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

A chorus of disappointment begins to swell, the court launching into motion once again. Aurora’s expression slackens. And though I should feel some measure of satisfaction in the way she blinks away tears, in the defeated slump of her shoulders, all I feel is pain. I want to go to her. Comfort her. And I hate myself for it.

What happens next is a blur. The king calls for order, trying to piece together a half-baked speech about hope and perseverance. The apparently not-so-star-chosen Prince Elias offers another bow and leaves, Aurora close behind him.

Is she chasing him? Consoling him?

I am quick on her heels, dodging clusters of courtiers and harried servants. Ducking under arms and narrowly missing dancers. I catch a glimpse of Rose, gossiping madly with some other Graces. Laurel, who takes a second look at me as I fly past.

The door behind the dais slams shut as Aurora’s plum train swishes into darkness. And the two men guarding it, each of whom boast tree trunks for arms, don’t look particularly inclined to let me through.

Summoning my courage, I veer around a pair of women who seem much more concerned about the taste of each other’s necks than what happened with the princess, and huddle behind an opal-veined pedestal. A huge, heavy vase rests on top. Peonies and roses and dahlias overflow from the rim, petals brightening and dimming in every imaginable hue as the seconds tick by. What I need is a distraction.

I press my palms into the stone and send my power to search for the magic there. I think I find it, but the pedestal’s drowsy heart is buried too deeply for me to command properly. And so I venture elsewhere, seeking instead the slippery current of magic in the water in the vase. That is simple to manipulate. It swells under my power, almost willing as I tighten my darkness around it and push through my command. The water churns. Steam rises from the lip of the vase, porcelain groaning as it heats. There’s a rumbling gurgle. A scalding droplet leaps out and sizzles on the cold marble. A fissure races up from the rounded base of the vase. The colossal thing wobbles. Moans.

And then bursts in a deafening explosion of glass and porcelain. An answering scream ricochets around the chamber as shards of vase and blistering water find gowns and exposed skin. The guards scatter toward the conflicting cries, swords drawn.

And in the commotion, for the first time and fueled by my overwhelming need, I Shift myself to complete invisibility and slip into the torch-lit corridor.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

My feet are too slow.

Sweat tracks through the Grace powder on my face and neck with the effort of maintaining my Shift. My muscles are stretched tight enough to tear. One advantage the corridor affords me is its uniform walls, far easier to project onto my body than a more complicated landscape. Even so, a few times, a green-veined hand pops into view. The flutter of a gold-embroidered hem. I will not be able to hold the illusion long.

Hopefully, I will not have to. Soon enough, I detect the patter of heels. It must be Aurora, hurrying back to her rooms.

Hurrying after her star-chosen prince.

Her steps lead me up several flights of stairs and through a dozen winding turns, until they abruptly stop and I come upon a still-swinging tapestry. Mustering what little of my courage remains, I push through the narrow door and into the crown princess’s private chambers.

Everything is quiet. Not even the candles are lit, and I have to pause for a few ragged breaths to let my eyes adjust. I clamp my hands over my mouth, smothering my relieved sob as I let my Shift slide away and my limbs reappear.

One hand on the wall to steady myself, I cling to the shadows of what I believe to be a sitting room. Lounges and chairs are arranged around small tables, books on every surface. The last vestiges of a fire wink from behind a grate. Sheer curtains do little to hide the tall windows, the star-scattered sky casting the room in silver. In the corner, there’s a large rounded object covered by a thin cloth.

I inch my way across the rugs, toward a set of double doors. Rustling sounds leak through the opening, as well as the faint glimmer of a single taper. Aurora’s bedchamber. A creaky plank of wood betrays me as I tiptoe inside.

“I said I wished to be alone!” Her voice is harsher than I’ve ever heard it. She wrestles off her necklace and tosses it away.

I don’t move, frozen in place, and she whirls, mouth open to hurl another royal command. And then her jaw drops, one hand going to her throat, the other bracing against the dressing table.

“Alyce.”

My name on her lips. Something runs through me, and I can’t tell if it’s longing or rage. Maybe both. “Are you surprised?”

“What are you doing here?” Her gaze jumps to the doors behind me and the darkness beyond. “How did you get inside?”

“I don’t see how that matters.” I push farther into the bedchamber, determined to keep control of the conversation. “You came to see me often enough—uninvited. I thought it only fair to return the favor.”

She looks away, flustered, and pulls pins out of her hair. “I’ve hardly been able to draw a breath of my own since Elias’s ship was spotted.” Silver clacks against the glass top of her dressing table. “Did you know my mother ordered a wedding dress made? Before the curse was even broken.” She laughs, but it’s stilted.

“It didn’t look broken to me.”

“No.” Her arms droop to her sides and she sinks onto a stool. “It didn’t break.”

“What a pity. I know how much you were looking forward to the prince’s arrival. And I’m sure it was a beautiful gown. How much did it cost? Twenty thousand gold?”

“Twenty thousand—” She blinks. “What?”

Even now, she lies to me.

“The gold