Page 45 of Malice

The call of a seagull penetrates the glass, sounding like hope and freedom and everything I’ve ever wished for.

But this is a bad business. I don’t know what the Briar King is plotting, but it’s dangerous. The very idea should be enough to turn me away from him. But for once, I could use my title for my own advantage. If Briar loses a few nobles along the way, it will not be my hand that poisons them. Not really.

Tarkin reads my acceptance in the lines of my face. He rubs his thumb over his signet ring. “As I thought. You can expect your first commission shortly.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

When I return to Lavender House, the Graces are busy with their evening patrons. I tiptoe past their parlors, hoping to slip out to my Lair unnoticed. Callow will be peevish at my long absence. And I’m exhausted, my mind still reeling from Tarkin’s offer and the new, impossible predicament I find myself in. The last door is slightly ajar—Rose’s. The night lamps have been lit, but there doesn’t seem to be a patron waiting for her inside. I press closer, catching the clink of metal on glass. The fizz of enhancements reacting.

Keeping to the shadows, I position myself so that I can see into the bright slit of light. Rose is sitting at the table. Alone. She’s heaping scoopfuls of a bright silver powder into a bowl. I recognize it immediately.

“What are you doing?” I shove into the room. She yelps. The metallic shavings go flying onto the floor.

“Get out of here! You’re always lurking, you filthy beast.” She sweeps some of the spilled powder into her palm and adds it to her brew. “This is my parlor.”

“I know what that is.” Before she can react, I swoop over to the table and pluck her bowl out of reach.

“Give that back.” She bares her teeth.

“Bloodrot”—I keep the bowl behind my back as she swipes at me—“is dangerous for a Grace. For anyone.”

The leaden shavings in Rose’s bowl are believed by some to extend the longevity of a Grace’s abilities. Bloodrot is a blood thinner, and so a Grace will dose herself with the stuff in the hopes that less of her blood will be required to create an elixir, thus keeping her from Fading before her time. But that logic is ludicrous. First of all, manipulation of a Grace’s gift—by anyone—is illegal and carries a steep sentence with the Grace Council. More than that, the quicksilver powder is called bloodrot for a reason. Too much causes sickness. The metal poisons the organs, settles in the heart and ossifies. And it’s far more likely that a Grace will misjudge her dosage and bleed out if she so much as suffers a nick in the right place.

“You could die from using this.”

“And you’d know all about how to kill someone, wouldn’t you, Malyce?” Her eyes are so wild and livid they seem to tinge crimson. But I don’t take her bait. I duck under her outstretched arms and bolt across the room.

“I won’t let you kill yourself.” I’m panting now, the bowl wedged between my stomach and the back of a winged armchair.

“I’d rather be dead than lose my gift.” She lunges around the side of the chair. “Do you know what happens to a Faded Grace?”

“There’s nothing wrong with—”

“Nothing!” The word rises into a screech. “No one gives a dragon’s tooth about a Faded Grace. No patrons, no invitations. Faded might as well mean dead.”

“The Crown is obligated to care for you. What about having your own house like Mistress Lavender? Or all the Graces who’ve married and—”

Rose laughs, a brittle sound that makes the hair on my arms rise. “Oh, yes. That’s what I want. To be tethered to a spouse who only wants me for what I used to be. Or put in charge of a bunch of Grace brats when I won’t even be able to—” The rest of the sentence crumbles. Rose wheels around before her tears start to fall, but I can see her shoulders shake.

My mouth opens and closes, but nothing comes out. This is a foreign place. Me, in the position to comfort my greatest tormentor. Guilt gnaws at my conscience. It’s been more than a month since I interfered with one of Rose’s elixirs, and I thought she’d let the incidents go once her patrons returned. I had no idea she was resorting to such desperate measures. How long has she been dosing herself?

I edge out from behind the chair. “Rose, I—”

“What in Briar is going on?” Mistress Lavender barrels into Rose’s parlor, bright silver splotches on her white cheeks. “Delphine could hear your shouting from the front of the house.”

Rose wipes at her face. In half a heartbeat, her breathing has calmed and her expression is neutral, making my head spin with how quickly she can throw on the mask of nonchalance. “Nothing. I was just showing Alyce a new enhancement.”

Mistress Lavender’s lips pucker, gaze flicking between us, scenting the lie. Rose gestures for me to return her bowl, daring me to tell Mistress Lavender what she was doing. But I won’t. It’s her secret. I have enough of my own. And so I pass the bowl back. She’s careful to keep the contents out of view.

“Well,” Mistress Lavender says after a few charged seconds, her battle stance relaxing. “It’s nice to see you two working together for a change.” She pats at her tight chignon and tugs down her bodice. “But do be quieter about it in future.”

“Of course,” I mumble.

“And, Alyce, dear. There’s a patron waiting for you downstairs.”

—

Walk-ins are the worst sort of patron. Usually, they arrive in the heat of an argument. The elixirs they request are particularly vicious, skirting the line of what’s permitted within the Grace Laws. I grit my teeth as I trudge out to my Lair.