Malice (Malice Duology #1)(24)

“No.” I dare a step closer. “I know exactly what you mean. I wanted to bring the ballroom crashing down after Rose— Well, you saw what she did. So many times I want to…” I look down, worried I’ve said too much already.

A gentle touch lands on my arm. Heat shoots through the silk of my glove. “We’re not so different, are we?”

    I meet the princess’s gaze, a lump in my throat. “No. I suppose we’re not.”

“A princess and a Dark Grace. Quite the pair.” She scoops up a glob of mud with a fingertip and inspects it. “You’ve ruined my favorite fountain, you know. Those are sculptures of me.” She gestures to a marble maiden. Sludge oozes down its waist and drips from the crook of its elbow.

Damn everything. “Are they really? It’s your favorite?”

“No.” She laughs again, flicking the mud away. “But it is now. It’s absolutely my favorite thing in this entire palace.”



* * *



—

Princess Aurora herself helps me to steal away into a carriage without having to walk back through the viper’s pit of a ballroom. I’m home well before the others, drifting in on the cloud of joy Aurora cultivated in the gardens. I never thought I’d meet anyone who understood even a sliver of what it means to be me. Especially not a princess.

But the sight of myself in the mirror, the reflection in the servants’ eyes as I return, sends me crashing back to reality. I barricade myself in my room, peeling off the dress, the gloves, the one remaining shoe. Part of me feels guilty for spoiling the surprise Laurel clearly worked hard to achieve. But it isn’t me who should apologize. It’s Rose.

Rose who deals out my humiliations as easily as hands of playing cards. Rose who takes great pains to ensure I feel every bit of the hatred the realm harbors for me. And as I burrow into the safety of my coverlet, I begin to devise how, exactly, I will return the favor.





CHAPTER TEN


The rest of the household returns well after midnight. I hear their carriage clatter up the drive. The orders shouted to servants and the trudge of dance-weary footsteps. No one comes to check on me, not even Laurel, which makes me strangely sad. She probably feels it’s best to leave me be. And she’s right.

Exhaustion pulls my eyelids down, but I don’t let myself sleep. Not yet. Instead, I remove the tiny key hidden in the false bottom of my dressing table drawer and open a trunk of relics from my childhood. Old dresses I’ve outgrown and books Laurel lent me and didn’t want returned. The embossed title of one volume stares up at me in the weak light of my candle. This one did not come from Laurel. And it was not a well-meaning gift. Endlewild brought it. I remember the way those Fae eyes glinted as he tossed it at my feet.

Dark Creatures of Malterre.

I trace the letters, wings flapping in my belly.

    “Forget not what you are” was all he said.

Not who—what. He’d wanted me to read the sections about Vila. Horrible stories about human sacrifices and kidnapped children and blood rituals. Tales that would frighten me. Make me understand what would happen to me if I ever used my power against Briar. But Vila are not the only creatures described in this book.

The spine creaks and the smell of dust and old paper greets me. My trembling fingers find chapters on Nyxes and Imps and Goblins, all creatures who once lived in Malterre but were driven to extinction at the end of the war.

Here, toward the end of the book. The Shifters. My eyes move so quickly I can barely take in the words.


Like the Fae, it is believed that Shifters live long—perhaps even immortal—lives. It is difficult to discern the exact lifespan due to the changeable natures of the creatures. Though there have been no reported sightings of Shifters in their native form, it is believed that they have no exterior body hair. They may also possess multiple sets of breathing apparatuses, including gills as well as humanesque noses, so that they may Shift easily from land animals to water. Skin may also be covered in scales. And blood, when extracted, is a thick, sticky black. Similar in viscosity and color to the ink of a Carthegean Squid.



That isn’t me, I tell myself firmly. I don’t look like that. I have green, Vila blood. Not black. But my gaze darts involuntarily to the backs of my hands. I may not have scales, but my skin is always dry and flaking. And while I have hair, it’s pitifully thin and lank. A good yank away from falling out completely.

    But if I am a Shifter as Kal says—I could change into anyone I wanted to be. I could leave Briar behind forever.

The thought is so sweet it dissolves like spun sugar on my tongue.

The Grace Laws, my mind screams. The dogs. The ones trained to sniff out Grace blood and keep them from being smuggled out of the realm.

But I am not a Grace.



* * *



—

Once dawn breaks, I’m up. The others won’t bother to rise until at least midday and Delphine can burn my schedule for all I care. Not even the kitchen staff is awake. I stuff a sack full of pastries, nick a loaf of bread and some cheese, settle Callow on my shoulder, and leave the house before anyone’s the wiser.

Brine and sea salt scrape the inside of my nose once I pass through the main gates and turn toward the black tower. Fat clouds are rolling in from the horizon, promising a downpour. It’s a gray, miserable morning, the mist so thick I could cut it with a knife. The perfect post-ball day for the nobles to laze about in their beds, nursing their wine-soaked heads with vials of Etherium and forgetting about the Dark Grace.