Malice, page 34
“Not like this.” I shake Aurora’s shoulders. “What did you do?”
“Better to ask what you did.” There’s amusement in Kal’s voice and I want to strangle it out of him. “Surely you remember cursing the spindle.”
“That curse was for slumber. Not death.”
“For someone so terribly clever, you never did listen.” He laughs and it cuts me to ribbons. “The sleeping curse you put on this spindle was little stronger than a wish. But it was just the spark Mortania’s magic needed. Her intent is far stronger. It negates whatever pitiful attempt you made.”
Numbness trickles down my back. Dragon’s teeth…that’s what he was doing with the spindle. It’s the same as with the king’s brooches.
“I knew she was inside you.” Kal runs a finger down my cheek. I elbow him in the stomach, but he dodges the blow. “How else could you have freed yourself from the shadows? Her power could never be hindered by so simple a binding.”
My own scalding tears splash against Aurora’s marble-cast features. “You’re lying. You’ve done nothing but lie from the start.”
“It is not my fault if you were not adept enough to discern the truth.” Kal clicks his tongue. “But you misunderstand. The princess’s death is what we need. A new Briar. A beginning for creatures like us. Sacrifices must be made, Alyce.”
A new Briar. Aurora’s words, but twisted and ugly when Kal speaks them. I did this. Mortania’s magic bolstered the curse, but it’s my magic that will kill Aurora. My reckless plan that brought her here.
“She isn’t a sacrifice.” A massive gale roars against the tower. “And you’re a lunatic if you think I would trust you again after this.”
“Well.” Kal shrugs. “I already know Mortania is alive inside you. It is merely a matter of bringing her out. And I will find a way. Until then.” He snaps his fingers, attempting to summon the shadows. Frowning as they refuse to budge. Because I hadn’t just freed myself. I’d obliterated their magic.
Cold understanding bleeds across Kal’s features.
An exquisite rage builds behind my breastbone. Beats in time with my Vila heart. Dark laughter that is not quite my own bounces against the curves of my skull. Kal watches me, sensing the danger.
“Alyce.” He holds up a hand, gaze flitting to the door behind me. And some feral part of me hopes that he runs. That I can chase him down. “You are upset. But what is one life when they took thousands of ours?”
We do not need him, Mortania’s voice crows.
Confusion ripples through me. Kal said the Vila was his lover, and yet I sense nothing of affection in the jagged edges of her spirit. Did she love him? Or did that love fester and decay in the centuries she was locked inside the medallion, consumed with her own hatred and rage? Had the Shifter become a means to an end—the same as I was to him?
“I must thank you, Kal.” He stumbles over a splintered chair leg as I advance. “You really have given me more than my mother ever could. More than anyone.”
His back hits the opposite wall, chest working quickly. “You will consider what I offer? A new realm for us?”
I have considered. Listened and trusted and hoped. Let myself be leashed and controlled and manipulated. And look where it got me.
“I will let you die quickly.”
My Vila power responds like a warhorse, the scent of woodsmoke and damp earth mixing with rich, heady wine and molten steel. The tang of charred iron fills my mouth as my magic careens into Kal. His eyes bulge, hands going to his neck. I could laugh at how simple it is. Mortania laughs with me, the peals warping as they collide with the sounds of the storm.
I take one last look at the Shifter who killed Aurora. Who used me and lied and pretended to love me. But all he ever cared about was himself. And so I find the treasonous heart of his power and smash it beneath the heel of my own.
Kal sinks to the floor in a boneless heap, not even uttering a cry.
CHAPTER FORTY
Aurora’s lips are chalky against the dull wax of her skin. Her veins are showing through her cheeks, blue-black and brittle. Her limbs are stiff. Her heartbeat faint. I crush my mouth to hers, again and again, begging the magic that broke the first curse to work again. She doesn’t stir.
Not even when I reach my own power inside her, searching for Mortania’s curse, trying to call it back. I command the Vila’s magic now. But it doesn’t budge. It’s as Kal said, Mortania’s intent was death. An intent stronger than iron. Stronger even than my own desire to wake Aurora.
