Grace and Fury (Grace and Fury #1)(55)
She’d thought it a risky, complicated, but reasonable plan when they’d dreamed it up that night on the terrace. But now, in the harsh light of day, with the letter pressing into her breast, it seemed absolutely ridiculous. Because all of that, all of that, hinged on her having a moment to herself to speak to a strange man in a crowded market. It was the first step, and likely the one that would kill all her hopes.
Nomi fought back a wave of nausea.
“Are you well?” Maris asked, putting a hand on Nomi’s arm. “You look quite ill.”
Nomi tried to clear her mind, but her stomach still rolled. Dark clouds crowded above the city buildings. “Thunderstorms terrify me,” she said faintly, nodding toward the threatening sky. It was true, and a testament to her other worries that she hadn’t noticed the weather until now.
Maris rubbed her arm reassuringly. “Those are just rain clouds, and still far away. We’ve had clouds linger like that on the horizon for days. It probably won’t even rain.”
Cassia broke in. “You’re afraid of thunderstorms?”
Nomi gritted her teeth.
With a little thud, the gondolier docked the boat at the piazza. In the square, a large carriage painted in black and gold waited, the Heir and his driver standing at attention beside it. The tall black horses snorted and shook their manes. Beyond the carriage, the piazza was filled with small carts: vendors selling fresh fruit, fabrics, even whole slaughtered pigs.
Nomi was the first off the boat. She wandered toward the market, endeavoring to look interested in the wares being sold, while her eyes searched frantically for a short man in a blue waistcoat.
She saw the knives first.
Silver flashing in the sun, with hilts of twisted metal inset with gems, the weapons were pieces of art. The cart was tucked between a stall of meat pies and one with racks of finely made gloves.
“Nomi!” Malachi grabbed her arm, and she flinched. “The others are waiting.”
The Heir led her toward the carriage. Inside her mind, Nomi wailed. She couldn’t risk pulling free of Malachi’s grip, but oh, she wanted to. This was her chance, most likely the only one she’d have. She had to put her head down to compose her face and hide her dismay.
The black-and-gold carriage was covered but open on the sides, with two cushioned benches that ran its length and a polished wooden floor. The driver leapt into the seat up front, just behind the two horses.
Cassia was waiting for the Heir. He handed her up into the carriage, and then Maris.
He helped Nomi up last, his hand warm and solid, and then sat beside her on the bench. Nomi was immediately aware of the Heir’s leg pressing against hers, their knees knocking together as the carriage moved slowly across the cobbled piazza. She watched the small stall of knives and the small man with the blue waistcoat out of the window until they disappeared from view. She wanted to scream.
You have one more chance, she reminded herself, trying to stave off the wave of hopelessness threatening to crush her. When the carriage returns. One more chance.
“How are you this morning, Nomi?” the Heir asked. Today he was wearing a thin white shirt and soft leather trousers. In other circumstances, she might have thought he looked handsome.
“I’m well, Your Eminence,” Nomi said, trying to sound as if it were true.
“Ines says we’re to visit a perfumery?” Cassia said, edging into the conversation. She leaned toward the Heir, her curves on full display in her orange-and-yellow gown.
Malachi nodded.
“Do you have a favorite scent, Your Eminence?” Cassia asked. “The other day, you mentioned you don’t much like fresh flowers.” She flaunted her knowledge of the Heir to the girls she saw as her competition, but Nomi knew, even if Cassia didn’t, that the blond-haired girl was the only one who wanted to be here. Maris and Nomi would lose no sleep if the Heir showered only Cassia with his attention.
Nomi felt Malachi’s imperceptible shrug. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve never really thought about it.”
“Then we’ll have to guess,” Cassia said coquettishly. “Perhaps one of us will find the perfect fragrance to entice you.”
“Maybe,” he said, smiling noncommittally. He turned his attention to Maris, and Nomi caught the disappointment in Cassia’s eyes before the girl smoothed her expression.
“Maris,” Malachi said. “What do you enjoy most about the palace?”
Maris smiled, letting her hair fall back from her face. She looked like a doll: flawless and empty. “The opportunity to spend time with you, Your Eminence.”
His arm tensed against Nomi’s. “Of course,” he replied.
When he made no further effort at conversation, Nomi shifted to watch the city trundle past. The carriage clomped down narrow roadways and clattered over arched bridges. Red-flowered vines climbed along nooks and crannies in the stone houses, and laundry hung above the streets like windless sails. The dark gray clouds built higher on the west side of the city. The carriage would travel down a long stretch of cobbled road with nothing but sun above, only to turn a corner and reveal an ominous creep of cloud.
Nomi hoped Maris was right and it was only rain coming. She’d been scared of thunderstorms since she was a child. She could remember with visceral horror the storms that would come roaring through the valley, flinging rain sideways and shaking their apartment with every crack of thunder. Back then, Serina would climb into bed with her and they would ride it out together. Serina would sing her lullabies, and Nomi would tremble until long after the storm had passed.