Grace and Fury (Grace and Fury #1)(37)

EIGHTEEN



NOMI


IT BEGAN AS a dream, not a nightmare. Nomi and Serina were huddled with Renzo as he read “The Lovebirds” to them.

The small dark room of Nomi’s memory split apart and became the sky, wide open and rushing, and Nomi and Serina became birds, their faces feathered by the wind. Nomi rode on Serina’s back, just like in the story.

Her sister flew far, far, far out to sea. Soon Serina tired, dipping closer and closer to the rolling water. Nomi flapped her wings and flew free of her sister and let Serina settle onto her own back.

But Serina was too heavy, Nomi too weak. Nomi looked for the land to push up from the ocean, waited for their salvation to come, but instead the sky darkened. The waves savaged each other. The wind scoured her face.

Nomi couldn’t hold on. Her wings dropped, heavy as lead.

And Serina fell, screaming, to be swallowed by the sea.

Nomi woke in a sea of sweat, her heart pounding. For a split second, she thought she was home, in the room she shared with Serina. But this bed was too soft. Too big. And her sister wasn’t brushing her hair back from her damp forehead, comforting the nightmare away. Across the room, on the small cot by the door, Angeline shifted and sighed in her sleep.

No. This was not home.

Outside the window, Nomi could see the fading stars, the slow, creeping glow of dawn. Was Serina looking out at this same sky? Was she all right?

I let her fall.

Nomi couldn’t shake off the despair of her dream. Serina was in Mount Ruin, living an actual nightmare, because of her.

Even as guilt left her ragged, the siren song of the mysterious book called to her. Someone had left it for her. Why? Was it a trap? A message?

Behind her, Angeline shifted again. Nomi climbed out of bed and grabbed a sundress from the armoire.

She was the first to the terrace for breakfast. She chose a wicker chair near the railing so she could watch the sparkle of the ocean. White puffs of cloud slowly crept up from the horizon. Several servants appeared with bowls of fresh-cut fruit and yogurt. Another carried a basket of warm, flaky rolls.

Behind them, Maris slipped out onto the balcony and claimed the chair next to Nomi.

“Good morning,” she murmured, yawning.

Nomi picked at a small bowl of yogurt topped with a scoop of the colorful fruit, the ache of Serina’s absence gnawing at her.

“Did you enjoy the race?” she asked, glancing at the other girl.

“It was too bloody.” Maris stared at her plate, her expression twisted with disgust. “Those poor horses.”

Cassia glided onto the terrace. “I’ve never seen anything so exciting. Did you see the horse that leapt from the top of the bridge into the canal? I thought for sure he would drown.”

Nomi was happy she’d missed most of the race. She’d heard the men talking about it afterward: how many horses died, how many would need to be killed because of broken legs. A jockey had died too.

“And where did you sneak off to?” Cassia added, wiggling her fingers at Nomi. “Malachi didn’t like having to look for you.”

Nomi’s stomach tightened. “I wanted to stay by the finish line to see who won.”

Cassia rolled her eyes. “You really don’t understand how this works, do you? You need to please the Heir, Nomi, not frustrate him.”

Nomi shrugged. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand how to please him. It was that she didn’t want to.

When all the Graces had arrived, Ines gave them the day’s announcement. “There are no evening activities today, so rest up. We’ve a boat party next week to honor a delegation from Gault. The Superior has requested several harpists and one vocalist. I’ll let you know who he’s chosen in the next few days. Please make sure to select your gowns and secure my approval before the end of the week.” She turned her attention to the Heir’s Graces. Nomi tried not to fidget in her chair. “The Superior was not impressed with your appearances last night. Your handmaidens need more practice with your cosmetics. After breakfast, I’d like you all to work on this problem together. Your handmaidens can learn from each other.”

Nomi bit back a sigh.

Maris shook her head, muttering, “I hate makeup.”

They gathered in a dressing area near the bathing room. Delicate tables with gilded mirrors lined the wall, with backless stools to accommodate their wide-skirted gowns.

Angeline appeared with a brush and makeup kit in her hand. Nomi sat down at the vanity next to Maris’s. Maris was staring at herself in the mirror as her handmaiden brushed out her hair. Grief darkened her eyes.

“Those poor horses,” she whispered again.

Angeline placed Nomi’s makeup kit on the vanity and turned to give Maris a sympathetic look. “I’ve always been fascinated by the race, but it’s certainly not without risk.” She put a hand to her heart. “When I was a child, I would lie in bed, the vibrations of hooves pounding in my chest, and pray that the horses would live. I didn’t care so much about the jockeys back then.” She smiled.

Maris smiled back, her face relaxing. “I was more concerned for the horses myself.”

Nomi turned her attention to her own reflection. The dim light and twisted filigree surrounding the mirror gave her skin a golden cast. Before coming to the palace, she’d never had the time or desire to look at herself; now it seemed to be all she did. She wondered if her eyes would always appear so haunted.