But these hopes smolder to ash when I return to Lavender House.
I sneak through the early-morning bustle of the kitchen, glaring at any curious looks the servants throw my way. Starving, I toss two fresh pastries into a cloth, licking the cinnamon glaze from my fingertips as I tiptoe up the stairs.
But I don’t manage a single creaking footstep before I come face-to-face with Mistress Lavender. She doesn’t look much better than she did last night. Her hair is coiled at her nape, but wisps of it escape the pins and writhe in the currents of air. Her clothes are slightly askew, the bodice crooked and improperly buttoned.
“Alyce.” Her eyes burn molten steel. “You’re just coming back from the palace?”
“I’m not taking any patrons today.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and the boldness sends adrenaline rushing through me.
Mistress Lavender drums her fingernails against the balustrade, the sound like shots firing. A cloud of her cloying namesake scent floods the stairwell, suffocating to the point that my eyes water.
“I should say not.” She brushes a silver strand out of her face. “It’s barely past breakfast and yet Delphine informs me that they’ve all sent word canceling their appointments. Would that have something to do with Duke Weltross?”
The shame from last night creeps up my spine. “You know.”
“Of course I know. Dr. Renault came herself, in the dead of night, to tell me what you did.” She pauses. Tension snaps between us. Damn that weasel-faced doctor. “And then I’m sure she spent the rest of the small hours spreading her gossip. What were you thinking, Alyce? The Weltross family has been loyal to this house for decades, though they could easily afford one of the Royal Graces. I won’t be surprised in the least if your sisters suffer because of your inexcusable lapse of judgment, not to mention the coin you will lose us. The next Grace Celebration will be upon us before we know it. We cannot afford such a stumble.”
“They’re not my sisters.” I begin to crush the pastries in my grip.
“How can you say that?” Mistress Lavender descends a step, looming over me. “You share the same magical blood. You work together for the good of this house—”
“The same blood? I’m part Vila. And you saw what Rose did to me at the ball.”
“She’s been punished for that.” A manicured nail jabs at my chest. “And you are forbidden to do”—she splutters, flustered—“whatever it was you did last night.”
For a heart-stopping moment, I want to tell her that I won’t be Briar’s puppet anymore. That I will not be controlled. But I only bite my lip. The truth is that I don’t want to do what I did last night. Don’t want to cause that kind of torture to anyone, ever again. And so I nod.
“Good.” Mistress Lavender smooths her skirts, relief softening her shoulders. “I assured the doctor that this was nothing but an accident. And it will never happen again.” She tips my chin up with two fingers. “With any luck, your patrons will return.”
“And what of the damage to our house’s reputation?” A draft of summer rose and calla lily floats down the stairs and I cringe.
Mistress Lavender turns. “This does not concern you, Rose.”
“It most certainly does.” Slippers crusted with what looks to be a thousand minuscule seashells tap impatiently on the top landing. “I won’t sacrifice my standings because of her stupidity. She should have to compensate us for the lost income.”
“I don’t blame you for worrying about income,” I feign sympathy, “when you’re paying for the dress you ruined.”
Rose blanches beneath her gold rouge, her lips drawing into a tight line. I can see the wheels behind her eyes spinning, contemplating her next move.
“That’s enough.” Mistress Lavender angles her body between us. A Grace bell chimes in a parlor. She checks the watch she wears on a chain at her waist. “Rose, that’s yours I believe. We don’t need to add tardiness to the litany of this house’s recent faults.”
Rose says nothing, just stomps down the stairs, checking my shoulder as she passes. Her blush-colored skirts swish and I step on a pair of embroidered sea horses on her hem. She yanks herself free with a curse.
“This feud between the two of you must stop.” Mistress Lavender rubs her temples. Creases web out from the corners of her eyelids. “It’s bringing nothing but shame and ill will. Do you want to be the lowest-ranking house? Because we’re on our way to that, I assure you. We have nine short months until the final house standings are determined.”