Malice

the way my shoulders hunch and my head drops, submitting to this creature the way I have a hundred thousand times before.
“He obviously did not heed my advice.” The Etherian selects another bit of cheese and chews it thoughtfully. “Humans are always so fascinated by magic. And yours was a new toy for him to play with.”
Wind rattles down the chimney. Cinders sizzle as they fly free of the hearth and onto the freezing stone floor. Callow cries out and strains against her tether.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Such a demanding half-breed,” he croons, using that tone that has haunted my nightmares for over a decade. “Such anger. It will serve you poorly. Become your undoing, if you are not careful.”
The magic in the Etherian staff whirls in time to the tempest in my ears. Aurora said the source of the Fae lord’s magic was in that staff. How sturdy is the glass protecting it? My power aches to find out.
“I was but a child when the War of the Fae ravaged Etheria and threatened my own. But I know well enough that Vila magic is unpredictable. The power of a half-breed is even more wild and untamed. I told Tarkin that perhaps at first you would only be able to create elixirs—a Dark Grace, as they call you. But one day, your power might truly manifest. And when it did, there was no end to the havoc you could wreak.”
“You’re saying you’re afraid of me?”
Endlewild’s cruel, catlike eyes narrow, his easy grace chipped at the edges. “I am saying that if I find you are more Vila than I first perceived, I will not hesitate to put you down. And not even the Briar King can stop me.”
I don’t grant him a response. Callow rages from her perch.
“It would be a kindness to you,” he goes on. “You do not understand your power. It will consume you, Alyce. And take everything around you down with it.”
My own name shudders through me, colder than any winter wind.
Lord Endlewild rises. “I will be keeping watch. I hope I do not have cause to return. Or”—he pauses at the door, his profile lit up by the magic of his staff—“perhaps I do hope so.”
The door snicks closed behind him, a lingering scent of meadows and rain the only sign that he was ever here.
An all-too-familiar shame scalds my chest, coupled with a wave of fury so strong that I have to dig my fingernails into my flesh to keep from razing this Lair—this house, the entire realm—to rubble. But it’s not just the Fae lord. I hate myself. Hate the fact that I still cower before the Etherian. That I still fear him.
In all my training with Kal, in my time with Aurora, I thought I had shed that weakness. But I’m no better than the child I once was. Huddled in the darkness, just waiting for the next kick to land.
Unable to reenter Lavender House lest the servants see the red limning my eyes, I untether Callow and curl up in a corner by the hearth. Whether through need or by command, I Shift as I did when I was a child, making myself as small and compact as possible. Callow scoots close to me, wedging her body in the warm crook of my neck.
And then I let myself drift in the inky waters of my despair, until my bell rings and announces my first patron of the day.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
There’s a party held that evening to honor one of Tarkin’s newly minted generals, yet another excuse for the entire Grace District to drink their weight in wine until sunrise, and so my patron schedule empties shortly after midday. I know I won’t be seeing Aurora, either, and so I snatch a few hours’ rest, gather Callow, and escape to the black tower.
If Endlewild knew what I was doing with Kal, he would have made good on his threats. And probably burned the tower down for good measure. But I know his promise to watch me was not an idle one. And so after I’m clear of the Common District checkpoint, I push my Shifter magic to its limits. For the first time, I’m able to hold a Shift for longer than a few minutes. I become a beggar woman with a weathered face that not even the guards at the main gates bother to question. Still, I think I feel eyes on my back with every step.
Between lack of sleep, restless anxiety, and spent magic, I’m a jumble of buzzing nerves by the time I reach the tower and let my Shift fall away. Callow sails ungracefully to the ground, complaining when she lands at an awkward angle.
“Haughty Fae beast,” Kal spits out when I’ve told him of Endlewild’s visit. “He has no right to threaten you. His kin murdered your own.”
“It’s not the first time he’s threatened me, and I doubt it’s the last.” I pull my cloak closer against the shards of icy sea spray. “When I told you of my childhood—all the tests and treatments were done under Endlewild’s direction. He wanted the Briar King to kill me when they found me. Now he’s just waiting for an excuse to do it himself.”
Kal tenses with each word, his shadows like spears in the dimness. “He will not kill you. Not as long as I live.”
I don’t see that there’s much Kal can do from this prison, but I hold my tongue. The sentiment means more than I can say. “He can’t prove anything about my power, otherwise he would have already executed me. And the Briar King doesn’t want me dead—not yet.” When I escape Briar, he might change his tune.
“That will not stop the Fae beast.” Kal paces along the perimeter of the chamber, which is submerged in the deepening indigo of twilight. “Does he know you are part Shifter?”
“No.” Of that much, I’m certain. Being half Vila is bad enough