Malice

on a pyramid of fruit. Its cascade of tail feathers brushes the floor. “But I did, because you’re the one person at court I can stand for longer than half an hour.”
“That can’t be true,” I argue, relieved that the subject of the book is momentarily forgotten. “And I’m not at court.”
“You should have seen the men I had to kiss this morning. One of them insisted on prattling on about the cattle breeding trade in his kingdom, even after his kiss didn’t take.” She shudders. “I think he still believed there was a chance we’d get married.”
We’re nearing the royal table. Another guest has slithered in. Endlewild sits to the right of the king, pushing an assortment of quail’s eggs around his plate with a gilded fork. Snippets of their conversation float above the din.
“I’m commissioning a new trade ship, Lord Ambassador.” Tarkin motions for more wine. “I’ve heard that the Fae can weave fabric of such quality that it never tears. That it could be used to craft a sail that does not even need wind to steer it. Is that true?”
Endlewild spears the yolk of one egg and watches it ooze over his plate. “My kin are capable of many feats unknown to mortals.”
Tarkin’s mustache twitches. “Perhaps. But answering my questions directly has never been one you’ve accomplished during your lengthy tenure.” He drinks deeply. “How much would such fabric cost? Surely Briar can afford the expense.”
But the Fae ambassador doesn’t reply. He watches me instead. Aurora and I round the front of the dais. She curtsies quickly to Queen Mariel, but I am frozen in place, as if pinned by Endlewild’s gaze. Like I’m an insect that has wandered onto his dinner plate, and he has me between the tines of his fork.
Somehow I manage to bend my knees into the appropriate obeisance, the scar on my torso aching.
“I insist you come more often to save me from such company.” Aurora leads me away, but I can still feel the Fae lord’s attention sizzling like a brand into my back. “And I’m dying to know what you thought of that book. Did you find anything? Do you think—” But the sound of a gong cuts her off. Aurora grimaces. “Damn. I’m sure they sat you with the Graces, though I do wish you could be with me. Perhaps we could arrange…”
“No, I—” I’d rather die than share a table with Endlewild, I don’t say. It’s bad enough sharing a room. My dress suddenly feels even tighter. “I’d better do what’s expected.”
“All right,” she relents. “But find me after dinner. There’ll be a reception in the drawing room. Or come to my chambers. A servant will tell you the way. Promise.”
She’s gone before I can answer.
I am seated with the Graces, the royal table mercifully at my back. I also notice a healthy amount of space between myself and the two Graces seated next to me. One is Pearl, Rose’s rival beauty Grace at Willow House. Her hair, done up with rhinestone-studded combs fashioned to look like starlings, is a unique shade of opal. Varying hues of turquoise and coral and citrine dive and then resurface in the candlelight, the colors made even more breathtaking against the dark umber of her skin. She’s been Rose’s chief competition for years. Rose pretends to be friendly with her, but I know she’d rip out the other Grace’s golden eyes and mash them into an elixir if given half the chance.
The other, I learn, is Narcisse. From the lacquered bell charms at her ears and on her bracelet, and the lilt of her laugh, I assume her gift is music. Graces like her are almost always put to work entertaining wealthy households and bestowing pleasant singing voices on patrons. I’ll probably have to sit through Narcisse’s recital later this evening. At least there will be plenty of wine.
Pearl and Narcisse’s easy chatter dies a sudden, gruesome death at my arrival.
“So.” Pearl adjusts the monstrous sapphire ring on her finger, a gift I heard she received from the Grace Council in honor of earning the most coin last year. Rose squawked about the thing for weeks, and I don’t think it’s an accident that Pearl is wearing it now. “A royal invitation for the Dark Grace. Has that ever happened before? Narcisse and I receive simply stacks of them, for one party or another. But you—I never would have thought it possible.”
“Nor I.” Rose sips her wine, sharing a loaded look with her rival. I’m so happy I can unite them in their distaste for me.
“And how exactly did you achieve such an honor? The royal family is very exclusive when it comes to these dinners. I was surprised to see even our dear Rose here tonight.”
“Yes,” Narcisse chimes in. She pats at her chignon, which boasts the reds and golds and coppers of living flame. Grace powder sparkles on her white shoulders. “It seems as if you’re quite the favorite with the crown princess.”
I take a gulp from my own goblet, if only to buy myself time. The wine is too sweet, more like honeyed nectar. I’m tempted to dump a spoonful of Etherium into it from the crystal dish at the center of the table. Anything to help me get through this night.
“What’s wrong?” Laurel drums her fingertips against the table. “Jealous?”
I could kiss her. The Graces frown, glancing over at the cluster of Royal Graces, who are talking comfortably at their table. The Royal Graces represent the pinnacle of Grace talent. Almost every Grace harbors a healthy dose of envy about their status. There are around five Royal Graces usually, each with a different gift. They serve at the palace until they show signs of Fading, and then they’re moved to a lesser house once a stronger Grace is selected to replace them. Though the Grace Laws technically forbid the monopolizing of a Grace for one family or person, the Royal Graces are so powerful and charge so