I turn my gaze to the figures working their way down the main aisle. I can just make out my father’s stooped form clinging to my uncle’s arm. Long gone are the days when I could spot him in any crowd due to his stature and merry laugh. People call me a ghost because of the way I cling to the shadows of the palace, but the moniker applies more to my father. His skin is as pale as mine is gold.
While his legs struggle to shuffle forward, my father’s eyes dart again and again in the direction of his tower. The same tower where he probably spent most of the morning sitting in a small wooden chair next to the twelve objects he’d turned to gold years ago. Minus me, the unlucky thirteenth object.
From anywhere in the palace, I can sense the items—a side effect of once being among them. But I’m not drawn to them the way my father is. For years, the gold has greedily called to him, begging for his attention every moment of the day, telling him he can never part with it, making him believe he can’t live without it. Eventually, the lies the magic whispered came true. He needs the gold. If he goes too long without sitting near it, he grows visibly weaker, as if being near the gold is the only thing keeping him alive. And every day, he must remain longer and longer to gain enough energy to face the day.
This is one of the consequences Dionysus warned my father about, another way for his “gift” to plague my family. I have no doubt the cruel god enjoys the irony—my father asked for power over gold to revive his kingdom, but now the gold holds power over the king.
I don’t ever want the gold to have power over me like that. That’s why I avoid reaching my mind out to it, afraid I will become dependent as well. Sometimes I wonder if my father could survive without being near it, as he’s proven he can survive without me.
Hettie’s elbow jabs into my side. “Do you see him yet?”
“No,” I reply, exasperated. If she can’t see Duke Wystlinos, there’s no way I can.
I knot my fingers together to resist the urge to pull my golden braid over my shoulder and twirl the end through my fingers.
A group of women bow, and I glimpse a dark head bent toward my uncle, who whispers something. As Uncle Pheus finishes, Duke Wystlinos throws his head back and laughs. The sound echoes around the room. Duke Wystlinos then confidently strides forward, one arm holding his sword hilt as if that’s the most natural position in the world.
He turns to several nobles as he passes, clasping outstretched hands.
He bypasses his uncle without a glance. For his part, Ralton makes a show of turning up his nose and looking away. While I’m glad my family isn’t the only one who has drama, I can’t help but doubt that putting Duke Wystlinos on the throne will appease the archduke. His nephew appears to be the only person he despises more than my father and uncle. Well, and me.
The duke is tall and can’t be more than a few years older than me. Tousled black hair falls around his face. He’s muscular without being large, and his square jaw is balanced by a straight nose. His face is all angles, but they come together in a way that makes it hard to look away.
I can see why all the housemaids were in a tizzy when his visit was announced. He’s certainly lived up to his reputation.
He’s wearing a bright purple jacket laced with intricate designs. Silver thread swirls up and down the sleeves, chest, and back, giving him the appearance of a living tapestry and making him stand out against my uncle’s less-adorned black jacket. He reminds me of the daring sea captains I read about who go off in search of lost islands and distant shores.
He spots me. A smile spreads across his lips.
I suck in a breath. I tell myself it has nothing to do with the way that smile makes me want to smile back. The breath is only to steady me for what’s to come.
The entire party comes to a stop before me.
My father’s graying hair contrasts with Pheus’s dark locks, so much so that you’d think they were separated by decades instead of only two years. It’s one of many differences between them, and not a day goes by that I’m not thankful for Pheus’s presence and concern for me. He’s the glue that has been holding the kingdom together as my father grows weaker, the one who runs every council meeting and judges every dispute brought before the crown.
“My daughter.” My father stumbles over the words. He seems to collapse inwardly like he always does when he’s in the same room with me. I notice his clothes are rumpled, and I can’t remember if they’re the same ones he wore yesterday.
Thankfully, Uncle Pheus is there to not only support my father, but to finish the introduction. “Princess Kora, may I introduce Duke Aris Wystlinos.”
