Narrator Ann Marie Gideon shines in this “Sleeping Beauty” remix, which explains how Princess Aurora falls victim to a sleeping spell that leaves her sequestered in a tower of thorns. Of course, in this version of the tale, the villain who puts a curse on the princess also happens to be her true love. Gideon brings emotional depth to Alice, the villain, coaxing listeners to sympathize with her and question whether she really deserves that title. Gideon provides a unique persona for each of the seven leading women in the story, allowing listeners to follow along with ease. This is required summer reading for LGBTQ lit fans. G.P. © AudioFile 2021, Portland, Maine
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A queer retelling of “Sleeping Beauty” where the villain takes center stage? Yes, please! We all know the tale, the curse, the wicked fairy, the kiss ... but there is always another version of happily ever after, and this wildly imaginative take on a classic fairy tale offers epic world-building, a rich history and an inventive magical hierarchy. Malice is more than just a retelling, it is a complex character-driven story with harrowing twists, action, political intrigue, betrayal, and a slow-burn romance you never want to end.
“Walter's spellbinding debut is for all the queer girls and women who've been told to keep their gifts hidden and for those yearning to defy gravity.”-O: The Oprah Magazine
Once upon a time, there was a wicked fairy who, in an act of vengeance, cursed a line of princesses to die. A curse that could only be broken by true love's kiss.
You've heard this before, haven't you? The handsome prince. The happily ever after.
Let me tell you, no one in Briar actually cares about what happens to its princesses. Not the way they care about their jewels and elaborate parties and charm-granting elixirs. I thought I didn't care, either.
Until I met her.
Princess Aurora. The last heir to Briar's throne. Kind. Gracious. The future queen her realm needs. One who isn't bothered that I am Alyce, the Dark Grace, abhorred and feared for the mysterious dark magic that runs in my veins. Humiliated and shamed by the same nobles who pay me to bottle hexes and then brand me a monster. Aurora says I should be proud of my gifts. That she . . . cares for me. Even though a power like mine was responsible for her curse.
But with less than a year until that curse will kill her, any future I might see with Aurora is swiftly disintegrating-and she can't stand to kiss yet another insipid prince. I want to help her. If my power began her curse, perhaps it's what can lift it. Perhaps together we could forge a new world.
Nonsense again. Because we all know how this story ends, don't we? Aurora is the beautiful princess. And I-
I am the villain.
Book One of the Malice Duology
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The villain takes center stage in Walter’s superlative debut, a refreshing spin on Sleeping Beauty. Alyce, called “Malyce” by the Graces she lives with at Lavender House, has the green blood of the Vila, an evil race of magical beings, running in her veins. The Graces, meanwhile, are gold-blooded, gifted with Fae magic as part of an alliance between the humans of Briar and the Fae of Etheria. Known as the Dark Grace, Alyce is rejected publicly, even as the rich and powerful solicit her dark magic in secret. Thus, it is assumed that the invitation to Princess Aurora’s 20th birthday party sent to Lavender House does not extend to Alyce—but she attends anyway. There she meets the princess, who is desperate to break the Vila curse that will kill her on her 21st birthday if she hasn’t found true love. Alyce feels responsible for her people’s spell and agrees to help Aurora—meanwhile working to build her own power in secret. As Aurora’s 21st birthday approaches, Alyce must come to terms with her growing feelings for the princess while navigating the political minefield of Briar, as the king hopes to exploit her powers for his own gain. The story grows deliciously darker at every turn, though the youthful protagonists still ensure plenty of YA crossover appeal. Fairy tale lovers of all ages will be thrilled. (Apr.)
