But then Laurel straightens from where she has been examining Aurora. She holds my gaze and gives the barest shake of her head, golden eyes softer now. Pleading. This is not the way. If I ever want to see Aurora again, if she survives this, it will do me no good to have committed such a crime.
And so I push my breaths in and out, ragged and shallow. Close my eyes against the burning wrath simmering in my blood. Take one last glance at Aurora, and then turn my steps to the back door, through the kitchen, and down the stairs.
* * *
—
The cellar seems an appropriate prison for the Dark Grace.
I’m half tempted to try to sneak out to my Lair. See what can be salvaged. But I have no desire to know how the guards treated it. Callow’s perch hacked to bits. Her feathers—or perhaps even her body—littered among the broken glass and ripped pages. Pain balloons in my chest and sinks to my toes. I did not imagine it would hurt so much—how quickly I could be destroyed. An unsightly mark immediately papered over and forgotten.
Without a hearth, the cellar is frigid. My breath clouds in front of my face as I stalk between bags of flour and crates of wine and cheese, arms tight around my body. Even down here, I can hear the storm bellow. As if the wind itself wants to punch through the stone.
I go to the top of the stairs and press my ear to the door, trying to catch snippets of what’s going on with Aurora, but it is useless. I can only seethe and wait and hope that she is getting better. That she hasn’t died by my hand.
Hours pass. I think. With no way to tell the time, I’m going mad. At one point, I might hear movement from the kitchen, the staff waking and starting the day. But I can’t be sure.
At long last, the doorknob whines as it turns and light floods down the cellar stairs. Mistress Lavender descends, looking ten years older than she did when I arrived with Endlewild. Her eyes are leaden and bruised in the flame of her lamp. She still hasn’t changed from her dressing gown. I bolt up from the crate I’d been huddled against.
“Is she dead?”
Mistress Lavender releases a long breath. “She survived.”
A giddy relief washes over me. Tears sting in my eyes. “I must go to her.”
“You absolutely will n—”
I’m flying up the stairs before she can stop me. Mistress Lavender claws at my skirts, trying to pull me back, but I yank myself free, not caring if she winds up flat on her back. I must see Aurora. Smell the appleblossom in her hair and kiss the curve of her neck and tell her how wrong I was and how sorry I am. The words are practically bursting from my lips.
She isn’t there.
I reel to a stop in the parlor. Pale morning light streams in through the windows, the storm having exhausted itself at last. The Graces’ kits and instruments are strewn on every surface. The air reeks of potent herbs and the floral, honeyed nectar of Grace blood. But I see only Rose and Marigold, collapsed on divans with their arms thrown over their eyes.
“What have you done with her?”
Rose stirs, squinting at me. “With who?”
“Aurora.” I study the chaise where I last saw her. One of the pillows still bears a head-shaped imprint. “Where is she?”
Marigold sits up. “You mean the princess. The one you cursed with your filthy blood?”
Rose smooths her dressing gown. “She’s gone.”
“Gone?” The question hitches. “Where? What’s happened?”
“As if it’s any of your concern,” Marigold huffs. “We broke your horrible curse. She’ll wake up and—”
“That’s enough.” Mistress Lavender appears behind me, setting her lamp on a table. The rose-shaped glass is chipped. “The princess has returned to the palace. Where she belongs.”
“Back to the palace?” I repeat. “Without speaking to me? Did she ask for me?”
“She can’t, you idiot.” Marigold grumbles something else about Vila filth, and I bare my teeth at her. She recoils.
“Not yet,” Rose adds quietly. There’s something like guilt in her golden eyes, but it vanishes an instant later.
“What are they talking about?” I whip back to Mistress Lavender, who purses her lips, clearly giving away more than she intended.
“We were able to soften your curse.”
“It wasn’t my curse.” But it was. “It was an accident.”
Mistress Lavender waves away the explanation. “It’s done now. The princess will wake soon, and nothing more need ever be known of this incident. You will not see her again.”