Page 52 of Malice

“I don’t know how to curse a chalice—or anything for that matter,” I say after I’ve finished telling Kal about the king’s commission. I sit on a stairstep and Callow flaps unsteadily from my shoulder. “The only thing I can think to use is an elixir, but—”

“Elixirs?” Shadows curl around Kal’s ankles. “You have known for some time that you do not need those to command your power. The Vila who cursed the royal line certainly did not simply wrap up a vial of ‘curse water’ and bid the princess to drink it.”

I bristle, even though I know he’s teasing. “How else am I supposed to get my power to manipulate a human’s without my being near them?”

“Your magic hinges on intent—that’s the only thing that matters. Your elixirs worked because you wanted them to work. Because your blood carried your command. It is not the most direct way to use your power, but it can be very effective—as with the curse on the royal line.”

Icy flecks of spray land on my cheeks and I swipe at them. “You’re saying that if I can’t reach a heart of magic, all I have to do is smear my blood on something and it’s cursed?”

“Your blood holds your intent, Alyce. It lends a spark of your power to whatever you curse.” He laughs at the scowl on my face. “Is that so difficult to believe? When you have spent over half a decade crafting—what are they called? Ugliness elixirs?”

The tower groans against the sea wind.

“Those wore off,” I argue. “The king wants something far more powerful.”

“And why do you think your power weakened so quickly when you were serving yourpatrons?” He sneers at the very idea of the nobles.

I begin to pace. Callow complains when I tread too close and interrupt her feasting among the grainy mortar. She snatches an insect out of the air and crunches it in half. “Because I wasn’t using it properly?”

“Maybe.” The buttons on Kal’s doublet shine in the night. “It could not have been because you desired your elixirs to weaken?”

The next wave roars. “Because I…”

Dragon’s teeth. My elixirs worked because I commanded my power to behave like the Graces’. And the effects of the Graces’ elixirs Fade. I never intended to permanently harm anyone. My power understood that.

“Yes, Alyce.” Kal grins. “The stronger the intent, the stronger the curse.”

A shudder runs through me. The Vila who cursed Aurora’s line must have been crazed with bloodlust. I shake myself a little.

“Try it yourself.” Kal gestures around the chamber, at the graveyard of broken furniture and debris. “Choose something and curse it.”

I consider my options. A rusted chair. A rotting beam. Not particularly inspiring.

“Curse me if you will.”

“No,” I answer automatically. When I was first learning to use my power, that’s exactly what I’d had to do. Mistress Lavender was certain I could command light magic if I only tried hard enough, and so she ordered me to charm the maids and the cooks, the way the Graces do when they’re practicing in the nurseries. But I produced only scaled faces and garbled voices and hunched backs. The attempts wore off, as they always do, but the effect on my reputation was long-lasting. And why it used to be that we couldn’t get many servants to stay at Lavender House for more than a month. “You’ve had enough cursing for one lifetime, I think.”

Something glimmers near Callow. I kick a few stones away, revealing a small hand mirror covered in cobwebs and brine. I wipe it clean with the hem of my cloak, frowning at my own spotted reflection within. And then I remember something I read about Etheria. That mirrors crafted from the sand of their lakes can be visual portals to other worlds. My Vila power couldn’t create something like that. But perhaps I could do something else.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I dig out the small knife I keep in my sack, draw my blood, and squeeze a single drop of it over the glass.

“Give it some direction,” Kal coaches. “Intent.”

“Whoever looks in this mirror,” I begin, even as doubt chews away at my resolve, “will see their deepest fear.”

Blood the color of hemlock splatters on the glass. And then it vanishes. A plume of emerald smoke unfurls from the surface. The tarnished silver is warmer to my touch than it should be, the glass undulating like water in the frame. As if my blood brought it to life.

Holding my breath, I tilt the mirror toward my face. For a moment, all I see is myself. But then my reflection ripples. The angles of my face sharpen, my cheekbones lengthening and stretching until twin points of bone protrude above each ear. Spikes of bone erupt along my collarbone and above my eyebrows like the peaks of the Etherian Mountains. My eyes blare green fire and a charge blazes up from my toes, filling my lungs with the smell of woodsmoke and leather and another scent that isn’t mine.

I amher.

The realization tears through me like an arrow striking home. The Vila who cast the curse on the royal line. On Aurora. My mouth opens and tips of jagged yellow teeth gleam. Lips curve into a smile without my bidding. Screaming a curse, I hurl the mirror across the tower. Glass explodes when it meets the stone of the opposite wall. Callow shrieks and hops away.

“What did you see?” Kal nears me slowly.

Numbness tingles across my scalp and I wrap my arms around my middle, needing something to hold me together. “Am I as bad as she was?” I whisper. “For working with the king? For cursing innocents?”

“Is that who appeared to you?” His shadows brush my skirts. “The ancient Vila? You have no reason to be frightened of her. She cannot harm you.”