The villain takes center stage in Walter’s superlative debut, a refreshing spin on Sleeping Beauty. . . . Fairy tale lovers of all ages will be thrilled.”—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“A truly original and clever retelling of a classic that had me racing to the end—you’ll never look at ‘Sleeping Beauty’ the same way again.”—S. A. Chakraborty, author of the bestselling Daevabad trilogy
“Absolutely dazzling! Full of love, power, and betrayal, Malice is as compelling as a spell, as captivating as an enchantment, and as fascinating and delicious as a fairy-tale curse. I loved it!”—Sarah Beth Durst, award-winning author of the Queens of Renthia series
“Malice is the dark and wicked heart of a fairy tale carved into a book. This story is beautiful, vicious magic.”—Tasha Suri, author of Empire of Sand
“A beautifully imaginative and feminist retelling of a fairy tale so often swept into the dark . . . Walter’s debut was engrossing from page one, with a striking cast of characters, thrilling romance, and a world so vivid it will wrap thorns around your dreams.”—Roshani Chokshi, author of The Gilded Wolves
“I spent a lot of late nights getting lost in this world of sorcery, intrigue, and—of course—true love. I’m sure I won’t be the only one!”—Richelle Mead, internationally bestselling author of Vampire Academy
“Lively characters, a tempting sapphic romance, and a richly built world make this a book to savor.”—Louisa Morgan, author of A Secret History of Witches
DEBUT Once upon a time a fairy cursed a line of princesses to die. The Vila, those who cursed the princesses of Briar, have all died out—all except for Alyce. Living in a Grace house, a place where those who have magic in their blood can sell their spells to the people of Briar, Alyce serves as the only Dark Grace. People who look for beauty and wisdom also look for curses and vengeance. Alyce knows she is thought to be a monster, and most of the time, she is pleased to show that side to people. But now she has found a friend: the princess Aurora, who sees Alyce as a person. Their friendship grows, but Aurora must find her true love or die, and she has less than a year to discover it. If Alyce's ancestors were the ones to curse Aurora's line, maybe she can discover the cure and show the truth about her power. Yet it could be that truth will destroy it all. VERDICT Walter's debut weaves together fairy-tale tropes into an exciting, twisted tale of friendship, love, and legacy.—Kristi Chadwick, Massachusetts Lib. Syst., Northampton
|Publisher:||Penguin Random House|
|Series:||Malice Duology , #1|
Read an Excerpt
Age of the Rose, 996
The golden bell above my doorframe bobs twice.
I roll my shoulders against the needling ache that settles at the base of my neck whenever that damn thing sounds. After nearly a decade of hearing it, I’ve come to despise the bell’s shrill, tinny clang almost as much as the message it carries: A patron is coming. When it was first installed, my bell gleamed like those the Graces use in their parlors. But now, seeing as the servants conveniently forget to polish it, a mottled green tarnish clings to the thing like a scaly skin. Fitting, I think, that I should have the ugliest bell in Lavender House when I am by far the ugliest creature living inside it.
Alyce. My own name on my patron schedule glares up at me when I glance at the next appointment. Beneath it: The Dark Grace.
Grace, indeed. If I were truly a Grace, I’d be receiving my patrons in a sunny parlor with silk-upholstered chairs and trays of spongy, cream-frosted tea cakes. Instead, I’m banished to a converted storage annex attached to Lavender House’s kitchen. It’s yet another reason Cook hates me. The space was once a larder and now Cook complains every chance she gets that there isn’t enough storage space in the cellar. I catch her grumbling curses at me when she thinks I’m out of earshot, as if this insufferable chamber is some kind of prize. There are no windows. A dank chill seeps through the rotting mortar, even in the summer heat. And the wretched hearth—hastily added once I opened my practice—clogs more often than not, filling my Lair with a perpetual smoky scent and smearing soot on every surface.
It’s more a dragon’s lair out of a story than a parlor in a Grace house. Rose dubbed it such soon after she arrived: the Lair, where the Dark Grace dwells. I hate the place so much that I didn’t even fight her.
Callow ruffles as the bell jangles a second time, as annoyed as I am at the intrusion. I offer my kestrel a few meat trimmings snuck from beneath Cook’s nose.
“What do you think this one wants?” Callow shakes out her white-speckled wings in a decidedly irritated fashion and nudges my hand with her head. And I suppose there’s no point putting it off any longer. “Enter!”
The chamber door squeals and I can tell immediately from the footsteps that it isn’t one of my regulars. They’re anxious. Hesitant. A startle away from turning and bolting.
I wish they would turn and bolt.
Whispering apologies to Callow, I fix her hood over her head. She’s easier to handle this way, especially around strangers. I’d found the kestrel as a chick some years ago, half-dead and starving on the sea cliffs outside Briar’s main gates. Though I’m no healing Grace, I was able to nurse her back to health with what tinctures I could concoct. She’s never taken to anyone else. Not that I blame her. Mistress Lavender said it would have been kinder to kill the bird, and one of the servants mistook her for a rat and nearly bludgeoned her to death. The maid was lucky I didn’t return the favor.
The nervous patron hovers in my doorway, hood close around her face despite the oppressive, salt-soaked heat of late summer. The firelight flits over her features, sharpening her cheekbones. Hollowing her eye sockets. Definitely not a regular. She looks like she thinks I’m going to roast her over a spit. As if my pathetic hearth is large enough to manage that. Would that it could.
“Your Grace.” The edges of her brocade cloak tremble as she scrapes a curtsy.