“Please.” A sob works free of my lungs. “Aurora, please.”
“What have you done?”
A new voice rumbles through the chamber.
Endlewild lurks in the doorway. The light from his staff swirls with streaks of russet and the scar on my middle aches. His knife-sharp gaze assesses the room. The smashed furniture. Kal’s lifeless body.
“You broke the enchantment.” It isn’t a question. “I sensed it in Briar. The heart of our bonds breached and the Vila loosed.” His attention cuts back to me. “You killed the Shifter.”
So Endlewild had known about him all along. Kal hadn’t lied about that at least. The Etherians really did chain him to this tower. And I wonder that the Fae lord didn’t suspect my alliance with the Shifter long ago—especially after I attempted to free Kal the first time. But then, I hadn’t destroyed the enchantment that night. The magic had fought me off. I cannot think of that now. I hiccup through my sobs. “Aurora. Please, she’s dying.”
“The crown princess?” It is the first time I hear something like surprise in the Fae lord’s rushing-water voice. He steps closer, eyes widening when he realizes the woman on the ground is Aurora. “What is she—”
But the next gale hammers into the chamber, setting the spinning wheel in motion. It clacks away. A faint halo of green still clings to the spindle. Endlewild stares, openmouthed. And then he descends like the storm itself, ripping the flywheel away and breaking it over his knee. The spindle glistens with my blood. And Aurora’s. He snarls at it, picking it up and hurling it through the window.
“What did you do?”
“It wasn’t me.” I’m rocking back and forth, Aurora’s limp hand cradled in mine. “I didn’t know. He tricked me and lured her here.”
“Worthless half-breed.” He kneels to press his knobby-boned fingers against Aurora’s temples. The hollow of her throat. “Did you not think there was a good reason that he remained in our bindings?”
“I didn’t know they were yours! And even if I had known, why should your magic have kept me away? All you’ve ever done is torment me. And he—he—” But the rest crumbles. Kal loved me? Protected me? It was all lies. “I didn’t know what he was.”
“You know well enough now.” Lightning flashes, glinting off the laurel leaves of the High Court’s sigil on his doublet. “When it is too late.”
“No.” I bring Aurora’s frozen hand to my lips. My tears roll down her wrist. “You must save her. She is the heir to the throne. You are bound—”
“I need no schooling in my duties from you, beast.”
The insult makes me cry harder. Because it’s true. I’m the one who brought Aurora here. Released her killer. My magic coated the spindle that cursed her.
“I should kill you where you stand.” His pointed Fae teeth gnash together. And I brace for the impact of his burning staff on my heart, the scar on my middle blazing. But it doesn’t come. He shoves me away from Aurora and folds her into his arms. “I lack the time. You will come with me. Later, I will decide this matter. It is clear enough you are more than you seem.”
The unspoken threat sends a shiver racing across my shoulder blades, and every instinct begs me to run. But I will not leave Aurora. And so I follow close at the Etherian’s heels, down the stairs and out into the storm.
Endlewild’s Fae steed is waiting. Aside from his staff, the horse is the only bit of Etheria that the ambassador is permitted to keep in this realm. Its massive silver hooves paw at the ground, sparking where they meet the rain-slick rocks of the cliff. Its mane is waves of liquid moonlight. Its hide glowing, so much so that it hurts to look. Though the storm rages, the Fae magic in the creature’s blood protects it from the torrents of sleet and snow, which roll off its flank like rivers of oil. Endlewild positions Aurora over its back, climbs up afterward, and tosses me behind him.
I barely have time to wrap my arms around his torso before we’re bolting toward Briar.
* * *
—
The Fae lord must know of Tarkin’s planned coup, for he doesn’t steer us toward the palace. We soar over the landscape and into Briar at a brutal pace only a Fae steed could achieve, faster than the wind itself. The guards at the checkpoints don’t even look up. To them, we’re only a steel-sharp gale blowing through the gates. It’s everything I can do to hold on to Endlewild until we lurch to a stop in front of Lavender House and I’m practically thrown off the mount.
