Malice

much for their elixirs that only the wealthiest nobles can afford them. But, in order to preserve fairness among the houses, Royal Graces are exempt from house standings until they are excused from royal service.
When they’re not working, these Graces enjoy throwing extravagant parties and dinners in their palace chambers. I’ve heard Rose griping about how seldom she is invited to the gatherings. Though lately her complaints have turned to energetic gossip about how one of the Royal Graces might be Fading. If it’s the beauty Grace, the vacancy she leaves is one Rose might actually kill for.
“The Dark Grace is hardly our competition,” Pearl drawls. She selects an hors d’oeuvre from a passing tray that looks like a crystalized Briar rose and nibbles on a petal. “Besides, I’m sure it’s a fleeting fancy. The princess is young and sheltered. A fascination with such a…creature is understandable. She’s never seen anything so grotesque.”
My ears begin to burn, the cord of my magic quivering. I fight the urge to send it out and make that beautiful Grace hair fall out of her head.
“Or perhaps she murdered someone the princess hated.” Marigold laughs, shoveling another spoonful of a custard-like mold into her mouth. “Like with Duke Weltross.”
The table freezes.
“Oh, that was a gruesome business, wasn’t it?” Narcisse leans in, one of her belled earrings tinkling. “Do tell us, Alyce. What happened?”
“It was an accident.” I keep my eyes down, but my white napkin becomes the bloodstained sheets from that night. I dig my nails into it, probably poking holes through the linen.
“Was it?” Rose swirls her goblet. “You never did explain.”
“Because it’s none of our business.” Laurel again. “And it’s not as if you haven’t had your share of accidents lately.”
Rose flinches like she’s been slapped. Pearl’s catlike attention cuts across the table. “That’s true. I’d nearly forgotten. How are you coping, dear?” She reaches to pat Rose’s wrist in a manner that could only be described as predatory.
“They were—” Rose takes a visible breath, the lace at her neckline fluttering. “Flukes. My enhancements were probably soured.”
Marigold nods. “Exactly. Rose’s gift is as strong as ever, as our standings will prove.”
“Well, I hope you’ve punished the servant responsible. Such accidents could mean everything at the next Grace Ceremony.”
Rose speaks through gritted teeth. “I plan to.”
My heart skips, and I take another sip of wine against my better judgment. It’s smoother than the last time. My head buzzes.
“Even so.” Pearl runs her thumb over her ring. “We can’t ignore the fact that such…flukes could be a sign that your gift is weakening.”
Rose goes perfectly still, the knuckles holding her goblet stretching white. I worry that the glass might shatter. “I’m fine. I worked on Lady Eleanora earlier today. She turned out beautifully.”
“She did,” Marigold chirps. “Absolutely stunning.”
“That’s so good to hear.” Pearl grants them a cloying, condescending smile as she spoons Etherium into her wine. “Briar would certainly hate to lose such a gifted Grace.”
A line of servants marches through a side door. A footman sets a dish in front of each guest, then they sweep away the cloche coverings in one unnervingly synchronized motion. Venison, drizzled in herbed butter, all served on golden plates.
Except mine.
A throbbing starts behind my eyes as I stare down at the silver plate. No one even bothered to polish it. Tarnish dims the edges, mottling my reflection. Like the bell in my Lair.
“Forgive me, Dark Grace.” The man’s voice is close to my ear, shaking slightly. “We had no more golden plates for tonight’s dinner.”
I swallow. This room is pure opulence. The vaulted ceiling is painted as the night sky, studded with what are probably real diamonds. The fireplace is large enough to walk into, carved with intricate designs of ambrosia fruit and Briar roses intertwined with the king’s and queen’s initials. Gilt cutlery and jeweled goblets drink the candlelight. There are less than a dozen Graces here tonight. Three times as many are usually present at a more formal dinner. And so I know that they did not run out of gold plates. That someone told them to deliberately not give me one.
To exclude me.
“And what about you, Alyce?” Pearl’s voice is hardly audible over the rushing against my eardrums. I force my stiff neck to turn to her. “Do you think the incident with the poor duke is any indication that your power is Fading?”
The rapt attention of the table falls on me like a wet woolen blanket.
Without once breaking my gaze from Pearl’s, I pick up my fork and knife and saw into the venison. It’s tender, cooked rare. I can smell the red juices that burst from beneath the skin and pool on the plate, iron and salt and spices. It spills out of my lips and dribbles down my chin as I stuff a hunk into my mouth. My own reflection glares back at me in the gold saucers of Pearl’s eyes, the only Grace plate I’ll receive tonight. My lips are bloody. Crimson tracks down my neck. Smears across my teeth.
I bolt down the half-chewed meat with a sloppy gulp.
“What do you think?”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The rest of dinner progresses at the pace of a garden snail. No one says much as the other courses are whisked in and out of the room, although Laurel did raise her glass to me after my stunt with the venison. By the time the herald announces that we should progress to the drawing room, the other Graces can’t remove themselves fast enough.
Endlewild disappeared after a dish of some sort of gelatinous meat, thank the dragon, and so I don’t have to bear his silent, piercing scrutiny any longer. Before trailing after her parents, Aurora locks gazes with me and completes an elaborate series of hand gestures that I take to mean find me later.
A swarm of servants is ready for us in the drawing room, bearing trays of swollen cream puffs piled into pyramids, succulent glazed pastries topped with sugared