by Nina Walker
What use is thinking about it? It only adds to the pain I already have to live with.
The days spread into nights and back again, until finally someone comes through that door who isn’t Faros. He enters alone, dressed in his own version of the black mourning clothes. His eyes are rimmed in red with long shadows under each and the stubble on his cheeks is days old. For a moment, he looks so much like Owen that it kills me all over again.
“King Titus.” I scramble from my bed and curtsey. “I’m so glad you finally came to hear what I have to say.” Genuine gratitude blooms within. “Thank you.”
He closes the door with a thud and strides forward, holding up a hand. “I didn’t come here to hear what you have to say.”
That gratitude is plucked away in a second. “But Silas—”
“Stop,” he commands. “I do not wish to hear it from your mouth and I forbid you from ever speaking of what Silas did, do you understand?”
My throat goes dry as sand and I blink in surprise. “You already know?” I wonder if my mother told him but I can scarcely believe it possible she’d be so bold.
“Yes,” he says evenly. “Brysta and I know what Silas did to Owen.”
“Then you have arrested him? Where is he?”
He shakes his head and narrows his eyes, stalking in close. The man towers over me, and a prickle of intimidation claws across my flesh. The laugh lines around his eyes and mouth no longer look welcoming. Something tells me this meeting isn’t going to go how it should.
“Owen is gone,” he says calmly. “There is nothing anyone can do about that fact. Silas is the only heir left that could possibly take the throne. You will never speak of what he did to Owen, do you understand me? Owen was murdered by an unknown assassin. That’s it.”
His words push at my wound, twisting the knife Silas put there to begin with. “What about Bram? What about Dean?” My voice rises in disgust and anger.
“You are forbidden to speak that name,” he roars, meeting my volume with his own demands. “He is in exile and to bring him back would be to void the treaty of the dragon clans. It will not be done.”
“Well, Bram is still alive,” I challenge. “Why can’t he be king? At least he isn’t a cold-blooded murderer!”
“Bram is useless!” King Titus scoffs. “He can never be king!”
I stumble backward until the back of my knees hit the edge of the unmade bed and I stare up at the King, seeing his true self for the first time. He has always been intense, powerful, with an air of superiority that leaves other men cowering, but the boiling anger in his tone is so startling, this demand so terrible, that the breath is ripped from my lungs. Tears prick at my eyes, and I clench my hands into fists. I’m not upset for being yelled at, though it tilted me off my axis. I’m horrified by the unjust way Silas’s treason is being treated. He really is going to get away with this, and his parents, the ones who should want to avenge Owen, are going to make sure of it.
“How can you do this to Owen? He was your son, too!” I’m crying now. I can’t help the burning tears that splash down my cheeks but I can’t be bothered to wipe them away or feel weak in front of this man. I’m a roiling mess of emotions and the elemental powers within are demanding to break free. I hold them down because I know there’s nothing I can do with them, not in here, not with him. This isn’t right. This isn’t fair. This is sick.
“Silas will be the next king.” He glares, speaking softly now. “There is nothing anyone can do about that. Not you. Not me. Not my wife. Not anyone. If what Silas did comes out and he is punished for his crime, the clans will rebel and we will lose our royal line to another dragon family.”
I nod, giving in, because what else am I to do? But I’m already running through all possible options in my mind, trying to stay strong. All I can think is while the Brightcaster family will lose everything, I won’t. I’ll be forced into a loveless marriage with some other son of some other noble family, but at least I won’t have to take Silas as my husband. The Gods offered me as Drakenon’s queen but I’m not bound to this family. I’m bound to whoever takes the throne. If I marry another, at least I won’t have to lie about what happened to Owen, to live my life at Silas’s side, to go to bed with him and give him elemental dragon children. The thought of a marriage to Silas leaves my stomach twisting with disgust. I can’t do it. I won’t.
“Fine,” I lie, meeting King Titus’s eyes. “I won’t say anything. I’ll keep your secret and go along with Silas as the next king, but you have to do something for me.”
