Malice

in with the other dishes. One even a servant might use.
Tarkin wants me to curse this? My mind sifts through a hundred possibilities as to how to accomplish it, each of them more unlikely than the last. Kal said there’s magic in everything—even a chalice? And how do I make it erase someone else’s memory?
But these are questions for later. A fat velvet sack rests at the bottom of the chest. I untie the strings. Three times my normal rate of gold glistens in the light of my hearth. Gold that will carry me across the Carthegean Sea. Away from this life forever.
—
It’s just under a week before I see Aurora again. She secures my last appointment of the evening, under the name “Mistress Nightingale,” and arrives right on time.
“I was right!” She hefts a burlap bag onto my worktable and begins digging through it. “The chest in the library did contain books about the Nightseekers. I suppose we’re lucky the masters left that place alone. These would have been burned if they found them.”
She thrusts one under my nose. It has the raven emblem stamped on the cover.
The apple pastry I’d been eating suddenly tastes of ash. “I take it you’ve read them?”
“As much as I could. They’re filled with little spells and rituals. Some of them look like nonsense. But here, this one is for summoning.” She shows me a diagram of a large wheel labeled Summonus. Beside it, a list of ingredients and instruments and instructions that might as well be written in a foreign language. “Do you think you could manage this? It might summon the Vila who cast the curse. She must be able to break it.”
“From what I know about my magic, that’s a dangerous game,” I hedge, wiping my butter-stained fingers on my skirt. “Vila power can only be used for ill intent. Curse breaking is too pure.”
“What harm could it do to try? These books were written by Nightseekers. They learned from the Vila.” She taps the wheel on the page, impatient. “Surely using your own breed of magic isn’t too much of a risk.”
Dragon’s teeth, she’s stubborn. But I can see I’ll get nowhere trying to dissuade her. I change tactics. “Your curse was cast centuries ago. We can’t summon a dead Vila.”
“No.” Aurora riffles through her stack of books, undeterred. A tiny crease forms between her brows and the peach-pink glimmer of her tongue appears as she concentrates. “But Vila and Fae don’t die the way humans do. Look.” She gestures enthusiastically at an illustration of a dense forest. The trees are silver and obsidian. “This was a battleground during the War of the Fae. Both Etherians and Vila died there. Trees sprouted from the remnants of their magic.” She points to the fruit in the branches, like hanging gems. “Trees that grew apples stuffed with rubies or plums laced with nightshade.”
A tremor ripples through me. Is that what will happen to me when I die?
“And here.” She flips a few pages. “A lake in Etheria where a light Fae drowned. If you drink from it, you gain immortality.”
“These sound like legends. Has anyone actually seen these places? Know anyone who drank from that lake?”
She closes the book with an irritated thump. “You said you would help. And if we use the ritual to summon the Vila’s magic, maybe we can find a way to reverse it. You’re the best shot I have.”
She nudges the summoning ritual under my nose again with a pleading expression and I heave a sigh. She might be right. The Vila may not be able to overturn the curse herself. But if her magic could be located, perhaps it could be destroyed. And then Aurora’s curse would be ended for good.
—
At Aurora’s unrelenting insistence, I find myself at Hilde’s the next day with the copied-out list of ingredients we need for the summoning ritual in hand. I still think it’s a terrible idea to attempt the thing. But Aurora was so certain. At least if we try and fail, we can forget the whole business and she won’t blame me.
“What chewed you up and spit you out half-eaten?” The apothecary drums her beet-stained fingers on the countertop and cocks her head at me.
My shoulders hunch. Aurora said she’d be back as soon as she could, and so I’d spent the rest of the night poring over the ritual’s instructions. Dark circles smudge beneath my sleep-deprived eyes. My hair sticks to my scalp in greasy clumps.
Another customer, pimple-faced and gangly, slides me a sideways glance before deciding he can finish his business later. The shop bell clangs behind him.
“Have those Graces sent you again?”
“No.” I pass her the rumpled list of what I need, written so hastily the ink is smeared. “I’m here for my own enhancements.”
Hilde peers at the list, fishing out dingy spectacles from an apron pocket. “Trying to make me go blind, I see.” She points. “Is this bogswort or beetle brains?”
“Bogswort,” I answer, reddening. “Obviously.” I’ve never heard of beetle brains being used as an enhancement.
“Don’t sass me, little miss.” She slaps the list down and sets to work filling my order. “Keeping busy, I take it.”
“Extremely.”
“That nasty turn at the castle didn’t keep ’em away for long, eh?”
At the mention of the Weltross incident, I squirm, becoming suddenly fascinated with a selection of peacock feathers Hilde has displayed on the counter. “No.”
“Oh, don’t mind me.” Hilde chuckles. “I don’t hold it against you. Anyone who comes knocking on your door deserves what they ask for. And not in a pretty-wrapped silk package.”
I forgot how much I appreciate Hilde’s wisdom.
“But tell me.” She returns from the back of the shop, passing over three jars filled with various shades of powder. “Is that all the Dark Grace has brewing?” The wrinkles on her brow deepen. “You look like a sailor blown in by a hurricane, but there’s still a spark in those eyes.”
I look away, at anything but her knowing honey-brown