NOMI

OVER THE NEXT few days, Nomi watched for Asa whenever she left the Graces’ chambers, which happened only twice. She imagined and discarded several terrible schemes for seeking him out. She fought against the sinking sense that she’d pinned her hopes on a circumstance that would never arise. She couldn’t ask Asa about Serina’s whereabouts if she never saw him again.

Now Nomi dragged her feet on the way to the seamstress, studying each Grace and handmaiden who passed her, wondering if any of them knew of her sister’s fate. She’d asked Rosario, but she had only heard what Cassia had repeated—that Serina had been removed from the palace under mysterious circumstances.

“I think they’re doing the black dress today,” Angeline said as she plodded along beside Nomi. “That one isn’t as structured. It shouldn’t be too much of a chore.”

“Thanks,” Nomi said. Her handmaiden knew how much she loathed the fittings.

“I think you should wear that one for the race,” Angeline said thoughtfully. “It will sparkle in the moonlight.”

“Have you ever seen it? The race, I mean?” Nomi asked.

“Papa let me watch from the upstairs window once. It was mad. A horse race through city streets… It’s so famous people come from all over the world to watch. And you’ll get one of the best views in all of Bellaqua. The Superior and his entourage always watch from the Bell Tower, near the finish line.”

They reached the door just as someone pushed it open from the inside. Nomi took a hasty step back to avoid a collision.

Maris stopped abruptly, nearly treading on Nomi’s toes. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realize you were right there.”

Nomi waved her off. “It’s fine. No harm done.”

Maris brushed her curtain of black hair behind her ear. She was the tallest of the new Graces by a good margin; Nomi suspected she was almost as tall as the Heir himself. At the moment, she seemed even more imposing, in a statuesque green gown covered in tiny, spiky silver studs.

“That dress looks lethal,” Nomi commented as Maris shifted and the silver hardware caught the light. Angeline stared at it with an appreciative look.

“Better suited for dinner parties than balls,” Maris agreed. “It’s my favorite. Gives me the illusion I can maintain some distance.”

The response surprised Nomi. Wasn’t trying to get closer to the Heir the whole point?

Maris’s handmaiden chose that moment to approach. “It’s time for your harp practice.”

Maris nodded and, with a little shrug at Nomi, followed the handmaiden down the hall.

“You’ve got a dance lesson after,” Angeline said. “I’ll come get you when it’s time.”

Nomi nodded her thanks, but her stomach churned. Dance lesson. This would be her first. At least it wouldn’t be with the Heir; he had not yet returned to the palazzo.

As soon as Nomi stepped into the dressmaker’s room, a handful of seamstresses swarmed her. Her clothes disappeared within moments. Nomi was placed on a raised dais in the center of the dim room, shivering in her shift, as the women whirled around her.

“Tsk, tsk. So thin,” the dressmaker muttered as she dropped the black gown over Nomi’s head. She sniffed down her nose at the way the drape of the dress enveloped Nomi’s slight frame. “This dress wasn’t designed for a handmaiden’s figure.”

Over the past few fittings, the seamstresses had made it clear that they didn’t approve of her lowly origins. But the woman was right about the gown.

It would have fit Serina perfectly.

“More pins!” the dressmaker yelled.

Nomi kept her spine rigid and her face blank. She’d have preferred to rip the dress off and throw it at the dressmaker’s feet, especially when the woman had “accidentally” pricked her with a pin. But Serina would have kept calm in this situation, and for her sake, Nomi was determined to do the same.

Another pin jabbed into Nomi’s thigh, drawing blood. She winced, but she didn’t give the seamstress the satisfaction of making a sound. The gown Serina had chosen for her was a deep silvery black, like a star-studded sky, and Nomi might have actually liked it, if the neckline didn’t dip nearly to her navel and the waist didn’t cinch so tight.

“There,” the dressmaker said. “That’ll do.” She stepped back and surveyed the hemming and tucking. Her narrowed eyes saw nothing but the form of the dress. Nomi could have as easily been a straw mannequin in the back of a shop.

Ines stepped into the room as Nomi undressed. “Wait, leave it on,” she said. “You’re due for your dance lesson. A long dress and some well-placed pins will help you learn.”

Nomi nodded calmly, but inside her heart was spitting flame.

