Malice

duke’s blood on my face. His death was caused by the best intentions. “And now she’s dead.”
“Not even Vila are immortal. Most of the time, their magic outlives them—as with the curse on the princess.” He holds out his arms, indicating the shadows around his wrists. “And my own enchantment.”
I blink in surprise. Had he just told me it was Vila who bound him here? But why would they have done that when their courts treated Shifters with honor?
“Do you mean…”
“That is quite enough for one evening. I would much rather spend our time teaching you how to Shift.”
I don’t want to let the subject go, but the enchantment won’t let him tell me anything else. And the curse won’t be my concern for much longer.
Kal begins pacing the perimeter of the tower. “Shifting is easy once you know how to do it. It will be more difficult for you, as a half-Shifter. But I am certain you will thrive.”
“That makes one of us,” I grumble.
“Doubt will only weaken you.” He motions for me to join him, rolling his shoulders back. “Like everything else I taught you, Shifting is about intent. Think of what you want and command your magic to do it.”
“Impossible. I would have Shifted a hundred times by now if it were that simple.”
“Why?”
“Because…because I’ve wished so often to appear…different.” Gooseflesh rises under my sleeves, recalling the hours spent in front of my mirror, detesting the reflection inside. The thousand wishes I’d whispered as a child, desperate for my looks to alter. To wake up one day and resemble the Graces. Even a regular human. Anything but what I was.
“Those are wishes. Flimsy, hollow things.” He flicks his long fingers, as if shooing an annoying gnat. “Think. Young Shifters manifest their gifts in strange ways before they fully grasp the magic, as your own blood did when you described what happened with the fountain at the palace. Has there ever been a time when you changed? Even in the slightest?”
“No.” But the answer is too immediate and my mind starts wading back through memory without my bidding. My ability to hold my breath underwater when Endlewild and the healing Graces were testing my power. The way the servants glance right over me when I eavesdrop, as if I have blended into the very walls. Even gathering the damn carrion crows’ eggs, when I can climb higher than any human ought to.
My breathing shortens. Kal reads the lines of my face.
“I thought so. You change now when you need to, at your power’s unwitting command. But you are in charge of your power. Not the other way around.”
Kal must scent my uncertainty. He circles me.
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes.” Kal has cultivated my gifts. Not tried to drown or bleed them out of me. The puckered half-moon scar on my stomach sears as though freshly made, the phantom pain hitting every nerve. I grit my teeth against it.
“Then try.”
Mustering the dregs of my confidence, I find the cord of my magic, the scent of loam and woodsmoke swelling. At first, my grip slackens, unsure of what I want and how to wield this new ability. Then I look down at my hands. The reptilian blood and nearly translucent skin that has plagued me since the day I was born. Marked me as a monster. As an other no one wanted.
“Tell it what to do,” Kal coaxes from beside me. “Do not wish. Command.”
Keeping a hold on my power, I picture Laurel. She is seamless and polished. Effortlessly elegant. I dare to imagine myself in the same fashion, and tell my magic to obey. At first, there’s nothing. No invisible limb curling out of me or a thrumming of power. But then the tips of my fingers begin to tingle. My ragged, bitten fingernails lengthen into identical pearly half-moons. The dry, scaly surface of my skin smooths and glows. It happens so quickly I jerk back in surprise, losing my control. The illusion vanishes.
“I— I Shifted.” I don’t know whether to be awed or horrified.
“Almost.” Kal puts both hands on my shoulders, directing my focus to him. “Try again. This time, change everything at once. You will know when it is done.”
My magic is waiting for me, warm and buzzing behind my sternum. Eager to be used.
I want to be beautiful, I tell it.
It only wiggles. That was too close to a wish. A mere suggestion. Setting my jaw and steeling my spine, I try again.
Beauty. I don’t picture anyone in particular. Just the idea, pushing it out with everything that I have. To my utter amazement, my magic responds like a horse spurred into a canter. Heat races from my toes to the crown of my head. My bones stretch, a gentle tugging sensation that feels almost comforting. My scalp prickles, hair rising and rearranging as if caught in a sea breeze. Muscles go warm and rubbery, the way they do in a hot bath. The scent of woodsmoke and wet earth wraps around me like a blanket, mixed with something else. Appleblossoms, I think. And spring rain.
And then everything stills. I can feel the cold, salt-soaked wind stinging my cheeks. I blink my eyes open, sleepy and disoriented. I’m taller, I think. Almost eye level with Kal. He is staring at me, his mouth hanging open.
“What is it?” My pulse speeds up. I flex my hands, finding that long, slender fingers have replaced my own. There’s no trace of my Vila blood. My shoes are too big. The bodice of my gown looser. The floor tilts and I think I will faint, but Kal catches me around the waist and guides me closer to the gap in the wall, where the russet-streaked sunset is lighting up a shallow puddle on the stones.
“Look,” he says, herding me forward when he gets too close to the light.
I am numb and shaking, but force one foot in front of the other. Lean over the molten amber mirror. The woman looking back