Royal & Ruin (Gifts of the Gods Book 1)

by Josie Gold

  7

  HARKEN

  “Your brother?”

  Fennion threw his arms in the air.

  “It makes sense!”

  “It does not. How would he even know about the Gloves?”

  “I’m not sure. But, I’ve been following him and—”

  “You’re stalking him?”

  “Following” Fennion emphasized, “I’m sure I can get evidence that he’s the murderer.”

  Highlar was a brute, of course. But a murderer of innocents?

  Things were tense between Fennion and me. Ever since the party, he seemed less sure how to behave around me. He joked less. I tried to behave the same as if I had forgotten about my embarrassing admission.

  Before I could tell him his theory was idiotic, a scream rent the air. The Library seemed to shudder. Magic prickled along my scalp.

  Fennion and I leaped to our feet at the same time.

  “We need to,” he began, but I interrupted, “I can’t see it again.”

  I can’t see another dead body. I can’t—

  He touched my cheek and tilted my face toward his.

  “You don’t have to,” he said softly.

  And then he was gone. I touched my cheek.

  Sollah was found dead. A dried-up husk like the others.

  Fennion sat with me, his head hung in shame.

  “We’ve gotten nowhere,” his voice was wet with despair, “we’ve been bickering and partying, and meanwhile people are still dying.”

  I opened my mouth to defend us, to say that we’ve been trying our best. But I closed it. Maybe Fennion was trying his best. But I wasn’t.

  I stood.

  “This isn’t your fault,” I said. He didn’t reply.

  Then, I marched to Torra’s office. I told myself I was going because I needed that money. But I was thinking about Sollah’s sour face and frost magic as I knocked on Torra’s door and asked about the five Old Gods.

  The story of the five Old Gods goes like this:

  Once, before the mountains breached the earth and the kingdoms had names, five primordial beings wandered the cosmos listlessly. They were the Goddess of Chaos and her wife Fate, the God of Renewal, and the Goddess of Enlightenment and her husband Destruction.

  Together, they made up the ingredients for life, magic, and reality. But they felt purposeless. Until they came across a green and blue world split into five countries. They named each of the lands and called the world Vivus.

  Together, they gave the people of Vivus magic. They picked patrons and champions based on probability.

  “What does that mean?” I interrupted Torra.

  “Mortals are born with magic,” Torra explained, “it is not inherited or acquired. You are born with magic because magic chose you.”

  I shook my head, not understanding.

  “But why?”

  Torra shrugged, smiling fondly.

  “The Gods are fickle. They see something within us and they nurture it by giving us magic.”

  Torra continued his story.

  The five Old Gods had agreed to be neutral. They could have favorite mortals, but no favorite civilizations or kingdoms. And for a time, there was peace.

  That is until Destruction began to only support mortals that were hungry for power. Mortals that were most likely to dominate others and succeed. The other Gods saw this and warned Destruction, but he didn’t listen.

  Some say it was Destruction that caused the century-long animosity between Kartheya and Vestan. But whatever it was that Destruction did to finally incur the other Gods’ wrath, it ended with Destruction defeated and the Gods leaving our realm. They worried that they too would lose their neutrality.

  Before they left, they created Celestial Gifts for the mortals. Items of great magic that contained a piece of the Gods. They scattered their gifts across the five kingdoms and then they left us behind. But the magic, the magic stayed.

  “So the Gloves are Destruction’s Celestial Gift,” Fennion said once I finished telling him Torra’s story.

  I nodded, but I was distracted. Magic chose the wielder. If that was true, why did magic choose me?

  “I wonder what the other gifts are,” Fennion mused, then shook his head, “The Gloves are too powerful. Dangerous. We need to find them before the murderer does.”

  “But how?” I wanted to groan in frustration.

  “My brother.”

  FENNION

  Although Harken had her doubts, I was becoming more and more certain that Highlar had something to do with the murders.

  He was practically salivating at the chance to make war with Vestan. So, while Harken continued to try and find books on the Gloves, I committed to spying on Highlar.

  Turned out, I was a halfway decent spy. My reputation as a charmer and a partier meant that few people considered me capable of espionage. I moved through the palace and the city easily and no one batted an eye at me.

  What was harder was making sure Highlar didn’t notice me following him. Listening to his conversations during meetings and dinners was easy enough. It was following him around during the day and night that proved more tricky. There was also no chance I would be able to listen in on private War Makers meetings.

  Apparently, my brother led a rather monotonous life. He spent most of his time in War Makers meetings, training with the other soldiers, and in the stables with his dragon. I could easily spy on him during his training, but any conversation there consisted of soldiers shouting at each other to work harder.

  When he was with his dragon, Reaver, he would speak softly. It made me strangely uncomfortable to hear Highlar speaking in hushed, gentle tones. I would hide in the next stall and I would listen hard.

  What surprised me most was he simply spoke to Reaver like Reaver was a good friend. He would tell Reaver about his day. And Reaver would listen quietly. Then Highlar would take Reaver for a ride.

  But, despite my natural affinity for sneaking, I had yet to overhear anymore about my brother and the Gloves.

  Then one day, Highlar changed his routine.