He smiles ruefully, his eyes narrowing into stormy slits. “Oh, darling, this isn’t a negotiation. In fact, I came here to tell you that should you betray my trust, your parents will pay for your folly.”
My hands shake. I hold them against my chest, feeling the breath leave my body. “What are you talking about?” But I already know. Like father, like son.
He tilts his head. “It’s a pity. I never wanted it to be like this. I like your parents. They’ve been friends of mine ever since you were an infant and we brought the three of you to live here.”
“Just tell me what you’ve done,” I snap.
“Your father is fortunate enough to have the privilege of traveling the kingdom on my behalf. Should you betray me, Princess Khali, I can promise you that you won’t ever see your father alive again.”
Can he do that? Neither of my parents are Dragon Blessed. How would they defend themselves against this wicked man?
“And not only will your father die, but your mother will be ruined. I know all her secrets. Lest you forget, Lady Alivia is quite the court politician. She’s made errors over the years in her climb to the top, and I know of each and every one of those errors. If you break my trust, Khali, I will make certain your mother is the joke of the entire kingdom. It won’t matter who takes the throne, she’ll be the outcast.” His air elemental crackles behind his stormy eyes, a promise of what’s possible.
My mother probably does have terrible secrets. She and I don’t even get along, surely he knows that? But then again, I’m not cruel. I don’t want her to be unhappy, and as much as she and I butt heads, she’s usually the only family I have around. I would never want to see her ruined, but is that enough to stop me from avenging my best friend and keeping his murderer off the throne? My father’s possible death is King Titus’s best play and I don’t know how to use it to my advantage.
“And if that isn’t enough,” he continues, catching on to my thought process, “well, I can always have your mother killed as well. Gods know she has enough enemies. And what about that maid you love so dearly? She’s a cousin to your mother, is she not? She could easily be taken down with the rest of them.”
“You’re sick.” I shake my head, the extent of the betrayal sinking in deep. “You would do that to your own friends? To innocent people? My family has been completely loyal to your family since day one. They moved me here, didn’t they? I’ve heard stories of other future queens being hidden away, but not my parents. They came forward the moment I opened my eyes. And since that day they’ve encouraged me to embrace the role I am to play, even during those moments when I didn’t want it.”
He leans in close, his eyes shining, and I catch the faintest scent of Drakenon wine on his breath. “You may possess all the elements, Khali. You may be used to the incredible power flowing in your veins, but you have no idea the kind of royal power you’re dealing with. The Brightcaster family has held this throne for over a century and you will not cross us.”
My mind races through my options but I don’t see that I have anything tangible. He’s right. Even if I do stage a coup, he will still extend his power long enough to hurt or kill the ones I love. Silas going to prison won’t mean he’ll automatically lose his throne, but it will mean he will have years to torture me until it’s time for him to step down and give up the line to the next strongest clan.
“Owen is gone,” he says, his voice catching. Deep-rooted pain crosses his features.
“It never should have happened. But it did.”
I won’t let it change me. “How dare you grieve Owen,” I sneer. “He deserved better!”
The slap comes fast, charged with electricity. The pain blossoms on my cheek and I fall to the bed.
The King continues as if nothing happened. “After we started questioning the events, Silas came to Brysta and me to confess his sins. He is remorseful over what happened. He lost his temper and things got out of hand. He’s sorry. We all are. But he can’t take it back and we can’t lose our royal line over this one mistake. So we won’t.”
I rub my cheek and sit up, contemplating my lack of options moving forward.
“Do we have a deal?” he asks. It doesn’t sound like a question.
“I don’t see how you are giving me a choice,” I finally relent bitterly. “But King Titus.” I meet his gaze square in the eye. “You raised a murderer. I was there that night and I can promise you, it wasn’t an accident. It was a planned murder and Silas had zero hesitation or remorse before or after the event.”
His face pales but he says nothing.
“You had better watch your back, because Silas wants your throne and the only one left standing in his way is you.”
