Malice

well for me.
“Alyce, where have you been?” She doesn’t even wait for a response as she grabs my arm and tows me into the parlor. Callow clicks her beak and ruffles her wings, and I struggle to calm her. “Delphine had to reschedule three patrons for tomorrow, so now you’re double booked. If you disappear like that again, you’ll owe the house for the lost time. Do you understand me?”
I mumble my assent, seething at Marigold’s haughty smirk. A servant I don’t recognize waits in a corner, wringing a wine-colored cap in his hands. I’m not sure if his nervousness is because of Mistress Lavender’s fuming or my own presence.
“And you’re needed at the palace. At once.”
“Why?” The servant, a jittery slip of a boy, isn’t wearing royal livery.
“It’s Duke Weltross.” Mistress Lavender drops her voice, shoving a rumpled paper into my free hand while keeping a wary eye on Callow. I register the burgundy seal of the duke’s house and my heart clenches. His wife, the duchess, is often a patron of Lavender House, one of Marigold’s. And I’d heard her husband was ill. I did not think he was ill enough for my sort of treatment. “The duchess sent word. He’s in a bad way, Alyce.”
I don’t have to open the summons to know what Duchess Weltross wants. A swift, gentle passing for her husband. Freedom from her duties as nursemaid. The queasiness that always accompanies my terminal patrons already begins to churn and the ache in my temples increases by tenfold. Dark Grace. Bringer of death.
“My kit is downstairs” is all I can say.
“Marigold, go and fetch it,” Mistress Lavender instructs. “And take the bird with you.”
“But I—” Marigold gapes at Callow like she’s a dragon instead of a tame kestrel. But Mistress Lavender doesn’t let her finish.
“Go! And don’t dawdle. She’s late enough as it is. I’ll fetch her cloak.”
My limbs feel made of lead. I want to refuse this errand. I’m better than this. More than the villain they’ve created. I close my eyes, consider tapping into the magic of the wood and stones and mortar of this house and bringing it all down around their ears.
But I do not. Because I’m a coward.
And so I transfer Callow to Marigold’s trembling arm. My poor kestrel looks as happy about the situation as I am. Marigold winces as Callow’s angry talons pierce the thin silk of her dressing gown, and then she sulks off, muttering to herself and watching Callow like the sullen bird might peck out her eyes. I hope Callow does.
“Where have you been all day?”
The voice makes me jump. I hadn’t noticed Laurel when I came in. She’s tucked herself into a reading chair, the embroidered Briar roses on her wide sleeves gleam in the soft light of a swan-shaped lamp at her side. Her book is still open on her lap.
“You look terrible.”
I almost laugh. Laurel. Graced in wisdom, but not tact.
“I’ve been out.”
“Obviously.” Her stoic gaze lingers on the mud stains splotched up to my knees and the windblown mess of my hair. “If I’d known you insist on making such a state out of all your clothes, I never would have given you that dress.”
Guilt snakes up my throat. I never thanked Laurel for what she did. “I’m sorry about that. And I—” I pause, unused to giving apologies that I mean. “I should have told you how much I appreciated it. The gown was beautiful.”
Laurel shuts her book. “You seemed like you were having a good time in it.”
“Yes.” Happiness ghosts through me, remembering the way Arnley had whirled me around the dance floor. How he looked at me like I was some radiant courtier. And how that look had withered. Laurel guesses the direction of my thoughts.
“Rose is confined to her rooms when she doesn’t have patrons.” One corner of her mouth quirks. “Mistress Lavender didn’t want to punish her in front of the court to protect the reputation of the house, but she received quite the tongue-lashing all the way home.”
“Well, that’s something.” Not enough. But better than nothing.
“And her wages are forfeit until the dress and mask are paid for. And they were very expensive.”
A sliver of satisfaction cuts through my resentment. The punishment won’t harm her Grace standings, but it will keep her from adding to her precious wardrobe. “Now I’m sorry I missed the look on her face.”
Laurel’s grin widens. “It was quite entertaining.”
A warm moment passes between us, one I’m not used to sharing with a Grace. “If Mistress Lavender gives me the money, I’ll pass it along.”
“Keep it.” Laurel waves away the offer. “You’re owed more than that for the night you endured.”
I’m not sure what to say, and so I’m silent, balling up the summons in my fist.
“Rose was wrong.” The silk of Laurel’s dressing gown rustles. “You’re not hated, Alyce. Not by all of us.”
The crisp points of the crumpled parchment dig into my palm. “Not by all,” I answer. “But by enough.”
—
This time, I am not welcomed at the swirling gates of the palace. The Weltrosses’ servant leads me through an achingly familiar back entrance. I remember my first visit through these cloistered halls. My knees could hardly hold me and my hands slipped on my kit, knowing I was here to end a life. Torn about whether or not I could do it.
The Grace Laws regarding these services are gray at best, and the Grace Council has conveniently neglected to clarify them. While Grace magic can’t be used to intentionally cause harm, the definition of harm is loose. After all, Graces can only produce blessings and charms with their Fae-blessed blood. Rose couldn’t use her beauty gift to hurt a fly. But Laurel, for instance, could potentially employ her enhanced wisdom to discern the best way to cause someone pain or the best strategy in battle. Treasonous practices when used against Briar.
Since I am half Vila, mine is the only power able to inflict direct, premeditated harm.