“We couldn’t find you after dinner.” Marigold wastes no time, dunking a strawberry the size of her palm into a bowl of whipped cream. “We thought you’d been called for another ‘appointment.’？”
Laurel’s gaze darts up from the open book balancing on the edge of the table.
“No.” I serve myself a boiled egg and a thick slice of toast. Food is the last thing I want, but I’m weak and dehydrated and know that I’ll need my strength to get through the day. The others watch me closely, clearly expecting me to explain. I don’t.
“Well then.” Rose fusses with the tie of her fuchsia dressing gown, then slips a scrap of bacon to Calliope, who accepts it and trots off in glee. “Where were you? I think I saw the queen spirit you away. And I can’t imagine what she would want with someone like you, if not commanding a service.”
The toast tastes like ash, but I chew slowly, deliberately, breathing so that I don’t visibly bristle. Marigold titters into her napkin.
“Actually, the queen did speak with me.” I dab at my mouth. “It seems one of the Royal Graces is Fading.”
Rose and Marigold suck in a breath in unison. Marigold leans forward, elbows on the tablecloth, oblivious to the way her long dandelion sleeves are trailing into the butter dish.
“Really? Which one?”
“She didn’t say.” I give a noncommittal shrug. “But Her Majesty is searching for a replacement.”
Rose’s teacup is frozen midway to her lips. “Surely she hinted at someone?”
“Oh, yes. She has her mind quite made up.”
“And?” The word sounds more like a creak of rusty iron.
I drizzle honey into my tea.
“She asked if I might be willing to fill the role.”
Rose’s china cup drops back to its saucer. Tea splashes onto the tablecloth. She snatches up her fork so fiercely I think she might stab me with it. “Liar.”
“I suppose you’ll never know.” I pop a few blueberries into my mouth. “Unless you wish to ask the queen herself. At one of your own private audiences.”
Rose’s chair falls over as she launches from her seat. Calliope comes skittering back into the room, yipping at whatever perceived threat upset her mistress.
“One day, you’ll get what you deserve.” Rose’s pink curls vibrate. And then she’s gone in a storm of swirling silk and ribbons. Marigold glares at me and follows, but not before swiping a last pastry from the basket.
“My gift compels me to tell you you’re treading on thin ice.” Laurel doesn’t even look up as she speaks. “You’re a sheep among wolves, Alyce.”
“Am I?” I start in on my egg, hand trembling slightly from the rush of so thoroughly enraging Rose. For a heartbeat, my nails appear as claws as I pick off a bit of shell. “Or am I the wolf, and they’re the sheep?”
Laurel’s golden eyes meet mine, sharp against the dark black of her face. “I imagine we’ll find out soon enough.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Over a month passes without incident. Without any additional invitations to the palace. Not that I care. Aurora sends me several notes, but I feed them to the hearth in my Lair. I’ve no wish to trifle with the queen. Aurora is a princess, and I’m a…someone princesses definitely do not associate with. She’ll forget me in time—just as Pearl predicted. Better sooner than later.
When free from my duties as the Dark Grace, I spend my time at the black tower, practicing with Kal. Things are progressing far slower than I’d like, which makes the day I’ll be able to leave Briar seem nothing but a blur on the horizon. But my abilities, Kal continues to remind me, are improving. And that blur will eventually solidify. And then I’ll never have to bother with self-serving nobles or enhancements again.
I console myself about my extended sentence in Briar by reading the book Kal gave me. The roots of my hair prickled when I first dared to open it. I was certain that Endlewild somehow knew what I had and that he was going to swoop in at any moment and cart me off to the palace dungeons. Or worse. But as the pages and hours of the night flew by, I forgot those fears and became lost in my own history.
The author, Grimelde, dedicates the book to his mistress and lady of the court, Targen. It seems that, like the Etherian courts, those of Malterre were governed by a single, powerful leader and a small inner council. In his book, Grimelde describes pieces of the early history of the Vila and how they contributed to the founding of his own court and the rise of its current leader. But the stories I read here are nothing like the nightmares I encountered in Briar’s books. No stolen children or human slaves.