Alice Arvel's Arc

Chapter 1 of 4

Alice Arvel died with a dagger in her ribs and a stranger's face above her. Her lover. The man she trusted through eight years and one crown rebellion, and she never learned why he did it. Then she woke in her childhood bed, small hands, silk ribbons, the morning sun she remembered from before everything went wrong. She did not scream. She grabbed the journal from her nightstand and wrote. Every name. Every betrayal. The rebellion. The price of grain the winter the capital nearly starved. Her own murder, described plainly, so she would never soften it. Her fingers cramped. She kept writing until the ink smeared. When she finished, she knew one thing for certain. She would not be a puppet a second time. She would learn what killed her, and she would turn it against them all. A knock broke the silence. Her maid stepped in, curtsied, and reminded her of the day's errand. "The Duke asks you to greet his guests at the arena, my lady. The ones traveling in for business." Alice's stomach dropped. Today. This was the day. She met him at that arena, among the guests her father received. A polite young man who helped her when the crowd pressed too close. That kindness had ended with a knife in her side. She would not go. But the errand had to be done, or her father would ask questions. So she needed someone to take her place. Someone she could bend. She smiled for the first time since waking. The Grand Prix Halo roared with the crowd when Alice arrived in a plain hood. Horses thundered below the glass VIP tier. She found Lucy Baldwin exactly where memory promised, near the betting rail, red hair loose, green cat-shaped eyes fixed on the odds board. Lucy had spent years making Alice's life miserable at every ball and salon. Now she leaned over the rail, whispering to a bookmaker, sliding him a coin. "Fixing races," Alice said, stepping beside her. "Your father would lose his seat on the council if this reached him." Lucy spun, ready to sneer. The sneer died when she saw who spoke. "Arvel. You can't prove a thing." "I don't need proof. I need a rumor, and I'm very good at those." Alice held out a folded paper. "Go to the arena's east gate. Greet the Duke's guests as his daughter's proxy. Be gracious. Then never mention it." Lucy's jaw worked. She glanced at the bookmaker, then snatched the paper. "This is nothing. A stupid chore." "Then it costs you nothing," Alice said. Lucy stalked toward the east gate, cursing under her breath. Alice watched her go, then turned away from the crowd. She would not meet the man who killed her today. Someone else shook his hand instead. But she had seen his face on the guest roster. She knew his name now, years early. The hunter had become the hunted, and he had no idea the game had already begun.