“Princess.” The duke bows. He doesn’t drop the smile as he addresses me, which either means he’s not nervous or he’s very good about hiding it. I’m not sure which I prefer.
He flicks dark hair out of his eyes as he straightens. “I am honored to make your acquaintance.”
I offer the smallest curtsy in return. I’m not sure if it’s low enough or not. Maybe if my tutors had stuck around after I’d been turned to gold, I would’ve executed it without concern, but these days most of my education comes from books and books alone. After deciding I don’t care if the curtsy is proper enough, I raise my head and finally meet Duke Wystlinos’s gaze.
“Welcome to the palace, Duke Wystlinos,” I intone. “We are most honored by your visit.” Everyone in the room knows I’m lying, but we’re nobles. We’re used to playing this stupid game of saying things we don’t mean.
Uncle Pheus smiles in encouragement, and Hettie keeps shifting next to me, as if she thinks by moving enough, the duke will eventually be forced to look at her.
Instead, his eyes stay locked on mine. Or where mine would be if the veil weren’t covering my face.
“Princess, if you’re finished with your meal, perhaps we could walk together in the rose garden?” The way the duke says it holds such confidence, even though I know he’s been instructed by Uncle Pheus to take me to the garden, where I can be embarrassed in peace. Still, he almost manages to make the visit sound intriguing, like something I should want because he wants it.
I’m not drawn in by his easy self-assurance. I’ve dealt with men like him before, ones who rely on their charm and bravado to advance them politically. But I have my own reasons for wanting to go to the rose garden. Nothing brings out my skin tone more than glints of sunlight, and nothing scares a suitor away faster.
“Of course,” I say.
Uncle Pheus nods. As usual, my father refuses to look at me, and I wonder if he feels as ashamed as I do by this charade.
I wait for Duke Wystlinos to make his way around the head table so we can venture outside and get this over with.
He holds his arm out to me. It’s an unexpected move, and I freeze.
My breath catches in my throat, and my hands clench together, my heartbeat thudding loudly as I stare at his outstretched arm.
What if he’s wearing gold?
Seconds tick by. Too long. I’ve kept him waiting too long.
Surely Uncle Pheus checked. Because Archduke Ralton would have us removed from the palace in a heartbeat if I turned Duke Wystlinos to gold in front of everyone.
My eyes frantically search for Uncle Pheus, but he’s helping my father up onto the dais. I’m out of options. And time.
I pull down my sleeves so they’re flush with my gloves—the fabric is already beginning to fray from the repetitive action—and take a calming breath.
I pray Uncle Pheus did check because I have no other choice than to unclamp my hands and loop my arm through the duke’s.
CHAPTER 2
There. Nothing happened.
I exhale, and my heartbeat settles. I should’ve known Uncle Pheus would check. He always does.
Duke Wystlinos and I take stiff steps toward the balcony door. The cool air hits me once we’re outside, and I sense him relax. I breathe in and out, happy to not have the tepid indoor air continually circulating under my veil.
Past the long stretch o
f gardens and the labyrinth of houses beyond the palace wall, tall mountains loom in the distance, the same mountains where the Great Oracle is rumored to live. I’ve always hated those mountains, always felt like she must be up there watching us, wondering why we haven’t lived up to her prophecy—of making Lagonia prosper.
An early spring snow still rests on the highest peaks, but down here, temperate air drifts in from the sea on the other side of the palace. I look away from the mountains and breathe in the salty scent to calm my mind.
We walk down the steps toward the maze of hedges. Morning light casts shadows on the pathways, which lead to several small courtyards containing fountains and benches. In between these courtyards are corridors lined with newly blooming roses that lazily bob their heads as morning dew drips off them.
My father’s prized birds chirp in cages hidden throughout the garden. For a few moments, that’s the only sound, as Duke Wystlinos is yet to speak.
