Grace and Fury (Grace and Fury #1)(20)
“Fighters, take your positions,” Ricci ordered.
Fighters?
Five women stepped onto the stage, including the woman with the red hair who’d been talking to Oracle. Commander Ricci disappeared into a stairwell that led to the balcony.
No one moved. No one spoke.
Serina watched with wide eyes, uncomprehending.
A few moments later, Ricci reappeared at the edge of the balcony. He was holding a wooden crate. He let it drop as he shouted, “Begin!” When it hit the ground, the wood cracked apart with a sound like an ax hewing firewood. A coil of thick black tubing flopped out. Only… it wasn’t tubing. It didn’t stop moving, slowly uncurling over the shattered scraps of wood. Serina gaped as the snake’s head lifted, testing the air.
One of the girls tried to stomp on it, but she missed its head. It twisted and struck her on the ankle. She screamed. Time seemed to slow. One second. Two seconds. She crumpled, her leg swollen, as the rest of her twitched sickeningly. Another woman grabbed the tail of the snake and swung its head down against the hard floor, again and again, until it hung limp and unmoving from her hands. The other women met in the center of the stage, their fists and knees and elbows flying.
Serina’s heart went into freefall. Women didn’t fight. Ever. Not against men, not against each other. Violence always earned the strictest punishment. Serina knew stories of women who’d tried to defend themselves—a distant cousin who’d fought back against an abusive husband, a girl in the textile factory who’d slapped a man when he tried to kiss her. Those women had been severely punished. Flogged, imprisoned. Sent to Mount Ruin or a prison like it. How was this allowed in the very place that was meant to contain such behavior?
Another woman groaned as someone kicked her in the knee. Serina closed her eyes. She covered her ears. She curled into herself. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real.
The thuds and shouts were muffled, the darkness behind her closed eyes absolute. For a few minutes, she let herself recede. She lived in the thud of her heartbeat and shush of her breath.
Then a sharp, pain-filled scream carved a hole into the black, rising from beyond her cocoon. Serina’s breath froze. The sound slid into an agonized moan and petered out. For a second, there was silence. Then she heard the unmistakable, horrifying sound of applause.
TEN
NOMI
IN THE HALLWAY outside the Heir’s chambers, Nomi leaned back against the heavy door, the curve of a leaping fish digging into her spine. His expression as she’d left the room haunted her. She tried to steady her breathing.
Ines hadn’t waited for her. Nomi turned down the hall in the direction she’d come, but somehow she never found the short flight of stairs they’d ascended. She kept walking, the impulse to get away overwhelming, even though she had no idea how to return to the Graces’ chambers.
The hallway eventually ended at a wall of glass, some partitions pulled back to reveal a wide terrace overlooking the ocean. A cool breeze slipped into the hallway, caressing Nomi’s cheeks. Drawn forward by the soothing wind, she approached the marble balustrade, gripped the hard stone in her cold hands, and closed her eyes.
Homesickness ate her hollow. She missed her mother’s soft voice, her father’s gruff pride. Renzo’s mischievous support of her little rebellions. For years, she’d been his shadow, and he’d been her voice of hope. But most of all, she missed Serina. Nomi had always known she’d have to say goodbye to her parents and her brother someday. But she and Serina were supposed to stay together.
“You look like you need some time to yourself,” a young man’s voice said, “so I am loathe to interrupt, but I suspect you are lost.”
Nomi’s eyes snapped open. Mortified, she stepped back from the railing, the world of the palazzo rushing over her, the glare of late-afternoon sunlight bleaching out the soft glow of memory.
In a cushioned chaise a few feet away, the Heir’s younger brother lounged. Her eyes immediately went to the book in his hands, navy leather with the title, The Feasts and Follies of War, embossed in gold. Curiosity flared through her, until she realized Asa was waiting for her to speak.
Flustered, she backed away, curtsying awkwardly as she went. “I’m s-sorry to disturb you, Your Eminence,” she stuttered. “I did get a bit turned around. I’ll leave immediately.”
Asa stood up and followed her, the book still cradled in his hand. “Wait, wait,” he said, reaching out his other hand. “I’ll help you find your way.”
“Please don’t trouble yourself, Your Eminence. I’m sure I can—”
“It’s no trouble at all,” he interrupted with a smile.
With bowed head, Nomi followed him into the hallway. The Superior’s second son was as tall as his brother but not as muscular, and his shaggy hair gave him a more relaxed air, very different from his brother’s brooding intensity. The back of his neck was tanned, as if he spent a lot of time outdoors.
“You’re one of the new Graces, aren’t you?” he asked as they walked.
“Yes, Your Eminence. My name is Nomi Tessaro.”
“Ah, Nomi. Of course,” Asa said, shooting a look over his shoulder at her. She couldn’t be sure, but there seemed to be a new interest in his expression. A sharpening. “You came to the palazzo as a handmaiden, right?”