Grace and Fury (Grace and Fury #1)(57)

“I know I don’t,” she said a little too quickly. “But surely I can be kind? You were kind to me today.”

He rubbed his chin. “Very well. If you wish.”

With a bow, he shifted his attention to Cassia, and then Maris. By the time they had chosen their perfumes, the sky had darkened and thunder rumbled in the distance.

As Malachi helped her into the carriage, Nomi fought her mounting panic. This wouldn’t work if it began raining before they arrived at the piazza.

The ride was quiet, the four of them shifting with the bumps of the cobbled street. Nomi kept an eye on the swollen clouds and the shards of lightning that crackled within them.

The carriage stopped a few minutes later. When the Heir helped her down, Nomi didn’t pull her hand away so quickly this time. This ruse depended on her acting softened toward him, on him believing she actually wanted to do something nice for him. It might even serve her well for her second task, securing an invitation to his room so she could plant the damning letter.

She remembered something her mother had said once to Serina, years ago: “Your ability to mask your true feelings, your true self, will be your greatest weapon.”

“I need a weapon?” Serina had asked.

Their mother had lifted her chin. “Every woman does.”

As Malachi helped down the other Graces, Nomi headed to the row of carts in the piazza’s center. The air hung thick around her. To her dismay, some vendors had already left, probably to avoid the storm, which threatened to break at any moment. Trevi was packing up his knives.

No.

But the glove vendor next to the knife stand was still open. She hurried over. Malachi would follow shortly, she was sure. He was probably watching her now.

She ran a hand over the soft leather of a pair of black gloves, then glanced over her shoulder. Malachi had turned to speak with the driver. She spun away from the glove vendor, slipped a hand into her bodice, and extracted the letter. Trevi was bent nearly double to place his velvet-wrapped daggers into the shelving built into the lower half of his cart.

She shoved the letter at him, her hand trembling. He looked up in surprise.

“From His Eminence Asa,” she mumbled. “It’s urgent or he would have brought it himself.”

There was time for Trevi to give her a short, wordless nod, when she heard footsteps on the cobbles. She turned back to the glove vendor and caressed another set of gloves, these a rich brown.

Malachi appeared beside her.

She lifted the gloves. “I like these, Your Eminence. Are they a worthy gift?”

She had no money. But she was hoping the merchant wouldn’t accept payment from the Heir. That it was the choosing of the gift, not the purchasing of it, that had value.

Malachi nodded at the merchant.

She handed the Heir the gloves, their hands brushing as he accepted them.

“Thank you,” he said.

Just then, the first fat drops of rain fell.

They hurried to the canal, where Maris and Cassia were waiting in a large black gondola. As soon as Nomi and the Heir climbed in, the gondolier set off with urgency.

Nomi couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. She’d done it. If all went according to plan, she’d see Renzo in just under a fortnight.

And, someday, Serina.

The rain dinged against her beaded dress, darkening the silver. She flinched when the sky flashed above them. Thunder shook the boat, loud enough to hurt her ears. With the stress of her task relieved, her fear of thunderstorms rose. When the boat docked, she scrambled onto shore before the Heir could help her.

“Excuse me, Your Eminence,” she murmured, her voice cracking.

Behind her, she heard Cassia say something cutting, just as a great gust of wind swept her hair back from her face, and the storm shot arrows of cold rain at her. Thunder roared.

She was hurrying frantically toward the palazzo when a hand grabbed her arm. “This way.”

The Heir led her along a path to the right of the staircase, into a twisting garden. Lightning raced across the sky. He pulled her under an overhang, out of the worst of the rain. Gooseflesh rose along Nomi’s exposed arms. It felt like Lanos in the late summer, when storms lashed the valley and the air cooled, making way for the sharper winds of fall.

She looked around, but they were alone.

“I’ve found something you’re afraid of,” the Heir said.

Nomi stared up at Malachi through her wind-whipped hair. “You think storms are all I’m afraid of?”

Lightning flashed, sparking in his eyes. “Are you afraid of me?”

Nomi leveled a stare at him. “Don’t you want me to be?”

His voice rose against a rumble of thunder. “Why are you like this?”

“Like what?” Nomi swayed. The rain was picking up, great bursts of it pouring onto the garden. The overhang did little to protect them. Her hair and dress stuck to her skin, heavy with water. Her heart beat too fast, urging her to flee.

“This. Different. Defiant.” Malachi took a step toward her, but it almost looked as if he fought the impulse, a frown thinning his lips. His eyes showed a strain she didn’t understand. “I don’t know if I’m meant to be punishing you, or—”

“Do your worst,” Nomi said madly, the storm egging her on. “You’ve already sent my sister away. Made me yours.”