I prefer the silence. When my first suitor arrived, I’d foolishly harbored hope that I’d finally have someone to talk to. But, like the others after him, all he’d wanted to discuss was my father’s gold. So rather than hope for the best, I mull over any number of topics I could bring up to scare Wystlinos away. My father’s curse. My curse. The gold. The empty treasury. But I don’t—not yet. He’ll inevitably ask about each subject on his own sooner or later, and that way, when Uncle Pheus asks, I can pretend I tried to give this suitor a chance.
“Your uncle told me you like to read books on sailing,” Duke Wystlinos ventures.
This is a new tactic. “Yes.”
I answered. That counts as trying, right?
“I’ve sailed extensively,” he replies. “Is there any place that particularly interests you?”
“Jipper,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. But it doesn’t matter. In fact, mentioning a fantasy island that no one has ever set eyes on and is rumored to move around the sea might even help.
When I’d asked my second suitor, the merchant’s son, about Jipper, he rushed off to respond to the imagined call of his father. Apparently, mentioning an island most of the world doesn’t believe exists has that effect, so I steel myself for the duke’s response.
He doesn’t laugh or run away. He just looks at me, smiling slightly. “To my knowledge, no man has ever set foot on Jipper.”
I almost sigh. A typical diplomatic answer. Neither an agreement nor a disagreement that might upset the other party, just a simple restating of a fact. He must’ve studied under my tutors after they abandoned me.
It’s probably better for everyone if I end this now. I reach for the edge of my veil.
“But I wouldn’t mind being the first,” Duke Wystlinos continues.
My hand stops. “Really?” I pull back on his arm and study his face, waiting for a mocking tone that simply isn’t there.
His gray eyes are intense and focused. “Just because something’s rumored to be enchanted doesn’t mean we should dismiss it. In fact, I think that makes it worth pursuing all the more.” He squints and stares at the sun as if he’s trying to remember something. “I think the closest I’ve ever been to where Jipper’s rumored to have been sighted is Halpen.”
“Halpen,” I groan with envy. What I wouldn’t give to see that coast. Its white cliffs are said to reflect the colors of the sunset and look prettier than any tapestry ever crafted.
Duke Wystlinos becomes more animated as he talks. “My crew and I once fought pirates off the coast of Halpen Cove.” He grabs a stick from the hedge and begins jabbing it into the foliage. “The cutthroats thought they could get the best of me, but I set them straight.” He gives the bush one final thrashing before ramming his makeshift sword into it as a deathblow.
I stare at him for a moment before bursting out in laughter. Any servants who may have seen him fighting a bush will likely think him as crazy as they do me. In some small way, that’s comforting. In fact, this could be the first time since being turned to gold that I feel like someone might understand me.
The duke looks a little embarrassed, but he’s grinning. He drops the stick back into the hedge and tugs down the sides of his coat.
“How noble of you,” I say. “Vanquishing pirates is no small feat.”
We would know. We’d been trying to get rid of the ones that took up residence during the Orfland Wars, not to mention the ones that started the war itself. Orfland ships, under the guise of seeking to destroy pirates that had targeted their choppy coastline, were allowed to sail through our territory, but they used their access to attack the Tiberian Isles—the islands that served as the resupplying port for almost everyone who crossed the Seraph Sea—claiming them as their own. From there, they used the isles as a base to start attacking other nearby locations, cutting off our merchant supply and trade routes with many of our allies. We’d known it wouldn’t be long before they came for us. They’d always wanted a closer port to the rich Seraph Sea. It had taken all our resources to drive Orfland’s ships back to their own territory and force them to accept the terms of our treaty.
But defeating Orfland didn’t mean we’d beaten the pirates, who flourished while the Royal Armada was away and we struggled—still struggle—to rebuild it. Uncle Pheus recently traveled to several of our port cities to investigate the rumored return of one particularly cruel pirate, Captain Skulls. We’d thought he’d died during the war, but no one was sure. And Captain Skulls’s obsession with collecting the skulls of his victims—the one that had earned him his name—made finding witnesses quite impossible. Thus, no one Uncle Pheus talked to could confirm if the pirate was alive or if the one we’d learned of was a copycat. We prayed it was a copycat because no one wanted to believe the alternative.
