Midnight Beauties (Grim Lovelies 2)

He whispered another flame to light in his palm. There was an edge in his eyes again, that arrogant mask the Royals wore to hide what they truly felt. But as the flames danced in his hand, the mask slipped a little.

“In case I don’t get another chance.”

He closed his fist, extinguishing the light again. She heard uneven footsteps and then the door swung open and he disappeared back into the feast. The door shut behind him.

In the dark, Anouk sank onto a lumpy bag of flour. She gently touched her lips. They still tasted like powdered sugar.

Chapter 16

That night, Anouk tossed and turned in bed. It was likely that every acolyte in the Cottage was lying awake, wide-eyed, minds heavy with what the morning would bring. Only the Royals, in their sumptuous guest rooms on the upper floor with their bellies full of Anouk’s soufflé au fromage, would be getting any sleep. For them, the Coal Baths were little more than a game. Anouk imagined them as spectators betting on racehorses, watching some girls die and others live, distressed only by their failed wagers. To beings who had lived for centuries, what were a few more dead Pretties?

At dawn, the ten acolytes kept their heads low as they filed down the stairs to the bathhouse, where enchanted Pretty servants who had come with the Royals bathed them in herbed warm water, rubbed them with sweet almond oil, and gave them stiff, gray robes woven from Icelandic sheep’s wool to wear. Anouk tugged the coarse fabric over her head. A Pretty fastened a crimson sash around Anouk’s waist. Anouk ran her hands over the fabric, thinking once more of the Northland Maidens.

“Mada Zola wouldn’t have been caught dead in plain wool,” Petra muttered to Anouk. “I guarantee she found a way to line her robe with silk.”

They began the procession back up the stairs, their bare feet quietly scuffing on the steps. Anouk stared numbly at the back of Petra’s messy strawberry braid. Duke Karolinge was waiting for them. He threw open the nave doors to the cloistered courtyard.

Anouk shivered, shielding her eyes from the light, and hung back. A cold breeze siphoned off the warmth from her bath. It was a bright but gray day, threatening snow. Never a joyful place, the courtyard was usually full of frozen mud puddles, a few scrawny chickens pecking the ground, and Frederika doing pushups. Now the bed of coals was here, powder-fine and raked to perfection. Wooden planks were laid out over the mud beneath the aster tree. The other girls were already in the middle of the courtyard, lining up by height. Esme was at the head of the line, Heida next to her, then Marta, then Petra. Anouk was next to Petra, followed by Lise, Jolie, Karla, and Sam at the end. Frederika should have been in fourth place, in front of Petra—?but she wasn’t with the others.

Anouk frowned.

Before she could think, a hand shot out of the shadows and pain blasted through her side. She held in a cry. The ache felt like a spear straight through her ribs.

“It isn’t personal,” Frederika whispered, leaning out of the shadows. “But I need my crux.”

Frederika dug the blade deeper into Anouk’s side. Anouk fell against the doorway, breathing hard. Frederika pulled her breakfast napkin out of her robe and pressed it to Anouk’s side, soaking up the blood, and before Anouk could even think to scream, Frederika palmed the blood-soaked napkin and went to take her place as fourth in line.

Anouk clutched at the doorway. The pain in her side was like fire.

Everyone’s attention was on the other eight acolytes lining up in front of the bonfire. No one had seen her and Frederika in the shadows, but now Petra was standing on tiptoe, looking for her. Their eyes met. Petra gave her a questioning look. Anouk sucked in a breath. She adjusted the folds of her robe to hide the wound. If Rennar or Luc saw the blood, there was no way they’d let her go through with this. Weakened and bleeding was far from ideal. But they hadn’t seen her vision the night of the firewalk. A wound didn’t matter, not as long as she had the right crux.

She tried as hard as she could to ignore the pain and took a few careful steps to her place between Petra, who was an inch taller than her, and Lise, who was a hair shorter. Her stomach churned at the thought of watching Petra writhing in the flames, but then the pain in her side flared and it took all her strength to remain standing.

“Hey, you okay?” Petra whispered.

Anouk nodded. Sweat dripped down her temples despite the chill. Her eyes flashed to Frederika, who hid the bloody cloth in the palm of her hand.

The chapel bell rang, long and foreboding, piercing the winter quiet, and the southern doors opened. The Royals filed out, pulling up their fur-lined hoods and slipping on leather gloves. They chatted among themselves; one of the women even laughed. Anouk stared at them, speechless. Rennar was in the midst of them, a mug of some hot liquid in hand, the hint of a smile on his face, all of them looking as though they were preparing to ice skate, not watch girls die.

Nothing but a game to them.

Luc, at least, wasn’t among them. Anouk glanced up at the Duke’s library, searching the windows for his shadow.

One of the members of the Crimson Court stepped in a puddle and her boot broke through the ice. Mud splashed on her hem. She let out a cry, and the brooding Lunar Court prince dashed to assist her.

“Please, my lady. Allow me.”

He touched powder to his lips and cast a whisper that turned the puddles into beautiful frozen ponds. Not to be outdone, the Court of the Woods delegates turned to the four corners of the cloisters and summoned roaring bonfires that chased away the worst of the cold. Then they all took their seats, sipping hot drinks.

Duke Karolinge swept out of the nave in his crimson cloak, Saint perched on his shoulder. The Duke looked enormous and daunting, the beast she had seen her first n

ight. He’d tucked his quiet academic persona into his pocket along with his crooked spectacles.

“Acolytes, welcome. Royals of the Courts of the Near Realms, welcome. We gather today to observe an ancient tradition. The Coal Baths were founded fifteen hundred years ago, during the Merovingian dynasty. Prior to that, our realm was accessible only to those who had been born of magic.” He tilted his head to acknowledge the Royals, and it irked Anouk that he didn’t mention the Goblins, whose lineage was just as magical as the Royals’, if not more. But Goblins weren’t invited to the Baths unless it was to clean up afterward.

“There have always been the odd Pretties who discovered our existence, whether through honest trade with us or through accidental means. For millennia the Pretties were seen as simple folk, sheep in need of a shepherd. But the Merovingians believed they could be something more, that through hard work and sacrifice, some could even join our ranks. Many Pretties died in attempts to gain our magic. But with the help of the ancient creatures who call these woodlands home, a few bold women discovered the power of the Coal Baths. This abbey has, for centuries, been the seat of these ancient coals. You ten acolytes, like those first women, have risked much for a chance to enter our world. Your bravery is acknowledged by the Royals here today who have come to bear witness.” He made a sweeping gesture to the Royals, who didn’t bother to stop chatting with one another, indifferent to the dramatic presentation. The only exception was Rennar, who tented his fingers and watched with a hooded expression. Quine’s daughter leaned toward him and spoke a few words. He shook his head quickly.

“If it were in my authority,” the Duke continued, speaking to the girls, “I would grant each of you the powers for which you have labored so hard. But it is not up to me. The flames determine which girls have discovered their connection to magic. You have each selected a crux. I pray you have chosen wisely.” He turned to the Royals, and, as if sensing the end of a speech they must have heard hundreds of times before, they stopped talking. “Royals, do you witness?”