I did that. With my power. Stole Rose’s Grace magic. Made a patron speak to her the way they all speak to me, contentious and spiteful. A delicious mix of elation and wonder surges as Aurora’s question from the library comes soaring back.
What else can I do?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
No one can figure out what went wrong when Rose gave her patron the skin of an orange. Or when the next patron leaves with hooves for feet. Or when the next sprouts hay instead of hair.
Rose is beside herself. She blames me. I can hear her tantrums even in my attic room. But she has no proof. Healing Graces have been to the house twice to examine her for signs of poisoning, the only thing they believe could be the culprit. But her blood is as golden as ever. They give her healthy doses of Etherium just in case, and I have shown her nothing but sugarcoated concern, clicking my tongue and murmuring condolences whenever our paths cross. Mistress Lavender is quite pleased at my change of heart.
But two days and a handful of sabotaged patrons later, I catch Rose alone in her parlor after half her day’s list canceled. Her hands are shaking as she tries to practice her craft and her eyes are limned scarlet from weeping. I decide she’s had enough.
For now.
Done with wreaking havoc on Rose’s appointments, I turn my attention instead to the book Aurora let me borrow. I keep it in the locked chest hidden in my wardrobe so the snooping maids won’t find it. Its pages are in terrible condition. Whisper-thin and cracking at the edges. My head aches with the effort of squinting at the faded, cramped ink.
Some of the pre-Briarian history I already know. Since before Briar’s founding, the light Fae have occupied all the lands beyond the Etherian Mountains border. Most of the Fae world is a mystery to Briar. Endlewild, the Graces, and the Briar crown itself are our only connections. But we do know that there are seven Fae courts of Etheria—the Lesser Courts and the High Court, where the High King Oryn rules. He is the most powerful Fae in existence. It’s said his light magic pours from the High Court into the others, pulsing like a second heartbeat and giving life to nymphs and sprites and winged Fae steeds. Wood harvested from Fae birch groves can be crafted into bows that never miss a shot. Sand from the shores of their lakes can be blown into enchanted glass that lets the viewer see into other worlds.
And just as the humans thirsted for that power and sailed across the Carthegean Sea to claim it, darkness was attracted to the magic of the Fae. Long before Leythana arrived on her dragon ships, Demons and Shifters and other such creatures stalked the borders of Etheria, believing that if they could consume the blood of an Etherian, they could harness the light Fae power. Oryn and his courts were diligent in crafting defenses to keep such creatures out of their realm. But eventually a Demon succeeded in tricking an Etherian, luring her away from her court with the distressed calls of her kin.
When the Fae female drew close enough, the Demon pounced, sinking his teeth into her tender flesh and feasting on her golden blood. But the Demon did not absorb her power as it thought it would. And the Fae was strong. Using her staff, she slew the creature and tossed its carcass out of Etheria as a warning to others. But not before the damage was done. Evil had bitten into her soul. Soured her magic.
She had become the first Vila.
As her wounds festered, the Fae’s power began to change. Her gilded blood turned the color of hemlock. Her hands and feet grew claws. Her skin, once polished and smooth like a silver birch, began to peel and rust. Tiny bones, like thorns, sprouted from the tips of her shoulders, along the ledge of her collarbone, and across her forehead like a crown. In her new form, the Vila’s footsteps scorched holes in Etherian lands. Ambrosia groves wilted and died beneath her fingertips, the fruit crawling with maggots. Rivers were poisoned when she tried to scrub herself clean, fish and sprites and water nymphs floating as shriveled husks when she emerged. Horrified at what she had become, the despairing Vila hid at the edge of the Fae realm, allowing no one to touch her for fear her darkness would spread.
It did anyway.
Soon her dark power consumed the Vila. It seeped into the land she inhabited, a place dubbed Malterre for its barren trees and silty earth that hummed with evil and stank of carrion. The Vila’s heart hardened. She grew resentful of the light Fae she once loved, believing that they had forgotten her. And she discovered that her Vila magic was far more powerful than that of her kin. Powerful enough to make them regret what they had done.
Bent on revenge, the Vila snuck into the Etherian courts in the dead of night, luring males into her lands and using her magic to compel them to mate with her. Before long, she produced a brood of cursed Fae just like her. With each new Vila offspring, their power grew, bleeding out and decimating the Etherian lands.