Grace and Fury (Grace and Fury #1)(42)

“So there’s nothing we can do?” Nomi felt the burn of tears. For Serina. And for herself.

His grip on her hands tightened. “I’m so sorry, Nomi. I wish I had more power. Any, really. There’s so much I would do.” His gaze lost focus, turning inward. “But there is one thing, at least,” he continued, his voice a mere murmur, so soft she had to lean closer to hear. The wind blew at her back, urging her, the hem of her nightgown fluttering toward him like reaching hands. “I can help you escape.”

“What?” Shock reverberated through her. “Why would you do that?”

Asa ran a hand through his hair. “I see you, Nomi. You were never meant to be a Grace, never wanted to be one, and he chose you anyway.”

“Why did he?” Nomi still had no idea. Malachi didn’t seem particularly interested in her, certainly not more so than the others. She didn’t understand why she would have appealed so much more than all the beautiful prospects who wanted to be chosen, who’d been groomed for this life.

Asa didn’t answer for so long, she thought maybe he wouldn’t tell her, or he didn’t know. But, at last, he said softly, “I think he did it to punish you. He could tell you weren’t cowed by him. You had power when you stood there that day, telling him where the lavatory was. He will try to break your spirit, like one of his horses.”

Hearing it laid out so plainly was horrifying, but Nomi found that she wasn’t entirely surprised. It made sense, really. The Heir had been angry. He’d wanted to hurt her. For Nomi, being chosen as a Grace was like being sent to prison. She’d spend the rest of her life serving a man she hated.

Asa gripped the railing with both hands and stared out into the cloud-dark night. “No one should be made to feel broken or powerless. Not you, not me. Not anyone.”

Nomi had never heard anyone talk like this before, not even Renzo.

“Where would I go?” she whispered.

“Wherever you want.”

Her mind balked at the vastness of the prospect. Wherever you want.

He was talking about freedom.

“It wasn’t always like this,” he muttered. “Before the Floods…”

Before the Floods.

Nomi’s breath caught. Had it been Asa who’d left the book? She didn’t dare ask, didn’t dare confirm that she had a book in her possession. Or that she could read it.

“What happened before the Floods?” she asked carefully.

He shrugged. “I just… I think we could do so much more, so much better than we’re doing now. If my father could see what this country really needs, if we had a visionary leading us, instead of a merciless old man… or my brother…”

“What do you think this country needs? If you were the Heir, what would you change?”

Asa leaned against the railing and sighed. “Honestly? Everything. I would choose no Graces. I would let women read.” His glanced at her, his face softening. “I would free Serina.”

The answer tasted like chocolate and burned like fire. It was sweet. Seductive.

Dangerous.

He chuckled wryly and shook his head. “I talked to my father about it once. Made my case for me to be the Heir instead of Malachi. Tried to convince him I would be the better son for Viridia.”

“He wasn’t convinced?”

Asa smiled sadly. “No, he was not convinced.”

“I wish you could be the Heir,” Nomi said wistfully, staring down at the black-and-silver waves.

Asa laughed. “Me too. But unless something happens to Malachi, we’re stuck with him when Father dies.”

Nomi thought about Queen Vaccaro, who’d overthrown Cardinal Bellaqua with nothing but her smile and her poison perfume. The history book had made it sound like the worst kind of treachery, but to Nomi…

To Nomi it was hope. Women had once been powerful in this country. Maybe they could be again. Her mind spun, teasing out delicate, dangerous strands of possibility. Guilt drove her, and grief. But beneath that, always burning, the fury. Women were not lesser beings.

“What if something did happen to Malachi?” she asked, so softly the wind stole the words.

Asa shot her a calculating look. “I won’t have my brother killed.”

“No, not killed.” Within her mind, the threads tightened, the possibilities knitting themselves into a crooked pattern that might be a plan. Scandal. Subterfuge. Just like Queen Vaccaro, save for the murder. “If he was framed for a crime, maybe…”

“He would be punished for something he didn’t do,” Asa replied, but he sounded thoughtful, not outraged.

“You said there are things he has done. He is not innocent,” Nomi said.

Asa put his hands on her shoulders and turned her gently to face him. “A plan like that takes time. There’s uncertainty. Risk. A lot of risk.” He brushed a strand of her hair off her cheek and suddenly, Nomi was aware of their two bodies so close in the darkness. There was risk in that.

“You could just escape,” he said. “I could help you leave the palace, find a place for you to live. A new identity. A contract to a factory or a job as servant. Whatever you prefer. You could choose.”

“If I did that,” she said softly, “nothing would ever change.” And it wouldn’t save Serina.