It was no surprise when, centuries later, the tension between the two races erupted in a war. Formidable as they are, the Etherians were no match for the dark magic of their fallen kin. They couldn’t even set foot in Malterre, where the toxicity thrummed beneath the ground and leached into their bones and stopped their bright hearts.
The light Fae turned to their only ally: Briar. It was well known that humans could venture into Malterre without the consequences endured by the Fae. They’d done so since before Briar existed. With the help of the Etherians, the mortals could poison the Vila lands, driving out the malevolent creatures and all other abominations for good.
But the time of the warrior queens had long ended. And the reigning Briar King was greedy. He knew that Leythana’s alliance agreement stipulated only that the ruler of Briar must protect the Fae border against mortal attacks. It said nothing about Vila. And so in exchange for his army, the Briar King bid his wife demand the most precious gold of all: the power of the light Fae.
The bargain the High King Oryn struck created the Graces. And I understand now why Hilde believes it to be a Fae trick. When negotiating the bargain, the Briar King was clumsy with his words. He probably thought he would get to choose the form of the Etherians’ gift, such as his own immortality or access to Etherian lands or some other prize. Instead, Briar received the Graces. Random children who, though they carry the gilded Etherian blood, can only access its power by draining it.
I trace my fingertips along some of the illustrations in the book. Vila. Tall, lanky things with tips of bone jutting at all angles. This one is described as female. Bone spikes protrude from her knuckles and cheekbones. Like the light Fae, her skin appears as tree bark. She could be cut from the trunk of a yew, with wide, almond-shaped eyes that gleam emerald, just like her blood.
But the only mention of the curse cast by the Vila during the war is the ruin it wreaked on Leythana’s line. The rampant, swift deaths of the potential heirs and the struggle to contain its spread. I may not know much about my heritage, but I’m relatively certain that the key to breaking that curse forever lies with the Vila who cast it. But she isn’t even named in this text. And try as I might, I can’t silence the needling apprehension that I’m somehow linked to her. Somehow responsible for the magic that might kill Aurora.
There’s only one person I can think of who might have answers.
And so on the third day that a patron schedule does not arrive in the morning, I put together a sack of food and return to the black tower before Mistress Lavender can decide I’m more useful assisting the servants.
* * *
—
Kal is already waiting for me when I arrive.
“You did not bring your companion.”
“No.” After what happened the last time I’d trained with Kal, I decided to leave Callow behind. She was more than slightly annoyed, and I have the beak-shaped lances on my hands to prove it. “But I’ll tell her you asked after her.”
A shadow brushes my arm, almost playful.
I slough off my pack and roll my shoulders back with a groan.
“That looks heavy,” Kal says. “When you learn to Shift, I can teach you to strengthen your muscles. You will be able to carry far more than that with ease.”
“When can we start?” I rub at the sore spot at the crook of my neck.
“Now, if you like.” His shadows coil around him, betraying his eagerness. And once more I’m struck by what a lonely life it must be for Kal. I complain about my attic room and the resentment of a realm, but Kal has been chained to darkness since the war. Alone for twenty years before I showed up. And who knows how long before my mother arrived. “Have you been practicing at all? Any of your Vila magic?”
“Yes.” He’d love to know how I terrorized Rose’s patrons. But before I can tell him, I recall another patron. Duke Weltross, his eyes glassy and bloodshot, his fragile human magic obliterated beneath my steel-dipped power.
I want to forget the duke. But the words press against the back of my teeth until I have no choice but to spit them out. “I was with a patron. He was sick—dying. I wanted to use my magic the way you taught me. To heal him.” The smell of coppery blood and rancid bile stings my nostrils. The sounds of the duchess’s screams twine with the wind. “But…”
“It went horribly wrong.”
“How did you know?”
Kal moves as close as the darkness will let him. “Because that is not your gift, Alyce. Vila cannot wield light magic, regardless of intent.”