Grace and Fury (Grace and Fury #1)(7)

A murmur ran through the ballroom, pulling her from her thoughts. She scoured the dance floor with her gaze, searching for the Heir. But it was all dignitaries and Graces, no sight of his white jacket anywhere. A few of the prospective Graces were glaring at her.

The realization shot through her like the last rays of the sun: Prince Malachi had left for the evening, and she was the only one he’d asked to dance.





As the prospects returned to the waiting area, Serina barely had a moment to catch her breath before Nomi was upon her. She grabbed Serina’s arm and dragged her to a corner half-hidden by a massive plant in a painted urn. She looked anxious, and a little bit ill.

Serina squeezed both of her hands, hoping to calm her. “It’s okay,” she said breathlessly. “It went well—even better than I’d hoped. We have nothing to worry about.”

Nomi looked pained rather than relieved, but before Serina had a chance to ask what was wrong, Ines entered the room and a hush spread over everyone. “My flowers,” she began. “The Heir was greatly pleased to have met all of you. Your unparalleled beauty and poise made his choice very difficult, but after a consultation with the magistrates from your provinces and much consideration, he has made his decision.

“Once I’ve announced those chosen, I’ll show them to their quarters. The rest of you will remain here while we arrange for your transportation back to Bellaqua’s central piazza, where your families are waiting. Those of you staying with us, your families will be notified of your good fortune. And you may, of course, send a message to them as soon as you wish through the palazzo’s scribes.”

Serina squeezed her sister’s hand. The time had come. Her old life was ending, and her new one was about to begin. The other girls shifted and whispered to their handmaidens. Serina’s pulse fluttered in her throat.

“Maris Azaria, the Heir has chosen you.”

Serina searched the crowd of girls, but it wasn’t hard to find Maris—she burst into tears, hugging her arms close to her sparkling pink dress. Her straight, waist-length black hair flowed forward to curtain her face. Whether they were tears of joy, Serina couldn’t tell.

“Two more,” she whispered to Nomi. Two more chances.

Ines waited until the room settled. “Cassia Runetti, you have been chosen.” She nodded to a girl near the dais.

It was the girl who’d spoken to Serina. Cassia’s delicate jaw went slack, her eyes widened, and then she laughed out loud, her silver-blond hair rippling. Serina could tell that her dress was of very fine quality, as were her precariously high heels. She was probably from one of the wealthy eastern cities, like Sola or Golden Isle.

The other girls shifted and whispered to their handmaidens. Only one name left. When Ines cleared her throat, Serina held her breath.

“The Heir’s final Grace will be… Nomi Tessaro.”

A weight lifted from Serina’s shoulders in a great rush. I did it! The thought filled her with relief and joy. But, she realized, they’d made a mistake. She smiled at Ines. “It’s Serina Tessaro, actually.”

The older woman shook her head. “No, my flower. You were not chosen,” she said, her words dropping into the wondering quiet of the room. Every gaze turned toward Nomi.

Serina’s vision went spotty; she was holding her breath again. Ines stared straight at her as she said, “Your handmaiden was. Your sister. Nomi Tessaro.”

The room erupted with voices raised in confusion and anger.

Serina stared at Ines, then her sister, her heart beating a frantic rhythm. Nomi’s eyes were wild, and her hair was escaping its long braid. Her simple brown dress was hiked awkwardly up on one hip, making the hem uneven. Even here, dressed in her nicest clothes, Nomi looked as untamable as ever. A girl who hated everything about the Graces and what they represented—and now she was one of them.





FOUR



NOMI


NOMI SWAYED, UNABLE to breathe. This was a mistake. How could this possibly not be a mistake?

All around her, people were moving. Some prospects had started to cry. Others were glaring at her. Ines headed for the door, followed by the other newly chosen Graces and their handmaidens.

Ines turned back to give her an impatient look. Woodenly, Nomi bent to pick up her bag. Serina grabbed it out of her hand.

“But I—”

“Nomi, you’re a Grace now,” Serina hissed. She headed for the door.

Nomi followed because she couldn’t think and she didn’t know what else to do. I am not a Grace. This was a hallucination. A fever dream.

A nightmare.

Ines led them down the corridor, the opposite direction from the library.

“What happened?” Serina muttered. Her cheeks were stained a violent red.

“I don’t know.” Nomi rubbed at the skin of her neck. It felt as if it were stretched too tight. Choking her. “Is this even allowed? Signor Pietro chose you, not me.”

“It is the Heir’s will.” The snap of Ines’s voice silenced them both.

Nomi faltered, nearly tripping on her own feet. She’d been rude to the Heir. Defiant. He’d known she was a servant, and somehow out of a ballroom full of beautiful women, he’d chosen her?

Nomi wasn’t flattered. She was terrified.

Ines led the group of girls down endless corridors, up several staircases, until the blood was humming in Nomi’s ears and she could barely breathe without gasping. At some point, Serina grabbed her arm, maybe to hold her up.