Malice

speaks again. “They threw themselves off the Crimson Cliffs instead.”
A high, tinny note rings in my ears. “They did what?”
“I suppose Eva knew that even if she did go to Cardon, she would be in danger. As Leythana’s heir, someone would want to get a child on her or hold her ransom—especially if her elder sister died.” The wind groans down the chimney. “In any case, it was a disaster. Cardon threatened war and Briar’s small council scrambled to cover up the scandal. In the end, it was decided that princesses would be formally restricted to male suitors. What happened with Eva made it clear enough the inconvenient situations that could arise with another woman involved. Cardon still receives a yearly shipment of Etherium as payment for their loss.”
“And so your parents would rather you die than have a woman break your curse?”
Aurora laughs, but it’s bitter. “Well, when you say it that way, it really does sound horrible.” She rubs the curse mark on her forearm and watches the hearth. “I know they only want to protect me. To protect the crown, but…”
The fire pops.
“What does happen”—I dig my toe into a smoking ember on the floor, not wanting to entertain the thought, but unable to escape it—“if you die?”
“I’m not exactly sure,” she admits quietly. “I’ve overheard my parents arguing about the subject. In truth, there won’t really be a problem until after Mother’s death, when there are no more Briar Queens. The Etherians will have to be involved at that point. It’s their blood that blessed our crown. They won’t ally with anyone else. But the small council and the other advisors keep me out of any discussions or negotiations they’re having with Etheria. I suppose they think it shouldn’t matter to me. After all, either I break the curse or I’ll be dead.”
She laughs a little again, but I don’t join her.
“It does matter to you, though. I know how much you want to rule.”
“Yes,” she says. “And I think I should be allowed to practice. Try my hand at diplomacy and dealing with the High King Oryn. In case I don’t die.” She deals me a grin. “But if I do…” She tugs at the pendant hanging from her necklace—a tiny gold dragon. “I imagine there will be another challenge.”
Another challenge. It seems unthinkable. Briar will be in chaos.
“Of course, Father thinks the whole crisis is the fault of the former queens. He says there shouldn’t have been restrictions placed on royal births—even if it meant more women would die if they didn’t break their curse.” She screws her lips into a snarl that very much resembles one I saw in the war room. “Such a mistake would never happen in Paladay.”
He can sail right back there.
“They might keep me out of their council meetings”—her amethyst gaze snaps back to mine—“but I’m determined to begin making some of my own decisions. And one of them is to come here. And see you. If you don’t object, of course.”
It takes me a moment to find my voice. “No.”
“Good. We can figure out something with the money I leave at the front. Donate it to the Common District, they need it well enough.”
The last of my anger melts. She would think of something like that.
Aurora crosses the room and raises a tentative hand to Callow. “Who is this?”
“My kestrel. Callow.” I dig out another treat and show her how to feed the bird. “I found her on the cliffs when she was just a chick. Her mother abandoned her after her wings were broken. No one wanted her. Mistress Lavender said I should just leave her.”
“Leave her to die?” Aurora pets the speckled fluff on Callow’s head.
“They wanted to do the same to me.” I shrug. “An ugly Grace infant with green blood.”
“I’m glad they didn’t.” She lowers her hand and it brushes against mine. Sparks shoot up my wrist. “Callow is lucky to have found you.”
“We found each other.”
I smile at my kestrel, once again struck by how similar we are. Both of us broken castoffs. Kept in the shadows, unable to fly. Callow tilts her head, as if she understands my thoughts.
“I’m sorry for her, though,” Aurora says. “It must be a miserable existence. To be caged your whole life.”
The lines of her body pull taut beneath her cloak. She knows something about that fate, I think. Beneath the crown and the lavish ballroom and expensive clothes, Aurora is little better than the Graces. A servant to the Crown instead of wearing it.
But I might be able to do something to help her.
“I have an idea. Since you are a paying customer.” I scurry along my shelves, plucking up bottles and jars and setting them on the worktable.
Aurora resumes her pacing around the room. “I wish I had chambers like this.”
“You want a lair?” I drop a dollop of magnolia-bark paste into a mortar, then sprinkle lavender heads on top, grunting as I mash it all together. “A cold, wet room that constantly stinks of smoke and blood?”
She laughs. “Remember, I like the abandoned library.”
“True.” A long tip of the valerian syrup completes the mixture. I stir everything together and funnel it into a small vial. “For your guards. A sleeping draught. It’s not an elixir, but a little bit in some tea will do the trick. Or coat a needle with it and prick them, if you’re feeling bold.”
“Oh, I’m always feeling bold.” Aurora winks and my heart skips.
She reaches for the vial. Our hands touch again. My scaly skin juxtaposed with her bronze-kissed glow. Light and darkness. Monster and maiden.
“Aurora.” I want to keep the words back, but I can’t help them. “Are you sure you don’t mind—me being part Vila? After—”
“I’ve already answered that.” She twirls the base of the vial on the table. “Whoever that Vila was who cursed my family, she was not you.”
“But I share her blood. Her curse killed your sisters. It might—”
“Enough.” She sits across from me.