Page 11 of Malice

“I do.” A tide of Kal’s shadows rolls toward me, sizzling when it reaches the sunlight. “Are you certain you wish me to tell you?”

No. But I can’t seem to turn away, either. And so I nod.

“You are a Shifter. Just like me.”

CHAPTER SIX

I’m not sure how I got back to Lavender House.

As soon as I’d regained my senses, I fled the tower. Away from Kal. Away from the brand he seared into my back.

Shifter.

The word rings in my head, echoing off the curves of my skull until it swallows every other thought. Before the war, Shifters were one of the many creatures drawn to Malterre by the darkness of the Vila’s power. And like all the rest—Demons and Imps and Goblins and more—Shifters are bloodthirsty monsters. But Shifters are more than just vicious. They’re manipulative and cunning. They can turn themselves into whatever form they wish: beasts with the head of a wolf and body of a griffin. Beautiful maidens who lure their victims in and slit their throats.

I read one story in which a Shifter bargained with a mortal—a year of the human’s service in exchange for a pair of wings. The human was unaware that a Shifter can only change its own body. And so after the year was up, the Shifter fashioned a pair of wings out of wax and fixed them to the human’s shoulders. Overjoyed, the mortal leapt off the nearest cliff. He soared over the waves of the Carthegean Sea, but the wings soon melted in the heat of the sun, sending the unwitting mortal to crash into the water and drown.

I cannot be a Shifter.

If the prisoner spoke true, why wasn’t I killed, like all the other Shifters I’d read about? Destroyed before they could wreak havoc on the realm. Why did the Briar King let me exhale a single breath once he knew of my existence?

The questions rend me to ribbons. Corrupt my dreams when I stumble into spurts of sleep. In the swirling images, fur sprouts from my skin and my teeth lengthen into fangs. I try to run, but my legs are fins or spindly spider’s legs and I cannot move, onlyscreamand—

Something slams into my shoulder hard enough to throw me halfway off the bed.

“Get up, you useless creature.”

I catch myself before I fall to the floor and then wince against the white blur of the morning. A shadow looms over me.

“How am I supposed to treat my patrons without ground peacock feathers?”

A petal-pink curl dangles in front of my face. Rose. She tosses a broken vial at my fingertips, and I’m barely able to jerk away before the shards lodge in my skin. I groan, hefting myself upright. That damn sack. In my flight from the black tower, my clumsy hands had dropped it more than once. I’m surprised only the one vial was smashed.

“I’ll get another.” I rub the sleep from my eyes.

“Oh no, you won’t.” Rose taps her slipper and the bells sewn onto the toes jingle. “I’ve already sent a servant. But it will come out of your wages. Mistress Lavender said.”

I doubt that, but I’m too groggy to argue. “That’s fine. Get out.”

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” Glass crunches under her heel.

“Someonewas dragged off the wrong side of the bed.”

“It’s your own fault if you’re lazy. I’ve been up for ages. Already had three patrons.”

“How’s your blood looking?” It’s a low jab, but an effective one. Twin splotches, like gilded dandelions, erupt on Rose’s cheeks. “Finding any silver specks?”

“My blood looks far better than yours.” She sneers. “I’d jump off the Crimson Cliffs if I had green in my veins. Do everyone a favor.”

“Careful, Rose.” I rest my chin on my knees and grin. “You never know what the Dark Grace might do. Poor thing. Your teeth are still a bit gray around the edges.”

She snaps her lips closed and whirls, the bells on her shoes tinkling.

“Speaking of patrons,” she calls over her shoulder. “Yours have been waiting for the past half hour.”

The door slams behind her and I bark out a litany of curses, rushing to pick out a fresh dress. The black wax seal of Delphine’s schedule, still waiting to be broken, glares at me from the floor. A servant must have slipped it under the door on their rounds to wake the Graces. But I’d been sleeping too deeply to hear their knock. Dragon’s teeth! Mistress Lavender hates for patrons to wait; it makes them more likely to bring their business to another house and lower our standings. And even if I am the Dark Grace, the only one in the realm, she insists I adhere to the same standard of service as the others.

I rake a comb through my lank, oily hair and splash some water on my face. The reflection in my spotted mirror isn’t inspiring. But I drag myself downstairs anyway, stuffing a breakfast roll in my mouth and ripping open my schedule before heading to the Lair.