“What brings you here?” I stroke Callow’s snowy breast with one finger, affecting the cool, detached manner people expect from the Dark Grace. I don’t ask her name. Within these walls, she doesn’t have one. Patrons do not come to my Lair seeking beauty or charm or wit as they would in a Grace’s parlor. They come for revenge. For cruelty. Services provided at a steep price, and that price includes anonymity.
“I . . . I have a . . . cat.” She stumbles. Flushes at her own threadbare deception.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. My patrons always spare less than half a thought to crafting a decent backstory. Briar’s Grace Laws prevent the use of their magic for ill will, which should directly prohibit my line of work. But I am the only Grace of my kind. And all I do is prepare the elixirs. Once the vials leave my hands, it’s up to the patrons to dispose of them as they please. And as long as I don’t know I’m party to an attack on another citizen, I cannot be held liable for my patrons’ actions. Besides that, my elixirs cost three times the average rate of those of a Grace. And if I stopped working, the Crown wouldn’t get its cut.
“A cat.” I school my features into the neutral expression I’ve perfected over the years.
“Yes, a cat.” She fiddles with the buttons at her sleeves. “A cat too pretty for its own good. She’s getting too much attention from the other . . . cats.”
Dragon’s teeth, she’s even worse than the others. And I once had a man tell me his own rose garden smelled too nice and was attracting bees.
“And you wish to . . .”
“I don’t want to harm the cat,” the woman says automatically. “I just want . . .”
“To give her a few warts?” A standard ugliness elixir.
Her gaze brightens in the gloom. How predictable. New patrons are always so grateful when I offer suggestions. I think it makes them feel less the villain. Like they didn’t come here specifically to do harm to someone they’ve convinced themselves deserves it.
The patron nods and I motion for her to sit at a worn wooden table near the hearth as I start assembling ingredients for the elixir. Swamp water. A dash of powdered nightshade. And, for the warts, I cart over the short, boxy cage that houses my toad, Prince Markham.
The woman stammers, flinching as I plop His Highness on the table in front of her. He lets out a belchy croak.
Only the crackle of the flames and the grind of the pestle break the silence as I work. I’m grateful. Sometimes my patrons try to plump up their lies, offering needless explanations and sugarcoated stories. Hoping I’ll nod along. Make it easier on their consciences. I never do. They deserve whatever guilt festers in their guts.
But this woman only chews the inside of her cheek, glancing at the door every few moments as if she’s worried she’ll be discovered. She needn’t be. Every aspect of my craft is steeped in secrecy. Patrons book their appointments with me using a shrouded alcove around the side of the house, built specifically for the purpose. There’s a little screen secured into the wall, where patrons or their servants can murmur their needs to our house manager, Delphine. She even takes the payments through a slot and allows aliases on the bookings, a practice forbidden to the other Graces. If Delphine guesses who the patrons are, she’s paid well enough to keep her mouth shut.
My current patron, who calls herself Mistress Briar—how original—seems to have forgotten about the great care Lavender House has taken to protect her identity. Despite the Lair’s cold, sweat beads on her upper lip and she dabs it away with a lace handkerchief. She jumps every time Callow moves on her perch. Ignoring her restlessness, I hold a long needle over a candle flame, and then with a quiet apology, I pierce one of Prince Markham’s warts. He gurgles in protest as a few drops of his blood, so dark they’re almost black, fall into the waiting vial. I add it to the rest of the mixture.
Now for the most important piece. With a small scalpel, I press down on my finger. A line of green blood—the source of my power—wells. I count to three, inhaling the faint scent of woodsmoke and loam that is my magic, as it dribbles onto the other enhancements. Immediately, the mixture hisses. I stir it with a long spoon until a cloud of black smoke erupts from the mortar. My patron covers her slender, highborn nose and coughs.
“For your cat.” I raise an eyebrow, pouring the elixir into a vial and sliding it across the table. “The more you use, the more warts she’ll get.”
She nods and pockets it, not daring to say another word, not even deigning to thank me.
As the door snicks closed behind her, I curse the familiar sickening feeling that settles like hot coals inside me. I should be used to these requests by now. I can’t even count the number of ugliness elixirs I’ve produced over the years. And I’m bound by the Grace Laws to satisfy my patrons’ needs.
But the woman’s abrupt dismissal still stings, as does every other slight I’ve endured since I began working in Lavender House. My patrons pay good coin for my services, but not one of them would willingly meet my eye if they passed me on the street. I am reviled and despised for the very reasons I’m sought out. A figure of dark, evil magic. A member of a race all but stamped out. A Vila.