5 #2
Carefully, she drew on that hum of magic beneath her skin, unwinding it like yarn to knit her body into something new.
At first, nothing happened, as if the strand was too tangled to expand into anything useful.
Caya tugged harder, thinking of the people in the portrait and the way their features differed so drastically from hers.
Her eyes enlarged, spreading across her face with a curious tickling sensation.
She did her breasts next, sculpting them until they were in danger of snapping the strings of her bodice.
Her neck followed, elongating until it was an elegant, almost swanlike arch.
Scarlet droplets hit the ground at her feet.
Caya reached up to touch her face. Her new eyes were bleeding.
Before she could decide what to do, her features snapped back to normal, as if she’d stretched her new power too far too fast. Her lungs were tight, her head swimming. She stood still until the sudden nausea passed, swiping at her face until her fingertips were stained crimson.
The entire time, Ruiz watched her silently from his chair.
She blinked the last of the red from her vision. “I—can do better than that.”
“Then do better,” Ruiz said. “Again.”
The magic came easier the second time. Instead of enhancements, Caya focused on reductions.
She narrowed her waist and thinned her nose.
She lightened her skin by two shades but made her eyes darker—a small rebellion.
Dark eyes were not the beauty standard in Domingo, too common to be considered attractive, but this made her feel more like herself.
As if she wouldn’t compromise everything for revenge.
This time, she felt the blood leak from her new nose, tasted the rust on her tongue before her magic extinguished. A wave of nausea bowled her over, one arm wrapped around her stomach. Her vision doubled, tripled, then snapped back to normal. Magic, it seemed, did not agree with her.
All the more reason to destroy it.
Caya forced herself to straighten. To wipe her face once more.
“Again,” Ruiz said, as though nothing had happened.
Night came slowly. Caya spent long hours adjusting her face and body, her height and weight, at one point losing so much blood that she awoke on the floor with no idea of when she’d fainted.
Ruiz had gone back to his book, but he lifted his eyebrows at her over it, as if to say, You’re conscious now, so do it again .
He gave her no time to rest and recover, and she found that somewhat comforting.
It meant he knew she could do this, no matter how many times she failed in front of him.
And she did it. The stars had overtaken the sky, the moon had frosted the curtains in silver and pearl, and the floor beneath her feet had gone brown with dried blood, but finally she could feel the transformation magic holding.
Settling. Ruiz circled her with a thoughtful sound and withdrew a small mirror from his pocket, his book abandoned on the cushion.
Caya took the mirror from him, her lips parting in surprise as she met her own reflected gaze.
A stranger stared back at her. Before, she had been beautiful.
Now she was striking . She had created a face that would make people stop in their tracks, all dewy skin and doe eyes.
Her linen dress strained against her new curves and cleavage, and her high cheekbones and long neck lent her a ballerina’s grace.
The shock of it made her magic flee again, revealing her true face.
Her mahogany skin and eyes, her thick nose and full lips, her heart-shaped face and loose curls.
She had made herself thinner and her curves more defined, but, even without those enhancements, she had always liked the way she looked.
Today, however, the girl in the mirror looked wan and haunted.
The ghosts of her past gathered in her present, and it would soon be time for her to face them.
“We’ll practice your endurance, but that girl who you created is who you will be from this moment forward,” Ruiz said, taking back the mirror. “I want you to wear an illusion every second of every day, until that appearance holds without your concentration.”
“Who is she?” she whispered, tracing the bridge of her nose and the swell of her cheeks before she was forced to change them again. “Who are those people in the portrait you gave me?”
“That is the only known portrait of the Vinyet family, one of Domingo’s most reticent political dynasties.” Ruiz eased back into his chair, placing his open book on the arm of it instead. “They’re powerful and private—and you’ll be posing as one of them for next year’s Coronet.”
“Do I want to know why you had that?”
“Despite being one of the most influential families at court, the Vinyets didn’t help fight against the witches. In fact, they’ve rarely been seen since—though, of course, I’ve kept tabs on them.”
“Ah,” said Caya. “The king wants them dead, too.”
There was no mirth in his expression. “It doesn’t matter who they are. It matters who you are. Cataleya Donant is your past. Lady Marisol Vinyet— that is your future. Do you understand?”
Caya nodded once, her spine straightening with a steely resolve.
“All right, then.” Ruiz smiled, and this time it was as warm as the first rays of sunrise. “Let’s truly begin.”