Page 61 of Malice

I laugh. “The Etherians hate a lot of creatures without reason.”

“Like you.” The fire crackles. I don’t answer. “Did you know that the light Fae are born with their hearts in their mouths?”

“Their mouths? Which book told you that?”

“One I found in the new library, actually. Father is fascinated with the light Fae and collects everything he can about them—which isn’t much. Apparently, the source of Etherian power is called a heart. When a Fae child is born, the heart is blown out of their mouth and into an orb of enchanted glass. That orb is kept safe until—”

“It’s placed on a staff,” I finish for her, picturing Endlewild’s unpolished birchwood. The scar on my middle aches.

“Yes, exactly. The staff houses their power. Their magical heart, if you will.”

Like the sources of magic I find with my Vila abilities.

“Does that mean if the heart is broken, they will die?” I ask darkly, imagining what it would feel like to smash the glass of Endlewild’s staff and watch the life drain out of his eyes.

Her brow furrows. “I’m not sure.”

For a while, there’s only the sound of the wind in the chimney and Callow’s gentle rustling. And then—

“What do you think it feels like to die?”

“What?”

Aurora lifts one shoulder. “I have two hundred and forty-five days before I find out.”

She might as well have punched me in the stomach. I had no idea she was counting the days. No idea how little time we have left.

“You don’t know that.” But it’s a flimsy hope and it cracks around the edges.

“It’s not that I particularly mind dying,” she continues. “But I think I will very much miss living. I was never meant to wear the crown, but I can think of nothing else now. I want to do something more than simply throw balls and order gowns.” She thumbs the corner of a page. “I think I might be good at ruling.”

“Youwillbe good at it.” Tentatively, I press my hand to her forearm, bracing for the cringe beneath her sleeve. It doesn’t come. “You will be queen. And you will give the Etherium miners a share in the profits and clean up the Common District and put women on the small council and do everything else you promise. You’ll be as great as Leythana was, and they will love you for it.”

She smiles, soft and melancholy. Placating me, but not believing me. “If I am, I will not let my husband reign in my stead, as the other queens have done. I don’t care if the Ryna prince breaks my curse. He’ll never have my throne.”

My heart soars at hearing her talk like that. “I pity the man who tries to manage you.”

I expect her to laugh, but she pulls away. “In truth, I don’t know whether I wish for the curse to be broken—” She pauses. “Or not broken.”

“You don’t want the curse to break?” I repeat slowly. “That means you’ll die.”

“I know. But you don’t understand. All those suitors. Some of them are nice enough. Charming, even.” She twines a long lock of her burnished gold hair around one finger. “But they’re strangers, Alyce. And the line grows longer every day.”

Her gaze is closer to lavender today, glistening with shades of bright, terrified blue. There’s a sharpness in her features that reminds me of a cornered animal. I know it well. I’ve seen it often enough in my own reflection.

“The curse is supposed to be broken by true love. But look what that ‘love’ has caused. Queens sign over Leythana’s legacy to their husbands. Eva and Corinne killed themselves.” Her throat works. “And then look at my parents. My father broke my mother’s curse, but do they seem like they’re in love?”

I can say nothing. It’s hard to imagine anything like love beating beneath Tarkin’s duplicitous skin.

“Maybe it was true love once. But somewhere it soured. And when I think of having to spend the rest of my life trapped with someone I no longer care about”—she hesitates, but only for an instant—“I might rather die.”

“Don’t say that. Briar can’t lose you.”

I can’t lose you,my heart whispers.

Without thinking, I move beside her and scoop her limp hand into mine. Her fingers are cold, but heat rushes through me, skipping across every nerve. It is the same dizzying feeling my magic gives me, and I lean into it.

“If I do reign”—Aurora’s voice takes on a hard determination—“things will be different for you. They will not call you Dark Grace anymore. You will be Alyce. Just Alyce.”