Ines didn’t wait for Angeline, instead leading Nomi out of the Graces’ chambers herself. Nomi had almost unraveled the Graces’ labyrinth, but the rest of the palace was still a mystery—probably because she paid more attention to the servants than her surroundings. Despite what Rosario had said, she still fantasized that Serina was living in the palace in some punishing, menial role, and that someday, if Nomi were patient, their paths would cross. But so far, Nomi had seen no hint of her sister.

She followed Ines through corridor after corridor, her dress whispering against the tile. Eventually, they found themselves in a small music room.

The walls shone with rose-threaded wallpaper and were hung with a vast array of instruments. Skylights brightened the room. A piano sat in one corner with a woman in muted orange bent over its keys, coaxing out a melody. The furniture had been cleared, and in the center of the room, Cassia twirled in Asa’s arms. A dance instructor stood to one side, calling out frequent instructions.

Asa? They were practicing with Asa?

Nomi slammed to a stop in the doorway, shock running through her.

Asa caught sight of her and faltered. Cassia hissed when he tread on her foot. A blush crept up Nomi’s cheeks.

“My apologies,” Asa murmured, his attention returning to his dance partner.

Cassia bowed her head. “It was nothing, Your Eminence.”

“That’ll be all,” Ines said, and the woman playing the piano ended the piece with a little flourish. Asa relinquished Cassia’s hands.

“Thank you for the dance,” he said, bowing.

Cassia dipped into a graceful curtsy, her long, loose hair falling in a shimmering curtain to hide her face. “It was my pleasure, Your Eminence,” she purred.

Nomi moved aside so Cassia could leave, but her mind was still sluggish. Her gaze never left Asa, who was waiting in the center of the room, scuffing a foot on the floor. In all her fruitless scheming, she’d never imagined he’d be at her dance lesson. But could she risk asking him about Serina here? Did she dare?

The instructor, wraith-thin with graceful hands, clapped twice.

Nomi jumped. Awkwardly, she stepped forward. She had never learned how to dance. Serina had always practiced with Renzo, and no one had thought to include her in the lessons. The instructor would have to do more than give her pointers to refine her style. He would have to teach Nomi every step, every turn.

“Stop frowning,” Ines ordered. “A Grace never frowns.”

Nomi straightened her shoulders. If she was going to survive here, if she was going to find out what happened to Serina, she had to control her frustration. She had to learn these things. She couldn’t risk displeasing anyone.

She stood before Asa and dropped into a curtsy. At least practice had helped in that regard. The sunlight picked out the silver in her dress as she moved, making it sparkle like starlight.

“I must apologize, Your Eminence,” she said. “I’ve little experience with dancing.”

His warm hands enveloped hers. Her fingers trembled. He guided her left hand to his shoulder and held on to the other. The first glittering notes of a song filled the room as he drew her closer, close enough to whisper, “Neither do I. That’s why Father makes me do the lessons with the Graces.”

He smelled of espresso and warm sand. Without quite realizing it, Nomi swayed a breath closer. A hidden pin pricked against her thigh.

The instructor counted out the beats. “One, two, three, four. Step back, step left, step forward, and back.”

Nomi tried to focus, but the question she wanted to ask him drowned everything else out. Did she dare? She risked impertinence, and Ines was there, watching. She’d told Nomi not to ask questions. If she heard Nomi…

Asa stepped forward, right onto Nomi’s foot.

She jerked back and tripped on the edge of her pinned-up gown, wobbling. Asa’s arms tightened. He stepped to his left as she stepped to her left, and their arms strained, pulling them back together.

The instructor cleared his throat. “Your Eminence, please forgive me for creating confusion. My instructions were for Nomi.”

Asa made a strange noise in his throat, like he was swallowing a laugh. “Of course.”

The music started again. Asa stepped forward, Nomi stepped back, and somehow they found a bit of rhythm. They did several revolutions around the room before Ines said, “Nomi, lift your chin. You’re looking at your feet as if you’re afraid they’ll walk off without you.”

Nomi lifted her gaze in time to see Asa bite back a smile.

He leaned a little closer. “I never trust my own feet when dancing,” he said. “They have a habit—” He stomped on her dress, jerking her against his chest and more pins into her waist. She struggled not to wince as his laughter rumbled up. “Well, of that,” he finished.