  I followed several paces behind Highlar as he strutted past the vendors selling pies in the Royal City. I was wearing plain clothing and had a hat on my head for a disguise.

  I watched as a baker appeared to try and give Highlar a hand pie for free. I felt disgusted until I heard Highlar laugh merrily.

  Merrily?

  Even over the sound of the city, I could hear my brother’s booming voice.

  “No, no, my friend,” Highlar gave the baker several coins, far more than what the pie was likely worth. The baker appeared flabbergasted and tried to thank Highlar, but my brother was already walking away.

  I stood there for a moment, puzzled. The baker was excitedly telling his husband about all the coins they had made. I walked quickly after Highlar, my mind buzzing with questions. As I continued to tail him, I suddenly realized where he was heading.

  The Library.

  My stomach suddenly felt like it was filled with needles.

  The Library was mine.

  Fuming, and sickened, I watched him jog up the stairs and pull open the doors. I hurried after him, not wanting to lose him in whatever maze the Library had created today.

  But, like usual, I couldn’t help but gawk at the Library for a moment.

  At first glance, the Library looked relatively ordinary. Well-lit, with gold and cream accents. But when you tilted your head up, it was like looking at the night sky. Literally. Stars burst and flew across the ceiling, the moon shifted through its cycles over and over. All the celestial bodies danced and burned above our heads.

  For a moment, I lost Highlar. But I found him again easily after following that tug in my stomach. He was walking through the stacks, staring at the ceiling with something like admiration. Eventually, Highlar made his way to the Head Master’s office. He knocked and then instead of barging in like I thought he would, Highlar waited until Torra opened the door.

  Then, Highlar
did the last thing I expected of him. He handed Torra the hand pie with a reverent expression on his face. My jaw hit the floor. They spoke to each other, too quiet for me to hear from behind the stack of books I was hiding behind. But they looked amicable. Torra even laughed at something Highlar said.

  Eventually, Highlar left Torra’s office and started up the stairs to another floor. I followed, my limbs and jaw were tight.

  Highlar is capable of friendliness. Of kindness.

  I always knew he could be civil. But I had always assumed his gentle side was only reserved for Karsea. That only Karsea received a genuine smile or a kind word from him.

  Maybe, all this time I had been wrong about Highlar. Maybe he wasn’t naturally a sadist or a bully.

  Maybe he was just that way with me.

  My throat felt sharp and tight. I didn’t want to follow him anymore, but I forced myself to continue to creep after him.

  Highlar paused in what appeared to be the military section of the Library and started pulling books. Was he trying to find more information on the Gloves? Then, he suddenly walked quickly down the row and turned the corner.

  I jogged after him, turned the corner and—

  Smack.

  I ran right into Highlar’s burly chest. I fell backward, but he yanked the front of my shirt and pulled me back. I suddenly felt a burst of deja vu. Harken and I bumped into each other quite like this not too long ago.

  But while Harken had been a soft, lovely bundle in my arms, Highlar’s expression showed nothing soft or lovely.

  He gave me another yank, forcing me onto my toes. Our faces were inches apart.

  “Why’s this scuttling little rat following me?” His smile was wide and carnivorous. I smiled back at him, trying to calm my racing heart.

  “Following you? Don’t you know I practically live here? Maybe you are following me?” I kept my voice light and cheeky.

  “I thought I told you, little brother,” he reeled me even closer, so our noses were nearly touching, “you’re not clever. You’re not even smart enough to sneak around like the insect you are.”

  He turned and slammed me into the nearby bookcase. A few books fell. My spine shrieked and for a moment I saw black. But Highlar was still speaking, his voice friendly.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t notice you?” he laughed heartily, but his eyes were black.

  “I’m not—”

  “Do. Not. Lie. To. Me.”

  With every word, he knocked my head against the shelf. Blearily, I noticed the stars had stopped whirling above us.

  “Now, you are going to tell me why you’ve been following me. Or,” he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a beautiful jade dagger, “I can teach you some new tricks.”

  I knew what kind of teacher he was. The idea of bleeding inside the Library had me shaking and pleading.

  “Pathetic,” Highlar spat, finally dropping his smile. “What a waste of breath and flesh you are. You should never have been born.”

  The Library became cold and dim.

  And star-flecked darkness bared down on us.

  HARKEN

  I found them by accident. I had been assigned to the section on war strategy. I was supposed to be shelving books on ancient Saidnese battles when I heard voices.

  Voices I recognized. Fennion, his voice high and desperate.

  My blood stalled in my veins. I had never heard Fennion sound afraid. He was always so irreverent and confident. What could possibly be scaring him so bad—

  Then I heard the growling voice of Prince Highlar.

  I made my way quietly toward the voices. I peeked around the corner and gasped at what I saw. Highlar was pushing Fennion hard against the wall, his body language aggressive and malicious. I could see hate shining in Highlar’s face as he barked at Fennion. He hated Fennion. Fennion squirmed and begged, eyes shining with tears.

  “What a waste of breath and flesh you are. You should never have been born,” I heard Highlar spit.

  And then a terrible realization began to form in my mind. I suddenly understood why Fennion spent most of his time in the Library, why he was so quick to smile, to play the fool.