“He wouldn’t—”
“He murdered his twin brother,” I say between gritted teeth. “He would. You’re a fool to protect him.”
9
Hazel
“She’s the medium?” Dean asks, gaping at Harmony like she’s gone and lost her mind.
“Best there is,” Harmony replies, shuffling forward to wrap Dean in a loving, familiar hug—as if he were her favorite son. But I know for a fact Harmony never got married or had children. It’s too bad, she would have been great at family life. But then again, what she’s doing is pretty great, too.
I’m standing behind the register, my hands balled at my sides, my breath caught in my chest. I’m a mixed bag of shock, defensiveness, and a heck of a lot of confusion. I thought Dean knew what I was. He certainly acted like he knew exactly what I was when we first met and that my presence was this massive affront to him and his “territory.” I assumed he had a problem with mediums or perhaps he was something similar. I don’t know.
None of this is making any sense.
Then another thought comes to my mind so quickly and I can’t help myself from blurting it out. “You’re a regular here?” I let out a laugh, then try to cover it up with a fake cough as they both turn on me.
Harmony’s lips purse, and I know I should feel utterly terrible that she’s hurt by the comment but come on. I hold up my hands in defense. “I’m sorry. He just doesn’t seem like the type of guy to frequent The Flowering Chakra, that’s all.”
Dean glares, folding his arms over his chest. He towers over Harmony, all muscle and petulance. “You don’t know anything about me.”
I almost want to laugh again but I hold it in for Harmony’s sake. I mean, he’s not wrong, except I know that he’s a cocky prick. Even when he drove me home that Friday night a few weeks ago, he could have redeemed himself and been a gentlemen about it but he chose not to be. And in Anthropology, he totally has a superiority complex, acting like he’s the smartest guy in the class.
I meet his challenging stare with my own. This is my work and my town now, too. So the way I see it, he’s in my territory. I tilt my head, realization dawning on me. Are his cheeks turning pink? Because I think they are and it is totally making my day. Who knew the big man on campus would turn out to be a patron of the metaphysical arts? This is too good. Cora and Macy are going to love this. Would it be mean to make fun of him behind his back? I’m not normally that kind of person but something about Dean Ashton makes it too easy.
“So if you two are ready,” Harmony says, clearing her throat and attempting to clear the air, “we can start the reading.”
I step back, shaking my head vehemently. “No way,” I blurt at the same time Dean says, “I’ve changed my mind.”
Harmony’s head bobs between us, her gray eyebrows knit together. “Why on earth not?”
“Are you kidding me?” I laugh, sounding crazed. “This guy’s been a total jerk-face to me from the moment I met him.”
“Jerk-face?” He questions my choice of words like I’m a child. “How old are you?”
I ignore the question even though I’m burning up with the implication. I shrug at Harmony. “I’m sorry, Boss, but there is no way I’m going into a room with him to do… that.”
Okay, did that sound bad? Because I’m pretty sure I made it sound like my readings come with “extras”. His eyes flicker to mine, and he snarls like he just smelled raw sewage. My cheeks burn even hotter with utter embarrassment.
Harmony is unfazed. “I’m so sorry, Dean. I didn’t know you two knew each other. I’m wondering why I didn’t see that?” Her voice trails off and she looks at us for a minute, humming to herself. I clear my throat and it snaps her out of it.
“Anyway, Dean,” she continues. “If you’d like me to give you a reading instead, I’d be happy to help. I don’t have the same gift as Hazel but perhaps I can still help.”
His lips are a thin line, and he shakes his head. “No, I don’t need a reading from anyone today. I’ll grab a few things and be out of Hazel’s way.” He says my name like it’s the same raw sewage he smelled earlier. But how is that fair when he’s the one who’s been awful to me? Besides, I have a right to turn any client away that makes me uncomfortable. That was the agreement.
The shop is filled with crystals, books, herbs, and all sorts of metaphysical paraphernalia. I can’t pretend that my curiosity isn’t piqued. What “few things” would he need?