She stepped to the left. He might be a little wooden, but she wasn’t helping. Neither were the pins. “And I’m a poor partner. I’m sorry.”

His hand tightened on hers. “You are not the awkward one here. Not in that dress, with all the heavens embracing you.”

Nomi had never been paid such an extravagant compliment in her life. Cheeks flaming, she looked down, and the dress winked back at her, little glitters flashing against the black.

“I feel like a stranger,” she confessed. “Not like myself at all.”

“Your whole life’s been upended.” He shrugged. “Of course it’s unsettling. Everything’s different and unexpected.… This wasn’t your choice.”

Nomi glanced up in surprise. No one else seemed to understand that. Everyone acted as if she should be thrilled, or else they denigrated her for being a lowly servant elevated without cause. She darted a look at Ines, whose attention was caught by something outside the window. Perhaps this was her chance.

“I wanted to ask—” she began.

“Try a spin,” the instructor interjected.

Asa took an exaggerated breath. “Here we go.…”

He spun Nomi out, hard enough that she had to grip his hand lest she sail across the room. And then, suddenly, they were sailing, twirling in impulsive circles better suited to a faster, wilder song than the pianist played.

Nomi’s hair blew back from her face and she couldn’t help it—she laughed outright. Asa spun her out and back against his firm chest, and they teetered a little.

He smiled down at her, and his eyes were a deep coffee brown, turned up at the corners.

They took off around the room again, galloping through a pattern of steps Asa may have made up, for all she knew. But she didn’t care, nor did she feel a single pinprick. For the first time in nearly a week, her nervous muscles loosened, her worry faded, and her head didn’t ache with questions and regret.

It was a gift to spend one moment spinning like a child, pretending she was free.

Ines cleared her throat, loudly and pointedly. The piano music stopped. “That will do,” she announced.

With a chuckle, Asa sent Nomi into a last spin and ended the dance with a bow. He smiled, his cheeks as flushed as hers felt. They both were breathing quickly.

Nomi cast her gaze to the floor. Part of her hem had come unpinned and dragged over her silver shoes.

“I’m sorry. I seem to have forgotten myself,” Asa said, not sounding sorry at all. “Thank you for the practice.”

“Thank you, Your Eminence.” Nomi curtsied, her heart falling. Their dance was over, and with it, any opportunity to ask about Serina.

Nomi followed Angeline back to the Graces’ chambers in silence, wondering if she’d get another chance. Praying she would.

When Nomi reached her bedroom, Angeline made short work of the shimmery black dress, now a little bedraggled. “Don’t worry,” the handmaiden said cheerfully. “I’ll have it cleaned and sewn up straightaway so it’s ready for the Premio Belaria.”

Then she helped Nomi into a soft cream tunic and flowing pants.

“Thank you, Angeline,” Nomi said. “May I have a few minutes to myself, please?”

The girl bowed. “Of course. I’ll wait outside.”

As soon as she was alone, Nomi slumped into a chair, elbows on the dressing table, and put her head in her hands. Over and over, the dance lesson played through her mind. She should have found a way to ask Asa about Serina.

Nomi’s frustration bubbled to the surface. She’d hoped to rest for a bit, but she couldn’t lie down. Not while she was thinking of Serina. She stood, clumsily, and knocked a small pot of lip shimmer to the floor. She sighed and picked it up, opening the dressing table’s top drawer to put it away.

As she opened the drawer, she gasped. A book sat half-hidden under a silk scarf and two sticks of kohl.

Nomi slammed the drawer shut, looking around her room in wide-eyed panic. When she was sure no one was watching—the room’s curtains had been drawn and Angeline remained outside—she opened the drawer again slowly.

It was still there. Her fingers caressed the smooth leather, and a tremor passed through her as she drew it out.

A Brief History of Viridia.

Nomi wrapped her arms around herself. A book was a dangerous thing to have—Serina’s removal proved that. So where had it come from?

Before she could stop to think about what she was doing, Nomi stuffed the small volume between her mattress and frame, deep enough that it wouldn’t be disturbed when Angeline changed the sheet. Nomi’s heart pounded madly. She slid to the floor and leaned against the bed.

She felt suddenly like an acrobat balanced on a swaying rope, the world dangerously far below. Someone was playing with her, and she didn’t know the game.