Page 46 of Malice

The patron huddles near the hearth. A woman, I think. Her shape is hidden beneath the folds of a garnet cloak. Callow ruffles her wings at the sound of my footsteps, and the patron turns and lowers her hood.

I trip over my own feet. “Your Highness!”

“Do you keep all your patrons waiting this long?”

“How did you—why did you—” Clumsily, I slam the door shut behind me and draw the bar, certain Mistress Lavender or someone else is about to find me here with the crown princess of Briar and how much trouble that will bring.

But why would they? No one ever ventures into my Lair. Especially not when I have a patron. Anonymity is the largest chunk of my fee. The rush of adrenaline ebbs.

“I could think of no other way.” Aurora—Aurora,I have to repeat it in my mind—ambles the perimeter of the dank chamber, picking up odd-shaped vials of deep plum valerian syrup and jars of pickled nettles. She peers at me through a bright vermilion liquid, her eyes ten times the size they should be. “You ignored my notes.”

Callow paces back and forth on her stand. I go to her, fishing a scrap of meat out of a bucket and watching her gobble it down. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” The question stings. Aurora folds her arms across her middle. She’s hurt, I realize. She thinks I didn’t want to see her.

“Yes.” I focus on the brittle-edged silk of Callow’s feathers beneath my fingertips. “I wanted to come, but—” The rest floats away. I don’t want to lie to her, but I also don’t want to implicate the queen. “I wasn’t sure another meeting was what you wanted.”

“Why would I have sent the notes if it wasn’t?”

“Because you’re a princess. And I’m…” I start fidgeting with various instruments strewn over my worktable, rearranging them in no particular order. “Me.”

A hint of appleblossom and gardenia tickles my nose. Clean, heady scents that don’t belong here. The princess plants herself across from me.

“I enjoy spending time with you. I don’t know why you find that so difficult to believe.”

Because no one else has ever wanted to. Except Kal. I drag my gaze to Aurora’s, finding the bared soul of someone who has never had to question her place in the world. A long-frozen chamber in my heart begins to thaw.

But then the queen’s threats float back to me, laced with the crackle of the fire.

“Even if I wanted to”—I return my attention to the worktable—“I can’t.”

“Why not? I have plenty of coin to pay you.”

The hot wax of my insides solidifies in an instant. I almost forgot—she had to pay Delphine in order to be admitted. And part of that payment will trickle down to me. Pearl’s comment from dinner strikes home, that the princess is only fascinated with me because I am grotesque. “Because I’m a pet you can toy with and then throw away when you’re bored?”

I storm to the hearth and snatch up the poker, taking out my anger on the half-crumbled logs. The fire coughs and spits black soot. The smell of ash burns against my throat.

“I didn’t mean that. I just— I thought this was how it worked with the Graces.”

“You can’t just pretend to be a patron.” I’m being harsher than necessary, but I don’t care. “And I don’t know how I feel about you paying to spend time with me. As if I’m some kind of— of pleasure Grace.”

A few beats of strained silence thrum.

“I didn’t think of it like that.” Her voice is small. “I’m sorry. I wanted to see you again and you wouldn’t come to me. You left in such a rush after dinner. I can guess why.”

Swiping my sleeve over the soot on my brow, I set the poker down. But I don’t look at her. Don’t admit what happened.

“I’m not an idiot.” Aurora puts herself in my way when I try to slide past. “I know how my mother can be. Do you think you’re the first friend she’s chased off?”

“I have absolutely no idea.”

“Why do you think I told you to meet me in the servants’ halls? Slipped my guards and came here? I don’t pay to see all my friends, you know.”

Some of the tension between my shoulder blades unspools. Aurora wanted to see me badly enough to plan out the particulars.

“Though, I admit, something to turn my guards into toads would have been most useful.” She notices Prince Markham on a nearby table and sticks her finger through the slats of his cage, rubbing his warty head. He lets out a sound that might be a toad purr.

“I can’t do that with an elixir.” She frowns. “And I can’t go back to the palace. Not to see you. Not even in secret. Your mother was very clear.”