Shifted enough times now to be used to the feeling of anonymity, but it tastes no less sweet. I weave through the tipsy guests, drowning in the tide of perfumes and spilled wine. Searching for the shine of Aurora’s dawn-colored curls, ears tuned for her laugh. She isn’t here, though. She must still be in her rooms, or in one of the antechambers, waiting to be announced.
I pause at a column, studying the doors the royal family emerged from during the last event. Relieved that Endlewild doesn’t seem to be in attendance. Snippets of conversation drift past me.
“Is Lord Selligan not with us tonight?” A male voice, sonorous and suggestive.
“No.” A lilting, wine-tinged giggle. “I’m afraid my dear husband has caught the sleeping sickness everyone is talking about.”
A stone lands in my stomach. Sleeping sickness. I edge closer, hiding myself in the gauzy swaths of purple and cream fabric wound around the column.
“What a pity.” He doesn’t sound upset in the least. “What does that make—five now?”
“Something like that,” the woman drawls, bored. “At first I was alarmed. I returned from tea with the Countess LeSalle and thought the earl was dead! His lips were blue.”
“My poor dear.” The sound of a hand being kissed. “What an ordeal for you.”
A sniffle. “It was horrid. And then, once the physicians arrived and determined that he was not dead, I was distraught over the thought it might be contagious. I’ve hardly been able to sleep for worry I’ll not wake.”
I roll my eyes at the lady’s histrionics, quite certain there are a number of other reasons she’s not sleeping while her husband is suffering under my curse.
“Lady Selligan, but your health is so dear to us. You must take care.”
She blows loudly into what must be her companion’s offered handkerchief. “I know, I know. And the doctor assured me all is well. The earl will wake in time, they promise. Not even the king appears concerned—even though Lord Selligan is a member of his council and a personal friend. His Majesty sent a gift just the day before. A lovely brooch. Quite expensive. I haven’t had the heart to take it off of him.”
I bite down on my tongue to keep silent.
“I’m sure the Briar King is beside himself, to lose such a prized courtier. One would like to know the cause,” the man continues, thoughtful now. “If only to avoid such a fate.”
The lady sighs. “Who knows, these days? Perhaps overindulgence is the culprit.”
A loud, barking laugh. “If that were the case, my dear, the entire palace would be fast asleep, never to wake.” She giggles again. “I’m happy to see your spirits restored. And I hope to help keep you occupied—while your husband is indisposed.”
The woman murmurs something, breathless. And I move away, uninterested in the bed play of Briar’s upper class. Foreboding thrums at the base of my neck. So the king has deployed his brooches. But he’s sent no guards to arrest me for blatantly ignoring his orders.
I don’t have time to puzzle out what that might mean. The herald at the royal entrance bangs his dragon-headed cane and announces the royal family.
Queen Mariel practically floats into the ballroom, the happiest I’ve ever seen her. And she certainly dressed for the occasion—as though the royal wedding might take place this very night. A collar of teardrop pearls and enormous diamonds glitters on her neck. Her bodice and skirts are studded with ruby Briar roses. From this angle, it appears as if her crown of bramble and thorns is drenched in fresh Etherian blood.
Tarkin is a step behind her as always, wearing enough jewel-encrusted chains and bright-ribboned medals to sink him to the bottom of the Carthegean Sea. Outrage shoots from the tips of my toes and tingles in the roots of my hair when I think of what he stole from me. It takes every ounce of self-control not to send my power into him and grind his magic to dust.
“Loyal subjects.” The Briar King maneuvers around his wife. “This is a most anticipated night, when the stars have at last aligned for our beloved daughter and heir, Aurora.”
There’s a ripple in the crowd, a hundred necks craning, and then Aurora glides into view. I was not ready to see her. A gasp wrenches free from my lungs. Though most of the guests are dressed in their winter brocades and velvets, Aurora wears a close-cut silk that sets all the courtiers whispering. The gown is a deep plum color, riddled with hints of crimson that wink and glow like embers in the candlelight. Delicate lace sleeves hang from gilded straps on her shoulders. The neckline is square and low, exposing the elegant lines of her collarbone. A high garnet choker climbs the column of her neck.
I remind myself that I’m angry with her. Clench my fists, repeating the litany of wrongs in my mind. She used me. Discarded me. But all I really feel in the chambers of my treasonous heart is the desire for her to look at me. To speak to me again. To touch me. To—
I force myself to look away.
The king drones on, but his words are warped and run together. Something about the excitement of the curse breaking and the new royal family soon to be. And then there is another crack on the marble floor, loud enough to jar my attention back to the present.
“Prince Elias of Ryna.”
Tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in the same colors I saw flapping on his standards—navy and bronze—is the star-chosen prince. The room is quiet enough that I can hear every thump of his boots like a hammer against my breastbone. He is handsome. Several nearby courtiers comment on his brushed copper skin and strong jaw. And he does not have the cruel look of the Briar King. The corners of Elias’s lips turn up in a soft smile. His brown eyes are kind. He stops two steps below where Aurora waits and sweeps into a low, effortless bow. Waits until she offers her hand before he takes it.
When their fingers meet, recognition eddies between them. This is not some stranger Aurora’s parents flung at her head. She knows this man. Anticipated his arrival.
And she is radiant.
Light glows from beneath her skin, more than any Grace could have gifted her. Her expression filled with something that makes the floor tip beneath my slippers—hope. She wants this, I realize miserably. Wants his kiss to break the curse. One by one, every moment we shared together wilts. Every promise she made crumbles to ash.
The room holds its breath as Prince Elias rises to Aurora’s level and asks her permission to kiss her. She agrees—blushes, damn it all—and then he bends. Closer and closer, driving knives into my belly with each inch. Aurora’s eyes close. Her chin lifts. And then the prince brushes a chaste kiss on her parted lips.
Nothing happens.
Tarkin’s mustache jumps. He whispers something to the queen, who inserts herself between the couple and jerks Aurora’s sleeve up her forearm.
Mariel’s jaw sets. She shakes her head.
A chorus of disappointment begins to swell, the court launching into motion once again. Aurora’s expression slackens. And though I should feel some measure of satisfaction in the way she blinks away tears, in the defeated slump of her shoulders, all I feel is pain. I want to go to her. Comfort her. And I hate myself for it.
What happens next is a blur. The king calls for order, trying to piece together a half-baked speech about hope and perseverance. The apparently not-so-star-chosen Prince Elias offers another bow and leaves, Aurora close behind him.
Is she chasing him? Consoling him?
I am quick on her heels, dodging clusters of courtiers and harried servants. Ducking under arms and narrowly missing dancers. I catch a glimpse of Rose, gossiping madly with some other Graces. Laurel, who takes a second look at me as I fly past.
The door behind the dais slams shut as Aurora’s plum train swishes into darkness. And the two men guarding it, each of whom boast tree trunks for arms, don’t look particularly inclined to let me through.
Summoning my courage, I veer around a pair of women who seem much more concerned about the taste of each other’s necks than what happened with the princess, and huddle behind an opal-veined pedestal. A huge, heavy vase rests on top. Peonies and roses and dahlias overflow from the rim, petals brightening and dimming in every imaginable hue as the seconds tick by. What I need is a distraction.
I press my palms into the stone and send my power to search for the magic there. I think I find it, but the pedestal’s drowsy heart is buried too deeply for me to command properly. And so I venture elsewhere, seeking instead the slippery current of magic in the water in the vase. That is simple to manipulate. It swells under my power, almost willing as I tighten my darkness around it and push through my command. The water churns. Steam rises from the lip of the vase, porcelain groaning as it heats. There’s a rumbling gurgle. A scalding droplet leaps out and sizzles on the cold marble. A fissure races up from the rounded base of the vase. The colossal thing wobbles. Moans.
And then bursts in a deafening explosion of glass and porcelain. An answering scream ricochets around the chamber as shards of vase and blistering water find gowns and exposed skin. The guards scatter toward the conflicting cries, swords drawn.
And in the commotion, for the first time and fueled by my overwhelming need, I Shift myself to complete invisibility and slip into the torch-lit corridor.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
My feet are too slow.
Sweat tracks through the Grace powder on my face and neck with the effort of maintaining my Shift. My muscles are stretched tight enough to tear. One advantage the corridor affords me is its uniform walls, far easier to project onto my body than a more complicated landscape. Even so, a few times, a green-veined hand pops into view. The flutter of a gold-embroidered hem. I will not be able to hold the illusion long.
Hopefully, I will not have to. Soon enough, I detect the patter of heels. It must be Aurora, hurrying back to her rooms.
Hurrying after her star-chosen prince.
Her steps lead me up several flights of stairs and through a dozen winding turns, until they abruptly stop and I come upon a still-swinging tapestry. Mustering what little of my courage remains, I push through the narrow door and into the crown princess’s private chambers.
Everything is quiet. Not even the candles are lit, and I have to pause for a few ragged breaths to let my eyes adjust. I clamp my hands over my mouth, smothering my relieved sob as I let my Shift slide away and my limbs reappear.
One hand on the wall to steady myself, I cling to the shadows of what I believe to be a sitting room. Lounges and chairs are arranged around small tables, books on every surface. The last vestiges of a fire wink from behind a grate. Sheer curtains do little to hide the tall windows, the star-scattered sky casting the room in silver. In the corner, there’s a large rounded object covered by a thin cloth.
I inch my way across the rugs, toward a set of double doors. Rustling sounds leak through the opening, as well as the faint glimmer of a single taper. Aurora’s bedchamber. A creaky plank of wood betrays me as I tiptoe inside.
