Malice

who would not forsake her. He went with the fallen Fae. Loved her. And chose to turn his own blood Vila.”
A wind gusts through the tower.
“You’re saying that a Fae lord willingly gave up his power? To be Vila?”
A slow grin spreads across Kal’s face. “He was not the only one. Over the centuries, many Fae elected to leave their courts and go to Malterre. Why would they not? Vila blood was more powerful than that of the Etherians. In Malterre, they were not bound to the strict order and etiquette of the Fae courts. They were free.”
Free. In the distance, a ship’s bell rings.
“And so, the Vila offspring. They weren’t—” My chest burns just thinking of what I’d read in Briar’s books.
“Incestuous bastards?” Kal’s shadows sharpen. “No. The suggestion that the first Vila’s offspring mated with one another to produce more of their kind is yet another slander. The Etherians were furious when their own took up with the Vila. And so they spun stories like the one you told me to try to keep others from going to Malterre.”
“But Etherians can’t lie,” I argue.
“No, but they misdirect. Spreading rumors is one of their favorite pastimes. Stay here.”
“Where are you going?”
But he’s already dissolved into the darkness, leaving me spinning in a tide pool of my own questions. Should I believe Kal? I have no reason to doubt him. He’s only ever helped and guided me, which is more than I can say for almost every soul in Briar. I’ve seen for myself how much Endlewild hates me because of my blood.
“Another book for you.” Kal materializes so swiftly that I startle. He holds out a leather-bound volume that looks in remarkably good condition for having been kept in this tower.
I take it with caution, running my hands over the cover. There’s no title, only an emblem stamped onto the leather. It looks somewhat like the sigil Endlewild wears, entwined laurel leaves curving together around an orb. But where the Fae lord’s is elegant—soft curling edges and shimmering color—this one is all sharp angles. The laurel leaves look closer akin to teeth, jagged-edged and brittle. And the orb is cracked, with something that might be blood oozing through the craggy break. “Why should I trust it?”
“A very good question.” One of Kal’s shadows grazes my cheek. “You do not have to trust it. But I can tell you that it came from Malterre. It is the history of the Vila, written by one of their own. Grimelde, a scribe from the court of Targen. I knew him. He managed to escape Malterre after the war and left it with me.”
“He didn’t free you?”
“He could not. Though he promised to return with reinforcements. That we would rebuild Malterre.” There’s a touch of bitterness in Kal’s voice. “I have not seen him again.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It matters little now.” Kal’s shadows unspool and waft toward me. “I think you will find many answers in his words. Vila were not the monsters the Etherians would have you believe.”
A wind sighs around us, laced with the hint of an early autumn. I tug my cloak closer. “But then why did the war start?”
“Why does any war start?” A gull laughs as it soars past the tower. “The Etherians abhorred the Vila for their difference. For the fact that their magic was the stronger breed. Vila power takes light magic and distorts it. And they loathe you for it.”
The scar on my middle aches, and I imagine that I can feel Endlewild’s grip bruising my arms as he pinned me down and held his staff to my skin. More than ever I’m certain that the book the Fae lord gave me was another instrument of his torture. That he wanted me to believe I was an abomination. Unworthy of even the air I breathed.
The angle of the sun has changed, casting me in shadow. Kal closes the distance between us in two sweeping strides.
“History is written by victors.” He cups my face in his ice-cold hands. Frost tickles my nose. “Embrace your gift. Your heritage. Such wild, untapped power. You are perfect.”
No one has ever, ever called me that word before. And I can’t help the sob that thunders up my throat. Kal pulls me close, tucks my head under his chin. I let my arms wrap around his waist, not even caring that it feels like I’m embracing a solid block of ice. That his heartbeat is slow and irregular and so faint I might be imagining it.
“It is the Graces who are monsters,” he says softly, his wintry breath on the shell of my ear. “For letting you believe such things about yourself.”
Long-held pain and resentment bleeds out of me, scraping me clean. Until I am an empty, hollow husk. I do not know what to say. What to do.
“I will never treat you so poorly.” Kal pulls back and tips my chin up. I see nothing of deception in his onyx gaze. Only appreciation. And caring, something I hardly recognize.
I wipe my freezing, wet cheeks with my sleeve. “Teach me, then.”
—
I return to Lavender House in the early evening, after a grueling training session.
I’m still not ready to Shift, and so we focused on my Vila power. Kal explained that it was easy for me to sabotage Rose’s patrons because I wanted fiercely to punish her. My intent was strong. But I must learn to steer my magic the way a rider controls her horse. And like any fledgling rider, I’m thrown on my ass more often than not—especially when the magic of another object is difficult to find. Which is why the small rock Kal bid me sculpt into a beastly gargoyle turned out as a lumpy, larger rock. And then the sword he wanted me to forge from a thorn was just a dull, rusty dagger. By the end of it, my head was pounding and my muscles spent.
Even as my body screams for a hot meal and my own