Grace and Fury (Grace and Fury #1)(3)
Nomi couldn’t stand her sister’s serene expression. It was so at odds with the turmoil twisting her stomach. She wanted to leap onto shore, run back to Renzo, and flee the city. She wanted to do anything but float toward the Superior’s palace like an unwilling sacrifice to an ancient god. But that was the problem: Serina was willing.
Nomi wiped at her eyes, trying to keep her tears in check. Her other hand grasped their small bag of belongings in a death grip. “What if we never see Renzo again?”
“It’ll be a blessing,” Serina replied. But there was a tremble in her voice. Nomi noted the furrow between her sister’s brows as she stared at the approaching palace, the hint of tension at the corner of her mouth. Maybe she wasn’t as serene as she appeared. More softly, Serina added, “You know that.”
“But I can wish things were different,” Nomi muttered just as the gondola bumped against the rim of the canal. Some of the girls had already disembarked at the base of the steps leading to the Superior’s palazzo. The cypress trees lining the canal were hung with tiny bells that tinkled in the breeze.
As Nomi climbed the massive staircase to the palazzo, the last in a long line of girls in bright, fine dresses, she cursed the Heir waiting at the top. He wouldn’t notice her—or any of the other handmaidens—but her whole life hinged on whether he noticed her sister.
In front of Nomi, Serina floated up the stairs, her waist-length chestnut hair loose and shining. Her gown, an intricate patchwork of different fabrics that their mother had painstakingly made, rippled like water. She betrayed no hint of weariness, no indication that they’d just spent six long days on a shuddering train, a night in a threadbare hotel room, and a day frantically preparing her for the Heir’s ball.
Nomi clutched her bag tighter. She tried not to trip on the marble stairs as she snuck a glance up at the Superior, sickly thin and severe, and his two sons. Malachi, the Heir, wore a white uniform embroidered in gold that accentuated his muscular frame. His broad cheekbones and trim brown hair gave his face a hard edge, but his full lips eased its severity. Even she had to concede he was handsome, if terrifying. He watched his prospective Graces closely, his dark eyes boring into the tops of their heads as they passed.
The younger son, Asa, gazed out toward the canal. His dark hair was longer than his brother’s, and disheveled, as if he frequently ran his hands through it.
Nomi should have bowed her head when she reached the men, but she didn’t bother. As she’d expected, no one noticed her. All three stared at Serina’s gleaming hair and swaying hips as she passed. Sometimes it irked Nomi, the way Serina drew every gaze. But this time, Nomi was happy to be invisible. She didn’t envy her sister’s task or the weight of the Superior’s icy glare.
When Nomi reached the shade of the veranda, out of sight of the men, she relaxed a fraction. The prospective Graces and their handmaidens proceeded into an ornate gallery with a set of heavy carved wooden doors at its end.
Nomi and Serina picked a spot next to the wall.
“Let me check your makeup one more time,” Nomi said. As much as she wished she were anywhere else, she still had a job to do. They both did.
“What do you think of our chances?” Serina murmured, glancing sidelong at the nearest girl, whose handmaiden was rearranging her vivid orange gown.
Nomi was tempted to tell Serina what she really thought: that they should leave, right now, without a word. That they should go back to Lanos, or better yet, somewhere else entirely, somewhere they could decide what they wanted to do all day, instead of Nomi’s endless chores and Serina’s hours of training in etiquette and dancing. But Nomi knew the truth as well as Serina did: A place like that didn’t exist. No matter where they went, their choices were the same: They could be factory workers, or servants, or wives. Unless Serina became a Grace.
In Viridia, Graces were held as the highest standard of beauty, elegance, and obedience. What all little girls were meant to aspire to.
For Nomi and Serina, becoming a Grace and a handmaiden was a ticket to a different life, but in this they disagreed: Serina believed this different would be better, and Nomi did not.
“I think we’re going to lose something either way,” Nomi said as she rubbed out a tiny smudge of kohl at the corner of Serina’s eye.
“Don’t say that,” Serina said warningly. “Don’t—”
“Don’t think about you parading before the Heir, a possession for him to own?” she whispered. She smoothed a section of Serina’s hair, her hands trembling. She and her sister both had brown hair, olive skin, and their mother’s high cheekbones. But somehow, their shared features combined to make Serina as rich and lovely as Nomi was slight and inelegant. Serina was extraordinary; Nomi was not.
“It’s not about becoming his possession, it’s about winning his admiration and desire,” Serina said through an artificial smile, for the benefit of the girls who’d glanced their way. “This is our chance to have a better life.”
“What makes it better?” Nomi shook her head. Anger surged uselessly in her chest. “Serina, we shouldn’t have to—”
Serina stepped even closer. “Smile at me, like you’re happy. Like you’re just like the rest of these girls.”
Nomi stared into her sister’s eyes. Serina was so beautiful like this, with anger staining her cheeks. She was so much more interesting when she wasn’t strapping herself into a corset and a demure, downcast grin.