Endlewild bursts through the front door with a blast of his gilded power and heads toward the main parlor. A bleary-eyed servant pokes her head around a corner, then scuttles away with a squeak, and soon the sound of confused voices floats down the staircase. Hurried footsteps patter overhead.
The Fae lord settles Aurora on a chaise longue, and the Graces tumble in a heartbeat later, hastily wrapped in dressing gowns with their hair mussed and chittering like startled birds.
“What in Briar—” But Mistress Lavender stops when she realizes who is standing in her parlor. She sinks immediately into a curtsy. The others quickly follow, elbowing one another as if to remind themselves of the proper etiquette when you find a Fae lord in your home in the dead of night.
“Lord Ambassador.” Mistress Lavender’s nose is practically touching the floor. “How might we be of assistance?”
Endlewild flicks back the edge of his cloak to reveal Aurora lying on the jade upholstery. Her curls are spilling over the cushions, brushing the rug. One arm juts out at a painful angle. A collective gasp issues from the Graces.
“The crown princess.” Rose hazards a step forward, clenching the neck of her dressing gown. “Is she—”
“No.” The light from Endlewild’s staff gilds the chamber. He runs a spindly fingered hand through his snow-white hair. “But soon. And we will need all our magic to save her.”
Laurel looks to me then, eyebrows shooting up. This wasn’t the plan. Understanding puckers her lips. She thinks it was my fault. That I cursed Aurora by mistake. Lost control of my power. I slide my gaze away, guilt heavy on my shoulders. It’s close enough to the truth.
“Marigold.” Mistress Lavender flies into action. “Go to Willow House and fetch her healing Graces. Rose, gather the kits. And, Laurel”—she ushers the wisdom Grace through—“I expect His Grace will need your gift most of all.”
Endlewild begins speaking to Laurel in low tones, explaining the situation as he knows it. Laurel nods along, blanching. Calculating her own part in the mess, I expect.
“Keep the half-breed close,” the Etherian commands over his shoulder.
Mistress Lavender sucks her teeth. Her Faded Grace eyes are flinty, a muscle in her jaw ticking. The last thing she wants is the Dark Grace to be found in Lavender House. Not with the princess practically dead on her parlor couch. But she keeps her objections to herself.
“Go to the cellar and wait,” she instructs me, straightening the tie at her waist.
“I will not.” I cannot. Not after what’s happened. Not when this might be the last time I see Aurora—ever. Craning my neck, I can just glimpse the heel of her slipper peeking from behind Endlewild. A slice of her too-pale skin.
“Alyce.” Mistress Lavender grips my elbow. “You will not speak to me that way. Not after this. Not after everything else you’ve brought down upon my head. I tried to do my best with you. I really did. And it was such a burden. No other housemistress would take it on. But I thought—what a poor, luckless thing. I would help her. And this is how you’ve repaid me?”
Heat tingles along my scalp. “I’m aware of how inconvenient my life has been for you.” I am reckless. But I can’t stop. “And I’m sorry you found me to be so much trouble, regardless of the amount of coin I brought you over the years. What was it you said, that Lavender House rose three ranks once I started working here? And I imagine that housing the dreaded Dark Grace came with its own healthy stipend.”
Mistress Lavender takes a step back, as if my words physically struck her. My pulse thrums beneath my jaw, spurred by my smoldering rage. Her magic would be so weak, a normal human’s now that she’s Faded. I could—
“Get downstairs,” she grinds out. “If you do not, I will call the guard myself.”
Do it a thought that I somehow recognize as Mortania’s urges. Her magic hums against mine like a plucked string, begging to leave my body and be the end of Mistress Lavender. It would be so easy to release it. And then the housemistress could never order me about again. Never look at me like I’m something she found on the bottom of her shoe.
