Malice, Heather Walter [hardest books to read txt] 📗

“When have the Fae done anything that didn’t suit their own interests? Mortals mean little enough to their kind. Why should we? We’re gone in a blink and they live nearly forever.” Hilde tosses another beetle at Callow, who snaps it out of the air and chitters with delight. “And now that poor princess reduced to a breeding mare—having to pop out heirs in order to keep the throne secure. Last heir, indeed. You see how much the Etherians care about her plight.”

There’s nothing poor about Briar’s royal family, but I keep that back. Even around Hilde. “Maybe. But I still think Leythana deserved to rule Briar. I read about her campaigns before she came here. Did you know that she overthrew the Cardon King because of the way he treated his people? That’s why the island isn’t a monarchy anymore. And her crew was mostly women—they all had a say in what missions they undertook. Things would be better in Briar these days if the queens had followed Leythana’s lead.”

Hilde places a hand on her chest. “I had no idea I had such a devout follower in my shop.”

Something burns in my chest, and I try to smooth it away with a shrug. “I know my history is all.”

“Indeed.” Hilde taps her sorrel-stained fingertip on the lid of a jar. “I imagine you know far more than I do. But I ask you this, Alyce: Was it a victory Leythana won, when they put the Briar crown on her head? Or a curse?”

Curse. The word slithers between my ribs. And a scar just to the right of my navel twinges. I clench my fist to keep from touching it.

“I’m the only one cursed around here.”

“Are you? I hadn’t noticed.” She opens the jar and frowns. “Damn. I’m out of robin’s eggs. Your precious Grace will have to do without.”

I chew my lip. If I go back without every item on Rose’s list, she’ll throw a fit.

“I’ll get them myself, then.” There are some thickets outside Briar’s main gates where I’ve gone before to gather robin’s eggs. It shouldn’t take long.

Hilde grunts and folds the list in half, passing it back. “Sounds like a fool’s errand.”

“I’d be a fool if I give Mistress Lavender any more reasons to scold me.” I reach for the sack, but Hilde snags my wrist. There’s an unfamiliar seriousness to her expression.

“There’s a reason you’re drawn to the first queen,” she says. “I know a bit of history, too. Enough to guess that there’s power in you, girl. More than you realize. I look forward to the day when you wake up and start using it.”

—

The apothecary’s words follow me as I make my way to the stone walls that divide Briar into the Grace and Common districts. There’s a line of merchants and servants queued at the gate, wagons being inspected by Grace District guards to ensure against smugglers and thieves. For once, my appearance works in my favor. It’s not uncommon for me to visit this district on my way to the main gates, and I’m allowed to bypass the checkpoint without the proper papers, slipping through a side door with hardly a nod from the guard.

In the Common District, grimy houses and storefronts are packed together like pickled fish. My reputation known even in this filthy place, I keep to the alleys, dodging grubby sheets drying on clotheslines and clusters of chickens that scatter at Callow’s elongated shadow. Too often, I’ve been chased by a pack of local children who think it amusing to use my back as target practice for rotted fruit or pails of dirty wash water. I keep my hood tugged down.

But even my heightened awareness is not enough to bury Hilde’s ridiculous prediction. She spoke as if my power was some kind of blessing. But my heritage has been drilled into my head since I was old enough to comprehend it: I am part Vila. My kind was ruthless and unfeeling and driven out for good reason. I deserve to be punished for their crimes.

Even so, an inexplicable boldness flashed through me at the apothecary’s touch. What if Hilde is right? What if I can do more than the Graces? When I was first learning how to use my gift, we found that my power is unpredictable at times. Without enhancements, Grace blood does little more than sparkle. But a drop of mine can act all on its own. Healing Graces used to dread treating me because my blood was known to cause burns or sores if it dripped on their skin. The bowls they used for my bloodletting would often rust or corrode. And then there’s what I did to Rose at tea a few days ago. A terrifying part of my soul whispers that I can do far more than spoil a jug of cream. That I want to.

After the guards at the main gates wave me on, I try my best to drown this feeling in the sea breeze. The coastal landscape of green earth and craggy rock has always been a refuge for me. Out here, there are no Graces or patrons or house standings. Only the Carthegean Sea swallowing the horizon, a depthless azure that stretches all the way to realms I’ve only read about.

Sometimes Laurel jokes that I would be a wisdom Grace if my blood was gold, for I devour every atlas and geography text I can get my hands on. According to those books, Briar is the smallest realm in the world. We’ve only the Grace and Common districts and a smattering of homesteads outside the main walls. Other realms boast a seemingly endless expanse of villages and cities and landmarks. I remember tracing my fingertips along the ribbons of blue marking the rivers. Measuring the lakes with the pad of my thumb. Connecting the dots denoting the towns like constellations, testing their names on my tongue and imagining what