Dean turns his back on me and meticulously picks out three of the sage smudge sticks from a nearby wicker basket, and then he approaches the register, tossing them onto the wooden tabletop for me to ring up. My eyes travel from the sage on the counter to his eyes, my lips slightly parting in a smirk. He glares again.
I’m sorry, but I can’t help it. Dean Ashton smudges? Okay, this is getting weird. What kind of college guy uses a smudge stick, let alone knows what it is? The bundles of dried sage leaves are tied together with twine and even have a few sprigs of dried lavender mixed in. People light them up and then use the smoke to get rid of bad energy in their homes and funky stuff like that. But they smell pretty gross so even I don’t use them and I work here!
Harmony clears her throat again. “Hazel, can you please ring up our customer?”
“Of course.” I plaster a smile on my lips and get busy.
As I scan his items, Dean casually slips a piece of folded up paper from his back pocket and hands it to Harmony.
She unfolds it and her face pales. “Another one?”
“Second one in as many weeks,” he replies grimly. “I don’t know what to make of it.”
I lean over the counter to get a better look. Is that nosy? Sure. But I don’t care. And the second I see the Missing Persons flyer, my breath catches.
Harmony turns to me. “Have you seen this one?” She slides the black and white image of the girl to me. I know what she means. Not, have I seen her in person. But have I seen her dead. Her name is Alexandria Burk, she’s 17, one of the students at the high school. Her smile radiates from her round face. She wears a cheerleading outfit, ribbons tied up in a high ponytail.
“I’ve never seen her,” I say. But I wonder, if I took off my obsidian necklace, would she come to me? Is she dead like the other ones?
Harmony puts her hand on mine. “Good,” she says, “but watch for her. Let us know if she comes to you.”
I swallow hard and nod. Then I finish up the transaction. “That will be twelve dollars and forty cents.” He hands me his card then turns back to Harmony.
Through all of this, Dean hasn’t acknowledged me in the slightest. He’s no longer angry or shocked or questioning. He’s indifferent. He treats me like he’d treat any other clerk he didn’t have a history with. His attitude is aloof
and when we’re done, he turns away without saying goodbye or acknowledging me. Not even a smug retort? No glare? Nothing? Where’s the Dean I know and hate? It bothers me. And the fact that it bothers me, really bothers me.
The second he walks out from the store, Harmony spins around and raises an eyebrow.
“Really, Hazel? You hate him? Why? What was that?”
“Okay, I can see that you’re less than happy.”
Her mouth is slack, her eyes two bulging marbles, and her face is nearly the same shade of pink as the watermelon tourmaline crystals in the locked display case behind her.
“I’m sorry,” I continue, feeling like the totally ungrateful brat she must think I am. But what was it that Cora said? If a guy is a jerk to a girl, she should be allowed to make a scene instead of always having to be polite. And Harmony did say I didn’t have to finish a session if I was uncomfortable. This is kind of the same thing as far as I am concerned.
But I don’t want to fight with her or sound ungrateful. I like Harmony. I like this job. I take a deep breath and hope that I can make her understand.
“I promise I can explain. Thing is, Dean accosted me the first moment he met me. We have a class together and basically, we don’t get along. I have no idea why he hates me, but he does. He hates my guts. Neither of us would want to spend an hour together in that room.”
She nods slowly and runs her hands over her face. “I’ve never been so embarrassed. Dean is one of my favorite customers. He’s such a good boy.”
I somehow doubt this is the most embarrassing moment of her entire life, and the idea of Dean as a “good boy” is questionable, but I take a deep breath, knowing I didn’t handle myself very well and I need to fix this. Not that I want to, but Harmony has changed my life, and I hate to see her so disappointed in me. My stomach hurts just thinking about it. “I’m truly sorry. I will go and apologize to him right now if that helps.” Maybe a bit reluctantly, but I’ll do it for her. “I’m still not going to be able to do the reading for him though. Is that okay?”