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

right,” Mistress Lavender intercedes. “Payment is always required for our services and not”—she holds up one finger as Rose begins to argue—“in the form of gifts or favors. The Grace Laws are very clear, Rose. You can’t go about flouting them. It’s for your protection, as well as for fairness’s sake.”

Just after the War of the Fae, when the Graces were new to Briar, wealthy nobles would buy Grace children, lock them away, and force them to work only for their own families. Some even tried to extract the Etherian magic from the captive Graces’ blood and replicate its power. These horrible practices led to the establishment of the Grace Council and the passing of the Grace Laws, which are still in effect today. Last I checked, there are over four hundred Grace Laws, and the council adds new ones whenever it sees fit.

Some of the laws are fair enough: Graces are required to be paid for their services, which is where Rose gets her coin to buy slippers made of sea glass and rare cloudlike ostrich plumes imported from other realms. Briar is also obligated to care for its Graces once they Fade—like providing a housemistress placement, a good marriage, or a stipend. But some laws are unpopular even among the Graces, when they dare to complain about them. Rose hates the law forbidding her from showing bias toward any one patron or family, thus thwarting her scheme to bribe Madame LaRoche into completing her gown in time for the ball.

It’s an extraordinary occurrence when Rose doesn’t get her way, and I have to cover my mouth to hide my grin.

“What are you smirking at, Malyce?” Rose sneers in my direction. “You don’t even get to go to the ball. They’d never let something like you ruin a royal celebration.”

Something. Rage claws up my chest. I shouldn’t let Rose provoke me like this, but I can’t help it. She knows every weakness. My fingers twitch. I want to wipe that look off her face and use it to scrub the floors.

“I don’t see why she can’t go to the ball.” Laurel reads over Mistress Lavender’s shoulder. “The invitation is addressed to the Graces.”

“She’s not a Grace.” This time it’s Marigold.

“I’m known as the Dark Grace. Even at the palace.” I don’t give a dragon’s tooth about the ball. But I don’t want them to be right.

The honeyed tint of Rose’s skin flames bright copper. Marigold splutters something unintelligible. And Laurel curves a slow smile. We’re not exactly allies, Laurel and I, but she’s never hated me the way the other two do. I nod my thanks.

Mistress Lavender clears her throat and removes her spectacles, silver gaze studying me carefully. “I’m delighted to see you taking such an unprecedented interest in Grace activities, Alyce. Though I’m not entirely sure the invitation is meant for you.”

“It isn’t.” Rose grips the back of a chair so hard it looks like it might buckle. I wonder if I could come up with an elixir to make her glossy pink curls fall out, one by one. “She’s never even gone to a Grace Celebration. Why should she be invited to the princess’s birthday?”

“That may be true. But simply because she’s never accompanied us to a Grace Celebration doesn’t mean she would not have been permitted to attend one. I have always excused her on account of, well…” Mistress Lavender clears her throat. “Now, however…” She taps the edge of the parchment against the tabletop. “I suppose, as long as you’re caught up on your appointments and other duties, I see no reason why you should not go with us.”

I think I see steam billow from Rose’s nostrils. Marigold lets out a cry. They both try to speak at once, but Mistress Lavender raises a pale white hand to stay them. “We must be inclusive, Graces. Alyce is under my protection, and it’s my decision if she goes.”

“Some party this will be,” Rose grumbles. “No one will be able to enjoy themselves. Everyone will be too afraid she’ll curse them. A Vila skulking in the palace, indeed.”

“That’s quite enough. I’m sure you all have patrons coming. Or has Delphine been slacking in her duties?” Mistress Lavender pockets the invitation and begins steering the others out of the room, but not before Rose’s words twist into me with painful precision.

Even in an evening gown, the guests will know who I am. What I do. Already, when I move through the Grace District, the crowds part around me like I have some kind of plague. What will it be like for me in a ballroom?

A nudge on my elbow brings me out of my thoughts.

“It’s a masque.” Laurel speaks close to my ear. “If you don’t wish it, no one need know you were ever there.”

A masque. A night where I can shed the identity of Dark Grace and become anyone I wish. The idea creeps over me like the sun rising over the sea. And I decide that the Dark Grace—no, Alyce—is going to make her first appearance at a royal ball.

CHAPTER THREE

The next week is the busiest for Lavender House that I can remember. Patrons flock to our Graces, eager to dole out exuberant amounts of coin for Rose to smooth the bumps on their noses and plump their lips. For Marigold to enhance their dancing skills or lilt their shrill laughter. Even Laurel is beset with nobles wanting to know the perfect gift to get the princess or the style of clothing they should wear to the celebration.

And the Dark Grace is not forgotten. For every name Delphine pens on the Graces’ schedules, there seems to be two on mine. It’s all the usual demands—elixirs for hair-thinning and unriddable stenches and unsightly rashes. Anything a patron might think of to give themselves an edge against the perceived competition they’ll face at the ball.

“It’s utterly demeaning.” Laurel massages her temples in the main parlor between patron visits. It’s Friday