Malice (Malice Duology #1)(117)

I nod, smiling. That familiar, comforting anger building inside my chest. Making me feel powerful. In control. “Oh, I will. And so will you.”

Her brow furrows, trying to sort out the meaning behind my words. Too slowly, for all the strength of her gift.

Mortania’s magic shivers awake. I can feel it uncoiling. Yawning and stretching. As it unfurls, I can sense the humming energy of nearly every object in the chamber. The leafy, woodsy magic of the paper in Aurora’s books, the souls of the trees still trapped inside each page, still smelling of pine and damp earth. The honey-drenched buzzing of the waxy candles. The molten ore inside the iron fixtures.

Laurel backs away one step at a time, her palms up. A sheen of copper-tinged sweat beads across her forehead and cheeks. “Don’t—”

    A hawk striking, my magic soars out of my body and into Laurel’s. Her power is stronger than Marigold’s had been, but it yields all the same.

“Alyce,” she gasps. “Please.”

“Don’t worry, Laurel.” I tilt my head at her garbled sobs, riding the intoxicating tide of Mortania’s power. “You’re getting what you want. You’ll never be a prisoner again.”

She opens her mouth to beg. To bargain. And then the last fibers of her magic give out, guttering once, and then going dark. With a muffled cry, Laurel collapses, her arms stretched out on either side of her like broken wings.

Hers is the second life I’ve ended in less than a day. But I feel nothing, save for the crackle of my own power. And the overwhelming desire for more.

Something hard butts against the wood. Voices, first one, then many—one of which might be the queen’s—begin to crest. The door bows inward.

We cannot stay here.

Aurora is too heavy for me to lift alone, but I command my power as I did when I carried the sack of coins to the black tower, filtering strength into my back and arms. After I Shift, it feels like she weighs no more than a child. I scoop her up, careful to tuck her head under my chin.

And then, just as the door begins to splinter, I shove aside the tapestry on the far wall and duck inside the servants’ halls.





CHAPTER FORTY-TWO


I break into a run. There’s no help for it now. A Shift would do nothing to aid me. Even if I became invisible, the servants would see Aurora’s body suspended in midair.

And so as we pass each wide-eyed and spluttering maid and footman, I reach into their bodies and snap their magic neatly in two. With Mortania’s power inside me, it’s as easy as popping the head off of a daisy. And I feel only a faint itch of guilt each time another purple-liveried body wilts. They would have done the same to me.

I count twenty before we make it to the old library, the only place in this wretched palace that is ours. The blanket is still where we left it. I lay Aurora down on top of it, fetching a stained pillow for her head. If I breathe deeply, I can still catch our scents twined together. Appleblossom and woodsmoke. My stomach flutters.

But we aren’t alone. Footsteps stampede down the corridor, shouts ringing back and forth as the palace guards follow my trail of dead servants. Swords sing their way out of sheaths. But they will not reach us. No one will separate us again.

    With unbelievable ease, my magic finds the hearts of forest in the books and sends them flying off the shelves and piling in front of the open door. Torchlight bobs along the walls outside, the guards closing in. I am ready. I coax that leafy, loamy magic out, melding the flimsy hearts together until they are strong and sure. And then I set it free.

Fully grown trees erupt from between the pages of the books. Not the green-leafed saplings like those beyond Briar’s gates. But black, spear-limbed things that roar toward the ceiling. I push harder, thickening the trunks. Bidding spiky, poison-tipped thorns to pierce through the bark.

I remember a lifetime ago, when I was a different person altogether, and had wept because I could not heal Duke Weltross. Because I could only craft darkness and death.

What a fool I was.

These trees, their slick skins, twisted to form a deadly barrier at the library’s entrance, are the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.

A guard rounds the corner. There’s the sound of flesh separating from bone as he’s greeted by my thorns. I laugh, Mortania’s power surging through my blood and filling my lungs with the scent of molten steel and dark wine.

Swords hack against the other side of my trees, little better than needles against stone. They’ll never break through. I let the guards tire themselves and turn back to Aurora.

    She sleeps so peacefully, unaware of the chaos surrounding her. I run my fingers through her silky hair. Trace the shape of her lips. The dip of her collarbone. The curve of her neck. Was it only days ago that we shared the night together here? I can still see her, luminous and soft and so perfect it makes my chest ache. She told me I was beautiful. Held my hand while her parents berated us. Risked everything to be by my side.

And what had I done?

Colluded with the Shifter who had helped murder her family. Believed his lies. Cursed the spindle that nearly killed her.

The tears come again, swift and brutal. I press my forehead against her knuckles. Plead for her forgiveness. For her to open her eyes and let this nightmare fade away.

I should let the prince wake her. Watch her velvet eyes cloud and darken when she thinks of me, the Vila who held her captive. Let her live a life with children and a throne and every other happiness while I waste away in some faraway place. As good as dead without her—the one person who was ever mine. It would be a fitting punishment.