Grace and Fury (Grace and Fury #1)(80)

And they were for the living too.

When the last body sent up its last shower of sparks, a voice, hoarse from singing, asked, “What do we do now?”

In the red glow of the volcano, Serina saw face after face turn to her.

She took a deep breath. She’d managed to survive Mount Ruin by bringing these women together. But there was still so much more to do.

Someday, when she saw Nomi again—it was when now, not if, she was certain—she would apologize. She’d always thought there was no value in fighting back, that it did no good.

But Nomi had been right to rebel. It was worth it. Fighting back could change the world.

No. It would change the world. Serina would make sure of it.





FORTY



NOMI


ASA’S GUARDS SAID nothing as they hauled Nomi, Malachi, and Maris through the halls of the palazzo. Malachi’s labored breath filled the silence, and his blood dripped to stain the floor.

“Please,” Nomi begged Marcos. “He’s going to die. Help him.”

The guard ignored her.

“What happened?” Maris asked, terror turning her face bone white and her eyes black holes. “The Superior…”

Nomi choked on a sob. “Asa killed him. He—he staged a coup. He used me—Malachi—” She couldn’t get the words out.

It was so obvious now, how profoundly he’d manipulated her. Maybe he’d never intended for the Superior to die. But she was certain now that Asa would not have let Renzo escape after their charade. He would have convinced everyone Malachi and Renzo had worked together. Maybe Nomi too. He’d have had Renzo put to death, just like that groom. And he would have done it without a second thought.

Asa had taken advantage of her grief, her desperation, her nerve. He’d taken advantage of everything, even Renzo’s absence, turning it to his own purpose. Now he wouldn’t just be the Heir. He’d be the Superior.

“What are they going to do to us?” Maris moaned. She couldn’t keep up with the guards’ fast pace and kept tripping. Nomi could see how much the girl wanted to just collapse, but the guard yanked her up, over and over again.

“I don’t know,” Nomi replied, only because she didn’t want to frighten Maris more.

I did promise you would see your sister again, didn’t I? Asa had said.

Marcos led the bloodstained group to a part of the palace Nomi had never seen, and then outside to a wharf. Several large boats bobbed in the black water.

Moonlight illuminated Malachi’s growing pallor.

“Get the chains,” Marcos ordered, and one of the guards peeled off into the night.

Nomi’s stomach roiled.

Maris suddenly yanked away from the guard holding her. She caught him unprepared and was able to break free for a moment, but only a moment. He grabbed her again, pulling brutally on her hair. She cried out.

“I’m so sorry.” Tears streamed down Nomi’s face. “I should never have asked for your help. I’m so sorry.”

“The man you were trying to find,” Maris said, wincing as the guard hauled her onto a boat by her hair. “Who was he?”

Nomi stumbled as Marcos pushed her onto the boat. It was a large workboat, with iron gunwales and a stained wooden floor. The sailors who manned it scrambled belowdecks to get the boiler going.

“Someone very important to me,” she said. Would Asa hunt Renzo down? Would he go after her family? “I was trying to keep him safe. But now I’ve imperiled you.”

The guards chained the girls to the gunwale of the boat. Maris sagged to her knees, hands trapped above her head. The red in her dress looked like blood.

“I’m so sorry,” Nomi said again. “He promised to release my sister.… I trusted him.”

The guard carrying Malachi dropped him onto the hard wooden flooring like a sack of grain.

“You there,” Marcos yelled to one of the sailors. “When he stops breathing, throw him overboard.” Then he leapt off the boat, untied the heavy mooring ropes, and pushed them away from the wharf.

The boiler belched steam. Soon Nomi couldn’t hear the lap of water over the shush-shush of the boat’s pistons. Slowly, they moved away from land, out into the vast dark sea.

The shackles around Nomi’s wrists clanked against the rail with every swell. She stared fixedly at the reflection of the moon bobbing on the water; if she looked down, she’d see the rusty stains of blood on her bedraggled golden dress.

Maris swayed with the movement of the boat, her head pressed into its cold metal sides.

“I’m so sorry,” Nomi said again, the words her mantra. Her prayer for deliverance.

Maris’s curtain of hair blew back from her face in the sharp sea wind. “Nomi, this is not your fault.”

Bitterness coated the back of Nomi’s throat. Yes, it was.

The Superior was dead, Asa had engineered his rise to power, and Malachi—

She stared at the lump of blood-soaked fabric, so motionless in the bow of the boat. Was that the faint swell of his breath, or the rock of the boat?

One of the guards approached him.

“He’s breathing! He’s breathing!” she screamed.

To her relief, the man backed away. For now.

Malachi hadn’t opened his eyes since they’d left the palazzo. Hot tears dripped down Nomi’s cheeks. He would die. Likely soon.