Grace and Fury (Grace and Fury #1)(12)

SIX



NOMI


NOMI PICKED UP her bag and threw it furiously across the room. The sickening thud of it hitting the wall made her cry harder, consumed by fear for herself and her sister. Her empty stomach churned. She climbed onto the bed, into the indentation still left in the cloud-light bedding by Serina’s body. She curled up, squeezed her eyes shut tight, and tried to block out every shred of harsh morning light, every thought. Every regret.

But instead, her sister’s voice came back to her. Long before our ancestors’ ancestors were born, there was no land here.

One night a year or two ago, Serina had told the story just for the joy of it. They’d been curled up in one of Mama’s quilts on the floor of their small bedroom. Renzo was supposed to be studying his sums, but he was listening too, leaning back on his elbows, legs stretched out so they touched the far wall.

“One evening,” Serina had recited from memory, her recent singing lessons coating her voice with honey, “as the sun eased toward the horizon and the moon rose from its slumber, two birds flew along the path made on the water by the setting sun. They dipped and sagged, their battered wings barely holding them aloft. Every now and then, one would falter and fall toward the water, all strength gone. The other would dive and catch the first on its back, carrying its partner for a time.

“The two birds traveled this way for many leagues, until the path of the sun had faded and the moon’s silver road appeared. The ocean shimmied and danced beneath the birds, intrigued by their obvious love for each other. The ocean had never loved anything so much, to burden its own back with another’s survival. It didn’t understand why the birds didn’t fend for themselves—the stronger leave the weaker and carry on.

“It took the ocean some time to understand that apart, the birds would never have made it so far,” Serina had continued, wrapping an arm around Nomi’s shoulders. “That their love, their sacrifice, gave them both strength. When at last, the two little birds, their bright red and green feathers tarnished from their long journey, could no longer hold themselves free of the endless water, the ocean took pity on them. Rewarding their steadfastness, it pushed land up from its depths—huge, lush hills with fresh, clean water, towering cypress trees, and all the fruits and berries and seeds they could ever desire. The lovebirds alighted in the shady, cool branches of an olive tree, their tired wings wrapping around each other, their beaks tucked into each other’s feathers. And at last, they were able to rest.”

Back then, it had only been a story, but now she felt it in her bones. Serina loved her that much—enough to sacrifice herself for her sister. Serina could have said it wasn’t her book. She could have said Nomi was the one who could read. But she hadn’t. She couldn’t have, or they’d have come for Nomi too.

She didn’t know what had happened to Serina or if her sister would be back. But Nomi knew Serina had protected her, as she always did. Nomi made the mistakes. Serina cleaned up the mess.

Nomi tightened her arms across her stomach, locked in misery and guilt.

At some point, she fell back asleep, the sheet damp under her cheek from her tears, and dreamt of her sister’s arms holding her up.

When she awoke, someone was leaning over her.

“Serina?” she murmured hoarsely.

“It’s time to get up,” a gentle voice said. “You’ve slept all day.”

Nomi sat up quickly, reality crashing over her.

The girl stepped back to give her space. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” She was about Nomi’s age, with a slight frame, lightly tanned skin, and a small, pointed face. Her tawny hair dangled in a braid down her back, and she stood with her hands clasped together at her waist. There was nothing remarkable about her, nothing of note, except that she wasn’t Serina.

“I’m Angeline, your new handmaiden,” the girl said, bowing slightly. “I’ve brought you some food. It’s well past luncheon.” She pointed to a plate of pastries on the dressing table. “The almond spirals are my favorite. Have you ever had one? They’re a Bellaquan specialty.”

Nomi looked around, disoriented by the late-afternoon sunlight slanting through the room. The clothes from her bag had been folded and neatly placed on an upholstered chair in the corner. A light breeze drifted in the open window. The steady crash of waves hummed in the background.

It all made her sick—the beautiful room, the comfortable bed, even the lovely weather. She felt Serina’s absence like the loss of a limb. How would she survive here without her?

“Where’s my sister?” she asked.

Angeline shook her head. “I don’t know, I’m sorry.…”

Nomi surged to her feet, determined to find Ines—or someone who would know—but the sudden movement sent a patina of color exploding before her eyes. She swayed.

“You should eat,” Angeline said. She tentatively put her hand on Nomi’s arm, drawing her toward the dressing table. “Ines said you missed breakfast as well. You must be famished.”

Nomi sank into the delicate wrought-iron chair. She wanted to reject the food, the pale pink juice in its chilled crystal glass, but she hadn’t eaten since the morning before. Nomi took a bite, the buttery cornetto melting on her tongue. Angeline retired to just outside the half-open bedroom door to give her privacy. For an instant, it felt as if the handmaiden were a guard, and Nomi’s room a prison.