  The Useless Siblings.

  That’s what I called us.

  I was right, but I never guessed—

  My parents made me feel worthless with a glance and a polite word. My siblings made me feel worthless by simply existing. But what if Highlar instilled in Fennion such a sense of uselessness, of unwantedness, with a far more brutal form of cruelty?

  My magic thrust against my chest, bellowing to be freed. My palms raised, my brow furrowed—

  But the Library beat me to it.

  The sky and stars descended upon them, crushing them to the floor. Based on the screaming I could hear, Fennion was unharmed. He sprang to his feet, waist-deep in the dark, bewildered.

  But Highlar was pinned by the darkness and howling in pain.

  Fennion staggered. I moved to his side. He looked at me with unfocused eyes.

  “Are you hurt?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm. Fennion reached behind to touch the back of his head. He blinked owlishly at his fingers, which came away red.

  “We’ll take you to a healer,” I started saying, but Fennion shook his head. He touched my shoulder, lingering a moment, then pulled away to stand over his brother. Highlar was no longer screaming in pain but he was squirming, face red with rage.

  “Let me up!” he growled, but not to Fennion. To the Library. The Library did not oblige him.

  “What are you doing in the Library?” Fennion asked, his voice quiet but strong.

  “What are you doing?” I hissed at him, pulling at his arm. He faced me and spoke low.

  “This may be our only chance to interrogate him.”

  Then he turned back to his brother, repeating the question.

  “Getting books, you soft-headed little—”

  “What kind of books?” Fennion snapped.

  “What do you care?” Highlar retorted, still trying to struggle out from under the darkness. Fennion hummed, considering before he picked up a dagger off the floor. He played with it in his hands for a moment before his eyes sliced into Highlar’s.

  “What do you know about Nergal’s Gloves?” he asked casually, but his green eyes shone with purpose.

  Highlar frowned.

  “What?”

  “Destruction’s Gloves,” Fennion pressed, “have you been killing the Librarians—”

  But Highlar started to laugh. Long and mocking.

  “Is that what you’ve been up to? Solving the case?” Highlar sneered. Fennion wavered.

  So I stepped forward.

  “Answer him and maybe we can persuade the Library to let you go,” I said calmly. Highlar’s eyes swiveled to mine, contemptuous.

  “I had nothing to do with the murders,” Highlar insisted, “why would I?”

  “To find Destruction’s Gloves,” Fennion said, “to use them to destroy Vestan.”

  Highlar looked truly confused.

  “I don’t know what you’re—”

  “I heard you!” Fennion yelled, “I heard you talking about trying to find a weapon to destroy the Vestians with!”

  Highlar’s brow knit, then a look of recognition came over his face.

  “If you had any brains, you would’ve known I was speaking about a potential truce between Kartheya and the Tala Islands,” Highlar explained. Fennion and I glared, waiting for more. Highlar sighed.

  “I read somewhere—”

  “You can read?” I drawled before I could stop myself.

  The princes both swung their heads around to look at me. One’s eyes flared with surprised admiration. The other simply looked insulted.

  “I read,” Highlar continued, “that the Tala Islands have ancient magic that could be used against Vestan. And I want it. I’ve never heard of these gloves.”

  Fennion and I shared a look.

  “I would never hurt the Librarians,” Highlar asserted
. Fennion’s expression was one of disbelief.

  “You’re not the only one who respects the Library,” Highlar said gruffly.

  At that, the cloak of darkness receded. The Library believed him. So, it appeared we had to as well. But at the violence glinting in his eyes, I found myself stepping right up to Highlar.

  I opened my palms and conjured two balls of howling, ice-cold wind.

  “If you try to hurt either of us, I promise you, you will never step foot in the Library again,” I said matter-of-factly. Highlar scoffed, but he eyed the wind in my palms.

  “You don’t believe me?” I crooned. All around us, the shelves began to shake. Books fell, all of them aiming for Highlar’s head.

  I wasn’t doing this. No, the Library was backing my oath. The entire building began to shake. I made the balls of wind larger, smiling at the magic coursing through my veins.

  “Fine!” Highlar yelled, dodging a book.

  And then my voice turned glacial, “And you will never raise a hand or weapon at the Prince again.”

  Highlar’s eyes went to Fennion.

  “You’ll let some girl fight—”

  I unleashed my magic on him. It pinned him to the ground again. He tried to scream, but the wind blew the sound away.

  “Swear it!” I raised my voice. The magic burst from my veins, singing to me.

  “I swear!”

  FENNION

  Harken’s eyes glowed. They didn’t gleam, they didn’t flash—they glowed. Bright and yellow-gold, blazing as the sun. Wind blew all around her, but her clothes didn’t move, and her hair stayed in its braid. Like she had leashed the wind to her whims.

  Her face was so calm, so sure.

  I never wanted to kiss anyone more.

  HARKEN

  After Highlar left, I pulled the magic back inside me. I suddenly felt tired in my bones. Fennion sat beside me on a couch, his expression concerned.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked with a wan smile, “I should be looking at you like that. You’re the one with an evil brother.”