But then Laurel straightens from where she has been examining Aurora. She holds my gaze and gives the barest shake of her head, golden eyes softer now. Pleading. This is not the way. If I ever want to see Aurora again, if she survives this, it will do me no good to have committed such a crime.
And so I push my breaths in and out, ragged and shallow. Close my eyes against the burning wrath simmering in my blood. Take one last glance at Aurora, and then turn my steps to the back door, through the kitchen, and down the stairs.
* * *
—
The cellar seems an appropriate prison for the Dark Grace.
I’m half tempted to try to sneak out to my Lair. See what can be salvaged. But I have no desire to know how the guards treated it. Callow’s perch hacked to bits. Her feathers—or perhaps even her body—littered among the broken glass and ripped pages. Pain balloons in my chest and sinks to my toes. I did not imagine it would hurt so much—how quickly I could be destroyed. An unsightly mark immediately papered over and forgotten.
Without a hearth, the cellar is frigid. My breath clouds in front of my face as I stalk between bags of flour and crates of wine and cheese, arms tight around my body. Even down here, I can hear the storm bellow. As if the wind itself wants to punch through the stone.
I go to the top of the stairs and press my ear to the door, trying to catch snippets of what’s going on with Aurora, but it is useless. I can only seethe and wait and hope that she is getting better. That she hasn’t died by my hand.
Hours pass. I think. With no way to tell the time, I’m going mad. At one point, I might hear movement from the kitchen, the staff waking and starting the day. But I can’t be sure.
At long last, the doorknob whines as it turns and light floods down the cellar stairs. Mistress Lavender descends, looking ten years older than she did when I arrived with Endlewild. Her eyes are leaden and bruised in the flame of her lamp. She still hasn’t changed from her dressing gown. I bolt up from the crate I’d been huddled against.
“Is she dead?”
Mistress Lavender releases a long breath. “She survived.”
A giddy relief washes over me. Tears sting in my eyes. “I must go to her.”
“You absolutely will n—”
I’m flying up the stairs before she can stop me. Mistress Lavender claws at my skirts, trying to pull me back, but I yank myself free, not caring if she winds up flat on her back. I must see Aurora. Smell the appleblossom in her hair and kiss the curve of her neck and tell her how wrong I was and how sorry I am. The words are practically bursting from my lips.
She isn’t there.
I reel to a stop in the parlor. Pale morning light streams in through the windows, the storm having exhausted itself at last. The Graces’ kits and instruments are strewn on every surface. The air reeks of potent herbs and the floral, honeyed nectar of Grace blood. But I see only Rose and Marigold, collapsed on divans with their arms thrown over their eyes.
“What have you done with her?”
Rose stirs, squinting at me. “With who?”
“Aurora.” I study the chaise where I last saw her. One of the pillows still bears a head-shaped imprint. “Where is she?”
Marigold sits up. “You mean the princess. The one you cursed with your filthy blood?”
Rose smooths her dressing gown. “She’s gone.”
“Gone?” The question hitches. “Where? What’s happened?”
“As if it’s any of your concern,” Marigold huffs. “We broke your horrible curse. She’ll wake up and—”
“That’s enough.” Mistress Lavender appears behind me, setting her lamp on a table. The rose-shaped glass is chipped. “The princess has returned to the palace. Where she belongs.”
“Back to the palace?” I repeat. “Without speaking to me? Did she ask for me?”
“She can’t, you idiot.” Marigold grumbles something else about Vila filth, and I bare my teeth at her. She recoils.
“Not yet,” Rose adds quietly. There’s something like guilt in her golden eyes, but it vanishes an instant later.
“What are they talking about?” I whip back to Mistress Lavender, who purses her lips, clearly giving away more than she intended.
“We were able to soften your curse.”
“It wasn’t my curse.” But it was. “It was an accident.”
Mistress Lavender waves away the explanation. “It’s done now. The princess will wake soon, and nothing more need ever be known of this incident. You will not see her again.”
Incident. That’s all I’ll ever be to Briar.