I swallow down the thought and turn my attention back to Duke Wystlinos.
He smiles at me as we pass under a canopy of hanging flowers. Long vines nod and sway amongst climbing roses above our heads.
“Well, when you’re as familiar with the sea as I am, it’s easy to take care of pirates, and I have the fastest ship on this side of the ocean.” A faraway look overtakes his face.
He doesn’t say it to impress me. His tone is the same one I used in the past whenever I told my father about all the books I was reading, which was years ago now.
“I’ve fought pirates several times,” Duke Wystlinos continues, “most recently during the Orfland Wars, when they took an important document from me. I hunted them down to get it back.” He plucks a rose from one of the nearby trellises and hands it to me. “Have you spent any time at sea?”
I twirl the rose between my gloved fingers. Its sweet perfume lingers in the air. As a child, I used to wear a rose in my hair every day, in memory of my mother. But after being transformed, I didn’t want any reminders of the garden, of what had happened there.
“No, but I would love to,” I say.
“We’ll have to make that happen, in that case,” he says, then pauses. He slides the rose from my fingertips.
As he leans forward, I’m lost in his gray eyes for a moment. There are hints of dark blue streaking through them.
His face stops mere inches from mine. His breath pulses through my veil.
“May I?” He touches the edge of the material and waits for my permission to lift it.
For some reason, my heart sinks. I’ve been enjoying our conversation. Now I wish it’d go on a little longer. It’s nice to have someone besides Hettie to talk to, especially someone who believes in Jipper.
We haven’t even talked about my father’s treasure yet. Every suitor brings up the gold before asking to see my face.
Some flaws can be overlooked if there’s enough money to be had.
I exhale. It’s better to get this over with now than to fool myself into thinking he’ll last the day, so I nod, signaling he has permission to remove my veil.
He gingerly lifts it over my head.
I turn away. I have no desire to see his face, the way his lips will recede into a mas
k that mirrors my father’s face the day he turned me to gold. The thought of it stings, recalling wounds that haven’t fully healed, ones that reopen each time someone new arrives at the palace.
But it’s not a look of disgust that sends my heartbeat spinning; it’s his touch. He pulls my cheek back toward him and slides the rose behind my ear.
My hand goes to the spot where he’d made contact. “You’re not afraid?” My mind is reeling. Everyone is afraid. I can’t even remember the last time another person touched me without my gloves or veil getting in the way.
His eyebrows pull together. “You’re not the first person I’ve met who’s had to suffer because of someone else’s curse.”
“What do you mean?” I don’t know anyone else—besides my father—who’s been cursed. Of course, there are speculations that over the years Dionysus and his love of chaos have cursed many people by trapping them with twisted words and intricate facades. But I’ve only ever heard the rumors people tell about me. Like that I turn back into a statue at night. Or that if you look into my eyes, you’ll turn to gold. Or that I leave golden footprints where I walk. My third suitor actually insisted on walking behind me to see if that one was true.
Duke Wystlinos looks away. All hints of his earlier laughter have disappeared from his face. He bows his head, watching his feet. Thick locks of hair fall forward and eclipse his eyes.
“Just as your father reportedly asked Dionysus for the ability to turn things to gold, and Dionysus twisted his words so everything he touched turned to gold, my father had his own wish granted by the god,” he says slowly, carefully. “He wished for a pile of money so large he’d never see the top of it. And what’d he receive? He was buried by riches. I wasn’t fast enough to dig him out because, for every coin I removed, another one slid down from the top of that unending pile. My father got exactly what he wished for. He never saw the top of that pile. Only the bottom.” His voice cracks, but he hides his emotion well.
A Touch of Gold Page 2