“I said I wished to be alone!” Her voice is harsher than I’ve ever heard it. She wrestles off her necklace and tosses it away.
I don’t move, frozen in place, and she whirls, mouth open to hurl another royal command. And then her jaw drops, one hand going to her throat, the other bracing against the dressing table.
“Alyce.”
My name on her lips. Something runs through me, and I can’t tell if it’s longing or rage. Maybe both. “Are you surprised?”
“What are you doing here?” Her gaze jumps to the doors behind me and the darkness beyond. “How did you get inside?”
“I don’t see how that matters.” I push farther into the bedchamber, determined to keep control of the conversation. “You came to see me often enough—uninvited. I thought it only fair to return the favor.”
She looks away, flustered, and pulls pins out of her hair. “I’ve hardly been able to draw a breath of my own since Elias’s ship was spotted.” Silver clacks against the glass top of her dressing table. “Did you know my mother ordered a wedding dress made? Before the curse was even broken.” She laughs, but it’s stilted.
“It didn’t look broken to me.”
“No.” Her arms droop to her sides and she sinks onto a stool. “It didn’t break.”
“What a pity. I know how much you were looking forward to the prince’s arrival. And I’m sure it was a beautiful gown. How much did it cost? Twenty thousand gold?”
“Twenty thousand—” She blinks. “What?”
Even now, she lies to me.
“The gold you stole. My gold. My way out of Briar. How long were you and your father planning it? I want to know.” Her brow rumples. What a clever, talented actress she is. Fury gallops through my veins. “Was it amusing? A romp—trick the Dark Grace into trusting you and then take everything she has?”
“I don’t understand you, Alyce.”
“You lie so well.” My power thrums, spurring me to act. Her mortal magic would be so easy to destroy. It would feel like one of Rose’s glass baubles shattering under my heel. “Did your father teach you? Your mother, perhaps. Was it after your birthday masque that they bade you visit me? Or after the duke—when they realized how much of a Vila I really am?”
She gapes at me like I’m speaking a different language. “You…you think I’ve been spying on you?”
“Why shouldn’t I? My gold is gone. Conveniently after you saw where I stored it. After you knew I was planning to leave.”
“You think I told on you?” She launches to her feet, setting the candle wobbling. Shadows dance over the walls, as they do in the black tower. “Even after the trial? When I knew what my father would do to you—that’s what you think of me?”
Doubt cracks like a rotten egg and trickles down my spine. I shake it away.
“Don’t look at me that way. What else was I supposed to think? Spoiled princess. You were done playing with your Dark Grace and so you threw me away.”
I don’t let myself feel guilty for the way she winces when the words hit her.
“Stop it, Alyce.”
“Does it hurt you to hear the truth? It should. I hope you feel a fraction of what I felt when my whole world was ripped into pieces. My one escape blocked. Now I’m chained to the role of Dark Grace forever.”
The argument is a living, wild thing between us. Aurora’s chest rises and falls in an uneven, painful rhythm. “Do you really want to leave me?”
No, my heart answers. I roundly tell it to be silent. “There’s nothing for me here. I’m tired of being a villain.”
“You were never a villain to me.”
It is enough to break me. I want to lean into her, feel her arms around me. Smell the appleblossom of her skin.
No.
I’ve let myself be reeled in by her charms too many times. All it takes is a kind word, a soft look, and I’m eating out of her hand again. Like the pet I am.
“You’re part of this,” I insist, stoking up the flames of my greedy wrath. “I don’t know how, but you are.”
“I’m not.”
“But you stopped coming. Discarded me once you were bored.”
“Is that what you think?” She reaches for me. But I will not let her near. “That isn’t true, Alyce. I had no time. I was trapped here—as trapped as you.”
“It’s more than that.” Every ill thought I harbor piles together until it is a wall of stone. “You wrote to Prince Elias. You never did with the others. Never even spoke of them.” I barrel on when she opens her mouth to argue. “And tonight you looked…you looked—” It scores my heart to say it. “You wanted his kiss to work.”
The accusation lands at her feet and quivers in the air. She pales in the quicksilver moonlight. “Is it so terrible? To want my curse to be broken?”
“We were trying to break it! The two of us, together. That’s what you promised. And to see you looking at— at him like that.” The air is too thin. There is not enough of it.
Aurora continues, so even and cool that it sends a shiver down my spine. “If I seemed happy to meet my newest suitor, it is because I knew he would be the last.”
“Because you thought he would break the curse and you would—”
“Because I mean to refuse all others.”
I have to repeat her words in my head before they make any sense. “You mean to…refuse?”
“I mean to refuse,” she says, as smoothly as if discussing a choice of gown. “Queens of Briar are not technically obligated to marry their cursebreakers. And it turns out that Prince Elias wanted to marry me as much as I wanted to marry him—not at all.”
My whirling mind cannot keep up with her. “Not at all…but—”
