“I wish you would tell me what troubles you.” Kal’s voice is gentle, the way one might speak to a spooked horse. “Remember, we are kin.”
If he only knew. I close my eyes against my own warring desires. The sea breeze tastes of brine and coming rain and my own bitter cowardice.
“The only thing that’s troubling me is the thought of you trapped in this place.” It’s true enough. I take his hand in mine. “You will not die here. I vow it.”
Kal smiles, but it’s sad. And I can see in the obsidian of his eyes that he knows there’s more and that I’m deliberately excluding him. Guilt lashes my heart.
But it’s his next words that hurt the most.
“Please do not make promises you cannot keep.”
Daughters, It is not only Fae blood which blesses your crown. It is mine. It is every other queen’s—spilled in one way or another—to grant you your throne. There are those, spurred by greed, who would rob you of this inheritance. Be wary and vigilant. Wise and fair. Do not lose yourselves in the sea of wealth and power to come. Surround yourselves with loyalty and love. And if nothing else, remember this: That which is given oft cannot be regained.
—Lost letter from Leythana, first Briar Queen, to her heirs. Age of the Rose, 45
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Give me that.” Rose snatches an envelope out of a servant’s fingers before he can deposit it on Mistress Lavender’s place setting at breakfast.
“It’s addressed to the housemistress.” The poor thing is more mouse than boy. Clusters of freckles collide with one another as his brow furrows. I sip my tea.
“Do you see her here?” Rose glares at him with a look that could singe hair.
The servant wisely bows and leaves.
Rose breaks the violet-colored seal and unfolds the missive. She hasn’t applied her rouge yet, and so her cheeks are a sickly shade of pale yellow. Next to Laurel and Marigold, each sporting a healthy, golden Grace flush, Rose looks like one of my terminally ill patrons. It’s winter now, some three months since I caught her with the bloodrot. Even longer since the last time I interfered with one of her patrons. But it doesn’t seem like she’s let up on her dosage.
“It’s official,” Rose breathes, passing the scalloped-edged announcement to an impatient Marigold. “The Royal Grace is Fading. And quickly, by the wording of that message.”
“Which one?” Laurel cracks her boiled egg with the back of her spoon, her attention glued to her book.
“Beauty,” Marigold squeaks. Then she squeals, clapping her hands together and throwing her arms around Rose’s shoulders.
“How sad.” Laurel picks bits of shell from the egg. “How ever will the royals survive?”
“Don’t think I can’t read your tone.” Rose untangles herself from Marigold’s strangling embrace with a grimace. “You’re jealous.”
“Quite.” Laurel snorts. “I’d like to serve in the palace as much as Alyce would.”
I cough around my pastry at the mention of my name.
“The Dark Grace does serve in the palace,” Marigold sniffs. “But few survive her ‘appointments.’？”
I swallow hard, the unchewed crust scratching down my throat. “I’d like to be left out of this.”
“Oh, don’t worry. You will be.” Rose daintily dabs at her mouth. “The queen has decided there will be a contest to determine the most skilled of the beauty Graces. The winner will succeed the Fading Grace.”
“I suppose you’re going to compete?” I raise a sly eyebrow, raking my gaze over the circles under her eyes. The bones of her neck showing through her lemon-tinged skin.
“Of course I am. And you can all thank me for it when you receive the bump in standings after I win.” She grits her teeth, making a visible effort to keep her anger in check. Compared to our early years together, Rose has been downright pleasant toward me of late. I suppose she’s worried I’ll tell Mistress Lavender what she’s doing with the bloodrot. She needn’t be concerned. I have much bigger secrets.
“I’ll thank you now,” Marigold pipes up. “You will invite me to the palace, won’t you? Often? You won’t forget?”
“You’ll have to beat Pearl.” The name is soft on Laurel’s lips, but it might as well have been a dagger flung into Rose’s chest. She slams her napkin down.
“I can charm circles around that haughty—”